cracked

I woke up this morning to find that I, that is, my.. self.. my.. relatively conscious and physical being.. that I have come to recognize and cherish as being my own… Had somehow.. become a cracked egg.

And so I oozed through the sheets, up over the matress and off the bed frame, hitting the floor like a nasty beat dropping … not unlike kangaroo poo (which I hear is an excellent material in the art of papermaking in Australia (I suppose it could also be used outside of Australia but you would probably need to import the poo from Australia anyway… unless you worked at a zoo that had kangaroos in it.. I guess…))

Then I downtuned my guitar to DADGAD cos.. well, “fuck it” I had been thinking about faeries and.. yeah well .. you know, faeries are pretty Irish I guess, so the sucession of the thought process was entirely within the boundaries of what is acceptable.

Then I tried to play 2 different renditions of Billy Ed wheeler’s ‘high flying bird’, but as it turns out.. a cracked egg can’t make human sounds as well as one might think it could, at least not at that particular moment.. but maybe that was a kinda mucousy self deprecating deception in full light, at full speed, in full swing. Who knows? But hey, whatever! That’s okay.

In addition, through observation and aural perception I realize I must be an ovulating cracked egg.. cos my vocal range is a lot higher than usual.

Anyway so I fell asleep in hyde park and woke up surrounded by ducks peering inquisitive as they waddled away from me.. as if they had inspected my (now yolky) limbs and phalanges without rousing my slumbered state. Sketchy AF.

Not the majestic ducks that you may have seen on that popular geometric patterned image of 3 ducks in flight (maybe 4) that hangs in many kitchens in many homes.. not one home with many kitchens.. just many homes that have maybe… one kitchen each (2 if they’re lucky.. or Italian or something).
But yeah.. just your average duck, ya know? No special white ring around the neck or metallic shimmery green coloration in the feather composition, just brown and shady…. (still cute little lovely beings of the animal kingdom though, don’t get me wrong)

And so gazing then.. at a palm tree (whose leaves are just like shiny plastic tassels) I got to thinking about how absurd a palm tree really is.. and what a feat it would be to master the tension of its swing in conjunction with the precession of the breeze to catapult a wriggling body across a blue sombre sky somewhere. But I can’t right now.. cos I’m a cracked egg… but you know, thats okay. It’s just for today.

Also the re store does excellent salads.

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