Quaint & Pretty, Babe.


I won’t snicker at the mention, but what is animation anyway? A composition of contending timbre, a function to illustrate a trumpet bleating? Gah. I take the air quality as a time signature. I watch television as a junky stoned on their product, licking dope remnants from a plastic bag as if I was a mother cleaning their pup of placenta. Mmm…stem cells, babe. Past is waning and the future constructs the likeliest of outcomes. In a world of dope fiends and singing clouds what sort of dreams are left? The kind that declare, “I’M SPECIAL!” Ah honey but you’re not. We’re human and humans are relentless beef, strutting the timeline like models on a catwalk. Meow, babe, meow. Wherein lies the counter woof, the omnipotent bark of god’s hounds? Well…they’re in Hell. Along with the song birds and other caged figures that remind us of solitude, quaint and pretty, babe, quaint and pretty.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s