Monday, November 07, 2005

Surrealist Philosophy:

On that day he was broken at the spokes and hurled into traffic by a passing car, then broken at the bones under rush hour traffic. He was hauled up by a vengeful bum and thrown on the shoulders of an angry mob, which chanted "you worked when you should have played, and you played when we needed you most."

Looking down at his captor saviours he saw they were the ones he'd tried hardest to help, on whom he'd thrust the efforts of his sense of duty. They dropped him by a cliff, trampled him, and the last one stabbed his back and pushed him over.

He fell into a desert where once grew lush forest hosting diverse animals. He crawled, broken-boned and bloodless, across the lifeless miles, until he came to a fuchsia pond. He drank from the party-coloured sludge, convulsed three times, and darkness caressed as unconsciousness enveloped him.

He awoke in her arms and knew he was loved.

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