Sometime

The dig was near the house. The house wasn’t alive fully. Though it was filled with life: spiders rats,
bats and snakes. The dog wasn’t meat. Though it was heavy and filling.

The stairs creaked as I let the animal show me the way in.

The foyer wasn’t special. Though the complete lack of furnishings were. Total like an avalanche this
home had never felt the touch of sofas and tables.

The electric lines in the kitchen striked me by their similar, complete, absence. The walls sagged
where they were never installed.

The floor and ceiling were both painted. I left no tracks as the dog did. I don’t have to forget to wipe
my paws. I’m a higher thing and I see in colors. That didn’t make the room any more featureful.

The house isn’t the reason why I’m in an enclosed area. The mind isn’t what’s interpreting my
environment how can I look at it if I don’t own it? Not the obscure method of ownership do I relate
with that house.

Metaphor and reality switched gender roles and I was left to rewrite the sexual script.

Then the ecosystem collapsed spiders into bat, bats into rat, and rats into snake: I could not find the
dog.

There was a flopping and I almost didn’t run for my life. I knew exactly what I saw and might still
now. Nothing frightening, but plain and real enough to block light. It still is a boa constrictor. I was
fired from Animal Control for losing touch with dog.

Later outside where the fourth wall hides in clouds and eats kites

Another biped stopped me as I moved on my back legs to keep up with the ground. He said his
name wasn’t important, though I wanted it for my collection. We didn’t say anything but talked until
lunchbreak. What he meant was this: The real whispers are the truth makers, those who make it
are merely finding a different death.

Upon smalltalk he didn’t give me any lies, though his mouth was operating. and after much useless
ness my initiation was over. He thought me many things that didn’t leave any room for thinking.

I wasn’t at the house, though I was home.

By not moving and cutting off the light my soul could coalesce And after much eye chasing I found
the key to what that Murphy called man was telling: There are two forces ready to pick us from exis-
tence, and only one is ourselves. Those of Us who make it through to another side play with Our
fortunes. When enough of Us come the balance will shift the stars will stop being Left and then stop
for Us altogether.

If those of Us aren’t enough then instead of being Not-Left the stars will be Right. Which will have
the same result but save us the trouble of doing it ourselves. Except for my ex employer at Animal
Control he says his Boss will bring him paradise and some sort of sneeze.

Cth-ul-u-, bless you.

I’m not going to work today.

Since I have no money I turned to dog for guidance. He isn’t dead. Though by now he’s as lively as
the house. When the evil propagators turned their hips and torsos away from my lenses I heard
what my mind wasn’t doing. After much stupidity I was able to mirror the facts. For those that want
to End by leaving they know what they are getting but not how to go about it .

Those that want to End by ushering Ouside arrivals are just as lost. My ex-employer at Animal
Control knows the paths but not what he is calling, like a woefully under prepared angler fish or
batch of sushi.

Knowledge and Power are each others ends, like a snake eating its own tail, or dog’s. At least that
is the secret structure of Murphy’s commands. Both far reaching and simple I managed to add my
own tear soaked realization: If it ain’t fixed break it.