Just Another Wednesday

Just Another Wednesday

Oh, you know, the grasshopper validated the porcupine’s obsession.

But that doesn’t—well, if you give the moon a moment, it will ride with the hay.

How does the variable align with the carrots?

I’m not sure but I’d like to know how factoids cover makeup.

But if we’re all in this together, how do the bees know when to hibernate?

I bet I can soup the trees into submission.

Oh, cats are just like me, but they have the foxes to thank.

If octopi are equivalent to drowning, I overcooked the goose.

Running the hill seems like …

I can dance the mushrooms away from the bread.

Dragons must have the asparagus to breed.

It’s clearly not that simple when you’re a goldfish.

I knew an ant once who charmed …

I can’t believe the banana would bite me that way.

Yes, it is a mystery how horses can drink ambrosia.

I wanted a daughter, but the sun told me to dance differently.

If pie were egregious, it wouldn’t be pudding.

I can conclude that soil emanates from skin.

I don’t know why mosquitoes are omniscient.

Haha the grass is in the esophagus again.

That’s what you know.

I never said I wanted the donkeys to invade Ireland.

Do you mean it’s all down the mustard from now on?

If they said amen, they must have sold the toilet to the fisherman.

I know I can’t dance the polka, but the leaves do migrate.

Well, if it’s against math, I should say the vegetables have won.

Interesting how the grill booms its way to freedom.

Imagine the university’s success upon attending the whale.

How utterly nonsensical! my subconscious laughs. Yes, but the proof is down the clouds my conscious touts back. This can’t be real, this isn’t right, no, none of this is normal my subconscious screams. In protest? It’s just another Wednesday. Besides, who’s to say what is normal? For if irregular is regular when it isn’t the regular thing to do, then, why, it must be the right way up. Or the sideways down. But who’s to know in these times, anyways? The generations before like to say that it’s out with the old, in with the new, yet when the new came round with genuine curiosity and bright ideas, the prior regurgitated them and laughed soundly in their eyeballs. You need help, my subconscious pleads. You need help straightaway. Your brain has wonked out on you. It’s turned to mush. It is no longer functioning at a pace that is acceptable for a brain, your brain, to function at. But should you preposition the end from the shadows of the beginning? No, I suppose you technically shouldn’t, but who’s to say what’s proper when it all varies arbitrarily moment to moment? If I needed an ancient book to expound to me what it entails to be moralistic, I do believe I should say I lost the battle of wills and wits. For it’s not complicated, really, but it’s a pondering person’s game and, quite frankly, most persons aren’t ponderful. Such is life and the cyclicality of the religious ethos. Well. If it’s a psychotic break you’re looking for, I do believe you have encountered it. But I’m not sure I want this; I’m not sure I’m ready. Oh, who ever is! Besides, brilliance ofttimes lies within insanity. Or is it the other way round? Well, no matter! It’s best if you just enjoy the ride; you can photosynthesize along the way. But I don’t like my heights, they are unfamiliar and disconcerting. I’m much more comfortable with the depths. I know what to expect there. No, it isn’t a good time, no, not one bit, but it’s predictable and somehow that seems safer. When you ride high, you never know how you’ll respond or which way you might turn to face disaster. Though, I suppose you might could argue that disaster is impending regardless of the distance. I suppose you could even argue it’s impended since before you grasped the Earth’s oxygen in your lungs. Or so I say. For a noose was the sensible way out of the impending crisis of life but Hippocrates looped that option off. Well, but it would be a poetic ending though, wouldn’t it? Oh, yes, I very much concur. But certain people love you, do they not? Yes, I am not arguing that. But am I wanted? Want. That is a hallmark of genuine love, wouldn’t you say? For I can love something but no longer want it and what then? It becomes the discarded treasure that once was held ever so tightly but now is only thought about during the moons blue. I know I never did align with the rest of the ducklings but I suppose that’s because I’m a unicorn. For if the masses all agree but you stand on the precipice solid on the knowledge they are, in fact, brainwashed, is that gaslighting? How do you recover from a life’s worth of misunderstanding and unappreciation? Do you continue running the marathon when everyone else has yet to even register? I suppose that means you’ll unequivocally win, but then there is no one there to celebrate with you. To understand and stand by you, to stand with you. So what good’s a win then? If absolutely no one gives a negative fuck, should you continue to orbit? I mean … is it truly that crazy to not want to feel crazy for being crazy? While it differs in degrees person to person, we are all of us social animals. So while having your differences can be elevating and enlightening, many times such differences that are seen in the extreme can be isolating and triggering. For who wants to be wholly shunned for who they are, their core, their theirness? And I suppose when you pile and rile all these factors together, it creates the perfect storm for the perfect psychotic break. A bit nonsensical really, but I suppose that’s life.