A few quick exercises in nonsense. Read only for fun!
The fish and the cat became friends when the dog died. They lived in a blue house on a suburban street in the middle of a country whose name I forgot. It was well and good to say they were an odd couple—for surely they were—but it was also true that they had a striking synergy that kept them in good spirits all day long.
—
Dear John,
There are too many ways to tell you to get lost.
I can’t settle on just one.
So why don’t you try on a couple of these for size?
Your beard always scratches my face.
I bought you boots for your birthday because boots are made for walking.
The hair on my head is not yours for the counting anymore.
Sincerely,
Me
—
Oh my, how the weeds have grown! I can’t stop counting their seeds. Soon they’ll be bigger than you, bigger than me, bigger than the house we live in! How can anyone stand the attack? They advance fast and lively—quicker than a dart—and then, before you can blink, they’ve surrounded you. What do you make of that? It’s a metaphor for life, you see. It’s a way of talking about evil without really naming the beast. Clever, isn’t it? The weeds are doing us in. They’re ugly: a canker sore on the mouth of man. They’ll make us dead to the earth before we know it. They’ll make us think of the things we love and twist our minds until we believe we hate them. Oh my, how they weeds have grown!