dolorous interludes.

A tribute to my Secret Garden.

For the thick undergrowth of conversation, for the deep wells of affection and understanding, and for the invisible pillars that were my only support through periods of meaningless wantoness. My soul satellite you were then, and i thank you for being that special dark stranger who came and left me that scroll of bittersweet memories.

Adieu to you.

posted by voyeur @ 3/11/2004 09:01:00 PM

I saw a snail today.

Its magical silver slime trail that it leaves behind never fails to amaze me and impress me altogether. Its smooth and sleek, almost amorphous and therefore flexible body stretches out across the lazy lawns beneath the greying somnolent skies. It is almost insignificant amidst the hulking tall green crowns, but its presence is pervading, blatant, and imposing. One looks closer at the sluggish creature, evaluating, assessing, and attempting to make a judgement on that solitary soul; it is a piteous and nauseating sight. One does not doubt the sensuality of its slight curves nor its penetrating presence, but one questions its motives and goodwill. What is its function in this ecological cycle? How can and will it contribute to kind mother nature who has been its patient companion through Time? I bend down once more. I peer at it cautiously, nudging it slightly with the twig given to me by that benign fatherly tree; its feelers sway in a roundabout fashion, almost symbolic of its inherent hypnotic power to beguile gullible pedestrians who are unaware of its subdued but lethal poison. The snail is protected by a shell, but its defence is weak and hardly formidable; the snail is attenuated by its lack of consistency and performance. hardly a show worth watching, really.

"The snail is vile, squalid, sordid and intrusive, " I concluded. I stepped aside politely, did my curtsey, and walked away.

posted by voyeur @ 3/11/2004 08:55:00 PM