life as a staple wire; der Fisch in meine Suppe
Was walking last night in an already nippy 11°C evening. Had to stop quickly. For the amber light. At Church and Gerrard. Threw my gaze at a pole. Peppered with staples. Just them staples. Tens of thousands of them. Metal to wood. Forever watching the time pass. Literally just chilling. Tenacious for that singular purpose. Some of them straining. To rise above the circumstances. For no metamorphosis. Just to be. A staple wire hanging a little differently.
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Was laughing to myself earlier as I shaved. That joke did have takers. At an online forum, on the use of "doch" in the German language.
Thus spake in a restaurant.
– »Mein Herr, ist der Fisch gekocht?«
— »Doch! Der Fisch ist gekocht!«
– »Warum schwimmt er dann in die Suppe?!«
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Apropos Isha's comment to "pressed for time". A soupçon of pregnant symbolism in the dinner soup. No doubt an insalubrious concoction which Madame Martha Stewart will tut-tut. But for Uncle Eugene, a peripeteia of sorts.
---
Was laughing to myself earlier as I shaved. That joke did have takers. At an online forum, on the use of "doch" in the German language.
Thus spake in a restaurant.
– »Mein Herr, ist der Fisch gekocht?«
— »Doch! Der Fisch ist gekocht!«
– »Warum schwimmt er dann in die Suppe?!«
---
Apropos Isha's comment to "pressed for time". A soupçon of pregnant symbolism in the dinner soup. No doubt an insalubrious concoction which Madame Martha Stewart will tut-tut. But for Uncle Eugene, a peripeteia of sorts.
posted by Luctor et Emergo at 5:00 AM
1 Comments:
In response to your comment: i have polycystic ovaries and a hormonal imbalance. thanks for caring, though. My mother went into hysterics when we found out (i was 19 then) because she thought i would never have kids. But i'll just have trouble getting pregnant, i guess.
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