‘Uninanimate’ Thought The Better of It

Posted: April 1, 2016 in Page 8: Coming to Terms with Bad

Photograph made right by Microsoft Paint.

Animate objects: What Don’t They Know? Look at them! as if they knew something in the first place, to wit, to wit… A brief survey, the lay of the land. Looking out the glass, nothing more than molten sand. Them! as opposed to poles and posts of course, poking their heads out the sand, or whatever we did to it, transformed, or rather concretized, sand, and the rest that goes with it, that is to say, gravel, and water—hardened (read CONCRETE dim wit), or, or, sprawling asphalte-laden earth under foot…which amounts to the same thing: it is hard on us all.

Street signs going up, blowing up—in your face!…urban thoroughfares running down, run-down, and whatever parks there are run over, bulldozing over anyone at rest, Keep Off The Grass sidewalk detours, paved arteries as well, as badly as, might as well be clogged arteries of a massive—and hysterical—heart attack patient for all that matters. All bad thoughts, all that there. But health matters, both cardiac arrest and mass hysteria are number one in the hearts and minds, respectively, of this organization of people here, this megapole. Bright lights, as in people at their best—poleaxed. Only two left standing, of flesh and blood, a man and a woman…to go about their business—or what they do best.

“Coming out of it now, are you?” After considerable reflection, but not long after running head-on—into a wall (metaphor) the equivalent of a ‘dead end’ but was really, literally, a metal bludgeon (entered as evidence, exhibit number 4). Who in the world?! The handyman? No one in particular? Or it could have been that type of guy, there, the laborer, covered in dirt, a post hole digger, with his machine, with an engine, with little other effort, who did it, with little or no reflection, took up the task, committed the idea to action, did the deed, crossed over the line, went too far if you will—buried, cover up (just below the surface), resurrection—from just below the surface—sometime in July, no air co, back home from his space, his office pen as he is wont to say, so it was one weekday evening or another, in front of the set (after yet another warm beer—and daily news fit), the knot head had to ask: What do they know?


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