After my last posts [since been taken down], I feel like I may have quite a bit of work to do — in the way of re-establishing credibility. So, before writing another episode of Irrelevant Discourse with an Immortal Nobody — I have deemed it imperative that I simply must tackle this question (sans helmet. sans pads).
Where does mail come from? We receive these rectangular items, usually white, but occasionally other colors. I’ve seen red … from Net Flicks. I’ve seen pink from a Planet Parenthood or some such name. I’ve even seen blue mail from the president of the United Americas — who is not white, either. Getting blue mail from a non-white person … when mail … is ordinarily white. Tempting to just overlook it.
It appears in a box with a number on it. Boxes and numbers. People are funny aren’t they? Numbering everything. Apparently, everyone is a numerologist. And, it shouldn’t surprise me that the mail would choose a box for its birthplace — should it? Oh … stories of Pandoras and Raiders and Lost Arks — make opening any box frightening these days. Don’t they? And, life is all about surprises and overcoming fear, so I know — I’m not supposed to be surprised by this — at this point in my life …
But, I am.
I am not only surprised. But, I am perplexed and disturbed. I’m simply not going to take a quietist attitude on this. Not in a day and an age when humanity so desperately needs someone to speak up for it. Her. Him. Shit. (pausing for note taking. “humanity … ‘it’, ‘him’ or ‘her’? And is the “h” in humanity capital(ism)? Nice use of parenthesis to suggest advanced meaning.)
(It was at this point in this essay that I took a break to take the morning trash out. I noticed a Sports rectangle with a young woman flexing her pronounced chest muscles through a polar bather’s jacket. The rectangle was on the ground. Seemingly untouched. Where on earth did this come from? I dare say not from earth at all … and, I shamefully admit that I could not muster the courage to pick it up. Fear of interstellar germination thrice split my little pea brain. I had an obligation to come back to this very computer and complete this journal entry, before I got a headache.)
Mail. Yes, where does it come from? I don’t know. Do you? I once noticed a man wearing two shades of blue — (note: dark blue. light blue. owl face. who? who??) fiddling in everyone’s boxes. I approached him with the utmost caution, but I wanted to make sure he was aware of my presence — so I allowed for an abrupt squeak from my bleu cheese jeans. He twisted his head at me like an owl spotting its prey. So, I threw myself to the floor with such voracity that I landed right on my teeth. Four hours later I woke up choking, and the man was gone. Nowhere to be seen. At least … not as far as my eyes could tell.