Thursday, February 16, 2006

Creatures don't seem to know much about anything. Go ahead and ask them a question, or even try to exchange mere pleasantries and just see what happens. I'll be surprised if you register any sort of appropriate or definitive response. I've tried it many times myself but so far the reception has been scant to say the least. Grunts, snorts, blank stares and caws. Wriggles, scratches, hoots and roars. These are just some of the replies I have thus far encountered.

Together, they form a vast indeterminable tide of bones and blood and limbs and eyes and tendrils and feathers and gills and teeth. Alone they move around in circles. Eating, shitting, fucking and not much inclined for conversation. I have nothing against creatures in particular. I even consider some of them my friends and likewise, they in turn, probably think the same of me.

However, we move back and forth across this tide; our tiller breaking the wave. Where are their houses? Rockets? Paintings? Jackets? Benchmarks? Dolls? Spears? Holidays? You and I and us and them. We know lots of things. Right now, you can probably tell me lots of stuff I don't know and other things I do. Likewise, I can probably do the same for you. The creatures that form this tide can't. They don't seem to know much of anything.

For this reason, I am pondering why someone endeared to feed the dog onions.

Would you want to have a Yorkshire Terrier called "Mutherfucker" high on onions?

How do onions affect dogs anyway?

Can a vet enquire within.


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