Eleriah (eleriah) wrote,
Eleriah
eleriah

jodawiqatsi

7

Toothabrasion. Showersplash. Microsoapinoids sliding down each follicle with scrubbies. Pavlovian conditioner. Rinsesqueeze hand squeegee towelabrasion.

And then it happened. Damp towel lump, on the floor. Wadded. What kind of monster am i to do that? I can still see it there, in the corner of the motel bathroom.


What would aliens or cosmic powers be listed under? I don't want to think about that.

A motel morning is for going. No pig or parrot says goodbye.

I have to have food, but maybe food is too small and quick for me. Maybe it is too cute, and dangerous. What can happen? Consider:

A pig-and-parrot sausage gallops across the floor, sqrealching horribly and leaving oily hot messes in its wake.

The eggs start going a little strange – first subtle changes like excessive elongation, slight asymmetries and such – but then growing flat sides, metamorphing into irregular and regular polyhedra, concavities, Klein bottles, alternative topologies... You have to be careful if they start cooperating and merging.

There's the pancakes. Some you can never quite approach – round pale yellow sponges, shrinking away from you, burying themselves in a swamp of syrup and butter. Irritable recluses, passive aggressive. Not really their fault – they're not brought up right in restaurants these days. Not much is.

An old tired skinny grizzly bear could have a soft pink person, naked, on a bed of grass; but that has its own dangers. Deceptive power of the soft and pink, organized and cooperating like the eggs. I'm not a bear anyway.

Fruit salad, from a reputable neighborhood. Burp. Now what.

A bus passes by, ad on the side – “Taking Aim at Aimlessness.” Too late to run after it. Sinking feeling. Now what.

Do i lie or do i truth. Yesno. Well then:

A poodle-shaped thing with skin like iceberg lettuce walks past, giving me a perturbed look when i stare a little too long. I follow it in reverse, heading up the alley that it came out of. At the other end i pause, catch some motion up the street – low and small, then gone.

That way.

Grease smudges – pack of pig-and-peacock sausages maybe. Not the sort of thing i'd normally choose to follow in reverse, being allergic to danger. Be worse to follow it in forward though, and it's orthogonal to the aimlessness.

Still i hesitate there, put a hand out against the street sign post – corner of Indecision Pl and Criminal Ct. I haven't spent a lot of time in large cities. You hear stories. Car rabbits. Feral pets in roving bands. Obsequious cheese-seekers. Speaking of which, there's one behind me now looks like, fake smiling thing walking nonchalantly toward me. I decide, and turn the corner.

Instantly there's a change. Sounds of al-fresco diners, bicycles, people talking, musics playing here and there. Streams of ethereal rainbow incense floats out of the open doorway of the gift store on the corner, scent faintly unfamiliar. Inside, a frumpy patron is accosting a cashier who's looking politely annoyed.

“...and I want this pro-rated, you understand? I don't put up with this crap anymore. Twenty-eight days and thirty-one are not the same thing just because you call them both months. Call it a toad's butt if you want it's not going to change the facts. Just try you poking thirty-one toads with twenty-eight sticks and see how far you get. Yeah that'd be a good one, see you at around twenty-five, twenty-six, wondering what to do when you run out and have to...”

I pass on.
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