Edible Words, Myths
A piece of paper, flying, angrily, on the runway. Flying, like a single-seater plane losing speed and direction. Flying like a big bad eagle out to bully smaller birds.
The paper: white, typewritten and freshly escaped from an envelope.
The envelope, freshly escaped from a grinning bag of airmail.
The paper slid out of the envelope, got run over twice by the wheels of an airport trolley. The glue gave way. The paper stepped out of its cage and stretched itself straight from a triple fold. Like a cat waking.
The bag, smiling and stamped black and blue with code-markings, sits self-satisfied in the plane's underbelly. Unmindful of the weight of words. Unmindful of an escaped letter.
With the airport far behind, the paper keeps flying. Whapping into bird herds, making friends of some fearless ones that fly with it curiously, cautiously watching its unfeathered flight from a distance.
Some unusual type of currents take the paper by its corners to heights from where it feels the anger of the sun. The air in these higher reaches is cold and penetrating. The paper melts and and shivers at the same time.
Below the world changes into squares of green, grey and brown. Buildings become small, like faded lego. The river looks like an opened vein. The paper has never seen this arching world, trapped as it was in the flatness of a writing pad.
Another gust of uncommon wind takes hold of the paper again. The paper with its words is pulled down by the downward wind. The paper and its words spiral down a staircase of speed. The squares begin to change into lego. The lego grows into lifesize buildings. A building turns into green colour flats.
The paper prepares for touchdown. The speed staircase stops at a balcony with a white iron swing. A further wind, the last breath of the speed staircase, carries the paper to the door of the flat. A dog named Caesar hungrily licks at the sliver of sunlight below the door. Caesar can see the paper. He licks and paws and pulls till the paper is inside.
Caesar likes the taste of paper. He takes the daily paper from near the white iron swing to his sleeping master every morning. But this is afternoon. So Casear keeps the paper for himself. Licking it till the paper becomes a ball of edible words. Then he swallows it.
The paper dissolves in Caesar's stomach. A message from above, brought down to earth by uncommon winds only to be eaten.
By a dog.
The paper: white, typewritten and freshly escaped from an envelope.
The envelope, freshly escaped from a grinning bag of airmail.
The paper slid out of the envelope, got run over twice by the wheels of an airport trolley. The glue gave way. The paper stepped out of its cage and stretched itself straight from a triple fold. Like a cat waking.
The bag, smiling and stamped black and blue with code-markings, sits self-satisfied in the plane's underbelly. Unmindful of the weight of words. Unmindful of an escaped letter.
With the airport far behind, the paper keeps flying. Whapping into bird herds, making friends of some fearless ones that fly with it curiously, cautiously watching its unfeathered flight from a distance.
Some unusual type of currents take the paper by its corners to heights from where it feels the anger of the sun. The air in these higher reaches is cold and penetrating. The paper melts and and shivers at the same time.
Below the world changes into squares of green, grey and brown. Buildings become small, like faded lego. The river looks like an opened vein. The paper has never seen this arching world, trapped as it was in the flatness of a writing pad.
Another gust of uncommon wind takes hold of the paper again. The paper with its words is pulled down by the downward wind. The paper and its words spiral down a staircase of speed. The squares begin to change into lego. The lego grows into lifesize buildings. A building turns into green colour flats.
The paper prepares for touchdown. The speed staircase stops at a balcony with a white iron swing. A further wind, the last breath of the speed staircase, carries the paper to the door of the flat. A dog named Caesar hungrily licks at the sliver of sunlight below the door. Caesar can see the paper. He licks and paws and pulls till the paper is inside.
Caesar likes the taste of paper. He takes the daily paper from near the white iron swing to his sleeping master every morning. But this is afternoon. So Casear keeps the paper for himself. Licking it till the paper becomes a ball of edible words. Then he swallows it.
The paper dissolves in Caesar's stomach. A message from above, brought down to earth by uncommon winds only to be eaten.
By a dog.
On feelings that go unheard, on conversation that loses its meaning, on meaningful words that bounce off, left redundant?
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