I’m walking home and get tapped
on the back of my neck. Then this guy told
me, “I heard you road a horse.”
I apparently wasn’t certain what
he said, I asked, “Why are you saying that I ‘Owed a Horse’?”
That caused him to grin and he
started singing to me:
“Now here on, please
Everyone has a lease, or
their leash, on.
You must sure show how
you glisten. I know you don’t listen.
About that worm that sure
is at your command.
Isn’t that a bite on you
and me?”
To go along with him I melodied:
“Now here man, keep
your business
You sure think you’re not
messed up
I wish you would break up
all of your commands.”
He then said, “To me, you sure sound
like an Arid.”
I then asked, “Why do you think
I’m a Red Head?”
He replied, “You really have your
Reeds Dead!”
I
gave up and walked away. Then I began
noticing that these sidewalks had been cleaned lately and now you can see a lot
of cracks in them.
There must have been a lot of Ammonia
water mussing the walkways. That Ammonia
has been used for the village by their workers.
If you are a village worker you have a dorm you can live in and you are
provided with work clothes and non-work clothes. Hardly any of my clothes work, but that’s
another story. Here, according to their
rules, your underwear must be collected at the end of each day, or when the sun
is supposed to rise, if you are responsible for the evening tasks,
requirements, needs. Each day, all the
collected underwear is washed the next morning, that is both from the night
that just ended and those used the day before.
After one crew dries them, they are sorted by size. Your variety of sizes is kept up to data on
your ‘paperwork.’ At each end of the
week, you get delivered to your container in your dormitory, the fitting
underwear you will need for the week to come.
And you will also get versions of your other cleaned clothes for those
days to come. Your ‘paperwork’ is just
called ‘paperwork.’ But it is, in
reality, a group of databases managed by the village. In memorial they call your identification and
upkeep, ‘paperwork.’
I have several aluminium parts of
the body. My body. Such as my waist bones and my neck
frame. Then again, my legs and knees are
iron. My spine is silicon. You might call where my spine ends, my
silicon valley. My rear view sure is
silly and as a con, my fumes are aromatic.
The guys in the beds around me
are pretty much feldspars and granites. We call one of them Gneiss because he
changed so much that he is now pleasant.
Or is that a peasant? I think he
is getting sedimental. He recently metamorphosized.
Some of us are water blobs, with our
cellular hydrogen attracting groups of nitrogen.
I rust occasionally because I
wear the village’s required fiberglass bubble.
Peroxide is supplied to keep me alive.
Last month I visited a place that
really was one station, under logs, in the digitals, with cut down trees, glacial
liars, and just ice for all. Fluidity is
lost more today you know, than it was when we had warmth years ago.
Our
current glacier told me so, so Snoot Ptoot, what a calf.
Since I now realize, and feel, what
and how my original guardian taught and cared for me, I now try to make friends
with many of whom I see. I try not to
care if I don’t start feeling like fighting with them first. Like that guy that was ‘Horsing Around.’ I wish I didn’t repel him. That is ‘repel’ not ‘re smell’ or ‘rebel.’ The other week I met a woman who was a bit
older than me. I think she bit the older
me. She started telling me, “My uncle
has Pancreatic Cancer. That got me to
thinking about our past president who fell under his bone spur doctor. He has been forcing us to use and pay for
different stuff that will give our Democracy Cancer.”
I told her that she pointed out
to me:
“Curly Que is missed today you know
Along with our Shemp,
Larry, and Moe
You little Stoogies told
me so
Peep Veep
Got me pie in the face.”
And she answered me:
“Shemper won’t Fiddle
Less
We want to get Shempified Alias
Wait till Shemp Fooled Us At Las and A Lack.”
I agreed:
“Early to bed
Easily to trump
Will Make our country
Stuck in the dump.”
She asked me, “Do you think that
will be ‘Awful’, or are one of those who find it ‘Awe Full’?”
I said, “That sounds like the
difference between ‘Levis Jeans’ and ‘Elvis’ Jeans!’”
She replied, “You sure are
science fictionish. I will call you ‘Sleepy Oh Three Pee Oh.’”
I then decided to rust out my
pyrated thought keepers and nitrogenize them with several exhales which I haled
out from my fiberglass bubble onto those so called people walking around
me. Dust and rust must be thrust into a
trust. I am really just. And I now drink mercury while I eat sapphire
valleys. You can think what you want,
which is what you are thinking, and Knott Watt I think.
Electricity takes lungs away you
know. Tanned it is while those gongs
rang in a row. A little birdy ate my
crow. Cheap Cheap is my will.
Sleep and eat. Walk and talk. Chill and kill. I must just go along and work
my sweaty skull into those performing these arithmetic equations so I can keep those air breathers alive and their rich
people happy. I recently, decently, and in
criminally, directed a skunkle to send sounds towards one area of our business
desks while reflecting several light pulses across this factory. Since paper is man made and gold is under our
feet we always look up to those noses as we dig our way to the city next to my
brother’s polluted lake.
Who are you to say, when I am
thinking and feeling and heart pulsating, while those coppers crumble skims with
their celluloid, gels which you told me they not only compute but define and
predict, this arisen carbo-nucleic acids and magnetic star dust which has enearthed
the articular place you squat at.
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