Dear Change-of-Scenery,
................................................ever since that trip to Canada, I've eaten nothing but oysters. The garbage-man has three testicles. Is this unusual?
My dog is at her mother's now. Whatever they're eating, they make it for Mooch too. If they're having eggs for breakfast, he gts eggs too. They let him in and out of the patio all day. Every 15 minutes it's "oh, mooch, do you want to come in?" Then they'll let him out again 5 minutes later. It's all they do all day.
Your new boyfriend seems less intelligent than your old one, but more good-natured. Is this true?
yrs, The Inkspot
ps. A man offered to buy a cigarete from me today for a quarter.
When I said yes, he seemed really pissed.
What the hell did he expect?
PPS. A woman stopped me on the street today and asked me if I was a famous musician in some band she'd never heard of. I think I'm really getting somewhere!
your cousin sara, curled up inside a leaf in early autumn
I was walking home with my sausages, tapping the fire hydrant for good luck as normal, but today the man with no ears walked past with his dotty dalmation, howling at the school, and the fish ould've gasped their shopping list but for the stutter of a nearby puddle. I've never been more thankful for rain, all sparkly them darting about like a biology video. The biggest one was just as ginger as Molly and when I knelt down to offer it some sausage I swear I could even see her fur! I just left the little meatball floating there -- if the fish don't get it, someone will. What is it for ten, I muttered aimless as I walked in, Molly curled up in her usual place. I put one in her favorite blue bowl, and started frying the rest in the medium pan.
I heard the engine revving up, and by the time we'd left the area we must have been going 50. I tried to appear unconcerned, for Molly's sake. We passed a roadsign which said, Beware of men that collect hats, and then another saying Beware of hats that collect men. then Miaow! I was praying for a Yield. It's been difficult for the farmers.
Fred Latimer and Joe "the sponge" Dinglebat still talk warmly, weather permitting, about my imitation of a moth climbing ot of a tea-cup. Of course, that was many imperialist invasions ago, but on a clear Knight the round table still resounds like a pair of hips. Time moves like clockwork in the kettledrum of a purple snare...
They have crawled out, tears in their beautiful masculine eyes. Covered in mud, arms pushed back by their childrens' gravity. I love you, earth. There's lots of serious things down there -- for example, it boxes you down and groans around you. I've ridden bareback on the snake, said the first man coming up. You should see the size of it he added, I'm nothing compared to him. Asked for some chewing tobacco. Returned home, to the blinding white of his wife's t-shirt. Squinting, as if it was television.
the hips of the black snake...
I ache for the flowers of saturation, knowing they will come
memories are tinsel yelpings
king knockonwood desires nothing more than your full execution. please send yourself in the mail as proof of loyalty. mail head seperately.
................................................ever since that trip to Canada, I've eaten nothing but oysters. The garbage-man has three testicles. Is this unusual?
My dog is at her mother's now. Whatever they're eating, they make it for Mooch too. If they're having eggs for breakfast, he gts eggs too. They let him in and out of the patio all day. Every 15 minutes it's "oh, mooch, do you want to come in?" Then they'll let him out again 5 minutes later. It's all they do all day.
Your new boyfriend seems less intelligent than your old one, but more good-natured. Is this true?
yrs, The Inkspot
ps. A man offered to buy a cigarete from me today for a quarter.
When I said yes, he seemed really pissed.
What the hell did he expect?
PPS. A woman stopped me on the street today and asked me if I was a famous musician in some band she'd never heard of. I think I'm really getting somewhere!
your cousin sara, curled up inside a leaf in early autumn
I was walking home with my sausages, tapping the fire hydrant for good luck as normal, but today the man with no ears walked past with his dotty dalmation, howling at the school, and the fish ould've gasped their shopping list but for the stutter of a nearby puddle. I've never been more thankful for rain, all sparkly them darting about like a biology video. The biggest one was just as ginger as Molly and when I knelt down to offer it some sausage I swear I could even see her fur! I just left the little meatball floating there -- if the fish don't get it, someone will. What is it for ten, I muttered aimless as I walked in, Molly curled up in her usual place. I put one in her favorite blue bowl, and started frying the rest in the medium pan.
I heard the engine revving up, and by the time we'd left the area we must have been going 50. I tried to appear unconcerned, for Molly's sake. We passed a roadsign which said, Beware of men that collect hats, and then another saying Beware of hats that collect men. then Miaow! I was praying for a Yield. It's been difficult for the farmers.
Fred Latimer and Joe "the sponge" Dinglebat still talk warmly, weather permitting, about my imitation of a moth climbing ot of a tea-cup. Of course, that was many imperialist invasions ago, but on a clear Knight the round table still resounds like a pair of hips. Time moves like clockwork in the kettledrum of a purple snare...
They have crawled out, tears in their beautiful masculine eyes. Covered in mud, arms pushed back by their childrens' gravity. I love you, earth. There's lots of serious things down there -- for example, it boxes you down and groans around you. I've ridden bareback on the snake, said the first man coming up. You should see the size of it he added, I'm nothing compared to him. Asked for some chewing tobacco. Returned home, to the blinding white of his wife's t-shirt. Squinting, as if it was television.
the hips of the black snake...
I ache for the flowers of saturation, knowing they will come
memories are tinsel yelpings
king knockonwood desires nothing more than your full execution. please send yourself in the mail as proof of loyalty. mail head seperately.
1 comment:
Dear Inkspot,
Glad to hear Mooch is being well cared for - happy doggie. Humdrum butterflies breathe wings of new song. You heard wrong. My new boyfriend is more intelligent than the last, and if he's really smart he will be the last. The fly on my wall wants to tell me stories. But I hope he won’t get eaten by the spider nearby.
Yrs, Change of Scenery.
p.s. The mailbox is too small - I'll have to deliver by messenger.
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