Grimbeau

Thursday, 06 June 2013

1:06 PM

‘…a morning of many tempos – pleasant sunshine and a graceful arrival in the crowsnest, a contemplative shower; yet, the insistent repetition of the alarm clock was a portent. On arriving downstairs, I have to confront, singlehandedly, a defiant and barren hen about to ravish the spinach. Staged mayhem results in a cleaning frenzy of the clutter below and the retreat of Sloth in a Huff to her coop after having to do something…’

Popeye spent the rest of the morning ambulating on the zimmer between house and garden: stretching parchment legs, listening to Beethoven, smoking tabs, avoiding dogshit, avoiding humanshit, relaying coffee cups…result: relaxed exhaustion and sunny alienation in the atmosphere of poisoned, silent dispinachment…