Last night was a pleasant one. It is like a set point in time. A sand-bar. And once you literally cross the bar in time, you don't feel sleepy. So, i decided to eat an Orange, the fruit of abundance and lust. The skin was thick and so i dug my nails all around. Orange smell sprayed all across. Against the light of the computer, bitter semi-liquid particles were released. Then i thought of June and pineapples as i dug further in. Then, thinking of the green monster in the christmas film, i withdrew my finger. It wreaked orange juice and shreds. I almost felt like the green monster with big black nails as I licked and lynched it. I thought of all assignments, spat seeds at her bum, licked at my lips again thinking of immeasurable possibilities, muzak, linge. Period. I typed "linge" in the computer, silently conspiring for it to be in dictionary. But the moment the cursor moved, it gave me a "hah-you think i won't notice" red line. I love my photos, benign like lamb. I was dreaming of mommy the other day, how she felt so tired carrying her son all around on the scooter with a daughter who was really no help. I wonder where ther father was. The mouth was like a juicer, the orange's thick skin and shreds knotted in my teeth. Suddenly, I grunted at that ostentatious display of contextually modern technology. I can't write on paper, it seems, hah! I was actually so pleased because he can’t write shite without incentive/compulsion. Even then, come out carefully grafted samples of a capitalist mind. All geared towards production and worth. Conservative, paleolithic man. Those rotten wrinkles that so pleasantly come near his eyes, making a perfect argument for the "in pursuit of practical happiness" types, read money, read backing, closing of walls on his face, then the tower within that detects intelligent words around sucks them in, Bluetooth, free sourcing, plagiarizing, that too with some OS which is dysfunctional, instead of minimizing it enlarges all words, then repeats them thrice and more times and drowns all other hopes, thoughts etc in those “ what I think is...” and “actually I believe (content: what people said over a million times)”. Suckling on an orange I felt like a witch. Difficult to wean. A bitter aftertaste. Burp. Burp. The juicer mouth is done with work. Remains sticking to its inside like some lumps stuck in the cement mixer huge machine. The work is done. No show.