Wednesday, 22 March 2017

The Animals' University

The giraffe slowly averted his gaze from the immodest act transpiring before his very eyes.  It was eating into his existence-contemplation-time (not that this duration brought him much happiness anyway, but he was obliged to do it.  He had a schedule to follow, after all.  Privately, he admitted to himself that it would be rather fun to watch the immodest act; at least that would be more satisfying.)


The giraffe could feel a slight disturbance propagating through the air inside his tubular ears.  He paid no attention, assuming it to be divine intervention so he could focus on his task more.  He closed his eyes presently, waiting for The Great Big Beyond to swallow him and take him to—


Ah, that sound again, so beautiful and enchanting; its pitch was different somehow, though…

He tore off a few more acacia leaves with his teeth and chewed them, much like a koala chews eucalyptus leaves—oh, but koalas were in Australia, and he’d never seen one on a tree before, much less actually eating, so was it right on his part to compare himself with a koala?  It was this question that now intrigued him, and he found himself quite at a loss to explain his thoughts to his jumpy, unquiet mind.  He sought to distance himself from the taste of the leaves, and instead pay more attention to the act of eating itself, not that that would be satisfying in the least.  He found his thoughts running like one of Japan’s bullet trains towards the notion of true satisfaction—


Oh, so the rabbit had been calling him all along.  He stared down at the space between his quirkily patterned legs.  He’d even gotten them tattooed a while ago.

“Yes, Professor?”

“I’m the janitor, sir!  (Really, these academics these days, I wonder what has become of them and their overlarge brains, can’t even clean up after themselves, look at that absolutely disgusting mound of shit with flies all over it—oh, goodness me, I’d rather not look) Sir, I—look at those two rabbits over there, sir!”

“Yes, Professor, what about them?”

“Well—er—” the rabbit stammered, his cheeks red as sandalwood (the Professor hadn’t seen that over the course of his lonely days, either), “Er—they’re holding paws, Professor!  Something ought to be done!  Holding hands is not allowed inside the university’s premises, Section 377 of the Abdominable Guidelines of the Animals’ University says so!”

“Blasphemy, my dear Professor!  It is girl rabbits and boy rabbits being in one another’s vicinity that is forbidden—I don’t see why they should be punished—you tell them off, if you see fit, rabbit…I can’t see why you would, though, those two will increase the population of your nearly-extinct species anyway, so you haven’t got an ant’s poop’s worth of rules to worry about here.”

The rabbit, needless to say, was extremely exasperated.


“There’s no need to call me Professor, Professor.  I understand the rules, and I’d like you to, too.  It isn’t every day we encounter students not actively trying to break rules anyhow.  Let them hold hands in peace, now; you’re disturbing my pooping time.”


Friday, 10 March 2017

Memory Lane.

Made on Fresh Paint

I won’t say the cold is piercing because

I have known what needles feel like


I haven’t been stabbed before,

I won’t say candies are sweet

For sometimes beginnings can be sweeter

Apples aren’t delicious because

Once I almost choked on a slice

Lights aren’t pretty

They might burn my eyes

Sometimes some music is noisy

All dark alleys aren’t poetic and beautiful

Neither are hearts, because they break

Nor are people, for they leave.

~ migration.

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