Jul 23, 2007

Confused with Attitude.

When one is sleeping, one must raise one's hand above one's head to sleep well.

When one is reading of scandals, one places himself inside a wolf's belly for proper lighting, at times.

When, at one time or another, one is drunk as a bird, one's wings are not as light as one remembers, so one slips in and out of tight spaces with much clamor; noticeably.

When one passes by one's lover, one must think of them as a pillow that can see into the future or otherwise love does not exist.

When one wears strapless gowns, one must accentuate one's mythological sense of Godliness with forbidden grapes grown on the outskirts of Northern Arizona.

When one devours a taco, one devours it thoroughly and posthaste.

When one is to think of the thorax, one is scared of one's requiem all at once.

When one belittles the coworker in the cubicle next to one, one approaches one's insult quietly and with the guilt of an recently promoted anteater or ibex.

When one sleeps alone, one runs a delicate finger down the side of one's leg to imitate human contact.

When one flies, one imagines one's suitcase filled with beard hair and unidentifiable used toothbrushes.

When one recalls regrets, they slip into one's mind like a too-big, hand-me-down sport coat over the thin arms of a child.

When one idles the engine of a new car, one realizes that everything is arriving at a predestined point.

When one sees "player to be named later," one wonders who meddles in such toils nowadays.

When one rests his eyes for twenty minutes, one sees snakes lining the walls of a future Summer home.

When one wields an axe, one must imagine the way that axe felt when it was young and impudent, caressing the nape of a young knife's neck after excreting sex fluids on its sheets.

When one knows one will never succeed at one's unrealistic goals, it considers, all-to-briefly, the benefits of dying young, poor and unknown by one's own hand to save one's own disappointment.

When one sees oceans, one thinks of the bookshelves of the world, empty and unresolved to change their social standing.

When one sells ad space, one considers the butterfly stroke the most powerful force in the free world.

When one slips into something more comfortable, it is only when one is uncomfortable being one's self amongst the evils of coffee tables and slick surfaced hardwood floors that can see through one's bullshit.

When one leans in, one expects to be rejected.

When one is boating for leisure, one expects pornography to be eradicated upon one's return, hot damn it.

When one revels in one's own words, one laughs while slithering into a garden unguarded outside of the Baltics.

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