Inspiration...Sadness...and whatever life takes
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Housebroken
"How inspired is the dust beneath her clothes?" Ethan Johnson asked
his brooding shadow, sulking at the corner of his eye. He expected only fireworks
as its response, but he would be disappointed by the butcher knife of honesty.
"Bother not, Ethan," His Shadow
muttered. "There is only spiraling darkness skulking behind those cotton threads,
synthetic fibers. It licks her hair, breathes her skin. And under her sweat and flesh,
it is clung there: infinite, profound and irrevocable. Her shadow. And it has
hijacked her body, and her mind; unlike how I have been housebroken
to purr like a human being ought. To mew like you, like you.
You want me to, want me to."
"Are you sure?" Ethan Johnson asked. "She doesn't seem to -- "
"She is just a bag of dust, imbued with nothing but an animal of an animal.
Stay away from her, and you will stay decent. Go back to the pews,
and genuflection. Listen to me, your shadow."
"Are you sure? Ethan Johnson asked. "She doesn't seem to -- "
"Salvation is worth the inertia; it is more valuable than what a boar can give you:
Pleasure in your guts, and nothing more. Your shadow knows."
"Are you sure?" Ethan Johnson . "She doesn't seem to -- "
"Go back to the pews, and I will mew with you."
cuRRent...jer
