The weak in courage is strong in cunning
Hey.
Hey.
I want to talk to you all about the little things.
The little things. The things that may not shape the world, or enlarge our context of being, but are just, well, the little things. Like apple sauce. Or bubbles. Even my chest hair. You know, The little things.
Once, an icy blue morn I heard a bull weevil scratching the lice from its ears. What a little thing! Twice, on a hot Wednesday eve, I saw a rude muskrat squirting musk from its ass. Oh now that was a little thing. Thrice, I happened upon a tiny mule-horse bucking and gnawing at fate. I remember those little things. But what about the big things? Shall we stuff them in our dreams, and crush their largess into small sacs of memory? Or should we destroy and search, and smolder the ash into a freedom phoenix? And what about used tampons? They may be little, but man are they gross.
Hey.
I want to talk to you all about the little things.
The little things. The things that may not shape the world, or enlarge our context of being, but are just, well, the little things. Like apple sauce. Or bubbles. Even my chest hair. You know, The little things.
Once, an icy blue morn I heard a bull weevil scratching the lice from its ears. What a little thing! Twice, on a hot Wednesday eve, I saw a rude muskrat squirting musk from its ass. Oh now that was a little thing. Thrice, I happened upon a tiny mule-horse bucking and gnawing at fate. I remember those little things. But what about the big things? Shall we stuff them in our dreams, and crush their largess into small sacs of memory? Or should we destroy and search, and smolder the ash into a freedom phoenix? And what about used tampons? They may be little, but man are they gross.
posted by Old Stallion at 9:12 AM
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