THREE SQUARED

This juicy offering consisted of 3 ripe avocados, their skins pitted, sucked by flies, their flesh riddled with insect homes, performing a choreographically controlled decompositional epic on the chequered floor-space of an eternal kitchenette whilst a large clock, looming in the background shook its head, checked its watch and shook its head again.


As the curtains closed on the performance, the gathered audience rose, demanding more. Obligingly, the curtains re-opened to reveal a rather grey room containing an armchair, a coffee table and a small orange microwave. On the coffee table sat an empty digitised wine receptacle, next to a calendar that read: whatiis. I sank into the armchair and noticed an empty pewter ashtray sitting on the table. I picked it up, placed in into my pocket...and winked at you. Then, having received a Nietzschean epiphany concerning something about an eternal recurrence, I proceeded to indulge myself in a fit of actual creativity, attempting to immortalise the previous events by scrawling their history on my indestructible fanplastic panpolystyrene writing paper for later upload into my Digital Diary...

The Digital Diary