The Royal Thinking Bowl

I bow my legs and focus them not to edge out as the girl walking right next to my cubicle rounds a corner and goes of into hers(which is right next to mine). And just at that moment I try to stay concentrated upon the shit I need to make, but she’s making all these weird scuffling sounds. Ah here goes, lemme listen, I can’t resist.

I listen to the same old thing going on down there, full tank-bursting-explosion-release-small sigh..tissue(where the fuck is the tissue!?) and she wipes her dry mop and leaves. Speaking of leaving, I need to leave.
The aforementioned thought lingers in my mind, yes I need to go to the spa day thats taking place in the student union and wrestle with about a million people for a massage, no, a free pen.
It brings me back to the days when I was a kid and all I could think about was getting face painted, but never really getting to the end of the line. I never got to the end of the line because the clown had a dire need to smoke a ciggie and eat some cake. I want to be face painted. I stand there lingering as I watch his clownish lines fade and a man’s mask take shape over his face- is he for real? I want my fucking face painted. I was 9

Stand up and go to the desk and ask for 3 massages Dramasque, just do it: One for your shoulders because they hurt from sleeping like a seal. Two, for the aching palms you have after writing at the speed of light in Math. Finally, a nice leg massage from snowboarding injuries. I can see the end of the line and as I expect it to be, I see about 30 people in front of me cueing up for aromatherapy. Dammnit! I look across at the next line and my feet start to move in my shoes but I tell them to shut up because I know when you leave one line it only starts getting faster as if you were the key heavyweight to the puzzle. Off load all 30 people and only 1 holds the train down. This is a really slow train to ride but I’d rather stay like fighting for a spot in a lucky winner draw.

I’m at war in the basket, I see my name scratched in there with about a million other names. I know I signed many lucky dips, I forced myself too but the more I think about it, the more I contemplate whether it was enough. Is it ever enough in a war. You fight with all the soldiers you’ve got and when their dead(which is supposed to be the restock limit) you restock and bring in more ammunition. My eyes dance around how many friends I can see in this crowd. In life, you have a few that can support you and eat shit with you. The ones who can’t eat shit with you are dining at the Hilton and signing cheques for charity cases like yourself. The more I think about it, I can’t see anybody, but if I did-I would tell he/she/he-she/or them to save me their spot too.

In war, if you can’t get what you intended to get, you go for the next best thing because what’s the use in stopping a full speed ahead train-like her piss-its explosive if you do. I’m tired again and I look at the ceiling for consolation, its neat sinewy lines only offer guidance. I am going eastward, westward, northward then southward, I will end up joining more lines and then I’m going to end up being just like the other ant lines running round and round and round. Proposterous, it is unbelievable that I can be at war and be an ant at the same time. Then, the idiot inside me goes to sleep and I know exactly what that means, Let me break it down for you as you watch me think on the toilet seat.

Life is a war of different ants, all trying to reach the top and moving at faster speeds than they can handle. One day, we will hit rock bottom and explode like hot piss and we’ll have to recover by looking for a new challenge. This war breaks us up because we rarely admit defeat and when we do were pissed and want revenge, an excuse to get back at others. Or were merely just tired like my shoulders aching more than they ever did in a line would, compared to when i first felt the pain in my shoulders. Or we give it all we’ve got and still fail-because war yields no positive purpose. I can’t challenge the basket of millions of names, they don’t know me and I don’t know them. So this final destination were going to in war-was never sacred and never will be wetter than when you first had the idea. This earth is dry with shitty causes of anger.

Thank you.
note:i wasn’t upset when writing this, just a creative thought 🙂 Have fun reading fans!