Fife.fife

Do you remember that day? How we ran through the grass like wild jack-rabbits. How we chased butterflies that flew above our heads and toads that hopped past our feet. How we ran deep into the woods and hid behind trees when we heard Mother call us home for supper. I cannot forget the beauty of the sunset that evening. The yellows blending into oranges blending into reds blending into pinks blending into purples blending into a dismal dark grey which would remain once the rest of the sky had turned to a star-studded black. Do you remember how we named our own constellations? How, as we trudged our way back home, we argued over the possession of far away stellar bodies. How we talked of planets we would travel to which would bear our own names. How when we arrived at our door Mother looked at us with eyes filled first with worry... then with relief... then with anger. How she told us in her ironically stern yet tender voice that we'd missed supper and would have to go straight to bed. How we did just as we were told and how we fell fast asleep the second our heads hit the pillow. How empty our stomachs felt when we awoke in the morning. How the hunger pangs nagged at our insides. How that was the best breakfast we'd ever had.

Flowers and Demons

Yeah, I dunno what it's really all about. Nor am I sure that I care. One thing remains true to this day -- sleep is a necessity for all of mankind. And animals, for that matter. Do plants sleep? Have you ever wondered this? Eh... who cares... I need to sleep. It's late, and my eyeballs are turning grey.
5 packs of bubble gum laying helplessly on my desk. Crying for attention, as the heater pounds loudly. My brain swells. I am not a fry daddy. Nor a Foreman Grill. I'm just a Pooge.

For

To some, my purpose may be unclear. To others, they believe they know what they do not. Brain blizzard. Mental mansoon. Head hurricane. Thought thunder. Cranial... crap! It's not to be understood. It is the ignition of my enigmatic engine.

That said, let's talk now about the "infidel" leader and the followers of the "false prophet". Why quote a 14th Century emperor? Wrong choice. Right intention. The proof is in the pudding. Apologies are patronizing and hypocritical unless heartfelt. Don't demand. Educate. Don't get mad. Get Glad. Throw your anger in the bin.
Moot point. One's whole purpose is blasphemous to the other. Respect the followers, not the faith, or we risk trivializing our own. Again, patronizing and hypocritical.
Ignore the ignorance. Ignore the words. Ignore the past. Heed the message and change the course of our future.

Will I ever remove myself from this puddle of doom? Damn cigarettes. Damn laziness. Damn time. Damn depression. Damn death. In this marathon, I am the straggler. I stop and count the roses. I masturbate in the beauty of nature. I smoke. I'm too far behind. Must I go on? Is there another path I can take? I will never catch up. So I masturbate once more. And I smoke.
My hair is greasy and matted. My clothes unchanged for days. If I were my cat, I'd kick me out. I must be a friend to myself. Time is my enemy.

Withdraw your compass. Fasten your seat belts. Breath in deeply. Understand nothing.

Tree

I am not an Anglican! For is it not the right of all fellow citizens to declare ludicrosity upon arrival? For withering and floundering prevails in the halls and the back rooms of every major university. Stench follows. The grumbling will never cease. Maya dances through it all... mind vacant... face blank. Her hope and zest for life ran off with the spoon. But still she prevails as part of the great machine.

Dimes follow her to the right wing. Pennies fall to the floor. Happiness eludes all whom dare ask the questions... seeking the answers we all secretly crave. Hemp plants grow wild as such mentality continues. But we submerse our thoughts in cultural remedies. We lock ourselves inside our fears and wait for the doom which prevails. Nothing has changed.

Owt

Quietly, she sat -- staring into the night's sky. He approached her from behind and placed his hands on her shoulders. She was startled, and quickly turned her head to see who was there. Recognizing his face from the morning's paper, she tried to scream, but only a whimper escaped from her parched mouth before he was able to place his large, rough hands over her dry lips. His lips formed a smirky smile as he stared down at her with piercing eyes. She was wishing now she had listened to Dan.

As she was leaving from work that afternoon, Dan had offered to give her a ride home. He was worried about her safety, with a known rapist on the loose. He even suggested that she consider staying with him and Becky until the criminal had been caught. Alice and Becky had known each other since grade school. They were old chums, and Alice knew that Becky wouldn't mind her being there. Yet Alice still insisted that she couldn't impose. So she declined Dan's offer and, with a stack of unfinished paperwork tucked beneath her arm, she headed out to catch the bus.

The bus ride home was typical enough. She caught the bus at 15th and Grand, paid her fare, and pushed her way to the back of the bus, which was packed beyond the point of standing room only. But if she was going to stand, she preferred it be in the back, where occasionally a rare, polite teenager might offer her a seat. In the front, the seats were always taken by the elderly and the disabled, and there was no chance they would stand to let her take their place. And on this day, none of the teenagers in the back of the bus offered her a seat, either. So she rode the 3 and a half mile distance home -- standing, with her paperwork still tucked beneath her arm and her purse clutched tightly in both hands. She then got off at Burcham and walked the remaining 5 blocks to her apartment.

Once home, she fixed herself a quick microwave meal -- chicken tortellini with broccoli in alfredo sauce and some cranberry-apple crisp for dessert. She ate quickly while watching a Golden Girls rerun, then stretched out on her couch for a little nap. She was in for a dreadfully long night of playing catch-up with her paperwork, and realised she would need some rest to help her get through it. She woke up an hour and a half later, feeling more groggy and listless than when she first laid down. She decided she should go for a little walk to get her blood pumping and oxygen to her brain so she could wake up enough to think clearly again.

Eno

The objective here is not to make claim of adverse reaction. Nor is it to undermine the residual feelings and demographical flowering of worldly thoughts represented in varying degrees of faded hues. But rather, I make attempt now of outlining the deep seated hatred towards humanity which is experienced by virtually all "artificially sweetened" aristocrats.
"Going from the garden to the cellar in no more than one leap", can be used as a grand example of exactly what I refer to in the initial paragraph. For is it not stated in flyer after discarded flyer, that catering to the needs of those in charge of the sobriety of being will do far more harm than good?
In short, as we embark upon this mental safari into the jungle that one might refer to as "The Rapture of the Indigent Few", allow not the coercions or extrapolations drilled so heavily into our minds through out our lives of comparative luxury, to enter into our thoughts or to color our judgements of the forbearers actions under such heinous circumstances as will be documented in the forth coming chapters.