8 May 2012
I know a man who is just as lost as I am. Wandering aimlessly up and down a road paved of others big footprints; looking for the one that hasn't been there before. But until then, he'll continue living in his yellow house with Popsicle shingles. He wakes up to the sound of street performers in his bedroom. He brushes his teeth upside down. Eats his breakfast on the roof and dresses in cardboard boxes tied with twine.
He rides his bike with triangle tires to work. He makes phone calls on his play dough telephone, and takes messages even though they can't be heard. He types with his toes and strides on circles around the office. His boss has an office with windows made of jello. Maybe one day he'll eat through the window an disappear. His boss drinks his coffee from a fish tank and read reports through glasses with seven different lenses; but that still doesn't help his vision.
He finishes his work day and continues home, taking the bus that travels the long way back. The bus driver reads while she drives letting the bus turn every which way and drive itself. The man looks out the sparkly windows and watches the flowers sing to each other as the bus speeds along. He waves to the river and shakes hands with the trees. Then the day is over and the ridiculous cycle continues.
I would think the man is in a zoo. I look at him with caged eyes and a distant view. I wave a finger or three and he touches my shoulder. I remember I'm in the cage with him. And so is his boss, and so is the bus driver, and so is everyone else. We smile an know nothing is wrong a "fine frenzy" someone important once said. Life is whimsical, the way it's always been and that's the way we prefer it around here.
So together we parade around the talking town, inviting anyone who pleases to join. Our hair made of spaghetti, and out finger tips reaching for any kind of space, looking for a new path.
Spaghetti Hair • Opuss № I