Wednesday, March 26, 2008

 

You can't find the source of the fire until you put it out. See? Your limits are insane. What kind of silliness is that? It's like not knowing who you are until you're dead. OK, so maybe it's not like that.
Maybe it's like waking up on the East side of the tracks when you went to bed on the West and you have no memory of moving. It can't be much like that, though, 'cuz it's more like opening a large box of coat hanger, all lined up and perfect, all white plastic and yellow wire, full of potential and possibility, but then actually only full of the potential and possibility of clothes hung up in the closet. No, it's not like that.
Maybe it's like being drunk on a pole twenty or thirty feet in the air, and needing very badly to eat a pizza, but having only miles and miles of green crepe paper whistling in the breeze, smelling of dust and pressed wood, just generally not being useful. Perhaps it's like driving a little car up the side of a glass wall while a Peruvian Lion licks the bottoms of your feet, slowly and sensually, clearly trying to get you to crash the damn thing.
No. It's not like any of those things. Maybe it's like not knowing who wrote a particular little snippet of language until you get to the bottom. No, nothing's like that:

Labels: Absolutely Chuffed

by MisterNihil 10:22 PM