I think bananas are wonderful fruits. Don't you?
The way the sun shines off of them, reflecting a beam of yellow light into your eyes. The way that the peel falls effortlessly off of the actual banana when peeling. It's amazing.
The smell of them, once mashed up with revolting baby food.
Bananas are wonderful fruits. At least, I think so. What do you think?
Do you prefer the kiwi, with its brown fur?
Do you prefer the orange, who's colour is in its name?
Do you prefer the guava, which I'm not entirely sure on the appearance.
Why not a banana?
The bananas are the fruits of monkeys, although they eat them the correct way. Silly humans open and peel them upside down.
Don't you love it when the banana goes mouldy, and you peel it to find a disgusting brown mass of goo?
Don't you love it?
Do you prefer kiwis because they resemble the bird?
Do you enjoy eating birds?
I think bananas are wonderful fruits. Do you?
Productivity gains in China were greater than expected. But not everyon is performing beyond expectations. Athletes flex their oiled pectorals and we spoil them with attention. Melodramatic actors say inspiring words and we raise them above the dingy to-and-fro. I stand my ground. I walk casually through doorways I am not allowed. My world is constantly changing. I wear sunglasses so I do not make eye-contact with any celebrity. I’m provoking power brokers and parking my car where it is not allowed. China is working hard, I am trying to work harder. Every creditor has been tapped. Every celebrity has been spoiled. I am exceeding expectations. What are you doing?
This is the thing that grinds me: I waste so much time awaiting pointless affirmations. My heart is always in a mud puddle. My thoughts are stuck. And sometimes even music doesn’t free me. But these things pass. They really do. They pass away. And I will thump and stomp again with a grin. With a mug of fun and a chin of cheer... Open the windows, someone is coming to me. Open the garage door, someone is coming. The great affirmer. The mud puller. The grin bringer. Come to me and tell me where my hope lies. Pull me from the mud and lead me to a home. I won’t resist your gentle knowledge. Just know that I am damaged product. A bruised reed. A tainted soul who hungers for wicked things and longs for pointless affirmations.
It was an age of poofy hats and telescopic innovations. Disenchanted priests were pondering the cosmos. Disillusioned missionaries were constructing mechanical workforces. It was an age of wonder and a wonderful age. There were powerful punks who bemoaned the coming change. There were Enlightenment Salesmen who were peach with glee. There were innovators and instigators and exposed magicians looking for a home. There were magic movers and "humanity inflators." We were empowered and moving forward. We crossed the ocean to a promised land. We conquered the natives and comforted the pilgrims. The church was scattered. Authority decomposed. Structures crumbled. And men wore poofy hats and fancy pants.
Ancient siblings, reborn duplications. Oscillations. Timid sisters cast back failures. Memories of moaning eagles. Bleak outlook cast out the breakfast. Once in a while the truth breaks through. Orange folders contain great pages. Painted horses trotting bravely. Punched-out drunkard, begging window. Wolves bark and howl in the autumn chill. The first chill of the year is the harshest. Frozen branches taunt the traveler. Ancient siblings pressing buttons. Ancient raindrops shimmer branches. Shimmer-shake. Chill. Forsaken oscillations. Black hole failures. Time warp nothing. Cursing strangers. Begging drunkards, broken windows. Frozen memories on painted horses. Moaning eagles in search of breakfast.