Orpheus Weaponry

Copped some rocks from the greengrocer today. Talk about a cauliflower rainbow, hot damn! Jimmity Crockett and I went down to the swimming hole later for raisin shish kabobs and tapioca juice. Hit the spot real nice! Tell you what, you give me and old Crockett a thimble and some paprika, we’ll make a picnic out of it — a damn good picnic, too. Bet your boots.

Holy cats, have you ever eaten soup with a bunch of people? Man, talk about gross! Even if everyone is trying their damnedest not to slurp, when there are enough heads at the table, someone is bound to fall into darkness. Not to mention the goddamn clanking of spoons! Sheesh!

If you run for an hour and rest for an hour and then run for another hour, you’re ahead of the game. You have the rest of your life to count flowers in your neighbor’s garden, so you should just skip that and head straight for the porch. Ring the bell and let yourself in before anyone answers. When they ask what you’re doing you tell them, you say, Something I should have done a long time ago, and you drop down to the floor and you sit and hold your breath and they’ll give you a wide berth and you’ll stay as long as you like. Get up, then, and see if you can’t find your way to the backyard. You’ll be able to do it, guaranteed. You’ll be all the stronger for it.

Ah! Ah! Out of here quick –step now, gentlemen. Monday evening we’ll take a swim under the footbridge and catch fireflies with our hands, and we’ll have brought sandwiches but they’ll get stolen along with our clothes and we’ll be stuck out in the water with just the fireflies, who won’t know either what we’re doing and how we got there.

A hundred flowers bloomed last night in my backyard. Terrifying, absolutely terrifying. Flowers of every color, every size. Cheese flowers, raisin flowers, raspberry flowers. Anemones. I breathed them all in at once and caught my breath. It slipped from my grasp, and I caught it again. A giant crash, and I fell through the floor into a room with no window. Sighing, sighing, sighing. Signs of dreams and leftover spectacle flicker and fade, each wall a story. Wide-eyed, unsmiling I follow a bell to the end of a tunnel and find a bag of sand. I cut it open and pour it out.