They were beautiful… in a way.
But they reacted like I was dead.

Meaning, they didn’t react at all.
What was that?

I didn’t think that extraordinary longevity could be confused with aloofness.
But there they were…
And they weren’t pretty.

I hate those dreams of blue turtles.
The toad was alright.
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Who’s that human? He seems distressed.
He actually has been writhing for hours.

But nobody in town seems to care.
In the end, it’s his fault.

He was lured by a false promise
of political conversations and cigars.

But the statue had ulterior motives…
and so, his days ended in Montreal.

I stayed -both spectating and loathing
mind controlling statues.
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At least you don’t hit others’ wives -yet.
Yet you show absolute disregard for others’ posessions.
Oxide doesn’t justify a beating.

Is it because you didn’t get what you wanted?
Maybe you’re not what the world wanted either.
I hate bike mistreatment. That, and bike abuse.
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Remember when the sound of it hitting the tub used to startle you in the middle of the night?
Oh, those were the times. So nostalgic…
Every now and then it happens again. But it’s part of life now.
It rarely even tickles the hypothalamus.
Because the hatred for crappy suction pads should remain immeasurable.
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Who cares about infinitesimals?
Mi. Mimimi.
When you really want something, you want it all.
Irrationally.
So don’t offer me pie if we can’t have it all.
Why can’t we have it all?
I know we need support.
Because we hate that we can’t have the whole pi.
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