a horse is a horse
i wake to find fuzzy demiurgic monsters slowly crawling under my bed, glancing up at me in my igaloo of white blankets, exposing their sharp singular tooths as they lick their hot pink lips with great delight. one jumps up on my bed in mid lick, white feathers shoot from the seams in my comforter like rockets that float, and before i have time to pull the covers over my head it pins itself: it's mouth to my ear, and with a chilly hiss that tickles like Emo, whispers to me, what i suppose to be a message revealing their secrets and purpose for me; however, it's a cryptic forbidden language that i've only read about, not yet attained. and before i have time to tell it that i don't understand, my tummy growls so ferociously, that before i can blink (not twice but once), it, in a poof-esque instant, disappears. "damn you last nights cucumber and hummus sandwhich for not holding me over for a measly twelve hours!!!", i , with emphasis on the damn, moan then groan then open my window so that i may fling myself to the earth two feet below. the month of july is approaching it's end, but instead of the air being warm and stagnant like it usually is, it's cool as a cat and it's flooding my room as it battles the curtains. white linen curtains versus cool soft breeze. go breeze go. "life is worth living once again", i moan then groan then lift myself back from the end of the window-sill, out of my bed and onto the hardwood floor covered in the dust of anjou pear incense from the night before's nightly ritual that i 've now found to be fouled by the fan. last night was also an evening of beethoven and a boring book about weimar culture; of twirling elephants and tigers and tulips in red and green and blue and orange dancing on my walls- my new cool lamp synchronized with the spinning vinyl. already this morning i'm feeling antsy, like unless i feed this urge to create, i'll peel over in my seat right this second, dead as a door knob. metaphorically, of course.