Monday, January 4, 2010

An Idea for a novel that just won't work

Rabbits. Fucking Rabbits.
They've followed me all my life.
I've learned to avoid them by now,
But every once in a while
I'll let my guard down,
reading a book by my window,
daydreaming at a traffic light,
that's when they get me,
and can they ever talk.
Once they start. And I mean it,
once they start you can never shut them up.
They'll tell you they've seen so many things.
Been so many places, but one thing they can't do,
and if you've had
enough experience like I've had,
you know,
one thing they can't do is tell a story...
They will ramble on and on and on
for hours,
tangents and side stories, little anecdotes,
but you'll never and I am serious about this,
never, ever get to the meaning of the story
no matter how long you sit there
hours, piling on to hours,
its like watching a never ending half time show,
yeah it might be interesting and novel at first
but eventually you just wanna get to the game
know what I mean,
sure you do, I'm sure you've had a
conversation like this before,
You sit there nodding politely,
pretending to make eye contact,
but really you're staring at their mouth or past them,
wondering if they'll ever shut up,
or if you'll ever have the chance to speak again,
feeling like you are the police officer or the ballerina
or the clown from that Twilight Zone episode,
except you're hoping and waiting for someone
to ring the bell, shoulder to shoulder
straining, listening
for that loud bang,
the cold snow on plastic. Ignorance.
Whatever, even if you hadn't seen it
you'd know what I mean, right?
I guess,
all trust and what not...
So anyway back to the Rabbits

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