The Small Room

'There's a dark clicking sound; billowing out like a bed sheet' The Moose was sitting in front of a burnt out television grumbling and Sally was folding real origami (not the type one normally sees laying around.) 'You're not listening to me' complained the grey striped cat 'where did he come from?' I wondered out loud. There was a lot of silence and I so took most of it and put it in the fridge being careful not to touch the wall which was dripping with green paint. 'Don't put your fingers in your mouth' said the grey striped cat again causing the Moose to jump violently smashing the fish bowl. 'Take this fish away now' commented Sally, so taking the fish into another room where a group of small people sitting around a fire were happy to take him. 'Such a shame, such a shame' moaned the grey striped cat yet again. Sally jumped up giggling 'it's stopped!' the Moose went over and helped her pick up all the books and we put them back on the shelf 'I'm going to bed' announced the grey striped cat, no one commented 'okay then' I said 'my finger's bleeding' Sally wrapped it in some origami. There was a lot of space now, so I put some in a plastic bag and placed it in the deep freeze.

City of Mud

Underwater, under the cobblestone streets,

And alleys smoggy winding, lonely crying.

In air thick as water, and walls of concrete,

Dangly ropes, stone and rusting pipes lying. 

Playgrounds of mud and murkiness feeding,

Crawling insects, unsuspecting passers,

Rippling skies, churning and bleeding,

Spiders twisting, creeping, disasters.

A home is a home and there's no doubt,

Underneath the streets seeping down,

Here and there and everywhere all about,

Millions of homes are sure to be found. 

In the Library Again

Inside library door hung the sign "Honesty is scarce and so are mice" it was locked so we opened it and went in, there were a lot of books as one would expect in a library "A lemon tree is growing down the hall" said the Moose. "Growing down the hall?" queried the person in the fourth chair, the Moose gave him one of his looks (and by look I mean look) "muffins and jam anyone?" said the library girl carrying a wobbly tray. The third chair person in the chair slapped his leg and laughed again "oh my what ever next?" when Moose shook his head and didn't say something I picked up a green book and upon opening it some magic fell out "darn cockroaches" bubbled the other person irritatingly. Then Sally walked in and the confusion left "don't walk on that dear; you'll break it" said the Moose not pointing and starting it all again. I realised this could go on forever so I decided to stay and do absolutely nothing at all.

The Bereft City of Care Takers

Room after room filled with gloating tables, on each table sits a lamp. Once they kept this whole city alight but those days are long since past and the mangled cords lead off into the darkness. Be careful where your foot falls for in this macabre murkiness our going is not yet clear, each step driving up pallid dust. Why must the light be all but gone excepting the unhappy illumination? And whither does our going lead? Remember always to shut behind you the door whence you came. The iron framework becomes as a bird cage, the sizeless rooms an unending maze and upon broken glass smiles the unhappy reflecting illumination.

Feeling Trumpsugaratic

You know that when you feel all trumpsugaratic and it makes you all happy like a happy bee then you know that you're as happy as a happy bee can be, which is how it feels when you're feeling all trumpsugaratic which I am.

On Wisdom

Sometimes when I need to feel wise I don't say anything because everything has already been said so I would just be rephrasing it; like I've probably just done here...

A Theory About Getting Golden Keys

Inside the real house is a gold key, to open the door and get in you need to imagine you hold the key already. Cross between reality and imagination until it doesn't matter which is which and only then you can achieve the impossible, which is impossible unless you imagine it's not -I think or maybe it's the other way around?

Laconism

I specifically hate pallid similarities in my disquietude! It just creeps me out like I-don't-know-what! Oh deary me what a to do, and what with the exuberance of incoordinate tintinnabulation I'm audibly empathetic in harmonic disrespect. Not to mention my awareness is a little eeny weeny teeny tiny itsy bitsy bit jocular, or is that macabre? or maybe blithe? Anyhow, all in all I do feel exceedingly rattled to the point of being rendered into complete and unquestionable situation.

The Death of the Magical Bat

Everything is so loud then it's so soft then it spins around and gets really bright and then poof its all gone fluttering away like a glowing butterfly and I chase after it until it comes to the wall and goes through a keyhole... I have the key now but there's no door so I peek through and see all the trees are bending and breaking and being uprooted by the magic pouring out of the Magical Bat who is being killed by the luminous butterfly...

A Door vs Window

I love doors. Windows are 'looking things' because one can only say "look through the window at the snow or the flowers" and then do that without getting cold or stepping on a bee. But doors are 'doing things' because one can say "lets go out the door and build a snowman or pick flowers" and when one goes out a door the possibility of an adventure is always imminent...

The Butterfly Tree Room

Slowly we open our eyes and let them adjust to the glowing brightness. The first thing one notices is a large tree on a green grassy hill in the centre of the room, of which is quite extensive and very high ceilinged. The grass spreads right down from the hill up to the walls and is smooth as a bowling green. There are a number of terracotta pots scattered here and there growing flowers. Butterflies swarm or swoop around or whatever they do “flutter I would think” suggested the Moose. They circled (or fluttered) around the top of the tree and then down to a flower in a pot then off again looking more or less like a colourful snow storm. "I do think this room is perfect for a picnic" I thought out loud...

The Gift

Covered in newspaper is the dining room table. At each end are empty coffee mugs. In the middle sits an excited young boy. He is glancing around to his mother in the small kitchen. She carries a bowl of soup into the dining room and sets it before him. White washed stone are the walls of the dinning room. Slowly the wooden front door opens. The boys father comes in and puts a log on the fire. He opens his coat bringing out a small wrapped gift and hands it to his wife. She holds it to her heart. The young boy has finished his soup. The mother hands the gift to her son and stands beside her husband. The young boy looks up at his parents. They smile and nod. The young boy tears the paper from the gift. In the silence this sounds very loud. More and more paper he tears away. The paper falls to the wooden floor. Still more paper he tears away. Finally the last shred falls to the floor. The gift is a small box. The young boy opens the box and his face is filled with joy. A baby rabbit is inside. The young boy lifts it out and holds it up. Tears fill his eyes. Something is wrong.