i'm thinking about a dreary landscape...its dark and the entire scope of my vision is obscured by a grey haze. The ground is soft and a spring nearby provides me with water. I don't drink however because the faster i escape from here the happier i will be. Now i am thinking about living inside a can of non-perishable food. I am wondering if living inside a can with such a label means that i am indeed imperishable food. this seems to me like a double edged sword and a bit of a paradox. now im thinking of a world not so far in the future. A world where all the shingles on my roof suddenly began to flap away into the night. Then all the bricks (starting from the top obviously) sprouted little legs and eyes of course and meandered there way off my wall and became glorious. then i would be in a house where the moaning timbers were all that was left to talk too, a world where the bricks that held up the foundation were gone, and where the rain fell into my arms. I cannot decide whether i like this world and i cannot decide whether the color on my walls is fading as the newly emancipated wind rushes in to cover them with the soot of the Outside. I find my brandnew car has been crushed by the bricks of my house, and the roads have been lifted away by the talons of my sticky shingles. i find that behind me the aching protests of the timbers are louder than ever, and without all the walls and roofs, that i find myself agreeing with them.
