The Dinghy

The Dinghy

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Sunday, September 11, 2005
Yes. The creeping continues. Long stretches of kvetching submitting (after so much time) to untimely bursts of voluminous retching. Headstands. Cartwheels. What punctuated and punctuates the utter monotony is not so much of interest in and of itself, but rather, it is a counterpoint to the flatness of the awful, though necessary, void. It is the blip (perhaps the cough?) that exists not at all without the trough.

To wit: Yesterday, I began a rigorous regimen of dietary diligence. Monotony, now so much a part of my daily worklife, need--in order for all of the proper benefits of Sufficiency to accrue and the latencies of tedium to manifest--be ushered into my personal life as well.

SO: Apples. Apples. Apples. Apples. Apples.

Red were the apples and great was the gusto with which I so viciously ravaged their deliciousness. Their skins mottled with the toothmarks of worms, their inner woods so white and gnawed upon, their useless cores such precious metaphors for the void's harsh and angry counterpoints.

Apples. Apples. Apples. Apples. Apples. These, the manifestations of the monotony so integral to the Sufficient Life. These, the red and/or green objects so necessary for the construction of countervailing anti-Tediums.

Sure. The days have gotten longer.

Yes. Monotony has moved with me (or have I up and moved monotony?)

Whatever made so much sense before? It is, I assure you, like this: 111111121111111211111112

I think we are all on the same page.

Thank you for your time.

That is all.


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