My dream -
To see how much clean
Can be seen.
The noise and lights and fumes and concrete grids everywhere like topographical scar tissue. All will lose their grip on my Real – we’re going to scrub it up.
Like when I wake up in the morning, and see my new puppy has pooped on the kitchen floor, but I keep him baby-gated on the tile overnight
*in anticipation of the situation*
and I’ve got a spray bottle with Pine-Sol and a splash of rubbing alcohol.
Deluded, diluted, dialating water
misting over the mess,
binding with molecules one perceives as “soiled”
*transportation towards absentation of contamination*
and disinfecting. Mopping floor is always good.
After this, the air smells so good and clean and healthy. I take pride in having animals in my house, but keeping the environment, the atmosphere, clean. Two dogs and one cat and my sinuses are still clear… It’s not much work. Worth-it work.
They are clear and I smell so well
*that’s pry swell*
because I bike every day.
In the morning during the first few blocks, one glob of mucuous accumulates - than is expectorated. My body’s tissues, vigorously rounding up all the dust, mildew, and dirt that has made its way from the atmosphere of my old, decaying house into me my
*Self*.
My physiology, active and moving on the bike, my lungs and legs push all this crap into one gray, goopy ball, and I hock and spit it out. The resin residue binds it all together, helping accomplish the task.
*Scientifically speaking*
THC is a natural expectorant. The pathways in my head are clear
*functioning at maximum flow*.
I can smell grass and asphalt oil and impending or receding precipitation and all the particles suspended in the air.
*uninhibited sensory metabolism*
Than I must observe a four-way stop sign – I can’t peddle right here, right now, it says -
*in line behind*
a Dodge Durango.
And the exhaust pours out of its openings and into mine, head and respiratory system’s fresh, pink linings, tingling with high-ness
(her highness the high-necked high-nexx? why not?)
*call that tangental or non-sequit-ish or something just for fun*
and those fresh pink linings get coated in oily, rusty, metally tasting
*EXHAUST … ug.hack(ploouh!)*
I want this place cleaned. I know from
experience
*the dish on how to fix this sitch*.
Just last night, before beginning my homework, I washed a sink-full of dishes, picked up some items of dirty laundry
piled or scattered
on the floor.
And I took out the trash.
I did all these things before beginning my homework, because clean is nice, and straightening up is not hard, always
worth-it work.
And I think better when Real is clean and straightened up.
I dream that this theory will be our next
GREAT HUMAN EVOLUTION!
SCIENTIFIC BREAKTHROUGH!
We had that ol’ Industrial Revolution already. Other times when things were new? … :
Imagine if you had never talked on a telephone, than got one. My parents remember not having television. Of course the cell phone and the internet have changed everybody’s life
*better be for the better*
but I wish they were all wetter, because
water
short-circuits electronics and binds with “soiled” molecules and initiates
*transportation towards absentation of contamination*.
It seems like we haven’t noticed how messy all our indrustiousnecessisosity (mechanical gratuitousness) is
*just all so messy ….
How the night sky is never completely dark, how the air always tastes like industrial residue and autobile’s expelled gases, how trains and semi-trucks and computer fans vibrate and hum and whisper and honk to our subconscious while we sleep and it’s all to messy
to hear or smell or think:
quiet. dark. clean.
don’t exist anymore.
But we can clean it all up. The next human innovation must not be another item, another mechanical process set in motion. The next innovation must be an appreciation of a new (or just old and forgotten)
*revolutionary status*.
Clean. Things can be clean. I think we’ll get there eventually.
