Cleave
April 30 W 8:32 AM CLEAVE
Isn't it odd that cleave means to divide by a sharp blow AND to cling closely? Split or stick together, the same word has opposite meanings. Isn't it eerily appropriate, then, on the first page of the Bible, God decrees that man and woman "cleave unto" one another. I remember discovering that in the library at the University of Maine at Orono. It cleaved my soul, cleft my spirit, clove my heart, my mind was cloven, it clove to my brain like barnacles.
This little book of writing exercise I have says to copy a word with a double meaning: bear, cleave, lie, sewer, tear, and desert. (I did bear on the computer last night.) Then without stopping for any reason, write to the end of the page. Making sense not important. Speed and endurance are. If you get stuck, repeat the word until something new spills out. Ha! I've one-upped them, though, because I've been doing it all a long for three pages, not just one. Cleave cleave. I need to cleave unto the toilet now that that coffee is coursing through my veins. My kids are looking up words in the dictionary.
Why is it the more urgent the need to crap, the more difficulty you will experience getting the paper seat liner? First you've got to get it out of the dispenser without ripping it to shreds, then you've got to tear the perforations around the hole you shit through without ripping it to shreds, then you've got to put it on the seat and get your pants down without it falling in, and if it does then you've got to start all over, and you're usually juggling something at the same time, too, because you don't want to leave your books or whatever out on the counter in the public shitter; all for the thin piece of mind between any trace of stranger urine residue and your ass cheeks. Cleave unto me. Cleave into you. Then there's the condensation that forms between the cold seat and your warm cheeks. Some time I'd like to go through a woman's cleavage like I've seen in some videos. That looks like fun. Shirelle says we don't give enough of a shit about each other. She expects me to drive across town, high, on my suspended license. Her selfishness knows no bounds. At times, I guess that's the bound. I read a story by Jane Shaprio about adolescence and parenthood called POLTERGIESTS. It sort of fizzled out at the end.
Isn't it odd that cleave means to divide by a sharp blow AND to cling closely? Split or stick together, the same word has opposite meanings. Isn't it eerily appropriate, then, on the first page of the Bible, God decrees that man and woman "cleave unto" one another. I remember discovering that in the library at the University of Maine at Orono. It cleaved my soul, cleft my spirit, clove my heart, my mind was cloven, it clove to my brain like barnacles.
This little book of writing exercise I have says to copy a word with a double meaning: bear, cleave, lie, sewer, tear, and desert. (I did bear on the computer last night.) Then without stopping for any reason, write to the end of the page. Making sense not important. Speed and endurance are. If you get stuck, repeat the word until something new spills out. Ha! I've one-upped them, though, because I've been doing it all a long for three pages, not just one. Cleave cleave. I need to cleave unto the toilet now that that coffee is coursing through my veins. My kids are looking up words in the dictionary.
Why is it the more urgent the need to crap, the more difficulty you will experience getting the paper seat liner? First you've got to get it out of the dispenser without ripping it to shreds, then you've got to tear the perforations around the hole you shit through without ripping it to shreds, then you've got to put it on the seat and get your pants down without it falling in, and if it does then you've got to start all over, and you're usually juggling something at the same time, too, because you don't want to leave your books or whatever out on the counter in the public shitter; all for the thin piece of mind between any trace of stranger urine residue and your ass cheeks. Cleave unto me. Cleave into you. Then there's the condensation that forms between the cold seat and your warm cheeks. Some time I'd like to go through a woman's cleavage like I've seen in some videos. That looks like fun. Shirelle says we don't give enough of a shit about each other. She expects me to drive across town, high, on my suspended license. Her selfishness knows no bounds. At times, I guess that's the bound. I read a story by Jane Shaprio about adolescence and parenthood called POLTERGIESTS. It sort of fizzled out at the end.
posted by johnz at 10:29 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home