Lunch

I am making mac and cheese. There are minutes within every second, if only I could unpack all these boxes. Spring, a merry-go-round for children. Horrifying movies are made everyday. Our roommate’s white cat, Mooey, just purred. Water spilling over. A door opens and on the other side is a bed room not currently mine. Do you think I’ll get the position? I do not know where I will live at the end of this month. Soon these words will appear as a toothbrush, a guitar string, the colander awaiting mac and cheese. Italy must be a beautiful country. Someone left half an avocado with a spoon in it on the counter; a lack of laughter gnawing on it. Yesterday I received this email:  “Since you sound like a lovely individual, I would advise you to avoid typos and punctuation errors in emails looking for a job! Good luck in your search. The typos make your email too unprofessional to consider.” What is there to believe about a mirror? More space than space. Knives cut at what must occur to help embellish the direction of the stream. Here count to 3. Thank you = each instant; dynamic particular to the embodiment of the moment. Greenish-white flowers have become the face of a tree in the backyard. I just cut myself on the razor-metalic lid of a tin can, it felt like it went to the bone. Thick dark crimson blob dripping on the keypad. Tomatoes.  

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4 thoughts on “Lunch

    1. Thought provoking attachment, appreciate the presence of what it suggests–unfortunately it remains theoretical with glimpses of its suggestive determination as qualified within my perceptual sense of experience – I see what you mean like when you said ‘we were surprised you weren’t dead yet, we already had your funeral; sorry.’ But I didn’t believe you, it was something between the condemnation of your religious fanatical appeal and reasonable certainty, which has wedged an indeterminate gap between what you say, what you have to say, and what I hear, or what I hear you say–the only way to possibly or at least potentially reconcile these distances would be to request for you to submit your authorial predispositions to the recognizable abiding of the present tense–upon such a submission you will inevitably see the blockages and suffocating confines that have strangled your throat, bringing nothing but pollution and nuclear waste to our families and friends–and upon such clarity you will see what you’ve done wrong, how to ask for forgiveness, and learn the ways of the Lady.

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