| Sir.Spoon |
10-16-2007 12:59 AM |
Abstract Thoughts
So this is my latest creation, tell me what you think please. Note: This is a super confusing piece of writing
If I squint my eyes, I can see a rabbit. If I tilt to the side, I can envision a hare. If I force my eyelids open I see a jack a lope. If I lay on my side, I see my tear stained pillow. Perspectives, different points of view, that’s what they call them, the “they” being them, and the “them” meaning “thou” and thou has no meaning. Thou is abstract in relation to I. I being myself, myself being me, and me being Rowan Joseph Trowson. My perspective of the world is warped, morbid if thou will. Morbid in the least grotesque way. I see the world through one eye, that world being the four walls of my room, the fifth being the ceiling, and the sixth being the forbidden floor. My other eye blinks, winks, shrinks, and thinks, but righty never closes, if it does, the tortoise will beat the hare. The tortoise being a testudinidae, and a testudinidae being a box turtle. He or she, one can never tell, made his or her way across the gravel, trudging monotonously to the white starting line. At the second down he or she took a breather, one and half yards from the bold yellow center field. The hare being a rabbit and the rabbit being a jack a lope and the jack lope being a testimonial design on my stucco ceiling and that testimony is me. The football player, arrogant by stereotype, shy by sexual orientation, rebellious by socialization, and courteous by nature, bent down to a huddle with the turtle. I gave him the game plan, and picked him with my hands, ready to carry him to the end zone. I saw him or her, the chrome helmet hid the attacker’s face, shocked Mr. Turtle fell and scuttle to the goal, his touch down was not noticed, his victory cries were drowned out by horns squealing war cries. The attacker being a solid brick wall and the solid brick wall being a half ton truck doing 95 in a 70 zone took me out of the game. The game being life and nothing more. No connections, no realizations, no repetitions of metaphors. Life is a paralyzed boy strapped into a bed by his dead limbs waiting for the morning sun to arise. Dawn with it’s dew and scent and crisp breeze brings light into a fatigued room filled with soliloquies of thought. Carpenters make a third wall , Monologues break the forth wall, Physics breaks the fifth wall, and today Rowan Joseph Trowson will adventure into the sixth. Rowan Joesph Trowson being a hare and the hare being a tortoise and the tortoise being a crippled will accept that he is God. God knows all the perspectives, and know when I shut my eyes. I see “Love thou rose, but leave it on thy stem”.
So? What do you think? Edited once
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