S T R E A M # 3

I chew a lot of gum at night when the rain pours down the chimney and the tomatoes don’t sing their happy little song to me. This credit card will not eat my juice because it is not liquid Jell-O that I have not served in a Tupperware container from 1982. I must pause now to pick my nose. The noise sounds shaper this week to my right ear. All noise sounds shaper. The noise shows daller in my left ear this week. All noise to the left sounds daller. Or duller. And sharper. No. It’s either or. It’s either daller or shaper. The dogs won’t drink the water that is set out for them at night. Why does everything have to happen during the day when the sky isn’t blue and my car won’t start eating pooh? The sound of the sound isn’t the sound at all. Instead, it’s the sound of noise. You know the sound of noise. If you don’t, tune your TV to a cableless, station-less broadcast station, if you can. You want good, ole fashion broadcast “snow.” Dat there’s noise, pure and simple. Or, or, or, visit your nearest waterfall. A tall one. One that’s taller than most lampposts. Twice as tall. That’ll do. Dat there’s even purer and simpler. The birds wake me every morning with their chirps and tweets. Birds are pleasant until they shit on my Daewoo Leganza. Even though it’s their shit, I don’t wanna hold them accountable. How would they know any better? How could you possibly expect a wild bird to demonstrate manners or consideration? Besides, I’m the one polluting their air with the flumes from my car. The fumes, too. Turns out I’m the ill-mannered and inconsiderate one. Otherwise, it’s ridiculous. A bird doesn’t give a shit where its shit lands. I want to believe that these birds — these in particular — aren’t here to torment me. But when they wake me up and/or they shit on my car, I begin to wonder. In sooth, I am in no way meaningful to the birds. I am as meaningful to the birds as I am to the grass. That said, in times of drought, the grass depends on me to water it. It nonetheless refuses to recognize or appreciate me. Wouldn’t it be nice if it did, though? Too often those who need the most help are too proud to seek or accept it. Like the silently drying grass. Or so it seems. Mayhap pride, not hope, dies last. But then to have pride is to have hope in oneself or one’s cause, no? Bottom line: I am not meaningful and I am not full of meaning and meaning is fashion anyway. And besides, the cat walked out of the house and dreamt she was going to the bathroom on a gold-plated floor in front of the silver dish full of dice from the bookshelf. “Tommy,” she said, “why don’t you eat that? It’ll spoil if you don’t.” And Tommy replied, “Silly kitty, dice don’t spoil.” And then the cat grew and grew and burst because her body couldn’t take all of that growth. Tommy, splattered with the cat’s remains, shook his head. He said, “Should’ve taken your blood-pressure medication this morning.” Then added, “Poor, silly kitty. Maybe she’ll take this lesson to heart when she wakes up from her sleep walk.” After that, the cat woke up and promptly ate a big bowl of tomato soup. (Why do tomatoes keep sprouting up in all this ridiculousness? If there are reasons, then they are all illogical.) The cat forgot her dream, as do we all, and ‘twas doomed to meet her fate.* Poor silly kitty. Always take the apple with the rock salt that you originally intended to spread on the driveway to melt the ice. Yes, because somewhere beets are used to melt the ice. Somewhere down South. Everything seems to happen somewhere down South, first, or wherever it is warmer. Seems they have more fun and/or get into more trouble. Why? It is too bright for ‘em? I don’t care for the bright. Makes me squint. Gimme the dim. It’s cooler. That’s the impression. Put me in the cooler because I get hot under the collar. It is not time for the good bear to have a bite of his chocolate milkshake because it is still frozen and it will hurt his teeth. Silly bear. I tried to have a long, hard talk with the good albeit silly bear; but the bear, as good as he is, doesn’t understand English. He doesn’t even understand that he’s a bear! Can you believe that? I try to explain to the bear, the good albeit silly bear, that he’s a bear, not a walrus. Does it stop him from acting like a walrus? It does not. How does a walrus act, you ask? As I am not an expert (on walrus behavior, nor anything else, other than drivel-making), I would direct you to the good/silly bear, then to the good albeit serious walrus (the one wearing the monocle). You might want to check in with the naughty bear and the naughty walrus, too. That’ll even things out (in theory). But they (the naughty ones) may/might eat you. It’s why we call them “naughty.” I know they’re naughty because they ate my potato. My potato did nothing to them. And I ask you, “What does a potato do, other than grow? And then rot? As do we all.” But they nevertheless felt justified in eating it. They didn’t even bake it. Nor did they fry it. Or scallop it. They ate the poor potato raw! At least they shared it. Who, in their right mind, eats a raw potato. Who in their wrong mind would. What wouldn’t Who do? But the first mention of Who, here, was originally intended as a question. The good/silly bear and the good/serious walrus would never, ever. (Eat a potato raw.) At least not in public, they wouldn’t. At night I wash the dishes because the ghost will make them rattle if I don’t. The ghost doesn’t like dirty dishes. I don’t know Why. What makes you think I would know Why? She’s a perfect stranger to me. Do you think I’d still be here if I knew Why? It’s all about connections. It’s all about Who you know. And I know perhaps one thing and one thing only: “Who’s on first.” But it’s hard to reason with a ghost – particularly when you don’t believe in ghosts. And besides, I’ve reached the bottom. (04/08/2008) 

*[09/12/21: Please consider making “‘twas” an essential part of your daily argot.] 

[09/12/21: Note that “Who,” in this context, identifies as nonbinary. It is of the utmost importance that we clarify to each other how we “identify,” before the planet roasts us alive.] 

[09/12/21: Bastardized throughout the first week of September 2021.]

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