Monday, February 21, 2011

SICKER THAN YOU--PART 2




ULATE to that WHen I went into the brains for what I was seeing eech out onto the plastic and over there onto each glass that stood proudly on the top row of cleandom…I realize what I saw was none other than verifiably indescribable evidence of none other than “OLD”. It was Old. Oldness. Decrepancy was foolishly accepted as wise under guise for thrift or “use it up wear it out” etc.

I knew clothes had a shelf life…quilts…shoes…but cups and saucers and tumblers and bowls? Bowls least of all…but for the very evidence that life hammers on things. That’s the facts. When things of this nature enter our lips we are bruised inside… but unknowingly as to the HOW. We are never suspect. But until we are microscopicked our of our cheer…we accept the need not to toss something just because the white chalky stuff or leftover soap seems innocent enough. But these are toxic at any level to great, and we think our body doesn’t bare the scars INSIDE or out…for it is barely of the capacity to determine WHAT it is we were seeing there.

MY SAME voice rebuke me several years earlier about one thing no one else seemed to care about. The pans we cook from with their magic alcrity to remove the food at whose leisure? I will reconsider now never to have told this for Teflon will pout and get humongous lawsuits…so I will withdraw the implication that our own sanity says WHEN that pan is not used as suggested, by wood and plasicry…the metal utensils VIL VIPE a scar too broad NOT to see, and that then melts into your food producing such alacrity of spirit as early childhood arthritis, and premenstrualtz against cheer for further developing a child’s life in the wombs or good old fashioned headache too severe not to continue calling it post tramatic almost stroke but more likely migraine syndrome. I do not doubt you don’t believe it’s capacity to scar your heart as well…but what it doth there is something surprisingly benign. I makes you more apathetic about anything else other than eventual death for the Barely’s and the Pranks and the all too comsumerly GLOW about you is redily against any discernment that an apoxy glue will hinder the spirit with nothing more engineeringly correctour than a moxy against what’s not convenient to know… It gets against us all to return to the mortifying territory in the brain of having to work too much to get the scortched food from an all metallic and nuetritionally correct SILVER and stainless steel pan.

For short. I don’t want to pain you any longer. So I won’t. Don’t look. Don’t see, and just send those tall matching plastic or glass gobblets to school with your proudest of highSchool graduates and see what turns up at the post office. NOTHING!! They will dis your cheer to bleak them further…for all is becoming of the newness of life…even the Styrofoam stuff that suffers no reintroduction to microwave planes of reheat or replentishing in the food line at the Garbulldi-gookerts will not allow the repeat of said suchings… Even when I bring back my plastic carton for a drink refill…the fastfood will not permit it’s return into the window’s edge. Not one inch to pass their dusty outcropping for the wizzers by with auto erroticams and fumes from over stuffed tailpipes ablouwndinkt!

So I listened. And I listen still. And I toss plates ands and pans and utensils and clubbed glubbingertz and the multitude of memories of the patterns and colors and what clothes they matched…and I live like a slob. For it worn on my heart to repeat the purchase of someone’s return for not knowing that I was not vulnerable to their willingness to buy a perky set of china just for one night but to return it the next day as if not used. And THAT does and DID happen to me. And while you whistle in the night for a charge plate not to mercily bespive your spirit…do you need to now throw back e’en the garbage they call food at the supermarket for not understanding the PACKAGE it now is surrounded with is repeat, reused and recyclingly urkable…I can’t stand that you don’t see that. I don’t’ even hallow soap now, until I have washed it off before letting it touch my skin…or my mouth to the plate of plastic or paper/cardboredishness that used to quicken my pace for purchase with picnics uhClammoe’urtz! How many now of those do you attend with lackluster enthuse…for the meat if not priced right was of a secondhand nature as well.

I refuse to answer now for your apathy at what the medical profession will require you to accomplish before gaining entrance into their spirited realms…. I will not.

I don’t wary now that the plastic can they put the water in is now as suspect to purchase individual bottled purchases in 6 or 9 or 12 packed stackings…but when I see it has sat in the sun for a hundred days next to the gas/fuel pickup stand…as if no fumes hunker down there…and no sun rays boar into the panels at the sides of these invisibly packaged containers…nor do I cherish my search for a pack of rats that have climbed onto it a million times before ever delivered to your favorite department store with a bargain guaranteed price.

So long, giants of the same claim to fame as…uh…what’s his face…the famous designer and developer of…Styrofoam beGillickt millionairicamst against all cheer. He’s now not even alive…but we pretend it’s for another reason that he was no where to be found when a son when BULListicly Chinese enComeOn’d.

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