Eyeballs Tire First
Dispatch from a hungry hippo:
“There is no point! Ha! An endless quest for validation and it always ends the same. Is your quest in your work? Your stability? Your loves? Conquests? “Wisdom?” It always ends the same. Justify your existence? Ha! Good luck buddy. Seriously. I wish you well. Where’s the mud?”
The hyena:
“There may be a pattern though. Pattern with no point? Math as religion. Math to disprove religion. 1.61803398874989…”
Hippo:
“I love you hyena. I really fucking love you.”
I was in a pet store the other day and something – dog is my best guess – left the most repugnant deposit by the exotic goldfish. There were pages over the intercom for clean-up on aisle such-and-such. No one rushed. Children were fascinated. Mothers disgusted. Some hardly seemed to notice.
Apparently, the best tulips in the world come from up around Mount Vernon in the state of Washington. They even ship the damn things to Holland. The Netherlands? Holland. I used to work with this guy named Tom who became condescending, borderline irate, if you confused the two. “Netherlands is the country! Holland is the region!” Dick hole.
This might all be a clever code. Might be nonsense. The Da Vinci Code is a badly written book.
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