Biting the Bite

It was the muck behind the words given brightly that set off the inner alarms, though the word Muck was a poor word and even the perception of the specific sensation did not become a recognizable arrangement until the later hours when the world fell quiet enough to contemplate.

Normally I would've known the word; normally I would see the truth; or I sensed the truth; sensed true sentiment behind the words given bright tones when spoken. The hearty hello, long time no see, but then the buddies return to where they left off. I might as well be invisible. Well yes, because I am the quiet one. Always the quiet one. No need to consult the quiet one for input on a discussion about what cousin so-and-so had lately accomplished, which is more than I lately accomplished.

Artist. Artist? Now your uncle, he can paint pictures that could pass for photographs. You have to look really close to see it is all paint. Or sometimes pencil, but then you know it is no photograph, but only because as a master craftsman he knows his pencils. And that is an artist.

No they did not say those exact words. It was in the muck; in the gravel-woven sludge of reliance on conventional peerage. Oh and your uncle is conversational. Knows how to socialize. Properly likable. All of your uncles, all of your aunts, all of your cousins, know all this. Why not you?

Under the resplendent evening sky which blue took so long in coming; under this seasonal influence did this episode occur. Ah yes, the old feel for play has gone into hiding. The fun of breaking the fourth wall: scurried up the wall to see about living with the spiders. If the fun of breaking the fourth wall falls to smothering atmospheric inanity, why not seek fortunes in learning to design sticky web homes.

They talk on and on about family history. Remember this, remember that. Old days back home. Yes that's what people talk about. The judge is not I. I am the judged, because I care much less about talking on and on about family history.

Well you see, there is no need to speculate on grander notions, like how can nothingness exist, because those answers were supplied a couple thousand years ago. So let's talk about family history, and more family history, and what cousin so-and-so has accomplished. Let us talk about properties, purchasing properties, how to develop those properties. Let us let the quiet one remain quiet and make a fire for the evening.

The muck may be imagined. But no, it cannot be, because these feelers have these decades of honing, and can detect, scent, recognize, compare. So fuck those blabbermouths anyway. Worlds await exploration. Made-up events await recording. Thus speaketh this quiet guy in the boonies, which are indeed often blessedly serene, but do sometimes grate sorely the nerves; bloody the tongue.