(May 5/06)
Pauperism forced me to heist a roll of toilet paper from a tap house this evening. I slipped the roll into my knapsack, stopping to glance at my pitiful self in the mirror, and left the men’s room through the door through which I had entered. Public house toilet roll, I was to discover, has a much wider hole in the centre, forcing me to place it atop the cistern, not in the roll dispenser as is generally de rigor. Now I am de rigor, and not the toilet roll. I, the toilet roll brigand, am a sad wretched chattel thief. Perhaps unwittingly I am being influenced by Zeno, who’s Confessions I am presently reading, perhaps not. Water the plants, that is what I should do, not pilfer lavatory wipe from some unsuspecting hostelry. Hume, after all, taught me that I have no sentiments or a moral bone in my body, but rather a threshing machine that separates the moral wheat from the unconscionable part of me, the chaff, which, I have come to learn, is a colossus unto itself. Today I have two choices: either I water the plants, which are thirsting into cactus, or thieve yet another roll of toilet paper. Two choices, yet an invariable ratio of thinking. I am perplexed, as is my de rigor in most things I put my mind to.
Stalemated
Pauperism forced me to heist a roll of toilet paper from a tap house this evening. I slipped the roll into my knapsack, stopping to glance at my pitiful self in the mirror, and left the men’s room through the door through which I had entered. Public house toilet roll, I was to discover, has a much wider hole in the centre, forcing me to place it atop the cistern, not in the roll dispenser as is generally de rigor. Now I am de rigor, and not the toilet roll. I, the toilet roll brigand, am a sad wretched chattel thief. Perhaps unwittingly I am being influenced by Zeno, who’s Confessions I am presently reading, perhaps not. Water the plants, that is what I should do, not pilfer lavatory wipe from some unsuspecting hostelry. Hume, after all, taught me that I have no sentiments or a moral bone in my body, but rather a threshing machine that separates the moral wheat from the unconscionable part of me, the chaff, which, I have come to learn, is a colossus unto itself. Today I have two choices: either I water the plants, which are thirsting into cactus, or thieve yet another roll of toilet paper. Two choices, yet an invariable ratio of thinking. I am perplexed, as is my de rigor in most things I put my mind to.
Stalemated
a standoff
keeps me conscious
of the gap being filled
or is it emptied
keeps me conscious
of the gap being filled
or is it emptied
above my head
Great site loved it alot, will come back and visit again.
ReplyDelete»