51/52: Porcine
Nov. 3rd, 2024 07:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rejectomorphAnd so, to my surprise, I've survived another round of daylight saving time, and woke at what I'd thought was about four thirty this morning but the clock said was only half past three. It put me quite out of sorts, though not without a sense of relief that this moment of unwonted disruption was over until next spring. This is what happens when humans mess with mother nature's railroads' time! It's no wonder the trains had passed through the mini-metropolis so quietly last night that they didn't wake me. They were doubtlessly muffling themselves in heavy mourning garb! I wish I could have seen that sight! Without getting out of my cozy bed, of course.
Finding myself not yet a corpse yet again means I must continue to deal with the slings and arrows, aka daily tasks, of that outrageous fortune we know as life. Consciousness already issues demands such as "eat something!" and "go sit on the toilet before your crap yourself!" which I find both intrusive and humiliating in their abject practicality. True, my continued material existence (no great prize itself in any case) is not utterly dependent on the immediate fetching of fresh milk, but something in my mostly broken brain keeps insisting it is as good as, and that my ass needs to be gotten off of as soon as possible and the situation dealt with in a responsible, adult manner or we will throw a tantrum!
Oh, the balderdash, the bollocks, the bullshit, the porcine breakfast of life!
Sunday Verse
by Alicia E. Stallings
The demons were more beautiful than the angels.
They had no qualms about plastic surgery.
They took to wearing black: didn't show dirt
In the city like Innocence, which anyway
Couldn't be worn between Labor Day and Easter.
They tired of grudging angels their gilded hair
& had theirs done. Their complexions were so pale
The blond looked natural, only more so.
They shrunk their wings into fashionable tattoos
So cashmere suits draped better from their shoulders.
Elocution lessons turned hisses to lisps.
The demons converted. They became Episcopalian,
Name-dropped high-ups in the Company of Heaven.
As for Evil, it became too much trouble:
The demons started to shirk the menial jobs
Which like good deeds, took one among the poor,
And bruised the manicure of rose-petal nails.
They preferred to stand by & watch Evil happen,
Or offended by odors & noise, even turned away.
They had become so beautiful, even the angels
(Who never looked in mirrors to comb their hair,
Afraid to be called vain, & never bought clothes
Since the old ones didn't wear out, just got shabby)
Left the lovely demons to languish, dropping all charges
On the spoiled creatures. They were that good.
Finding myself not yet a corpse yet again means I must continue to deal with the slings and arrows, aka daily tasks, of that outrageous fortune we know as life. Consciousness already issues demands such as "eat something!" and "go sit on the toilet before your crap yourself!" which I find both intrusive and humiliating in their abject practicality. True, my continued material existence (no great prize itself in any case) is not utterly dependent on the immediate fetching of fresh milk, but something in my mostly broken brain keeps insisting it is as good as, and that my ass needs to be gotten off of as soon as possible and the situation dealt with in a responsible, adult manner or we will throw a tantrum!
Oh, the balderdash, the bollocks, the bullshit, the porcine breakfast of life!
Sunday Verse
How the Demons were Assimilated & Became Productive Citizens
by Alicia E. Stallings
The demons were more beautiful than the angels.
They had no qualms about plastic surgery.
They took to wearing black: didn't show dirt
In the city like Innocence, which anyway
Couldn't be worn between Labor Day and Easter.
They tired of grudging angels their gilded hair
& had theirs done. Their complexions were so pale
The blond looked natural, only more so.
They shrunk their wings into fashionable tattoos
So cashmere suits draped better from their shoulders.
Elocution lessons turned hisses to lisps.
The demons converted. They became Episcopalian,
Name-dropped high-ups in the Company of Heaven.
As for Evil, it became too much trouble:
The demons started to shirk the menial jobs
Which like good deeds, took one among the poor,
And bruised the manicure of rose-petal nails.
They preferred to stand by & watch Evil happen,
Or offended by odors & noise, even turned away.
They had become so beautiful, even the angels
(Who never looked in mirrors to comb their hair,
Afraid to be called vain, & never bought clothes
Since the old ones didn't wear out, just got shabby)
Left the lovely demons to languish, dropping all charges
On the spoiled creatures. They were that good.
