popov's revenge

The boy watched the ants closely. They worked continuously, no pausing, no resting. Awe-inspiring how they took tiny pieces and built huge colonies and tunnels and nurseries and pantries and god-knows-what-else. It was so intricate. Prodigious engineering wonders. Miracles of nature.

Feeling truly god-like by size and comparison, the boy raised his foot (or rather, holy instrument of justice) in order to administer a transcendental whoop-ass to his protectorate. In his blood-lust, he never noticed the oak behind him splintering near-noiselessly and receding to its new home on the earth.

Somewhere, a mime laughed out loud.

elephas maximas

I have enough trouble just getting on the subway to put up with their garbage. The constant staring and whispering. What the hell do they want from me? I'm big, deal with it. I have the kind of a tooth issue that orthodontists won't go near. The very real threat of domestication. I'd like to see them manage that shit.

Sometimes I wish I could just move to Kerala and be treated like a fucking god. My uncle Fil did that. He always said the Hindus had it right, and by Ganesh he lived the high life. No poaching, Ayurvedic dedoctions, best eats around, baths by cute mahouts... Damn.

I'm leaving this odious hellhole of a city.

neon

The lights give me a headache, but it's their eyes that are really depressing. I don't even know why I come any more, it doesn't excite me. Well, my body, anyway. I suppose I could be addicted to the melancholia...

When I win the lottery I'll open my own club: G-strings and Gloom. Nothing like truth in advertising.

rain

Fucking rain. I mean, I probably deserved it, but fucking still.

I went in the hall because the door was open. I'm not sure what I expected, but when I saw the food I went all in. Can't say I turned down the alcohol either. Scotch is, was, always will be my best friend.

So yeah, I got blitzed. Snockered. And apparantly, I got fun. Didn't matter that my heart was smashed, I was drunk and at a wedding of who-knows-the-fuck-who and it was a party. I remember taking the mic at some point, but fucking lord I have no idea what I said.

All I know now, a fucking month later, is that I got a picture of a wedding party in the mail. And I'm fucking in it. Nice, really. Good to know I'm part of a happy life, somewhere. I'll always be a fucking story. Couldn't ask for anything more.

Still, fucking rain.