My mouse was skipping a bit so I turned it over to see what gives. There were three skid pads, and they were cruddy with some kind of shit. I scraped it off with my fingernails and the mouse went back to smooth dancing with the formica that was its life partner.
What was that shit? It seemed like gum or glue or a combo of both, with some body stuff mixed in and all grey and eeeuw!y.
Then it occured to me. The mouse was my soul. It was designed to slip around on banal life surfaces, but as it was used in reality, it gummed up over time from really almost invisible detritii. (plural of detritus) (which means the crud that accumulates under a dentist chair after a serious bout of drill biting.)
Then it occurred to me that my mouse was all of technology for everyone in the whole world, and the shit on its skids was the fakery and delusion that built up over time under the best of polished formica intentions.
See, that is how metaphors are born and how dynasties of oppression blossom in the night soil of our dreams. I am busy mousing away thinking that my web browsing and celebrity-saturated voyeurism is my "work" when in fact my work, and the product of my work, is the snotcake defilement of my pristine mouseskids.
So now my mouseskids bore the burden of metaphorizing all of Christianity, in addition to all of technology. See, in Christian terms, the soul is pure but gets moldy and cracked due to the incompetence of our low natures. It needs the fingernail of Christ to scrape off its little teflon skiddies periodically, and once bloody for all at Easter.
Don't even get me started on my mouse metaphor for Nationalism, the IMF, paper currency in general, and Christmas presents.
What was that shit? It seemed like gum or glue or a combo of both, with some body stuff mixed in and all grey and eeeuw!y.
Then it occured to me. The mouse was my soul. It was designed to slip around on banal life surfaces, but as it was used in reality, it gummed up over time from really almost invisible detritii. (plural of detritus) (which means the crud that accumulates under a dentist chair after a serious bout of drill biting.)
Then it occurred to me that my mouse was all of technology for everyone in the whole world, and the shit on its skids was the fakery and delusion that built up over time under the best of polished formica intentions.
See, that is how metaphors are born and how dynasties of oppression blossom in the night soil of our dreams. I am busy mousing away thinking that my web browsing and celebrity-saturated voyeurism is my "work" when in fact my work, and the product of my work, is the snotcake defilement of my pristine mouseskids.
So now my mouseskids bore the burden of metaphorizing all of Christianity, in addition to all of technology. See, in Christian terms, the soul is pure but gets moldy and cracked due to the incompetence of our low natures. It needs the fingernail of Christ to scrape off its little teflon skiddies periodically, and once bloody for all at Easter.
Don't even get me started on my mouse metaphor for Nationalism, the IMF, paper currency in general, and Christmas presents.
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