rain washed away the beautiful remains of the burlington sock leaving the cod behind, twitching and leaping in the puddle.

- work in progress -

astronaut Reeb Felting’s cathartic implorations of the Trogon Nebula left him highly uninspired. ‘how much longer do I have to go through with this?’ he mused.
the immune debulizer hummed soothingly.
this could have been the perfect moment.
he coughed in an effort to dislodge the piece of peanut stuck in his tonsil.

“I really want this american job” the thing said.
to him it looked like a man sized baby powder receptacle.
he pondered, just for a fraction to long, what he was supposed to do next.

trying not to faint, Reesberg stared at the creature slowly rising to its full height. It’s movements where as if it was suffering from arthritis and something resembling snot oozed from its nostrils.
then it just stood there looking at him.
Reesberg stopped breathing.
it coughed and immediately convulsed in pain, making horrible rasping noises.
romantic weekend getaway . . . Reesberg thought to himself, this is definitely the last time I book a vacation with that agent.

time has gone by.
can you close the window?
the wind’s tickling my follicles.

he sneezed over and over again, eyes tearing.
nothing happened.
he hated that book now for telling him how ‘easy’ it would be to achieve realization of these innate realms of consciousness.