All my thoughts have evaporated

Like a sieve –though I don’t really know what a sieve is. All knowledge of technicalities have been mechanically disabled. Those neurons and units and pheramones have ceased their atomic bombshelling mosh pit slamdancing and sit there, listless, much like I on a humanist scale.

A Barbie doll dyed in purple, and discarded limbs of fourteen bicycles, tortured and neglected by technological advances.

A sickly green light glows at dusk, dissipates with dawn, hibernates for the rest of the day.

It’s cranky from hunger, there are no souls to feast on in its abandoned abode, only skinny mice and rejected rats –the clueless, socially inept loser loners of the rodent popularity contest, can’t even compete in the million dollar mansion so they’re ostracized to the pseudo-haunted farmhouse. Their souls are too miniscule to warrant soul-sucking by the sickly green light to ease its crankiness, soothe its cantankerous curmudgeoning, give the fucking thing a break.

Same with the eagles –that’s why they’re the national symbol, cause they really have no soul either and are vicious, blood-thirsty bullies of the raptor world. Saw one take down a blue heron once, innocently soaring across the bay – “SCREECH!” Screeched the eagle and took off after the eloquent, peaceful, Grenada-esque blue heron like a sci-fi fighter cliché. A five minute cat-fight in the sky with those ripping talons –did you read about it on AP? Early man was prayed upon by huge raptors, predecessors of the bald eagle. The raptors picked them up by the head, dropped them onto sharp rocks from high in the sky, punctured their skulls with those talons, and used the fines curves of their shapely beaks to pick out the brains from the hapless early mans’ eye sockets.

Ain’t that cool?

I wish there were such raptors here, I’d capture a couple and use them to do my evil bidding, like returning my library books on time, fixing my flat tire, pick up some organic half-n-half from the corner market, and successfully assist my seduction of that barista I’ve been thinking about, or the check-out girl at Trader Joe’s, or the sly, coy, bookseller at 3^rd Place.

I wanted to liberated the tortured, partially dismembered bicycles from the yard under the cranky gaze of cantankerous green light, but I’m weary of being a bad neighbor and getting all sorts of passive-aggressive bad vibes from this discomforted soul.

I need someone to distract him.

Maybe a couple of Mormon missionaries from Rexburg, Idaho, can disappear into the door after some gentle, hopeful, overly-cheerful knocking.

Maybe the sickly green light can suck out their souls (it’ll take at least two Mormons to satisfy his hunger, and then only partially) and turn them into beautiful, Aryan zombies to do his evil bidding –like starting a neighborhood compost bin, or donating the discarded furniture in the yard to Goodwill, and paying solumn homage to the spirit of the stump of the fallen oak tree that was savagely dismembered in the ‘70s to make this a 2.3 instead of 1.9 million dollar view.

Maybe the Aryan Mormon Missionaries will be beautiful and sculpted like Michaelangelo himself and the carcinogenic green light that controls their physical actions will convort them to do very un-Mormon like things, like vote Democrat, skip a dentist appointment, buy sweat-shop free clothing, and engage in non-procreative yet very creative sexual activity, upstairs, under the sickly gaze of the green light, through the window, which is viewed from my room, which I will take pictures of, and post on my blog, which you should visit, and click on the little ad, cause it’ll give me a cent, with which I can pay rent and continue this little peep show we call life.