Sending oneself an email with the word paycheck is only a good idea when one remembers. As my eyes fixated on the new email, heart flutters, could, and would have whipped butter. But on closer inspection, you realize, it’s from you…
The beginning of a vegetable Paycheck.
1 Attachment (16.7 KB) – Asparagus and liquid paper jus is obviously fictional(draft)
Along with everything else; peas, parsnips, people. People and their accompanied stories, obviously. Everything is fiction. There is a recipe-story about time limits for cooking asparagus. You must keep to this time in order to enjoy its full potential. A sauce is always preferred. Trying to erase an over cooked asparagus with liquid paper; or cover it up, is absolute absurdity. Nonsense some would say. Although in some realm – the pages of a novel – it may just be possible. If such things were thought up, there must be some validity. Such as toasting a piece of bread with a candle; obviously whilst praying to a lord. Or cooking eggs on a car bonnet; obviously because you’re a scientist.
If you’ve got asparagus cook it, if you’ve got mint pick it, if you’ve got lemons juice them and put them on a fish called Flathead. Laugh at the fishes name before you eat it. If you get bones stuck in your throat; get pliers and get it out. Go to the dentist and tell them about how your day is. Talk about a fluffy existence. Ask what they had for breakfast. See if they eat asparagus; obviously, when it’s in season. Invite yourself to their gala dinner even if they don’t have such a thing, and then, wish for rain. Pull your pants up; sprint out of the dentist, with sensitive gums, and a gag reflex from unwanted toxic fluoride. Step in a puddle. Get your shoe laces wet and undone. Ask a stranger if they can do them up because you’re illiterate. Count how many people it took to do up your muddy, wet shoe laces. Keep the number in your head. Look for synchronicities; to make yourself feel better about your existence, as if everything is happening for a reason, the way you picked 56 mint leaves and it took 56 people before one felt enough pity for you, and, did your shoe laces up. Get hungry, and forget about everything. Eat something that has bones in it; get some accidently stuck in your throat. Wish you were a whale that only ate small organisms with no bones. Go and support am anti-whaling petition with a signature; get a necklace, feel good Samaritan-y. Plant a vegetable patch to save the earth. Watch the people in front of you hold hands and up your hope-meter a few bars; get it into the green section, away from the red. Red is only ever nice in ripe cherries.
Lips have started to split in dry weather. Just on the edges.
“can I help you?”
“just those, thanks”
“no worries, oh you’ll use the pay pass, have only used this once before, it will be $28.90, yeah go for it”
“enjoy”, she said, as she waved the man out of the fish shop wondering how such-a-man would cook such-a-fish.
When leaving a piece of writing or artwork; one can feel dizzy, disorientated, out of sorts. Basic life seems out-of-wack, you become slow. Maybe it’s because you are actually tapping into an alternative reality. Or it takes a while to climb back out-of-the ditch; the one with royal pillows, dirt and mountains of dust. Maybe it’s because writers are actually archaeologists.
Painting is the one thing that provides me with contentment. I’m not painting; nor have I painted in weeks. Not a single spear of asparagus has been eaten, either.
The man in the featured image is named Stan. After explaining to him, how the corrugated green wall creates a lovely nest for light, making tiny little valley’s etc., in which he seemed flabbergasted, yet intrigued, I asked if he would be like to be in a small photo-shoot, next to the rusty trolley. 80% of people asked say no, so, when Stan willingly stepped up to be a model, fist pumps of mine were left in my mind’s interior. Just for safety. He kind-of looks like asparagus.