Hello! Cupboard How Are You?
My Name Is Andrew. Comment Allez Vous?
Ca va bien merci, Est ce que voudrais un cafe?
C’est in bon idee!
See how we live in the twenty-first century
Talking to my cupboard about the day might seem strange
In fact its as pink as blancmange
to say it strangely you might say as a wavelength of the rainbow
which avoids all unambiguity.
I am feeling blue, smoking my cigar and drinking myself stupid seems
apposite in the circumstances. How I wish I were green again and the sunshine
yellow white and the slush grey and the china white.
Music piped digitally into my abode brings reds, blues and yellows into the shallow swamp
that is my pleasure of murky browns mixed with vegetal greens in a slurry of organic matter.
That I stomp about in my big black boots. Arrrrggghhh! UUUgghhhh! Graaaaaah! Ha Ha!
Purple and blue to you to you purple and blue to you!
The walls of my palace are pale and mild and not yellow or beige but unwhite and warm cream magnolia. There’s a bit of a solipsist wit for you. Not white not right. Christ!
My drink is a straw colour cloudy and in spite of my colour blindness, white and green and something in between like yellow and grey mixed with milk and parsley petals reflecting the harsh sun’s rays of red, orange and yellow.
When it comes to colour…wait for it… I am black and made of all colours although on some days I am washcloth grey or mophead brown despite my drip of gold.
But I am bread white really and I turn a nice brown in the summer. But that’s when I used to go out places. Not these days. Now the seasons drift by like so much traffic and the seasons evidence of my ageing while my mirror silvered tells lies, lies damn lies.
Black is my mind, black are the clouds that stumble on ahead of the weather striking fear into me. The rainbow palette is perhaps the greatest gift to be-stormed residents of weather town. (Where the talk is always brown)
But colours seriously I heard the other day ‘My brown friends’ what did you make of it? You say! Was it neo-fascist talk or shitty coprophagia or some such talk or was it simply earth that is brown and is good. So brown friends or Earth friends! The truth is I do not know and this adds to my sorrow of simpering yellow pus like sores of black blood and red crusty scabs on which my temperament soars like blackbirds from a pie.
But that’s it from me for the time being. Time to say goodbye