But forget all of that stuff you learned just now. What you want to do is decode your existence for the majority of what you are going to call the rest of your life. You won’t remember much of it in the next life, but you might pick up on it after years of intense self-guided study. Decoding takes profound effort and patience, in addition to a rare platinum ring found at only the most exclusive rummage sales.
It’s pandering to the half-breathing, half-stalking idiots at bay, the frustrating ones who don’t break their gaze for a lollipop or ice cream cone. Any campaign submits itself to public scrutiny, and that means miserable parasites as well as flourishing patrons receive the same information. How it affects their lives varies tremendously, and be sure never to underestimate the gall that some of these half-wits display on a regular basis.
I blinked and lost the square I found. It turned into a rhombus of sorts, then decided to mold into a gypsy woman just past her prime magic-making years. I asked this woman what she meant by the transformation, and she didn’t say a word. Looking around, I noticed an inordinate number of frogs and dragonflies. I asked her if she also noticed these creatures, and she nodded slowly. This interaction taught me that she could indeed understand me and convey her thoughts in a method other than spoken language. I settled into place and began shrugging my shoulders. She also settled and repeatedly bent her left arm at the elbow. We had a lovely time that afternoon.
Trefoil tattoos mark the patch of skin where Washington holds the fragments of his battered lip balm container to his heart and sobs like a little girl. He doesn’t remember where or when the cheap possession came to be his, but his cherishing moments are seldom overlooked.
He remembers how windbeaten his lips had been that dry winter day, and how he bundled himself against the elements to at least attempt relieving some of the pain of existing in those conditions.
Suddenly he came upon a convenience store, open 24 hours a day and boasting wonderful room temperature. He dug into his pockets for currency, procuring three dollars and change. He was overjoyed to learn that lip balm only cost a buck seventy-nine. He accepted the two dimes and a penny with his left hand while applying lip-saving moisture with his right.
And now that the balm tin is depleted of product, Washington keeps it in his left breast pocket to remind him of the wonders of the civilized world while providing ceremonial protection against bullets aimed at his heart.
What happened to the time where sputtering out trivial fantasies had its place in life, had value and a genuine right to exist in the sphere? It must still be around here somewhere, but I need a little help to find it.
Since the totality of existence is comprised of infinite facets of one thought and one moment, tapping into the creative consciousness takes no more than a few seconds of earnest exploration. For example:
Tulip slipper guardians wear rings the size of their fists. They’re not very practical, the guardians nor the rings, but that doesn’t matter when the bulk of their livelihood is concentrated upon the judgment of ornate flowers and involves virtually no physical labor. Contests are held once per month (as the tulips bloom) in Snidely Square, and no person has ever won more than once. Odd when you consider the fact that there has never been a grouping larger than ten contestants in each of the first thirty-three affairs. Nole Gronsky, head judge and Snidely Square curator, takes pride in diversity, and will not let a winner (or a second-place finisher, for that matter) participate in another contest until their age has doubled from the last contest in which they participated. Marge Franklin is first on the list to compete after winning. She was twenty-three years of age upon attaining the title, and the event happened sixteen years ago. When asked how she’s been biding her time, Marge simply said: “Oh yes, I do suppose I’d like to try that again. Thanks for reminding me.”
“Your anger isn’t unfounded, but I don’t know where it’s coming from. Spit out the woodchips and we’ll have a serious conversation. Your lovely little distractions can only blind me for so long to the true matter behind all of this. You know what I’m talking about. Come on now, there can’t be that many woodchips in your piehole. Jesus, were you going for a world record? I doubt you had the foresight to intentionally stuff your mouth and have an excuse not to speak to me. Are you about ready? I can keep nagging you until you’ve got every last scrap of landscaping material out of your mouth. You don’t think I’m serious? Let’s give it a shot.
“You don’t communicate with me. This is most obvious right now, but you only contribute a small fragment to our daily interactions. It’s like I’m the one who does all the talking for the both of us. I can only come up with so many original things before I feel like I have to repeat myself.
“You don’t listen to me. I can’t remember how many times I’ve caught you just looking up some girl’s skirt while I’m trying to get something important across to you. Then I have to repeat myself again! Every time that happens, a little piece of me dies. I hope you’re happy about that.
“On second thought, you’re not allowed to be angry. Only I can feel hurt at the moment. This conversation has become solely about me, and I don’t care what you think anymore. What do you say about that?”
“I have a splinter in my gums.”
For the longest time, I wondered why the jungle had become so distracting.
It lacked the crucial element of rainfall. I couldn’t understand it.
It was too lush to have a dry spell, but it cracked and burned.
And now I’m left with the charred remains of my tiki shack,
sipping a sangria and wondering why I ever came out here.