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Eating Dairy Will Turn You Into A Fly

Flies, like bad memories have gathered in the kitchen.  They took refuge in the warm loving arms of the garbage.  The sweet rotting meats and Pepsi residue  have become their friends.  I eat a lot of fruit because you are what you eat, and with the peels I used to throw them in my garbage in my room.  Somehow, by some miracle, the ugly winged insects would spring, like so many a horrible plant therein.  And, like an ant is useless without the hive, the flies are useless with out the garbage.  The garbage becomes an animal.  The flies become one entity.  I treat it as a pet, as though they are fishes, or, to a lesser extent, budgies.  Budgies love it when their necks are scratched.  Flies necks, however, are a bit to small for scratching, our fingers more like crushing machines to them.  So toothpicks, or other such utensils must be used, and even then, I'm not sure they like it, because I don't understand the nuances of they're speak.

 A friend entered my room once, and saw my pet, and was horrified and left as though they were the plague.  Calm down, they don't bite.  Or do they?  If so they are love bites.  Flies absolutely love you.  More so when you are dead, when your body becomes a nesting ground for them, but that is a completely different matter all together, and a different kind of fly.  

Hungry, horny, and ravaged, their existence is benefitting my karma.  It's because of me that they exist. Their lives are only a couple of days long, and all there is sex and eating.  Sex and eating.  Of course, we must all grow up, but If I'm coming back as a fly, I'm giving myself a chance. 


Eugenia Borkowski said...

very kafka-esque. May I suggest a rolled up magazine and bit of free time?

John Dantzer said...

I subscribe to american moose hunter.