Kneeless Babes in the Desert
2007-12-09 - 7:02 p.m.

Heckled are the undertakings of my lulling and pulling dance for the bears. Furious feasts disguised as dreams opened canteens and pinched the lobes of malcontent meanderings. Suddenly, there were not only three bears. There were more bears than I could possibly charm. I continued to float and toss sequins in the air and hold an image of generous tigers in my mind, but soon the bears licked my confusion and nibbled all attempts to break free. O, and how I tried. How I tried to avoid all things thrifty and wooden until illusions of adorable microscopes entered themselves into my thematic equation. I pondered for a moment, wondering if he's ever thrust himself into sprinklings of dew, and then began the long journey to dehydration.

And that's how I became a desert. There were small parties held in my honour, and all who attended felt awkward. Their legs had blue stripes and their heads were in Ecuador. We all paused for a moment and then tore our souls from our bodies/deserts and tossed them in the toilet for the bears to piss on. We were soulless and glum, counting the lost pennies and dreaming of our days of exploration.

Suddenly, shivering boats landed from tusky lands above. We questioned the boats and learned of their cargo of knees. They were bringing vital knee-parts to Jesus, so Jesus could give the little babies knees. It was a moment of quiet reflection for all. Three months of kneeless babies were in store for the world if we could not get the boats to Jesus.

We developed plants involving large insects, and ticked boxes in the grove. All seemed rather hopeless, so the boats destroyed their beloved typewriters and marched off to the lowly lands of soup that was never fully cooked.

This made the bears chuckle, and caused all of us to resent them more. All I could do, as a desert, was grow cacti and lick my sandy skin.

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