more earlier writings

a tale of two bruises

arriving at the breakfast table jonny shot a look at his mother that he normally reserved for horse-fed apricots. it was the fifty-third of july and summer was half-way through its puberty. jonny's mother did not him his usual breakfast of grasshopper legs, but instead served him a bowl of hamster lungs and beat him severely about the head with a tulip. she reminded him that it was going to be a day of celebration in their town because an hour after one o'clock it was going to be two o'clock.
jonny hurriedly ate his breakfast and took his pet goldfish, hildegard, for a walk, stopping along the way so hildegard could drink from an unconscious stream. his return home was delayed by his having to dodge rapidly moving air molecules.
after checking the male he practiced sitting so that he could do it well.
lunch was a meal eaten around noon.
after lunch they got ready to go to see the parade that was planned to stop rush-hour traffic.
leading the parade were the tennis players from "gypsies united for a better coffee break." they were followed by the geriatric gymnasts for cthulu." the local picket union were scheduled next, but they were on strike. the rest of the parade consisted of floats, thirty-three flavours of ice cream in various soft drinks.
by the time the parade was over it was time for the rest of the day to go by.
at an emergency meeting of the town council it was decided that there was a drastic shortage of shortages and all were sent to bed without dessert. at thirteen past three in the morning 7,856 of the town's inhabitants sneaked into the mayor's kitchen for a late night snack of cold fried pigeon. since the mayor sleeps in his freezer he did not hear any of this.
if you want to what happened after this, ask the mouse that just ate the last of your melba toast.


#3

i must keep looking for my voice, does the man behind that tree have a map, or is it hiding within my grasp. i would ask myself, but i do not know which self to ask or where this self is, but this self may not have the map but the voice. when i find my voice will it have enough ink.
often when arriving where i am i find that i had already left,oh well, there is usually another bus within minutes or centuries.
am i where i am or am i where i think i am or am i just fooling myself.
there is a cloud of wisdom in the fish bowl.
when i know what i know i will finally arrive where i am and then the journey to where i am will begin.
if there is a beginning middle and end which begins first.
i sometimes travel so fast that i am standing still. one can travel in more than one direction and still arrive.
that which is is not, that which is not is.
why is so much time wasted thinking about thinking.
must i go to someone else to find out what i know.
after the pyrotechnics are over the excitement begins. the gullible sea gull often loses his way.


#12

i was going to write down a delicate image that i had in my mind. but it got run over by a mack truck.


I know that some of my references have gotten more obscure with the passing of time. I have some pieces that I am hesitating to post because they may be too obscure. I may past them. I haven't decided yet.