Sunday, April 19, 2015

Dear Mockingbird II, The Mockening

Without you, I could never keep a hope for an all encompassing goodness in this world.  You give me that hope, because I know it has to exist, if only to be a counterbalance to the fetid, rank evil that was thrust upon this world when you came into it. 

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you are back.  Even though I cut down the tree that you had once called your home, there would be no reason to think you'd go back into that fiery pit from whence you sprang.  Even though I burned that tree, fire did not purify the earth.  Your stink had set in, like a cabbie's BO in car upholstery. 

It's the same as last time, where you only make you awful noise at night, and you do it all through the night.  You've used whatever sorcery comes innate with your demonhood to move your nest further away, yet calculate the exact angles and trajectory to spew your racist dribble in order for it to echo directly through my window. 

I have no recourse.  There is nothing I can do.  My only choices are a stuffy, warm room, or a refreshing cool breezy and the sounds of woooWHOOOOO wooWHOOOOOOO eeeeeyrp   eyrrrrrrrrp  eyyyyyyyyyyyrp SMAPPLECRUNCH.  Noises that refuse to let my brain turn off.  Noises that will not let me relax.  Noises that shake my existence to the core and challenge all that I hold sacred. 

I will find a way to beat you.  Whether it's earplugs, a plague of locusts, or defying the Geneva Convention, I will be the last thing that you see. 

No one interrupts my sleepy time. 

No comments:

Post a Comment

I appreciate your comments. I appreciate them even more if you sign in or let me know who you are. Otherwise I get paranoid trying to figure out who you are, and that ends up with me having to watch The Sandlot to calm myself down.