Jack and Jill and Daniel and William and a chicken

Jack and Jill went over the hill because Daniel didn't know what to write. He wrote the Romeo and Juliet were incestuous lovers. William detested the reworking, but Daniel called it a re-mix with an unexpected twist.

Jill stumbled upon a bowl of cereal, complete with milk and spoon. Without thought, but with delight, she ate the bowl. William sent her across the road with the chicken because the bowl was his only meal for the day.

The chicken Jill killed because a bowl of cereal even with milk and spoon was not enough to sate her.

Of the Lost Soul

If a tree falls in a forest and I am around to hear it, does it make a sound?

Lost soul

A lost soul wanders the halls here

Up and down the halls                                                                        (a lost soul here wanders)

Every day, dark and night                             (the halls up and down wanders here a lost soul)

Simple cinnamon satisfaction

The daily pummeling of each memory tires her. Each memory assaults over and over.

Stop.

Stop.

They return later. 

                              Pummeling.

                                   Pummeling.

                                                                          Pummeling.

Persistent pummeling.

The curse is cryptic enough that she doesn't comprehend.

What has she done?

What has she done?

What has she done?

What has she done?

What has she done?

Could she have stopped it?

                              Pummeling.

                                   Pummeling.

                                                                          Pummeling.

Stop

Stop

Stop

 Stop 

Stop

Stop

 Pots

                              Pummeling.

                                   Pummeling.

                                                                          Pummeling.

Simple 

cinnamon 

satisfaction

He said. She said. They said.

He said. She said. They said.

To be a friend you needed something. You needed something that you were not, but you had to find it.

To be a friend, you must have a friend.

To have a friend, you must be a friend.

To be a friend, you needed something that you were not, but you had to find it because to be a friend, you must have a friend.

I tell them, the they, of the friend I once knew who led us to childish games of name-calling. It led to no friends.

This, the they said, was bad.

What would the they say?

The he before him said the same thing as the him after he said today. This, I am not surprised by. The they, there was no they before they, but if there was, they would be the them after they, not they, they said the same thing as the he before him and the him after he. The assumption was that I would understand, that I would thoughtlessly take to heart their thoughtless words. Whose mind was more clouded to have reached such a conclusion? Mine? Theirs? Perhaps it matters not.

What would the they say?

That is what I am told I should ask. I should not trust myself, not succumb to the notions within myself, but ask, what would the they say.

Does the they care? The he before him and the him after he did not. Does the they care?

What would the they say?

The other day, I saw a baby bird and I imagined the moment he would be run over by a semi.

A friend, on this same day, said he knows how to not die. This, I suppose, is important.

But far more valuable, is to know how to die.