How Bread Cord his Tart
I wrote this very early in the morning. I couldn't sleep, and I felt the need to write something. I was staring at my printer, and it kinda stopped looking like a printer. It sort of looked weird. It looked too shadowy. I took it to an extreme, and had this story. Hope you enjoy.
Louis had begun to lose the substance of things. At first, all it took for things to snap back to reality was a blink. But as time wore on, it began to take a swift shake of the head from side to side for things to be the way that they should be. The way he knew they should be. Louis didn’t know it, but this had been happening all his life. As every day stretched on, his sense of reality had been slowly, methodically plodding towards the cliff of insanity. One day, nothing he could do would change reality back. That was five days ago.
The way that things lost their substance, Louis noticed, was by a lack of understanding. Not on his part, but on the part of the object. He understood that a television was a television, a telephone a telephone, a printer a printer, etc. But the objects themselves seemed to forget. Or, rather, didn’t understand. A television began to dream that it was a can of soda, a telephone a banana, a printer a printer. Printer’s aren’t the most imaginative of inanimate objects, but they did confuse brands quite often.
Five days after no amount of head shaking or eye-blinking would revert reality to it’s correct state, Louis could have been found, sitting on his bed staring at the ceiling watching the paint morph into quite an assortment of puppets who put on a show.
To Louis, however, he was sitting on his couch, watching the television, and enjoying a rousing episode of his favorite generic sitcom. Some deep thinkers might believe that staring at imaginary puppet shows would be much more entertaining than watching a generic sitcom, but this isn’t their story, it’s Louis’.
A great man once said, “prick your finger, that’s a tragedy. Fall down a manhole and die, that’s comedy.” He would have found Louis’ predicament entertaining.
Louis, while trapped in his meta-world, still continued on through his normal day, said the right things when asked, and interacted in a way that would not have been out of the ordinary at all, if not for the fact that it was too ordinary.
When a co-worker asked Louis if he wanted to go to lunch, Louis heard a loaf of bread ask him if he wanted ski-boots on his pet seal. To this, Louis replied, Aloof I run to the dog-store, and partake of many splendors. To his co-worker, this was a hearty, “why yes, good sir.” While there was a misunderstanding between the two parties, the intention was the same. After all, man can not live on man alone.
Later that day, the fifth one without sense, Louis slept. It was fit less sleep. He imagined himself living in a world where things were always the same. Nothing ever changed, people loved, lived, learned, and left nothing unsaid. He dreamt of happiness. Not as a thing, but as a feeling, the way happiness should be experienced. Which was a relief to his mind, because earlier that day he had experienced happiness as a thing. It looked like a squid. The squid was actually shaped like a star. The closest aquatic life-form to represent Louis’ perception of happiness was a starfish. Unfortunately, words had lost all meaning. From the deep dredges of his mind, the image of a star brought forth the word squid. The closest approximation to Louis’ understanding of an intangible feeling as a tangible object, was that it radiated away from the subject, at a very slow rate. The subject, for Louis, was his wooden soldier. This was his dog, Casanova. Casanova was happy because Louis had thrown the battery for him to fetch. The battery, which should go without saying, was a newspaper.
On the sixth shot glass, Louis realized that Dracula had taken a turn for the internet. Pills were beginning to completely lose their paper. When he went to plastic his desk, he realized he had lost a verb or two. He spent twenty guns trying to figure out how exactly one would plastic a desk. Then he shoe that plastic was comb. This gave him eraser. He reckoned that losing eraser was redundant, considering he had already lost the right pill for it. As the ultimate blow to his ego, he cord the pill cord.
Shot glass monkey speaker cord paper. Finger cord amp check pills Sunday bread ship. Bread ate speaker waffle Corinth finger shot glass. Bread tart smell-spot bread two amp juvenile. Bread Spanish monkey speaker page swish.
A co-worker asked him out to lunch, and he understood it. Louis was back in the game. Three years had passed, day in and day out, before he was able to rewire his brain. Every now and again, he would cord a word or two. Then he would sit down, with the lights out, in his apartment, and think. He would go through every possible meaning of the word cord, until he grasped the meaning from the context. So lived the most intelligent man ever to go crazy. No one ever noticed.
Well, that's that.
Louis had begun to lose the substance of things. At first, all it took for things to snap back to reality was a blink. But as time wore on, it began to take a swift shake of the head from side to side for things to be the way that they should be. The way he knew they should be. Louis didn’t know it, but this had been happening all his life. As every day stretched on, his sense of reality had been slowly, methodically plodding towards the cliff of insanity. One day, nothing he could do would change reality back. That was five days ago.
The way that things lost their substance, Louis noticed, was by a lack of understanding. Not on his part, but on the part of the object. He understood that a television was a television, a telephone a telephone, a printer a printer, etc. But the objects themselves seemed to forget. Or, rather, didn’t understand. A television began to dream that it was a can of soda, a telephone a banana, a printer a printer. Printer’s aren’t the most imaginative of inanimate objects, but they did confuse brands quite often.
Five days after no amount of head shaking or eye-blinking would revert reality to it’s correct state, Louis could have been found, sitting on his bed staring at the ceiling watching the paint morph into quite an assortment of puppets who put on a show.
To Louis, however, he was sitting on his couch, watching the television, and enjoying a rousing episode of his favorite generic sitcom. Some deep thinkers might believe that staring at imaginary puppet shows would be much more entertaining than watching a generic sitcom, but this isn’t their story, it’s Louis’.
A great man once said, “prick your finger, that’s a tragedy. Fall down a manhole and die, that’s comedy.” He would have found Louis’ predicament entertaining.
Louis, while trapped in his meta-world, still continued on through his normal day, said the right things when asked, and interacted in a way that would not have been out of the ordinary at all, if not for the fact that it was too ordinary.
When a co-worker asked Louis if he wanted to go to lunch, Louis heard a loaf of bread ask him if he wanted ski-boots on his pet seal. To this, Louis replied, Aloof I run to the dog-store, and partake of many splendors. To his co-worker, this was a hearty, “why yes, good sir.” While there was a misunderstanding between the two parties, the intention was the same. After all, man can not live on man alone.
Later that day, the fifth one without sense, Louis slept. It was fit less sleep. He imagined himself living in a world where things were always the same. Nothing ever changed, people loved, lived, learned, and left nothing unsaid. He dreamt of happiness. Not as a thing, but as a feeling, the way happiness should be experienced. Which was a relief to his mind, because earlier that day he had experienced happiness as a thing. It looked like a squid. The squid was actually shaped like a star. The closest aquatic life-form to represent Louis’ perception of happiness was a starfish. Unfortunately, words had lost all meaning. From the deep dredges of his mind, the image of a star brought forth the word squid. The closest approximation to Louis’ understanding of an intangible feeling as a tangible object, was that it radiated away from the subject, at a very slow rate. The subject, for Louis, was his wooden soldier. This was his dog, Casanova. Casanova was happy because Louis had thrown the battery for him to fetch. The battery, which should go without saying, was a newspaper.
On the sixth shot glass, Louis realized that Dracula had taken a turn for the internet. Pills were beginning to completely lose their paper. When he went to plastic his desk, he realized he had lost a verb or two. He spent twenty guns trying to figure out how exactly one would plastic a desk. Then he shoe that plastic was comb. This gave him eraser. He reckoned that losing eraser was redundant, considering he had already lost the right pill for it. As the ultimate blow to his ego, he cord the pill cord.
Shot glass monkey speaker cord paper. Finger cord amp check pills Sunday bread ship. Bread ate speaker waffle Corinth finger shot glass. Bread tart smell-spot bread two amp juvenile. Bread Spanish monkey speaker page swish.
A co-worker asked him out to lunch, and he understood it. Louis was back in the game. Three years had passed, day in and day out, before he was able to rewire his brain. Every now and again, he would cord a word or two. Then he would sit down, with the lights out, in his apartment, and think. He would go through every possible meaning of the word cord, until he grasped the meaning from the context. So lived the most intelligent man ever to go crazy. No one ever noticed.
Well, that's that.