(This one is of me, in the long black skirt blurring, whirling the dervish on a Viennese bridge.
Illuminating light in photo by: just-before-dawn.)
He sent his man's-man out to the store to buy the nights dinner only to return empty handed.
The evening’s entertainment was spent projecting movies on clean beige china.
The morning began as the type of day when one does not know what time it is until the evenings dim sets in to darken the mandatory list that is randomly crossed off.
Last were the rifles. As objects of significance, they were to be cleaned justly, done directly and at point blank.
When they were shot worthy, the artillery came in handy as the dogs barked incessantly, so instead of throwing them hush puppies he shot them.
He breathed in the aroma of blood and smoke and from his mouth flew the purple ravens spoken of in mythos.
For a few seconds he was full with complete expansion if the air around him, leaving no room for other egos. The darkness was quiet, close and suffocating.
Looking through the color of rot was not his favorite paradigm.
As his mind chased through, scratching and trying to rid itself of the tragic hue, he saw memories numbered out of order. Those memories organized and queued in line-up vying for his attention.
The one most interesting happened to be absent. Perhaps a drunken blackout memory that someone else owns and is not sharing.
He adjusted his mask and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
The sun shone his shadow, exposing him as a ridiculous and fictitious character. His ears were the likes of George Bailey widening his palms to show the length of a suitcase.
Wrongly, he remembered his list and went to collect water but he forgot what it was for.
The postage stamp screen on his taskmaster devise suggested no-such-thing.
He doubted the physical world.
Not using a hand signal is rude and dangerously idealistic.
As is putting glass plates in the juicer.
Life is a zero sum equation.
And it only gets darker.
Well, okay, then.
Do I get to vote?