Why Can’t We Be Farmers?


There was and there was not a reluctant cheese farm in the middle of a formal rope garden which, as you know, grows down instead of up. Spaced between the short cows were informational blots floating like afterimages. Jean Sibelius invented the cake pan which is used to separate the milk from the things that you hear about from the neighbors. He is famous in Switzerland and the garage territories for this important discovery and records have been made of it. He appears to be composed of organic rude instruments.
And if that wasn’t another lever for the dairy products consortium to exercise in uprooting undesirable health implications, then it was most certainly a factor in the development of the recent udder appreciation movements.
In the meantime, my little darlings, we should be very clear about our confusions, however illicit they may be. Solemn occasions are shedding their unconvincing raincoats in the very same garden where we met the need for this territorial career. Let’s repair the cautions recovered from reluctant advancements. We can reward the unrepentant miscreants later. No one’s going to steal them or caress them needlessly.
You, however, could certainly still be happening. Perhaps without effort. The swan’s wing span remains enormous and continues whistling to the ancient clouds. Sibelius sings in the cheese window, with lyric and erect intentions. Godlike. Sensual. You might even defeat the temptation to list all his accomplishments. You’re too late to invent the modern Sibelius separator, but several aspects of the things you dream about the neighbors remain unexplored and fluid.
Who then are these implicitly ruminant and greatly under-browned four-legged folktale heroes anyway? Are your neighbors not providing the short white contemporary informational blots spaced with territorial imperatives and the commercially viable processed aluminum mortality dispensations sold as Cheese Whiz and thus inserted surreptitiously into the implicit gobs of something as painfully indescribable but still very much alive as you are?
“Are these great pastoral providers really your neighbors or are they merely an alternative variety of the inevitable ferment?” we might wish to ask if we could live happily after any ever.

Rich Ives is the author of Tunneling to the Moon: A Psychological Gardener’s Book of Days currently being published in serial @ Silenced Press everyday in 2014 and forthcoming in paperback. Begin from the beginning, catch up, read daily. Just refer to the Burrow Guide.