Sunday, June 19, 2005

The Couple & Their Souls

And my feet did sever ties with my ankles for time unspecified, for journey important, to find their mobile homes, to find their shoes. Forward hop one two three, down the hall with thee, over the plant and around the vacuum, a never-ending voyage for their Reebok chalets. And time did pass with great abandon, the feet peeling twenty years away from the body, the impetus for the great hunt almost lost from their memories like their shoes lost from their soles.
And low, did they venture upon the bathroom. Oh, what feels like a lifetime under the pouring shower head, soap stinging between the toes but coming out fresh and clean until the woollen sock doth cover the foot and pour the sweat, swelling the air with unnatural stink. But just vague recollection was this and pressing matters be at hand, for the pearly white shock absorbers, with the three stripes, still are out of sight and almost mind as well. None are here, not even a sandal, so continue the expedition the two feet must, so ever tired from lack of rest.
And for ten more years the travels did prolong and upon a sad fly the feet did come. Buzz, it flew around the kitchen and sob it did wherever it did land.
“Oh, what be the matter, dear strange fly?” asked left foot to the fly.
“Buzz, try did I to convince my fellow fly, to rise upon against the tortuous humans who crumple our kind. But they just buzz and fly onto cowpat, wallowing in the brown excrement, without a care to be told.”
“Oh” exclaimed the right foot, joyful for the change in company, “What can be done?”
“Ah” shot up the fly into the air and around the light. “Nothing. Lost is my cause to the simple mindedness of my fellow buzzers. To live is to hate.”
And produce a miniature revolver, did the fly, and cock the damn thing he did also.
“Goodbye cruel world, not ready for change.” And with the bang accompanying a flash, the little brains did spray over the oven door. But stop could not the feet, even with such tragedy, for their shoes they were in search of and shall find.
And rest their eyes upon the final room, with bed and closet and plasma television. What scary images befouled their nails and browned their soles. Boxes lay before them with shoe printed on the sides. Groans and moans emanated from within and some shook with the convulsions of locked away footwear, unaware of what the sun looks like. Oh, with great oomph did the feet kick at the prisons freeing the shoes from them and with careful eyes spotting the lost Reeboks.
And reunite they did, left on left and right on right, and jump in the air to click the heels. To skip all the way home would be forgiven as the occasion was joyous and elation was shared around like overflowing wine glasses. But the journey home always is longer than the journey to. Alas, it took the earth to spin the sun forty times before the home was reached. The feet were old and tired so rest their eyes they did, never to open them again.

5 comments:

  1. Hey, I'm really enjoying your writing! Keep it up

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  2. Well, thanks alot Drdogchop. I see you have linked this blog and consequently, I'll link yours. You are now part of the collective Borg style.

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  3. Cool thanks, I'll start resisting futilely in a minute.

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  4. Further to my partner's praise, I'd like to raise a hearty 'hear, hear' into the bargain and correct you in your assumption that he linked your site to ours, for he did not, kind sir. It was I who, under the advisement of Dr. DogChop, linked your site to ours, thus reducing the amount of time we spend finding your outrageously brilliant site to the time it takes to mimick the onomatopaeia of a mouse button being pressed.

    Now, if you could please stabilise my desire for credit where its due, I shall continue pretending to be busy at work.

    P.S. How much do you guys like cricket, for the Chopman is in need of chums to assist his defamation of my country's performers.

    P.P.S. The Borg collective and we get along famously.

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  5. Dear Bricktop351,

    I have received your comment dated 1:08 Am and have indeed puked my dinner up at the socially embarressing thought of giving dues to the wrong character. To correct this heinous mistake, I will do now. Good boy, bricktop351 for linking this old site.
    Fuck you Drdogchop for swiping his credit without authority. May you wrestle a pig in my fresh puke.
    Also, speaking for myself, I don't know nothing of cricket and as an Irish citizen, I need not know anything of cricket. Though, if I come by any upper class brittish folk looking for directions, I'll send them to you, regardless of their intented target.

    Yours Sincerely,
    Robert

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