Baby, my porridge is not father’s: don’t take it all so much and improperly digest it. Papa, my porridge is not Baby’s: it’s not so small to dismiss as a mere toddler’s trifling. Oh, mama, can’t you see: I’m human. Let us sup together; perhaps you aren’t so unbearable.
Month: April 2011
In a College Silo without Overalls
I’m taking classes. I realize I don’t have my overalls on. I must have left them in the bathroom. I excuse myself from class (which was a drag anyway). No they aren’t in the bathroom. So, I walk around in boxers, which isn’t so bad.
I go to the mall of the campus which functions like the Johnson center. They are going to be filming for a political rally. Some university staff asks me to refrain from entering that area because of my lack of pants.
I go outside and try another building module. This is a large, square empty room several stories high; the feel is of being in an abandoned silo. Here there is a metal stairway that’s torn and out in places; it’s just a broken stairway to nothing. I try to climb the stairs and it becomes an athletic struggle until I see the wrecked part of it. A couple of sophomoric guys come in an taunt me; eventually I realize are trying to get me to repeat a movie scene.
As I leave the building, the guys continue taunt me. One throws shit at me and it lands on my face and hair. “I’m a human being, too.” I say to express hurt feelings. A little later, I guess it’s clods of earth rather than shit.
I go into a little restaurant attached to the university. I’m not impressed with the place or the food I get. The guys there are stuck in their jobs, bleh.
I’m about to go on vacation with my family, but we only go for a day instead of the whole long weekend. That’s good because I have two papers due of the 24th.
Donald Duck Inflatable Arm–bands
Here I am in my ocean again. You pushed me or I threw myself in at the sight of you, at the quake of you running through my boards. A sunny day and a light breeze dancing upon the waves enchant me and make it hard to see — well, them or your eyes. I don’t mind loosing ground; I wade or fathom, now: your ocean or mine? I invite you in. Either I would hold my breath to explore your depths or would you provide some oxygen?
Tyrant
Holy brothers, you escort your sandcastles’ beauty and gracefully cast it into the river. I imagine relinquishing likewise: why is it a crummy kingdom I uphold?
Crinkle
The night wind rushes through dying embers; they burn just the same.
Soggy Os
I ate honey Os until a voice bade me attend to something. I returned to deliciously soggy Os; I wait for such soggy deliciousness to recur.
Polish
Exposed to the numinous the hero ventures forth steeped in life to return a warrior with the pearl exposed to the numinous