Sunday Edition

Posted: January 22, 2011 in otiose
Tags: , , ,

Cut up the dream into little birds.
Cut the crap.

You don’t give a shit about Egypt.

I know that you can’t see me.
There’s nothing on this end that will allow for you to peer into my real surroundings.
I suspect, sometimes, that you’re not even alive but only animated.
Possibly by your own pretensions.

You’re intimidating, nevertheless, and you also seem to thrive on knowing this.
That’s the aspect that bothers me most.
It’s just not nice, and it’s not that everything has to be nice and pretty and proper
and glitter coated pink with rabbits and poppies
but sometimes these ugly moments illuminate a deeper character.

Maybe you’re flawed where I’m presumed broken.

I have a coupon here for 55 cents off a carton of eggs…”any carton of Eggs” if I buy a Kikkoman Product
but I fail to see the connection between soy sauce and eggs.
Actually, if I remember correctly, I’m not even that fond of soy sauce.

No, I don’t want to be seen.

I put the newspaper down, dissected and strewn on a chair and scattered across the floor.
Dozed with bad, nonsensical dreams and delusions that I could ever be someone else

or still myself but…different.

I’m awake again, and sitting naked on newsprint that will surely stick to my feverish skin.
For some reason I don’t mind. It almost feels less filthy with paper down.
As if I’m a puppy…or an ugly old dog suffering from kidney failure.
Either way, my head’s all stopped up, and I can’t smell a thing.

It seemed like the perfect opportunity, and excuse, to take a shower
since I loathe the stench of cleanliness.

Back to sleep.
Work tomorrow.
Then…more melodrama.

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