Storystyling : Unseasoned Seasons (4 / three)

wow 2 u, name worshippers

Once when one was three, i didn’t know the word criminal. Nor was the word vegan around. Nowadays, it can be found in the dictionaries of etymology as well as in idiosyncratic idiolects pertinent to linguistic conduct in some quarters.

When i was three, i thought it was my name. Now i know it is. i am vegan. a criminal. my mind is plagued by paranoid darkening spurring from the suspicion that my thoughts are being read. The anxiety blossoming from a surveillance nightmare thrives on my character of a vegan. a criminal. i fear that my incorrigible sinfulness transcends the realm of morality. My veganism can be legally decoded as questionable—to say the very least—social conduct (but, can it be cultural?).

When i was three,  i didn’t know that to know knowing was needed. Hence, i didn’t think i knew it was my name. Now i know it is. i am vegan. I don’t know if other vegans are criminals. Nor do i know if they know it (who cares!). A thought of my mind being observed scares me. Because my crimes are of a political nature. Incorrect. My thinking is a stream of blasphemy (the river told me a story.). My thoughts are a sacrilege of sorts.

i vegan every time i look at my cell phone. Somebody else’s cell phone. Somebody else’s eye fixated on the milkishness of the cell phone’s screen. for one, i think: “like phunk, shouldn’t that gadget be practical instead of being a bulky chunk of materialized ones & zeros.” wow 2 tho, tree-river looking! Be(e)hive for fuck sake and offend no more! Like phunk!

(a cloud winks. hooting into the solemn air a steely kiss.)

i vegan every time i imagine that i am looking at the watch that i am hiding even from myself. Somebody else’s watch. Somebody else’s mouth devouring their wrist watches as their verbal content is being poured into a tiny mic of that smart device. secondly, i think:”like phunk, one even deprives oneself of the enchantment of milkishness, while still succumbing to the burden and bulkiness conspiring with gravity and making one’s everyday digitally illuminated (kindly refer to the dictionary of etymology for the signification of words such as that one.). wow 2 tho, tree-river looking, like phunk! Be(e)hive for fuck sake and offend no more. Whoo-hoo, little one.

(a branch flutters. whispering into the bubbling clouds a swarmy kiss of birds.)

i vegan every time i think of the words overload, manage, information…u name it. Every time i feel the agony of the cell phone starer struggling to sustain what is supposed to be walking, while simultaneously refusing to detach the look from the milkish enchantering (we are not robozombies!). i’d think:”like phunk, doth tho, like, walk, or, doth tho, like, read or something?” wow 2 tho, tree-river looking! Be(e)hive for fuck sake and offend no more, like phunk!

(rainy petals spray the cosmic canvass. minuscule rescuers in disguise spread the reflection carried on the wings of the wind.)

i vegan when i rush to work and cannot afford to kneel in front of each bud i pass by to honor its presence. i vegan when i realize with a tiny bit of delay that i missed to notice three pebbles on the pavement and pay homage to their smooth surfaces bearing witness to the perseverance and persistence of the river as it whispers those wavelengths around each and every harsh edge of this world. i vegan when i cry slimy excrement, drink effervescence of mucus, and/or bathe in flamboyance of germs.

(the cloud’s wink reflected on the moonoiling gleam encrusting the waves flapping along the river’s dignified response. constellations from the desert of the riverbed anchored in the nodes of the oceanic forestry. sparkling. smiling. mirrored in the thought of invisible feathers softly falling off of invisible flowers of the universe.) like phunk!

/

The cloud winks. A sunshower splash flashing a sustained smile to each and every interstice of the vacuum of interstellar cold. A frozen moment of turquoise vastness gently necked by white fluffy cotton candy. Saturating the void of airy trajectories – dazzling – reflection.

(manners first, 4 fuck sake!)

It glitters above robust communication generated along wide avenues where engines emanate the absurdity of kinetics fuzzing in muscles of the foot pressing the gas pedal. Desperation of unquenchable thirst for buzz. To deafen inner ness.

It gleams over the beehive of entanglement of signal transmitted from one device to another. Solace to the cohorts of anxious evidencing of one’s voice. Fantasy of connectivity. Futile attempts at denial of loneliness.

It glows upon nodes of centripetal force drawing gregarious valences into glossy public spots embellished with  a typically domineering piece of furniture made either of wood, or metal, or both, or…u name it. It is simultaneously a divide and a connective between employees and clients. It is more than an object. It serves a purpose. A bar is where glasses are put after they have been emptied, where bottles await for the gulp of relief, where an elbow ensures stability, where tip is generously being given, where thick foam’s wild, meandering lick glides down the inside of the pint, anticipating a slurp to lift the burden of the haunting specter of ashtrays, invisible aura of smoke preserving memories of the times when smell was a mixture of staleness, sour evaporations, glands’ radiance, and a glistening ray from an eye.

The cloud winks. Sunshower splashes a sustained smile to the invisible feathers falling off of the flowers of the universe. A frozen moment dazzles through the cosmic void. Saturating painfully aloof trajectories – reflection.

(manners first, 4 fuck sake!)

It spills its sparkling petals over the streams covering the surface of pavements. Numberless feet protected with pieces of high quality leather, man made material, or cotton. Clinking on concrete either with the confidence of elegance or modesty of gum soles. Carrying miles of swarmed energy persistently failing to match movement. Empire of distraction. Arena of sensation. Of dislocation.

It spreads its luminescent kiss above the knots corroded by the proliferation of virtual cards in pursuit of decoding fiscal machines. No sense of cyborgness, no affinity for recognition, no proclivity toward deciphering. Just decoding. Insatiable seeking. Indefatigable.

It cocoons a brooding shadow hooting into the solemn airy trajectories a steely kiss.

webwiered.

--kessenem. / pleazy.

Verily.