Same old teeth
11/9/04 11:19 PM
The time arrived to vote: either for a new row of teeth or to keep the same old teeth in the great white shark (which prefers to eat brown humans). Even though he has a vote he doesn’t much feel like a neuron. More like the myth of a molecule. And he really doesn’t know where he is or where he begins or where he ends, like a cloud. Distance creates the illusion of solidity. The appearance of sanity degenerates into fragments of nonsense under the magnifying glass of scrutiny. He stops his mind and revels in the snowflake Mandela of the infinite backdrop. The built in screensaver invented by the unnamable. He knows a new row of puppets will eat the same brown humans. How can a shark brush its teeth. Or carefully clean its gums with a strand of dental floss. How can a shark transform into a dolphin. The ocean needs sharks. When he says his name it sounds like someone else’s. Who am I?
One day he decided not to get angry anymore. This action inadvertently stopped his flow of emotions. The fire of anger had propelled his life force along. He wore the suit of madness for so long that it hardened and became smooth in places and abrasive in others. He wore the suit like a barrel and forgot it was there as he rolled down the hill down the waterfalls of life. Barreling thru the impassable objects and insurmountable ideas until one day his shell broke against the unmovable object of his soul. Enough it whispered without sound. He sat naked deep inside his brain stem unable to stop the broken records of his past from playing the same old tunes: shame blame raindrops of pain you’ll never feel joy again. All he’d really done was vacated his steering wheel letting the blind drive the blind, never knowing where he’s going or instantly forgetting. Just add denial.
He arrives at the church to vote happy that there is a separation between church and state in God he trusts. This is his third attempt to vote. The volunteers eagerly look for his name among several lists generated by computers. Even though he is registered, no one can find his name. Strike three sports fans. He must vote provisionally. This means his vote will be counted in three days if his name can be found on the state registry. They give him a number to call to see if his vote has been counted. The election is decided the next day. He never calls the number.
He is not a neuron in the Great white shark. He has no name. He feels like the myth of a molecule. When he stops thinking he experiences time differently. His breath becomes slower and slower. 3 breaths a minute. 2 breaths. 1 breath. 0. He is a pod of dolphins. They watch the shark feast. The ocean needs sharks.
The time arrived to vote: either for a new row of teeth or to keep the same old teeth in the great white shark (which prefers to eat brown humans). Even though he has a vote he doesn’t much feel like a neuron. More like the myth of a molecule. And he really doesn’t know where he is or where he begins or where he ends, like a cloud. Distance creates the illusion of solidity. The appearance of sanity degenerates into fragments of nonsense under the magnifying glass of scrutiny. He stops his mind and revels in the snowflake Mandela of the infinite backdrop. The built in screensaver invented by the unnamable. He knows a new row of puppets will eat the same brown humans. How can a shark brush its teeth. Or carefully clean its gums with a strand of dental floss. How can a shark transform into a dolphin. The ocean needs sharks. When he says his name it sounds like someone else’s. Who am I?
One day he decided not to get angry anymore. This action inadvertently stopped his flow of emotions. The fire of anger had propelled his life force along. He wore the suit of madness for so long that it hardened and became smooth in places and abrasive in others. He wore the suit like a barrel and forgot it was there as he rolled down the hill down the waterfalls of life. Barreling thru the impassable objects and insurmountable ideas until one day his shell broke against the unmovable object of his soul. Enough it whispered without sound. He sat naked deep inside his brain stem unable to stop the broken records of his past from playing the same old tunes: shame blame raindrops of pain you’ll never feel joy again. All he’d really done was vacated his steering wheel letting the blind drive the blind, never knowing where he’s going or instantly forgetting. Just add denial.
He arrives at the church to vote happy that there is a separation between church and state in God he trusts. This is his third attempt to vote. The volunteers eagerly look for his name among several lists generated by computers. Even though he is registered, no one can find his name. Strike three sports fans. He must vote provisionally. This means his vote will be counted in three days if his name can be found on the state registry. They give him a number to call to see if his vote has been counted. The election is decided the next day. He never calls the number.
He is not a neuron in the Great white shark. He has no name. He feels like the myth of a molecule. When he stops thinking he experiences time differently. His breath becomes slower and slower. 3 breaths a minute. 2 breaths. 1 breath. 0. He is a pod of dolphins. They watch the shark feast. The ocean needs sharks.
posted by Dij at 11:11 PM
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