Tuesday, December 14, 2010
The Hidden Conversation: In Abstract
*Images courtesy of Jayne Harnett-Hargrove
Where was she when the world came to an end? Did she miss it? She must have, since she's still here and the commercials on television as are bad as they've always been. Light beer isn't less filling. They all give her gas. So maybe they are less filling since they pass through so quickly. She's hoping nobody notices. God, life would be more tolerable were she in New York. Or Rome. In the 6th century.
Did they have toilet paper back then? Maybe Wikipedia has a history of toilet paper entry. She hopes so. Such an article would be more useful than all of those ridiculously unimportant football statistics. What happened to intellectualism? No, there's no irony here. Intellectuals use toilet paper. They should, anyway.
Why am I blue? I'm not always depressed. Just seems that way lately.
Just go with it. Like a river. Life's a river. Why fight it? The currents only stop when there's a need to.
Until some engineer invented the dam.
Beavers did it first.
Beavers are pretty fantastic creatures. And so's the innuendo.
A good innuendo is always fantastic. God, I'd love to sleep with James Bond.
Don't ask stupid questions. Any of them.
Where was he when the world came to an end? Did he miss it? No, he's in the middle of it, he's convinced. Like a yield sign he didn't yield through. The tractor-trailer approaches in slow motion until the last two butterflies caught in the grill are close enough to see. Right before the impact.
Who came up with light beer, anyway? Get me drunk as quickly as possible. No, wait... that's what liquor is for. Heh. Remember that shirt? Johnson's Casino? Liquor in the front, poker in the rear. Maybe it was the other way around. Damn, why do I always devolve into lasciviousness. Did I spell that right?
Why am I blue? It's not like someone drew me that way. Oh, wait...
We are all illustrated creations in the eyes of the creator.
Creations, creator. Sort of a banal combination of words. Repetition sucks, but such is life. We are doomed to repeat history.
Then again, some good things happened in history. Does repeating those constitute doom?
Variety is required to fully enjoy life.
Anheuser-Busch offers variety enough. Budweiser, Bud Light, Bud Dry, Bud Ice, Michelob, Chelada...
Chelada? Where'd that come from?
Probably the website.
Where was he when the world came to an end? Did he miss it? No, no. He wasn't born yet. Straight into the afterlife in all of its glory. This is Heaven and Hell. One without the other is an impossible state of being. Our miseries are too much a part of us to be ignored, in life and in death.
Another beer is another beer. Why be picky? It all winds up in the same place. The toilet. Or maybe the dirt. Or, heck, the pavement. Depending on if anyone's looking. Funny how manners are dictated by who else is around. Isn't anyone well-behaved for their own sakes these days?
Why am I blue? Is life really that bad? Well, no. But it's not really that good, either. It just sort of is.
One without the other is an impossible state of being. So is repeating oneself. ABC. It's as easy as do-re-mi. Damn, they don't make 'em like the Jackson 5 anymore.
Ben Folds 5?
They were a trio. Marketing gimmick.
And such is life. It's all a gimmick. Gimmickry. That's kind of a cool word. Gimmickry. Rolls off the tongue.
I can think of better things to roll off my tongue.
Damn. Devolving into lasciviousness again.
We're just paintings on sheets of music. Conversations hidden behind first impressions. A language few can read and fewer truly understand. Impressionist eyes staring at nothing, save for what's staring at them. Peel back the skin; throw acetone and turpentine on the colors, and what's left? Tabula rasa. Blank pages waiting for another composition. Silent and invisible until the mute and blind give us life. Does any of it matter?
Good questions to ask while enjoying another beer.
I gotta pee.
*Read another interpretation at The Hidden Conversation: In Concrete
* This is the first part of what will hopefully be a nine-part entry in the River of Mnemosyne challenge that's happening over at The ...
I would have to admit that it takes a long time for a writer to truly be able to become objective with his or her own work. Or, at least, r...
31 is far too young.