[Excerpt from] Absurd Meeting in a Haematid Or How We Got Stuck in the Mad Hatter’s Vault
You sang a song and a god came into being. Fact considered by myself as truly marvelous. Who could have thought the old ways could still resurface after being drown in our forgetfulness and dissatisfaction?
It was a song about a cigarette feeling remorse and She was feeling sorry cause a god was lodging there. God is everywhere, you see but it wasn’t the lecture the god was telling her that made the cig feel bad for her actions.
It was the fact that the she had forgotten a voice of a man who once smoked her. You see, cigarettes live forever; they all kinda inherit the same personality with a couple of exceptions and disjointed egos.
And the cig thought that the man’s particular voice was akin to God’s, moment in which the deity inhabiting the cig woke up thinking someone was most definitely praying to it, only to discover that the cigarette was moaning and whining like a sea creature after said man.
And yes all these details were contained in a lil, three minute long, cosmonogical song. So the sleepy god asked the landlord what was wrong and with a tear strained voice, the cigar confessed.
Point at which, the god in a baritone voice told her that he could summon the man - which was technically a lie but It figured that since smokes technically don’t have ears it would be simplissimo to fool the poor naïve puff.
Comes without saying that she could not be tricked and here comes the part where you, sweet-tart, reveal to the audience the morale of the story:
“Oh I sought out and I disintegrated all about/ And I told him so and he shooed me on/ So I am still here in the black, fine cut pack/ Basking in the light, remembering and sighing and knowing you’ll always be the one/ Oh and He’s gone so please could you come back as a nicotine ash?”
So that’s how we got ourselves with a god on our hands. A modern god who likes surfing and skydiving and speaks in limericks every seven hours.
He’s got sandy beige eyes and wears tortoise patterned Capris and He’s technically your new, best friend, forever and ever and ever, which kinda leaves me in the limelight but hey that’s why god gave two hands and invented Bunnies. And I’m kidding, honey, just yanking at your chains 'cause I’ve gotta a thing to admit: I’ve firstly fallen in love with your wrinkles.
It was a song about a cigarette feeling remorse and She was feeling sorry cause a god was lodging there. God is everywhere, you see but it wasn’t the lecture the god was telling her that made the cig feel bad for her actions.
It was the fact that the she had forgotten a voice of a man who once smoked her. You see, cigarettes live forever; they all kinda inherit the same personality with a couple of exceptions and disjointed egos.
And the cig thought that the man’s particular voice was akin to God’s, moment in which the deity inhabiting the cig woke up thinking someone was most definitely praying to it, only to discover that the cigarette was moaning and whining like a sea creature after said man.
And yes all these details were contained in a lil, three minute long, cosmonogical song. So the sleepy god asked the landlord what was wrong and with a tear strained voice, the cigar confessed.
Point at which, the god in a baritone voice told her that he could summon the man - which was technically a lie but It figured that since smokes technically don’t have ears it would be simplissimo to fool the poor naïve puff.
Comes without saying that she could not be tricked and here comes the part where you, sweet-tart, reveal to the audience the morale of the story:
“Oh I sought out and I disintegrated all about/ And I told him so and he shooed me on/ So I am still here in the black, fine cut pack/ Basking in the light, remembering and sighing and knowing you’ll always be the one/ Oh and He’s gone so please could you come back as a nicotine ash?”
So that’s how we got ourselves with a god on our hands. A modern god who likes surfing and skydiving and speaks in limericks every seven hours.
He’s got sandy beige eyes and wears tortoise patterned Capris and He’s technically your new, best friend, forever and ever and ever, which kinda leaves me in the limelight but hey that’s why god gave two hands and invented Bunnies. And I’m kidding, honey, just yanking at your chains 'cause I’ve gotta a thing to admit: I’ve firstly fallen in love with your wrinkles.
