My House. My house is a place of silence and solitude. I feel inwardly and unidirectionally reflective as I contemplate this deliberately blank wall – hanging so delicately from the ceiling like a cocoon from a branch of knowledge.
My Pet Cat. My pet cat expresses a character that exceeds the descriptive power of the most well trained macaque. The sun shines effortlessly through his, er.. her amber fur, giving her the picturesque appearance of the beheaded cranium of a majestic lion.
The Subway. As cacophonous chori of urban auditorial stimuli permeate my soul, and I reflect. What must this train feel as it follows its tracks, forever in one direc – that man is looking at me. Looking. Watching. Observing. Me. Staring. Inspecting. My indivisible self. Creepy.
A Pencil. O, pencil. A vessel of communication in my hand. O, pencil. How can I both contemplate and utilize you? As I write, you change your form. I write, but I do not think. I think, but I cannot write. Fascinating.
Amelia. Amelia, you hold my heart like fire tongs, glowing red with heat and passion, might hold an ice cube, should such a situation exist. The ice cube liquificates and seeps to escape, yet it revels in the steamy relationship. All the while, the searing hot fire tongs become colder, though less painful.