Men on the Roof

by L. D. Victory © 2001

Men on the roof. What do they want?

There is also someone way to the south of me and she is talking metaphysics on the phone. How come I hear this?

I'm inside a little ball, circling the earth or something, with holograms surrounding so that we have a living room, picture window with deer and pepper trees outside (the mix is mine, for such was the mix in the old neighborhood, so fuck off with your aesthetic objections, don't mean zip to me).

But men on the roof. Pounding. Do they want me to climb up there and save them? Tell them who they are? Better tape my mouth (always carry it, duct tape; you don't tape the mouth Earth Man hit mouth because of what emerges without choice therefrom).

"Get off the roof!" is all I can manage, and to the woman, the metaphysical one to the south: "The phone . . .OFF! . . . Get."

This is not a coherent proposition in metaphysics.

In my little ball house to propose is to say: "You will not be there when I hit DELETE. And when I dump the trash, sweetie, you n'exist pa. You never did. None of it. Guys on the roof. Deer and pepper trees."

Trouble is, it all gets flushed at once, hence like some good and bad sad god you have to make the whole thing up again.

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