Pet Cemetary

Unfortunately the story of Mimi ends there. He died last night.

The sole consolation in the aftermath of his death was when the mummified cat found in the ceiling crawlspace was removed.

Brought to you from Everyday Allegories.

The Story of Mimi The (Domestic) Bird

Part One : Homelife

Mimi was unhappy at home. He felt like trying to reason with the people he lived with was a losing battle. At night, they woudn’t let him watch TV. Mimi liked TV. His favorite show was Seinfeld. He related to the character of Jerry, whom he imagined to be trapped within the television set, as he was in this cage of his. He dreamed of one day meeting this man who over time had become a hero of sorts in his small beady eyes.

Part Two : The Great Escape ( written while listening to Hank Williams)

One day after a particularly exhausting argument with the fat woman he lived with, Mimi decided that he’d had enough. He was going to leave that mean ol’ woman and start a new life. A free life. So when the fat woman came and stuck her fleshy hand in the cage to change his water, he hopped onto her hand and from there hopped onto the window ledge. The window was open.
« Now where do you think you’re going ? » She giggled, approaching him. « You’re not gonna leave me pretty little thing ? » Normally, Mimi might have given in, succomb to such flattery. He too found himself to be attractive with his electric yellow plumage and refined talons. He hesitated as she came nearer. But his decision was made. There was no turning back. He bid her fairwell with the the blink of his eyes and fell out the window as the fat woman screamed after him : « That’s right leave me ! See what happens to you without me ! You’ll come crawling back ! They always do ! »

Part Three : Discovery

Mimi had fallen into a geranium pot on the balcony bellow. His heart was beating savagely, cold sweat poured down his forehead. He was in a state of shock from the fall. But he had made it ! And that was the important thing ! He knew though that he had no time to waste. He feared that she would come after him, dig him out of his hiding spot, bring him back to the misery he’d fought so hard to escape. He shuddered at the thought of returning. There was no turning back. He edged his way out of the flower pot, now perched on the edge. The city stretched out before him. It now belonged to him. He felt an immense feeling of power and lightness.

To be continued...

One Could Say I Put My Sweat And Blood Into It...

I analysed Giotto's The Morning of Christ for my art history class.
Upon handing in my paper, my teacher opens my duo-tang to the picture of the fresco, and low and behold, I didn't remember Jesus being quite so bloody.
" C'est intéressant, ça" She remarks, dumbfounded.
I remark that my knuckles are chapped, cracked and bleeding...
However, I don't want to ruin the mysticism of this moment.

" S as in..."

After an hour spent on the phone, I really feel that Belkine and I have really gotten to know eachother. While our different languages may not allow us to understand each other on a basic or even practical level, our spiritual understanding is without limits.

Belkine: " H as in House, D as in Door"
Me: " No, actually it's G as in Gate, I as in Island, T as in Truck, T as in Temperature, E as in Earring and S as in Sodom..SNAKE!"

Family Bonding

A Sunday afternoon spent with my family picking apples ( well, at least they were, I only pretended to for a memorable picture). As was to be expected, Sebastian was drawn towards and uniquely picked either unripe or otherwise unappetizingly miniscule apples.

Doors: A History

Like the good hick I am, I hate doors because ( like ovens, water coolers and most other mechanical devices) I don´t understand them. Also ( just like ovens, water coolers, and most other mechanical devices) I have a tendancy to break and destroy them. Muwhahahah. When it comes to doors, however, I think its the mechanicism of the lock that mystifies me. Anyway, the reason Im even discussing doors to begin with is that yesterday to my host familys annoyance and terror, I managed to leave the door unlocked and open on several occasions. This resulted in lessons in door locking and a flood of terrible memories from years past; getting locked in bathrooms, locking myself outside the house, breaking locks, getting locked in bathrooms...
You get the idea...
In sum, I hate doors.

Doors

I hate em´.