Monsieur_LeBehemoth (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} mrbehemoth) wrote,@ 2008-05-17 04:08:00 |
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The Baby Screams
Understanding the Budget for the everyday Australian
And now, this is a thing I did Thursday night for Babble Liner Notes "The Cure" edition:
The baby screamed. He didn’t know why it was screaming. Screaming babies weren’t his game. His game was trouble. His game was alleys and switchblades and late boozy nights at the office and dames with legs up to their ankles. And he’d never met a dame that wasn’t trying to bring him low. There was one, he remembered...she came to him like a beautiful dream, all cotton candy hair and incurable psoriasis. He remembered the way she smelled in the morning, like fresh coffee and rabbit pellets. But she’d done him wrong like all the rest.
And the baby screamed. He remembered the first time he’d heard a baby scream. Dubrovnik Zoo, 1938. He wore grey, Stalin wore mauve taffeta. He’d leaned in for that first kiss, but then the baby had screamed, the moment was broken, and Stalin was gone. It was the story of his life, every man he’d ever loved had left to frolic with sea lions. He never found that baby, but it haunted him, like a lobster squatting in his sinuses.
And the baby screamed. He looked it in the eye and said, Whaddya want kid? And the baby said, Eeeehhhh, eeeeeehhhhhhhhh. And he laughed. If he had a dollar for every time he’d heard that, he’d be a poor man. He thanked God he had a more stable source of income
And the baby screamed. He wondered when they’d be back. Just look after this baby for a few hours, they’d said. That was eight weeks ago now. He didn’t know how often babies were supposed to eat, but he suspected he may be pushing it.
And the baby screamed. Sometimes he wished he were a baby. Screaming, crying. Swooping and plunging above the mountains. Plucking fish gracefully from the surface of the water...yes, of all the birds of prey, the baby was the most noble. And ever since he was a child he had wanted to lay eggs. Oh they laughed at him at school and called him Eric the Egret Boy. But he had a dream, and he had hope, but it was crushed.
By dames.
And the baby screamed, and he made a decision. He grabbed the baby, opened the window and threw himself out...
And then he was flying, flying high above the cold dark city. And he felt alive, and he felt grateful. Grateful for the stars and the moon. Grateful that he had filled the baby with hydrogen. Soon, like all babies, the baby would explode.
But until then, he could live.
Understanding the Budget for the everyday Australian
And now, this is a thing I did Thursday night for Babble Liner Notes "The Cure" edition:
The baby screamed. He didn’t know why it was screaming. Screaming babies weren’t his game. His game was trouble. His game was alleys and switchblades and late boozy nights at the office and dames with legs up to their ankles. And he’d never met a dame that wasn’t trying to bring him low. There was one, he remembered...she came to him like a beautiful dream, all cotton candy hair and incurable psoriasis. He remembered the way she smelled in the morning, like fresh coffee and rabbit pellets. But she’d done him wrong like all the rest.
And the baby screamed. He remembered the first time he’d heard a baby scream. Dubrovnik Zoo, 1938. He wore grey, Stalin wore mauve taffeta. He’d leaned in for that first kiss, but then the baby had screamed, the moment was broken, and Stalin was gone. It was the story of his life, every man he’d ever loved had left to frolic with sea lions. He never found that baby, but it haunted him, like a lobster squatting in his sinuses.
And the baby screamed. He looked it in the eye and said, Whaddya want kid? And the baby said, Eeeehhhh, eeeeeehhhhhhhhh. And he laughed. If he had a dollar for every time he’d heard that, he’d be a poor man. He thanked God he had a more stable source of income
And the baby screamed. He wondered when they’d be back. Just look after this baby for a few hours, they’d said. That was eight weeks ago now. He didn’t know how often babies were supposed to eat, but he suspected he may be pushing it.
And the baby screamed. Sometimes he wished he were a baby. Screaming, crying. Swooping and plunging above the mountains. Plucking fish gracefully from the surface of the water...yes, of all the birds of prey, the baby was the most noble. And ever since he was a child he had wanted to lay eggs. Oh they laughed at him at school and called him Eric the Egret Boy. But he had a dream, and he had hope, but it was crushed.
By dames.
And the baby screamed, and he made a decision. He grabbed the baby, opened the window and threw himself out...
And then he was flying, flying high above the cold dark city. And he felt alive, and he felt grateful. Grateful for the stars and the moon. Grateful that he had filled the baby with hydrogen. Soon, like all babies, the baby would explode.
But until then, he could live.
