Paul was labeled: snack size, fun size.

 

But the nutritional facts included were actually for full-sized treats.

 

A tendency to lie about eating.

Paul was you are what you eat.

Paul was office working, though his mind was mostly on a snack. Meaning this morning the office smelled like hash browns (because this floor of cubicles is directly above the cafetorium) & it was incredibly distracting for work efforts. Mostly mouth watering & dreaming of the fried potato treats.

 

Paul plugged away at his tasks in attempted ignorance of home fries.

 

Paul was on the phone. It sounded like:

 

[911 dispatcher]: Is your Aunt conscious, can she move?

 

[Paul]: I dunno, (yelling & coughing)

 

[911 dispatcher]: Hello? Is anyone there?

Paul was questioning the viability of such a form as a story. Did it have enough hold to keep readers reading? Was repeating enough? Do you really know who you are? Paul was uncertain? As in, present a teaser or an antidote upfront to entice, hold, keep people interested? What if the little comments were the most interesting parts?

 

Perhaps it was not enough? The need for clear narrative laid out, edible? But like everything else? Why post everyday? Why create such schedules? Can long word(k)s sustain themselves on the net? Can creating a pile of less make more? Paul was in the kitchen screaming? Paul was was not? Paul was in his den writing with a pen?

 

“form gathers force?”

 

What is training in writing? reading? A notebook, blue? Fire? the mozzarella sticks in the toaster over? Add whiskey? A husband leaving you? spacing for things unsaid? a dislike of persons who punctuate with excessive question marks? always four lies? sentences as stanzas? Thus spoke Paul? As in to the operator on the telephone?

 

He had a ghostwriter working for him? Coo coo clock in the kitchen? Where were we? To fill in the memories? In sweatpants? A stingray bike? blue? It certainly looked like work? But unpaid? Paul was unrevised? An action of pulling apart? Strings of melting cheese? Ironically that was her job? Is that irony? It was not true anyway?  

Paul was a recorded conversation.

Paul was dialed 911.

Paul was the telephone near the door with the very long cord.

Paul was fly.

Paul was the one who found Aunt Lori. Passed out at the kitchen table, cigarette smoldering the enamle table top.

Paul was a toaster oven. You would be surprised with hom much a toaster oven

can be used. In fact, when snack time approached, most items were quickly toaster ovened to the proper temperature.

Paul was tea cups on display.

Paul was garbadgecan with a lid that rises when you step on the footpad.

Paul was the metal accents of the countertop.

Paul was remembering the kitchen’s colour to be mostly greenish.

Paul was sink.

Paul was a drain collector.

Paul was a plant near the window.

Paul was forgetting details, such as empty alchol bottles or the bar-like atmosphere of the kitchen, because he was too young to notice the prescence of such things.

Paul was glassware.

Paul was a napkin holder.

Paul was chairs pushes in round the table.

Paul was a sponge holder. It was a frog with it’s mouth open, as to accomidate the sponge.

Paul was how everything Aunt Lori cooked for him came from the toaster oven.

Paul was a pile of mail on the countertop corner.

Paul was a pot holder.

Paul was an electric oven.

Paul was the kitchen table. A reconditioned white enamel top. You could barely see the cigarette burn.

Paul was an unobtrisuve light.

Paul was cleaner under the sink.

Paul was an egg timer.

Paul was bent. Like the fork buried in the back of the drawer.

Paul was a ceramic collection of small Amish figurines.

Paul was lineolium.

Paul was in the kitchen. At least he was remebering the kitchen in Aunt Lori’s house.

Paul was a knife block.

Paul was a kettle.

Paul was a breadbox.