An Egg

Turned over on its side, with one long and one short crack on the top and bottom of its shell, respectively. There is some speculation as to whether or not the shell actually contains an egg. We do not know how heavy it is. It would seem to require quite a lot of work not to mention no shortage of cleverness for somebody to have somehow removed the egg from its shell while somehow still keeping the shell intact. Mostly. Except for the cracks. It's possible that some type of machine could be used to do this. We don't really know. In all likelihood, the shell does in fact contain an egg. I like math. Some dogs are very fast.


A Pair Of Broken Spectacles

Left discarded in the backseat of a car and later found by you whilst doing anything but driving. The little plastic Jesus was there too, inevitably reminding you of your Catholic upbringing and causing you to flush with guilt, which you proceeded to enjoy as though it were a gift. This I failed to notice at the time, though it became clear to me after that day on the Veranda.


A Veranda

On which we drank absinthe and ate green apples, you singing Judy Garland as you slowly removed your clothes and threw them into the mud whilst I vomited over the edge in a steadily increasing state of horrific unpleasantness. When will the spinning stop? Will the spinning stop? Later on I awoke curled up in the mud pit, wearing your mother's favorite dress and pearl necklace. I don't understand how this could have happened. Your mother lives in New York with all of her belongings. We were in New Orleans. You were nowhere to be found. At least the spinning had stopped.


A Pearl Necklace

No Comment.


Buckets and Buckets of Hot Steaming Sauerkraut

Running down your legs, my back, your neck. Smeared all over my arms, dripping from your hair. Arranged delicately on your stomach, covering my hands and feet. Or was it all just a dream?


Our Lord Jesus Christ in Heaven

Suffering eternally for our sins. Or perhaps not.


A Half Melted Cube Of Sugar

Left sitting on a spoon at the foot of the bed. I saw it on the veranda earlier, menaced by butterflies and piercing sunlight. A book of matches leers at it menacingly from afar, causing what can be presumed to be an encroaching weariness in the spoon, most likely leading to a general sense of unease in the still dissolving cube of sugar.


A Floating Minotaur

Suspended exactly nine feet above the sun. Drinking wine from the fingertips of the saints and ceaselessly shouting random orders taken down on notepads by young boys with broken spectacles in their mouths. Black sand pours from the ears of the minotaur as blind insect nuns devour scissors and razor blades between his milky white shoulder blades, waiting for the fall of the black vibratory horse to snip the fingers of the saints and at last unleash the torrent of red wine that will overcome and drown the floating minotaur and thus set them free to defile young maidens in fields of pistols and sewing machines.


A Little Black Velvet Jesus Machine

Which talks to you while your sleeping. It's almost too much to bear, what with the impending threat of absolute and total exposure looming directly over both of our heads, not to mention the additional pressures weighing down on us from all sides regarding the secret egg code and its recent discovery by a small boy way too young and innocent to understand the full implications of what he'd found. Maybe we were wrong to destroy that book.


The Mysterious Dissapearance Of The Sun

Admittedly it hardly seems an issue anymore. After all, our ancestors lived without it for thousands of years. Or did they?


A Young Boy Wearing Overalls With Scissors In The Pockets

His mouth is filled with honey, thereby making his words sound unnaturally sweet. Surrounded by black sand and broken spectacles, he gives one final clue as to what it is that really happened between you and your mother on the veranda that day. It all started with the egg. It all ended with the bumblebee and what it had come to represent in our lives, or not as the case may be.


A Little Owl

That never bathes. And what's more, it's been following us for days now. Jesus had no genitals. Electricity comes from another planet.


A Discarded Cracker

Left on top of a scarlet envelope sitting on an antique wooden dresser. In close proximity lie six buttons and some tattered thread, posing a bit of a menace to the serenity and poise displayed so innocently by the cracker. Directly above hangs a bee, tied to the end of a piece of string which is attached to an otherwise unused light socket. Elsewhere, an unattended cigarette plunges from the kitchen table in an act of mindless despair.


The Stench Of Rancid Urine

In our clothes and on our livestock. Tall men with beards lie amongst our wives and our children bite stones to nullify their innermost beliefs and values. Throughout all of this seeming turmoil we remain calm and painted black. Flower petals descend softly from our gums and angels defile themselves at the foot of our bed. It started with the bee, the bee can be held accountable for all of this.


Collection of Object Descriptions

Found behind some cans of sauerkraut in an abandoned warehouse. Not all of the descriptions are of objects, some are more idealistic, and others are seemingly nonsensical. The collection is thought to have been destroyed by a woman desirous of protecting her daughter from the contents thereof.


Several Broken Fingers

Sitting in little tea cups, arranged in a circle around a pile of broken records. Appearantly your mother had arrived before we did. I blinked and saw Jesus wrapped backwards around the steering wheel with forks protruding from his wrists. I secretly smashed the egg while you inserted the bee into the socket, hoping and wishing and praying that it might nullify my memory of the past two weeks and make it all go away. In retrospect, I suppose I shouldn't have done that.


A Mute Sunset Deflowered By Delerious Pistols

Nothing gets me hotter than the buzzing of insects. I think that's what you uttered as the Minotaur finally went down in flames. Paper soaked in black ink peels from our skin as the Christ vomits a whirlwind of oysters for our amusement or for his. All good things go awry. Mothers arouse their sons with sandpaper and fathers deflower their daughters with sewing machines and automobiles. All of the animals mix in an incestuous orgy of death resulting in a confusion of forms to match the confusion of tongues crafted so steadfastly by the seamstresses of Babel. The stars turn black and seep out from the fingertips of abandoned children as the moon shines from the mouths of the steeds gone mad. Nothing will ever be the same again. The owl has returned to reap his eternal reward.


An Uncomfortable Silence

That went on forever.


The Debasement Of School Children

Which broke the silence.