TRIGGER WAS A PERFECT DAY
My day begins with an aubade to the rosy sun that filters light
through mullioned windows, casting shadows, stripes, hues on the 20
stiff and silky furred pugs all snuffing and snorting their way up
towards me in complete devotion.
Bill brings me my 26th cup of coffee, a yearly treat, as he tells me,
“I vacuumed the Pugs with a silent hose so as not to disturb you,” and
I praise the sun and this husband of mine, whose heart beats are
tachycardiac with my own in slavish devotion to these squatty little
warloads, these imitation pugaparte’s, named: Napoleon, a rather
smallish one, Sluggo and Nancy, he bullish and spilling flesh, leaning
against my knee, whilst his mate, Nancy, black, small determined and
pissed because Sluggo keeps pushing her out of the way. The rest?
I’ll leave that for a less perfect day when my spirit droops and tell
you of Grendel and Thor and Hortensia and Garlic Breath, and Attilita,
aaah my beloved Atilita who wants eggs every morning, spit out the
yellow on the floor and just eat the whites, Atilita.
The World Times comes to my bed, again brought by my slavishly devoted
mate of 100 years, and I note with pleasure, our world leaders, all
elected on their qualities of service and integrity, and finally
decided how to handle those whose necks arch out in greed.
They have created what is known as Pie in The Sky Ranch, and all those
leaders whose underwear probably scratched their inner thighs and
made them irritable and evil, will be allowed to go to a remote place
off the Falkland Islands and walk with the penguins and learn how to
make beef pie, and never be allowed to come back to civilization.
I also note that according to our latest poll of the planet, we are
achieving 98% literacy and that Janabe Judd has one the Nobel Prize
for his theory of international relationships. The honored Janabe,
blessings be upon his mom, has figured out that Africa is the heart of
the world, and Germany the brain, and the States who went through that
humbling, scrape of the arrogance period in the early 2,000s is the
social director and coordinator of solace and welcome to the human
race. He will be honored for his literary representation of the huan
race; it’s oneness, it’s diversity, the parts (countries) becoming one
and their spirits creating a greater than the whole tenor.
Creativity is flourishing; my mind stills at the thought of every atom
in the universe being there for our education, and further stills and
my heart stops because we have finally achieved as a planet a place
where everyone born is a trust of the whole. The Spiritualization of
Humankind, the promise of Prophets and Seers and Poets of older times
when earth was grubby and garbage ran amuck.
How did we get to live through those terrible times and witness
today’s morning glory. I decide 140 is as old as I want to be; i don’t
want to have baggy kidneys and knees that look like bookends to my ankles.
I lie back and snuggle into the pillows, and say to my beloed mate,
“Put on another pug, right over the empty space here on my nose and my
mouth, and he picks Clara, and also Margo and Kaufman just to be sure,
and i slowly lose consciousness with a sense of peace like a warm
soothing blanket from days of old, spreading silently through my
being, and i think right before my soul rises up the ceiling in utter
bliss, “This beats stretching and straining for Yoga positions,” and
then I move into other worlds knowing my beloved mate is sure to meet
up with me shortly, and the pugs will be cared for tenderly during all
their days, because Be Kind To Animals is such an observed saying, it
has replaced the old Peace Poles with Peace written in different
language, and put in parks and civic buildings.
Snort, snuff, hmmmmmm.