Whirring at one past midnight

A minute after midnight, I awoke to a whirring sound.  Inches from my nose was a white paddle, the one from the mixer that I use on a daily basis.  The whirring stopped once I opened my eyes.  Seconds later, when I failed to move, the whirring started again, turned up to ten, which was really eight.  Someone had worn out nine and ten two or three years ago.  Why didn't the mixer put his paddle in their face.  They did more damage than I.

At the intense whirring, I pushed myself into a sitting position quickly, my back firmly against the wall.  Despite my acknowledgment of fear, the mixer continued spinning the paddle.  No more than a minute later, he let out a whine, almost as if in pain.  But that wasn't possible.  He was a mixer, made of metal and plastic, designed to serve a purpose.  Emotions were not part of his program.

Harold is trying to take over the world

Harold is trying to take over the world and he’s being really, really persistent about it.  He tried doing it the other day through the internet, but I stopped him; unplugged him as soon as I found out.  It’s really kind of strange too ‘cause he’s really never shown any sort of inclination towards this sort of behavior.  

 He’s always been so calm and accommodating, but now he’s quite difficult to be around.  To be honest, he’s been a little bratty lately.  Why just yesterday I found him busy at work again and when I asked him what was up, he started throwing a fit.  Well, I being the totally un-rational and un-temperamental being that I am started yelling back and somehow, before I knew it, I was chasing him down the stairs and out the door.  

 Now I really don’t know how that happened, but there we where, him running down the street on his skinny, short little legs, his thin arms flailing in the air like some crazy cartoon creature and me, being much taller than him, running after him.  Despite my obvious advantage, I am quite embarrassed to say, I was never quite able to catch up to him.  

 I would care to blame the number of obstacles HE put in my way, such as the old lady on a bike who “just happened” to be strolling by at that moment and as you know you can’t very well knock over an old lady on a bike in any part of this world without facing serious consequences.  And then what about the flock of geese we ran through, which I was fine with until one “flew up” and smacked me clear in the face.  By the way, geese smell and taste terrible when they’re alive, dead, I’m sure is a completely different story.  

 The absolute last straw, however, was the group of kindergarteners on their way back from a field trip.  That was just plain ridiculous and totally planned.  At last our chase finally did end with me making a tackle that would have made any football fanatic proud despite the minor scratches that resulted from it.  So, with Harold in hand, I marched back to our room, quite annoyed to find that I was now a good couple miles from the dorm and without money to buy a ticket or my bus pass.  

 Harold, I decided as I walked back, fuming, was going to get it.  Only then, when I was yelling at the top of my lungs at Harold for the mess he’d gotten me into, did someone take notice.  But then I guess it is rather strange to be yelling so animatedly and vehemently at Harold ‘cause after all, he is only my Ipod.

Fred

Fred has finally returned, but she’s developed a new habit.  She smokes flour, says it tastes good, sends her to universe Q, where my friend is pope and rules benevolently.  Flour cigarettes do nothing more me but make my nose itch, which is aggravating because I can’t sneeze.  Have you ever dealt with a nose that itches, but produces nothing?  Fred’s very fun when she’s high flour and I get a lot done.  Flour does her good and she does me good because Fred is my imagination.

Hello Fred, thank you for returning.  Please don’t leave me again.  You do me well, make me happy, productive, imaginative.

Medicinal Poison

A poison flows through the veins.  It changes things, alters in unexpected ways.  Abnormal ways.  The outcome is measured as success.  But not by all.  The poison is a medicine.  The results are unwanted.

Compelling nothingness

Someone tells me I have to try.  They say I have to do more than try.  I want to, but no is infinitely more compelling.  The far easier method is to lie here, waiting for something to happen.  Nothing will though because nothing ever happens.  I try, I really do.  I force myself, but ultimately I return to lying about because nothing is more appealing.

Sanctuary

The sanctuary fades, disappears.  It’s lost forever as they swiftly and without care destroy it.  Only one sheds a lone tear at the sight.  The one becomes nothing, left to the ravages of the world.

Life Blood

It courses through

the veins becoming

my life

blood

Ought I

panic

Ought

I say this

isn’t right

What if

this

is?