A Story About Motivation
You turn your notebook upside down for me to see: hello my friend, do you think this will ever end? You hand me the pen and ask me to draw a teapot pouring raindrops across Saturn’s rings, flowing into the mouth of a creature with the mouth of a fish, the mane of a horse, the horns of a goat, the body of a human (of course), the limbs of an old, gray monkey. In one hand you say — give it a bouquet of yellow flowers and on the opposite foot, rest the paw of its friend, a giant (its face as large as our creature) tiger striped cat.
The story you’ll write about them makes me think you’re the thirst-hybrid-flower-buying-fish-face and I’m the giant-cat-with-tiger-stripes-but-not-a-tiger with an overgrown ego, but no confidence, with the desire to possess, to own, but without the understanding of how to align the planets — rings resonating with rings, moons bouncing light back and forth, bodies spinning in sync — or as much as possible as often as possible. You try to teach me with your horns and your opposable thumbs, but all we manage to do is pick apart your flowers and arrange their petals around us in waves of goldenrod, buttercup, lemon, sick eyes, dehydrated piss, ailing skin.
