*I would love for this to be made into a video animation corresponding with a reading of the text. I encourage and appreciate all contributions!*
We Are All Dripping
We are all dripping, dripping, dripping down storm drains into cosmic chasms of unknown proportions, terror, and bliss all neatly arranged in a freshly licked envelope stamped dogma; pounding the pavement as we scrape our bellies on industrial-era cobblestone and philosophize over who is pulling our feet; wishing upon fallen stars for more milk chocolate thrills and spills and kills so long as we feel the senses tingle and quiver like a ball of yarn under attack from the paw of a cat that is both soft and sharp because all that we can perceive of reality is what we feel, not the surreal or the ethereal or any other kind of real other than real itself due to the incontestable fact that nothing can be real other than what is real, and what is real is nothing other than what we feel, and to feel is to be and to be is to feel…
And so the never-ending cycle spins like classic American blue jeans in a dryer all sopped up with brand name detergents that wash away the sins of sinners who so happen to wear denim, since as we all know people who wear flannel can do no bad. If they did their imperfections would stick like highway tar to their cloth personifications and all would know what they had done, because after all you need hot water to wash flannel, but no one can afford hot water these days which are really the same as every other day that has been, is, or will ever be.
And as we stand around flagpoles saluting with phantom limbs we dream in pixels of money falling from the sky like cats and dogs that bark and meow in our ears in the dead of night, so that when the sun rises we walk in a lucid trance through streets paved with childhood memories on our way to the retail store where we shake hands with the clean shaven pimp and walk away clutching an aluminum whore.
And under the light of jarred fireflies we slap cards on the decks of rogue locomotives that traverse the furrows of our brows as we stare through dilated pupils at the stars above and wonder how a tilt of the neck can make you a heretic.
And over cups of tea with Grandma we contemplate the color red before sharpening the blades of our sickle on Rockefeller’s teeth as we make our way over trench-coat bridges to the place where Einstein sits all day strumming a ukulele and singing E=MC^2.
And all the while we are dripping, dripping, dripping away…
Created: Jul 17, 2010Document Media