Lately I've been diving head first into excitement. Just lappin' it up for tomorrow may never die. Sometimes I get so excited I say things that don't belong in human's ears--words that haven't even been invented yet. Like solarcosmiccandyfartgun and telefonuck, for when you talk too much to a robot.
People have been reprimanding me for calling ladies "toots-mobile" or honking at kids and saying the days of the week backwards and so on. They should be flattered. I'm just trying to believe in joy.
I've been getting really natural at noticing things. There's a lot to learn from noticing. The other day my friend told me he wanted to live in the sewer. I told him that wasn't true. I told him it would smell too much stink grenade. But just so I didn't come across as a mind trap I went down to check it out for myself. I found a man who looked like a pencil with a raisin head. His clothes were rag sponge. His job was to scrub magic marker off a magic sign. I noticed how hard he worked and how he didn't believe in smiles or vanilla sweets. I asked him if he ever felt like his life was harder off than mine. He said sometimes it was, but other times, it wasn't so bad, like when he got a good look at a nice toots-mobile. I still think about that old pencil neck. He might be dead now.
I rode a train that day. I noticed how some people can't get enough hair, and other's have too much. There was one man next to me who had too much. His face was like an evolution frog with legs and bristle mouth. His eye browsers were tree parts and he smelled like a barber's forest. Our stomach's were almost touching cause the silver bullet was full of traffic. He wore a glove on his right hand. It was clear, but the brown stuff in it was not. I didn't ask him about it. I had felt enough sympo-empathetical for one day.
Tonight I got off from a random jamboree at 4am, which is earlier than usual. As I rode home in a limo time machine I thought about everything that's ever happened in the world, and looked at the moon hang between the trees. When I squinted the days ran together and the future passed by, sleepy like the wind. I pretended to be in love and asked the driver to play something classical. She scrolled the knob, stopping at every point, asking, "this?" "this?" "this?" then she found it and it found me and we embraced on the skyway bridge, before slipping into the tunnel of rain.
It felt good to be such a hot shot of miracles. Sometimes when I tell strays about my life they don't believe me.
People have been reprimanding me for calling ladies "toots-mobile" or honking at kids and saying the days of the week backwards and so on. They should be flattered. I'm just trying to believe in joy.
I've been getting really natural at noticing things. There's a lot to learn from noticing. The other day my friend told me he wanted to live in the sewer. I told him that wasn't true. I told him it would smell too much stink grenade. But just so I didn't come across as a mind trap I went down to check it out for myself. I found a man who looked like a pencil with a raisin head. His clothes were rag sponge. His job was to scrub magic marker off a magic sign. I noticed how hard he worked and how he didn't believe in smiles or vanilla sweets. I asked him if he ever felt like his life was harder off than mine. He said sometimes it was, but other times, it wasn't so bad, like when he got a good look at a nice toots-mobile. I still think about that old pencil neck. He might be dead now.
I rode a train that day. I noticed how some people can't get enough hair, and other's have too much. There was one man next to me who had too much. His face was like an evolution frog with legs and bristle mouth. His eye browsers were tree parts and he smelled like a barber's forest. Our stomach's were almost touching cause the silver bullet was full of traffic. He wore a glove on his right hand. It was clear, but the brown stuff in it was not. I didn't ask him about it. I had felt enough sympo-empathetical for one day.
Tonight I got off from a random jamboree at 4am, which is earlier than usual. As I rode home in a limo time machine I thought about everything that's ever happened in the world, and looked at the moon hang between the trees. When I squinted the days ran together and the future passed by, sleepy like the wind. I pretended to be in love and asked the driver to play something classical. She scrolled the knob, stopping at every point, asking, "this?" "this?" "this?" then she found it and it found me and we embraced on the skyway bridge, before slipping into the tunnel of rain.
It felt good to be such a hot shot of miracles. Sometimes when I tell strays about my life they don't believe me.
