Animal's House of Muse

Vibes to Feed the Hasty Soul with the States of All that Matters

Month: August, 2015

The Roaming Monads

Don’t think I don’t see you there,
Things unseen…
Lurkin’
Sneakin’
Creepin’ on in
Stinkin’ up the air
Thinkin’ no one noticed the mischief you let slip,
The floors bubblin’ and gurglin’
As filthy foam furments out your dirty mouth,
The lights snickerin’
Cuz you’re tickled pink at your own becoming
I’m not gonna fight you
I’m not gonna demand that you leave
I’m not gonna cry out for help
And I’m not gonna let you drive me crazy
Tryina figure out your purpose in being
Here, there, nowhere, where-the-hell-ever
So just know that you’re not
The only one present with a mirror
Just like you, I’m watchin’
So just watch out
Mmmkayyy?
Watch out.
… I said watch out!

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A Truly Modest Proposition

I’ve heard many ‘a colleague in various philosophy departments claim that America has a serious issue with intellectualism. That is to say, this country, as a whole, demonstrates, in fact, anti-intellectual behavior, which in turn is leading directly to the downfall of this once great civilization; to the descension of the masses into a bestial state of dabauchery, misconduct, and overall imprudence; to the destruction of the sacred halls which we, ourselves, are too good polish. Maybe this is the case. Or maybe not. The validity of causality is a hotly debated issue in philosophy, anyways. Either way, what’s more pressing, I believe, is the imminent threat to our life-style within said sacred halls of academia; not so much the sheep and herds, or even the ancient architecture- after all, those things may be refurbished. The real ailments are fiscal ulcers, plaguing the less-than-unified body of thought from on high: decreased funding runs rampant; departmental depreciation in tenured faculty exponentially trends toward the negative; catered luncheons have all but disappeared from budgets, nationwide.
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In Vain-ity

You know what facts are
And I know what words mean
One might think we’d make a good team
Except that the both of us are right
And for some reason this scenario makes no sense…

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I Need Some Sort of Syntax Laxative

I’ve got the writer’s block. Real. Bad. I’ve got absolutely nothing to say. What’s absolutely nothing? Why, nothing is absolutely nothing! And by this I mean nothing. It’s logic, wherein nothing is questioned by means of certain propositions. And thus, my writing amounts to something, something which is nothing; which is not purposeless; which is all the more dubious; which allows me no priviledge to void. Viscious is the system which allows for nothing. Viscious is the body doubled over, over nothing. For in flushing nothing, something’s still spent. It’s like money down a drain…

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How It Is Miss Animal Even Got Herself to Philly, A Real Life Tall Tale: Part One

My stay in the Land of Death seemed an eternity
My reason for being there?
I’m still trying to figure that one out
But a temporal end, at least, begot my restoration
And when I returned, at the start of this very moment,
I found myself in chains,
Covered in grease and gravy
Beaten and bludgeoned by large, heavy purses
Weighted with stolen sugar caddies,
Wielded by wrinkled, sour prunes
Staining my psyche, along with the coffee mugs
With lashings of everlasting suffering
Navigated by aid of their bright old lady lips
From the deepest trenches of the wild seas of Hell
“I said my bacon ‘sposed be cooked
Extra crisp on one side, limp on the other!
My eggs ‘sposed be scrambled over-easy-well
With the whites poached and the yolks suspended in mid air!
What about that did you not understand?!
I’ll eat it this putrid slop
But only because I’m a Good Christian Woman!
After I’ve licked the plate clean
We ‘gon hafta fix this unjust bill!!”
This chorus sung in perpetual round
While lustful husbands, though mute
Kept time with the shakers I obediently filled
Cascading endless waves of salt
Directly onto my wounds
Looking straight through the worn fabric of my uniform
At my helpless vulnerability
As cyclops with hate-ray vision
How on earth had this pickle come to pass?
Again, I have no idea
Until this moment
I had paid little to no attentive interest
Towards my incoming balance of the present
That is until the endless,
Or rather purposeless Void
Kicked me out
Sick of me guzzling down all its bourbon
Sick of me smoking all the good weed…

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Miss Animal’s (Mis) Adventures in Philly, A Diary: Entry 2

tuesday, august four, two thousand fifteen

yesterday i ran out of bread. it looked as though i could use some eggs and honey, as well. so today, i resolved to go to the supermarket located a couple blocks down from my apartment. on the way there, my tummy grumbled, and in so doing charmed my higher senses. i had a few extra bucks, maybe i could get some cookies and condiments, as well…

i reached the supermarket, but before i could even get to the entrance, i was stopped by a rather earnest crack head waiving for my attention. she had on skin-tight jeans, a dark, stained tank top; while bright, neon shoes donned her feet. she wore what looked like a lock-chain around her neck, and kept bouncing around, shifting her weight between her excessively colored feet; scratching her neck with one hand; toting a dunkin’ doughnuts cup of ice water in the other. she stuck out her scratching hand for me to shake.

(“lord have mercy, i don’t even wanna know what that sticky is i just got all over my hand…”)

“hi, nice to meet you. what’s your name? listen. i got a baby to feed. ain’t got no money, and all my family’s died of cancer, you see, and i just…,” but a passing bus prevented me from hearing the rest of what she said.

“sorry, i don’t have any cash on me.”

“no. i don’t need no cash. see, i just need the formula.”

(“my goodness. this antsy bitch is some kind of ridiculous. what is this, some kind of secret formula? is she boris and natasha tryina concoct rocket fuel? i mean she hardly needs it. she’s already made it to the farthest reaches of space…”)

“formula?”

“yeah, formula. that baby formula. comes in a blue can. i need two. it’ll cost ‘bout $15.75. and my whole family’s died of cancer. ain’t got nobody to help me out. i need that formula.”

“oh, baby formula!”

(“well, she does have an uncharacteristically big belly for a crack head, so maybe she really did just have a baby. i reckon she isn’t lying. that and she isn’t asking for straight cash- it’s just baby formula, after all. i don’t really need cookies and condiments, anyhow. i can spare $15.75…”)

“aight, lead the way.”
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Miss Animal’s (Mis) Adventures in Philly, A Diary: Entry 1

the lord’s day, august two, two thousand fifteen

felt adventurous today and took the subway into parts unknown, had a lovely mosey ’bout the city. i then departed for home; at a most fortuitous moment, apparently, for the train advanced but one stop when my fellow passengers and i were herded off and told to wait for the arrival of the next northbound to continue. someone took a dump a few cars back and operators needed the whole train cleared so as to properly address the situation. the ensuing commentary… priceless… i like this place.

.

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A Thing of Substance, The Salvaged Sullen Subject

This thought I’ve wrought
Kept safe and fought
For its sake I prized and knew
And hid aloft
From oughts and nots
Having room to breathe, it grew
The shapes it brought
Made image taut
Strung together worlds by two
Till modes begot
A sod forgot
By those with privileged view

Under webs and dust
And stink of must
It shrank and raisin-ed and pruned
And grew a crust
Around its cusp
It dimmed in light and hue
I saw it thus
With rusted truss
In imminence, death loomed
My pains robust
Endowed a bust
My grace asunder blew

Then winds below
Grew thousand-fold
From chaos they did stew
And whence they came
Were those laid blame
Upon their backs accrued
O’er beaten time
Their voices chimed
A chorus quite askew
And with bare hands
They spared the land
Polished it brand new

And so my heart
Pours out in dark
A favor saved for few
Who salvaged day
Though dawning’s reign
Quick to bid adieu
Thinks of them last
Subsumes them past
The reach of holy pew
They hold their own
Create what’s sown
As equals to their doom

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