Sunday, June 12, 2016

Twenty Seven - A pulsating Velocity Perception

Ever since I'd spotted 'IT' things had begun moving at speed. Fast speed. Breakneck speed. Speed faster than a speeding speed train with its speed set to high, where high is the top, and where speed refers to the distance covered over a period of time, in a fast or slow sense, where the sense in this scenario in particular was fast, the forgotten sense, and where the other speed referenced above is also speed in the same sense. I had a mission. And when I have a mission I attack It NOW and in a BIG way, and fast, once again in reference to speed. 

Nothing could slow me down. I would not and could not double over a single fragment of what I was doing, what was happening, or how I happened to be doing it. I had not time nor inclination to spend one second stuck somewhere I had been before or was already. And even if I did, it wouldn't have mattered because this speed was strong. Overpoweringly strong. 

In fact this speed was so strong that it even out-lifted gym guys! And I'm talking the steroid abusing gym guys. And those are the gym guys who do a lot of steroids, and spend a lot of time lifting, and do that lifting at the gym. And let's not forget that even without the gym, the steroid taking itself can be like a yoga workout session, that is once once they've lifted so much that their arm muscles are so BIG and the gluteus-maximus is equally as BIG so it's hard to reach to penetrate with a needle. So they have to roll around on the floor struggling to reach to get the needle to penetrate with cheek, or in very rare cases instead make a friend to do it. So I'm talking speed. Which, as well as the type of speed I'm talking about, could also be a a different type of speed that required being injected into the butt cheek, but I'm not referring to that sort of speed AT ALL. 

And this speed was breakneck. So breakneck that chiropractors across North America were sensing something was in the air and were warming their voices up to be ready to say 'Seems you have a broken neck, I'll need to see you for at least six or seven sessions'. Giraffes across the Sahara were randomly bursting into tears for reasons they couldn't even fathom. And chiropractors across the Antarctic were thinking of branching out into providing not just broken neck fixing, but also therapy and anti-depressants for giraffes in the Sahara, and wondering why the hell they even thought about opening a chiropractic firm in the middle of an ice-desert. And giraffes across South America were thinking 'what, so you're going to branch out into a hot desert in Africa, how about helping us out, we're out of place too!' And the inventors of the international giraffe-chiropractor radio network were thinking 'man, maybe when we brain stormed this idea we should have considered a more lucrative couple of demographics to bring together, such as ones on the same continent, or at least the same species, but who'd have thought that giraffes didn't actually give a lot of business to chiropractors'. And brain weather reporters were reporting a new storm developing in their region to combat this initial mistake. THAT's how break-neck speedy this was.

Yep, I didn't have a SECOND to waste. Seconds were like potato chips at my friend Kev's house when he's invited you over to watch sports. You can't waste a single one. Once you've eaten all the chips that you can possibly eat it's best to just dump the rest onto the lawn for the birds to eat. Because if Kev had wanted to eat a chip or two then why did he even invite you over, and then spend six minutes looking for the exact beer you've requested from his spare fridge, he'd have just stayed home alone and eaten the chips by himself. Yep, I'm talking waste avoidance based chip eating, and I'm talking waste avoidance in a generous sense, the forgotten sense.   The type of waste that Italian men working in waste management always exemplify so well. They NEVER waste potato chips, because they don't eat them, they prefer lasaguola with a flake or two of parmesan, or a broskalini with a shake of olive oil, or sometimes even a non-made up snack. 

Yep, this thing I'd spotted was BIG, and I'd spotted it right NOW, and that meant that the ONLY thing that mattered was doing what I had to do with as little fuss as possible. Without laboring over a single point. Without dawdling a tiny bit. With pure focus on what was at a hand, and what was important. And this was too important to even consider procrastinating even a second. To stall for even a moment would be to fail. And I was NOT going to fail today. 

*To be proven 

*By the way if you ever meet a chiropractor that specializes in psychosomatic rooted giraffe neck injuries, always ask to see his fingers, it's the strangest thing, but for some reason they're always covered in broskalini sauce. 

*By the way, if you were thinking of inventing the 'sensing when giraffes sense things that they sense may seem like their necks may soon senselessly break machines', don't bother, I tried for several years and at best I could only get the machine to sense when giraffes sensed something that made them sense things that they sense may seem like their necks may soon get senselessly sprained, and that information is fucking useless. 

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