Jeremiah's School of Levitation

So, Mona put forth the Friday word as "crush" and I'm just getting around to writing about it. Okay, fine, I'm not writing about it, but actually pulling some pre-written writings from my journal (like dry gum from underneath my third grade desk). I did this because when I saw the word, I was reminded of my "oh, pity me" writings that I stick in the corners of my notebooks. Those writings always start out lamenting my crushed spirit, and they end up cracking me up because they are so maudlin because, as of this moment, knock upon my wooden head, I am far short of tragedy and these writings more represent a person looking for the origin of pity than they represent someone "in trouble." In perspective, my despair runs much deeper than words--some fundamental things are going to have to change to make me bust out the ballet slippers, but, as it stands, I've got a fairly happy life and, my pants from seven years ago STILL FIT! So, hey, after roughly 3,000 pieces of bacon (I ain't kidding), I'm still not adding new cracks to the sidewalk. Good! Bring on more bacon!

So, in honor of being crushed, I offer two bits of lamentation that went awry:

Coat of Bricks

I wore this coat of bricks, for days and years, sunset to sunset. Bricks is itchy, bricks scratch your skin, and bricks bite like tiny alligators with brick teeth. When I walked in my coat of bricks, I made an awful noise, like crunching and chunking and I had to cover my own ears so that I couldn't hear myself bricking around. I smelled the rocky dust of bricks all the time. When I smiled, which was rare, my teeth were red with brick dust and my tongue was sprinkled with the stuff. I chewed and swallowed the deserved grit.

I rested often, but you see, you don't really rest when you are covered with bricks. You don't really rest. It gets heavy to rest, and it hurts. So, after a while, I'd get up and start bricking my way around again. The only time I slept was when I passed out from fatigue and pain. When I passed out, I dreamed of floating. Actually, even when awake, I dreamed of floating. Floating free of bricks.

Some Nature

Crush the flowers and smell between your fingers. Smear yourself with nature's perfume, but be careful, because as the fragrance rises, so may the hives on your skin! Ha! Don't get too poetic in the woods. Don't sit and ponder until you check around your pondering space to make sure that there aren't marauding mandibles ready to rip into your skin! And, ah, the crinkling sound of the rushing stream. Go there and admire it, but know that swarms of mosquitoes are primed to painfully rob you of your blood, one drop at a time! Or, if the waters are inviting, you way want to wade in, but be all aware of sneaky currents and hypothermia, because, if this is a mountain stream, then that's possibly freshly melted snow, colder than hate! Ahhhh! Or, is it AAAAAAAH!

Given your set up, i couldn't help giggling a little at these pieces, especially the coat of many bricks.

ooohhh... watch out for those sneaky hives!!!

colder than hate - what a great metaphor - is that a metaphor? Gawd.

There should be Bacon Day. A Bacon Parade wherein we wear coats of bacon and eat handsful of crispy bacon, and wear bacon hats festooned with small plastic flowers.

Bacon.

Mmmm....

Hi, I came from Meno's blog.

Coat of Bricks, I love. It reminds me of the way Shel Silverstein writes (we love The Missing Piece around here).

Also I like your slinky story. Everybody's got something, don't they? Have a great day.