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Reflection In Floor

There are spots on me that I deem to be cancerous. Some are growing and spreading their wrath. On bad days I foster their growth and send them my blessings. Wouldn't it be convenient to die and avoid the mess I'm in? But, as is usually the case, the wandering perils subside and the sun shines once again. Then I eat healthier and curse my various mutations, thus sending them into retreat - hiding until another dark day.

We have bodies, which, if otherwise unhindered, have a shelf life for life expenditure. Smoking, the most enthralling of activities, would render my life shorter; sending me to deaths gates all the quicker. And what then? The most fantastic ride, that's what. Or complete and utter paranoia. The latter being a poor substitute for homelessness. But life after death is not my concern. It's what we do with our resources now that I'm concerned about.

As I smoke cigarette after cigarette and eat burnt marshmallows with every meal, so others deplete our earth of it's resources to aid it's imminent destruction, which ends not only their miserable existence, but also that of everything (except for the very hardy. Hardiness, as portrayed by beings, is also miserable.)

I'm going to go take a three hour long shower while blasting my favorite song from each of my eight speakers, while all the windows are open blowing snow in through the windows, and the heat is raging, and spaghetti is on to boil and there are an assortment of animals roasting in the oven and while the team of  house keepers wax my floors.

1 comment:

Charli Henley said...

Hi Juan! Thanks for stopping by my blog. I like this post! I'll keep reading!