Someone is toying with me, threatening me, trying to damage my calm. I opened a box the other day, and inside it was a seashell, or a snail shell, or possibly a horn for signaling some ancient being, except you can't have lips and blow this horn at the same time, you need to use an organ of which I have never been in possession of.
Also, there was a noose in the box. A noose. In a box. What does it mean? What I expected to do with a noose? Is this is test? Am I to be judged? Are my knot-tying skills in question? This wet red rope, like a cord stretching not across but around my life, reminding me that whatever once was possible is now dead and ended.
Now I can dangle form the rafters and try to play a little tune. My silent horn and looping rope providing a measure of relaxation and contentment after a long day popping bears. They are covered with eggs you see, globular clusters of moist life, growing from the behinds of bears. To see then wandering the countryside, their cargo of 8-legged life growing atop them. It is inspiring. Who likes bears anyway?
I certainly don't. And if injecting their butts with spider young provides a useful use for bears, then I'm all for it. But what if they evolve? What if there is some sort of unholy fusion of bear ass and spider? And we wind up with spiderbears? Lurking in the trees, stealing our honey, and weaving giant hairy webs of picnic stealing spiderbear terror?
I should stop worrying about the bears, and just harvest more eggs. And avoid the spiderbear webs. I just wish the eggs didn't make that noise when I harvested them. It sounds dirty.
Also, I think someone has been reading my diary. They sent me a box. With a horn, and a…wait. I already wrote that. I should go. They could be watching.
Also, there was a noose in the box. A noose. In a box. What does it mean? What I expected to do with a noose? Is this is test? Am I to be judged? Are my knot-tying skills in question? This wet red rope, like a cord stretching not across but around my life, reminding me that whatever once was possible is now dead and ended.
Now I can dangle form the rafters and try to play a little tune. My silent horn and looping rope providing a measure of relaxation and contentment after a long day popping bears. They are covered with eggs you see, globular clusters of moist life, growing from the behinds of bears. To see then wandering the countryside, their cargo of 8-legged life growing atop them. It is inspiring. Who likes bears anyway?
I certainly don't. And if injecting their butts with spider young provides a useful use for bears, then I'm all for it. But what if they evolve? What if there is some sort of unholy fusion of bear ass and spider? And we wind up with spiderbears? Lurking in the trees, stealing our honey, and weaving giant hairy webs of picnic stealing spiderbear terror?
I should stop worrying about the bears, and just harvest more eggs. And avoid the spiderbear webs. I just wish the eggs didn't make that noise when I harvested them. It sounds dirty.
Also, I think someone has been reading my diary. They sent me a box. With a horn, and a…wait. I already wrote that. I should go. They could be watching.
Edited by Dolmund on 2/28/2011 10:45 AM PST
