Pebbles

A sequel to Acid, Bases & Salts 

The pigeon is thirsty.

The pigeon drops a pebble into the beaker.

The sun is sliced up in an unfathomable frenzy of an unfriendly kind. The kind is devoid of any semblance of difference, which in turn have kept them in a state of indifferent harmony. Kindness is godliness, godliness is necessary to form a rhythm of fake hysteria that is bestowed upon the general public who fail to possess the faculties that pebbles are proud of. They mellow down to a molten mass of obscenity served on cones and called ice-creams.

The pigeon drops another pebble into the beaker.

“It is your will”, they shout. He has no will. What will are they talking of? Oh, that sallow skin of the green serpent who slithered in to find an egg, into the pig pen, but pigs do not lay eggs. The serpent's tongue was pulled off and well, red and green. “Will you have the red or the green, Will? Well, it is your will.”

The pigeon drops some more pebbles into the beaker.

The old man cannot keep up with the mice, the mice are faster. The hamster-wheels make music, different kinds. As the old man slows down, he drops rapidly to the floor of the steel-sieve hamster-wheel. He is Sean, the sun of this world. The sun slices through the steel sieve.

The pigeon drops a lot of pebbles into the beaker.

The pigeon drinks the water.

In the beaker.