| Monday, August 10, 2009
here lies a wonderful place,
once unspoiled by the humans.
no flags nor houses dotted its landscape.
trees and shrubbery retained their original families.
animal laughter rang out,
where they always did.
before the arrival.
afraid, they had lashed out with their weapons.
laughter was banned.
complete family trees were unknown.
you count yourself lucky to retain your original immediate family.
the first sharp flag heralded the arrival of others.
and then,
the landscape was slowly destroyed.
pits of mud showed the festering sores,
slush covered everything.
and finally, when its last breath was shuddered,
the humans left.
but laughter never returned.
the long-buried rose,
striving to rebuild the unscathed land of yesteryears.
and the trees mourned.
for the dead, the living, and the land.
the purple piggy oinked 12:00 AM
| Sunday, August 9, 2009
if the fluctuation of the rapidly vibrating follicles are mashed into a creamy broth with no knowledge of the outside world, and clever riddles are introduced to words of wisdom who in turn, allow them to view the birth of humanity, will this be what we call a potluck tart with totally random but nice words thrown in to form a short paragraph that remotely makes sense if you are from the same planet as me?
though you're not. prizes to the one who notices the complete lack of capital letters here, who kindly agreed to exchange their absence from this post for a spin around the magnificent whirlpool we call the flushing toilet. as we converse via the repeating codes who work closely together to facilitate the existence of the internet, the capital letters are probably riding on waves and surfboards thrown together from the unspeakables, and swirling downwards, dressed in their robes and gowns of silky gossamer, with a touch of velvet thrown in here and there for good measure.
i do tend to digress.
but the world needs some weirdos to balance out the acute seriousness. why am i throwing in all the words i find interesting, and sound delightful to the ear who trembles, both with excitement to be the lucky recipient, and also with anxiety that the words might be garbled, and the once in a lifetime opportunity might be gone.
the whirling skirts dance about the cramped room, picking themselves off the floor, wall, ceiling, continuing to flatten either themselves, their partners, or themselves, all to preserve the long gone tradition of creativity.
outside, the last violet withers.
perfecto.
turd.
the purple piggy oinked 11:34 PM
| Sunday, August 2, 2009
lameness is a parcel,
easier to cradle then the large bag
we call sensible.
the purple piggy oinked 1:49 AM
|
the alphabet.
a
b
c
d
then you forget.
slowly.
you peek at the paper
a
b
c
d
e
f
g
okay.
you can do this.
a
b
c
and then you forget.
then you realise the futility of it all,
and the roof caves in.
and you finally see through the wool wrapped firmly.
and it ain't nice.
the purple piggy oinked 1:43 AM
