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Ideas And Insults
It did not make imperfect sense when Jacque said it, that I should get a Koala Bear to tend to the bamboo instead of engaging in all these labor-intensive efforts.
I had used a sawzall to cut down a couple hundred fifteen foot stalks the other day and yesterday he and I were slicing through the large piles with a circular saw. The more manageable six-foot lengths we were then grouping into not so heavy bundles, which we contained with twine.
Before loading these many bundles into the bed of my truck and securing them with criss-crossing tie-down straps, we had loaded up and hauled to the dump on Elysian Fields, with a fair amount of frustration on my part, a huge pile of shredded banana trees that under the mandate of M had been massacred by E. Greeyne.
"E kinda effed up these banana trees," I said.
"Yeah," Jacque said.
I was frustrated. I said, "F-ing college boy."
"Yeah," Jacque said.
"I shouldna sharpened that machete for him. Made it too easy for him."
"Yeah, he made 'em like confetti," Jacque said.
About fifteen minutes apart from each other a couple of bangers who I respect made fun of Jacque, behind my back, for helping me. I like the guys but I wanted to kill them at that moment. Figures of speech sometimes aren't. The one banger came by me later, after the truck was fully loaded and I shook his hand and insulted him under the radar and that ain't right if I did indeed mean it in the way it could be construed. But fuck you man, I've had this keyboard in front of me for many years and I haven't really disrespected you in any real proportion to the amount of material I have regarding you. I know that super ego of yours has helped you through some recent hard times but you need to keep it under reign regarding me and mine.
Another man, looking like the Bigtimer, came by later, blowing hot air to M about how she shouldn't cut down all her landscaping and whether inside or outside his earshot, I don't know or care but I told him to go fuck himself and mind his own business. A fucking idea man who don't lift a finger. Sack of excrement.
Well, I awoke out of a fevered sleep, took a shower, then realized it was only one in the morning. So I wrote this. Now I don't know what to do. I can read, I guess.
Nine Life Metaphor
Kitten got it good. She shiny. She soft. She got the perfect black and white markings of cuteness. She got people. She got life.
Kitten does not appear to be in need of anything. One of those boy cats from her clan (same markings) was sniffing her up out there a minute ago and she turned around and batted boy cat upside his head, with impunity. Impunity, that mean no harm came back her way.
I saw a black cat up on the roof of Mr. Bunn's store and I wondered if it might be Shorty because she ain't around here no more. I don't think Shorty is dead because she survived too long to forget how to do it in just the few months I was gone. I did not spoil Shorty with too much food scrap because I figured that to be her death. I maybe spoil her a little though. So she could be dead. All science fiction aside and no offense to the imagined richness of your existence but it may be true that we all dead. So cheer up. If we all dead, Shorty lives.
I see the yellow bastard. And I see Johnny and Susie and I see Michael and Robert and…that lady on Romper Room never did once see me. I was always right there with my common name and she would just look right by me. Arlen and Cassius my ass.
Ain't no cats want to hang around here now with that Pentecostal lot all manicured. No place to hide from the evil that lurks. It sure is improved though. Man, property values just skyrocketing right through the roof. Right through the roof.
They be waiting to build that fence to see if I am going to sue them right back to the stone age (that'll cramp a body's style) for accidentally cutting down my little weed trees when they cut down those big shade trees. I ain't gonna sue nobody but maybe I will, I unpredictable. Crapshit. Who knew I was gonna say that? There a time period after which you can't sue a body and the day after that you will see a fence next door to me. They a wily bunch them Pentecostals. They also got the patience of Job, which ain't no big trick when you spend all your days in a church building. Affecting a religious metaphor I mean is the part that ain't a big deal.
I was doing the math a few days ago, counting up how many of my nine lives is left and I became discouraged after the count to six so I just quit counting and what a bunch of nonsense that is anyway. I mean what are the rules for determining the potentiality of your expirations? Nine lives my ass.