Friday, 27 February 2009

A twisting tumble into despair

My life has become more and more strange. I feel increasingly detached, almost totally detached. Maybe a small part of my wrist is still attached.

The rest of me feels great - descending. I am looking through the ventian blinds onto on odd scene. There are twelve people auditioning to be my british best friend.

They have the bodies of sexy women but have my bosses face. Oh dear it is so hard to choose which one is my favourite british best friend. They all tell me that they are real and not fake.

There is a tube to my left that is being gripped by my hand. If I pull it down it will release the ants.

I release the ants.

The ants eat the british best friends. I am safe behind the venetian blinds.

There is a small protest group forming amongst the viscera of my british best friends. They all hold up cards that say 'murder is murder'. They are screaming at me.

I release the ants.

There is a list of things that are not true and i am going through them with my ants and eradicating them. I am eradicating fallacy. I am so angry about ignorance. The ants are resonating.

Don't ignore ants.

They are crawling over my wrist.


ex tee ex said...

i am sorry for this.

if you ever need an american best friend, i can help. without all the ants. hopefully.

ty bluesmith said...

i'm not good at being friends but i really dig your writing:)

Socrates Adams-Florou said...

hi ty - thankyou very much - you are kind and have the most exquisite taste