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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3607 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Take It Down Suzanne Even your mother's Christmas utterances are reduced to telephone pads. We now have three, a disgrace in acid colours - sun-faded - and one thousand (approx.) pages. A myriad of diminutive messages encrypt our information laden days, jostle for attention beneath used matches, crumpled cables, petri-dish mugs, papers never read - though the highlighter yellow does a good job of pretending. 'Sudan appeal', pleads one sheet gone astray '0870 ... [illegible]', and faint in the radio background observers argue over genocide. 'Phone Grandma on pain of death' - winces in retrospect. Unworthy offspring we are. Many bear names unremembered, and scream reproach from all nine digits of their attendant numbers. Vital squares always fail to show. Our jungle of ink and paper reclaims cleared territory with lightning speed, regurgitates only pencils worn to the hilt, doodles of doubtful geometry and a faint scent of mold. |
