Month: March 2018

Token Trivia

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Bird

The Doctor said, if he could read my mind, it would tell stories. Stories of the centerfold masquerading as a crocheted tattoo inhibited only to the naked few with a magnifying glass. A broken jar in the middle of the highway. A bycicle sticking to a goat parading a mustache with an attitude.

I tried to zoom in but it was still far. I tried to hop on the electrical cable, go through the roof, jump down the fence and land firm on the neighbor’s patio table but I was still dancing. So, I made a hole on the paper peeked through it and was told a pigeon had flown in, snatched the paper on his beak and I was out of luck.

Yup, too much for this story. Token trivia sold at your local grocerie store; it was only in his head.

©️Angela Aguiar

Twisted Lingo

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Ventoinha

I had the lingo going even when my tongue twisted: scissor, tape, iron, table, masking tape, ruler, merch, model, person, check, check, check! Foreigner language it wasn’t but the rolling detective eyes were seen crawling, laying on the cart wheel claiming its territory.

I was doing what I thought I knew it to be. I was ironing clothes longer then the train heading to Georgia rolling on truck four. I was organizing tables. Tagging clothes. Returning merch faster then a race car driver. Coordinating jewelry.

One certain day in July, the phone stopped ringing.

©️Angela Aguiar

Glory Days

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Our lives are filled with colorful pockets of hours.

Hours of joy. Hours of mourning. Hours of glory. Hours of bounding. Hours of sorrow. Hours of learning. Hours of envy. Hours of greatness. Hours of imperfections. Hours of growth. Hours of enlightenment. Hours of prosperity. Hours of condemnation. Hours of disgust. Hours of pain. Hours…

Hours of suffering.

Yes, suffering. A current of little dots permeating our lives like school of fish bundle up in a can. Fictional groceries camouflaged in a shopping bag. A left turn signal in the middle of an highway. An imaginary whopper of make-believe junction of impulsivity that makes bed, uninvited.

Suffering is the glue that keeps on sticking without the adhesive. The red mat on the corner of our living rooms. It is never in vain but rewarding and it comes with its calling card.

Hours of glory!