The scene: A small kitchen table with checkered cloth. Two small and furry creatures argue back and forth. The table is strewn with house plants, sealing wax and a golden record circa. 1977
Monologue 1 (in a furry and distressed tone):
They told us growth was like an aubergine, difficult to pronounce, but beautiful to behold. But I have partaken of that tender vegetable, darlings, and found it nightshade.
And I am flummoxed by the impossibility of being interested in normalcy for more than the time it takes to twirl a lock widdershins. I would much rather be exploring (with recent linguistic acquisitions and with minatory exposition to my poltroon brain), the realms of hey-nonny-nothing.
This eternal parturience wearies me sore.
alack.
Let me be that I am and I will a contented shena maydele be: variously (though not exclusively) a born again birdwatcher, thoughts floating even keeled through night drives and into the sunset.
(Enter a bear. It eats the creature in three bites and smacks its lips.)
No comments:
Post a Comment