Paul was cereal: part V

[this box of Cookie Crisp  was opened on 1 February]

 

Paul was not this genre. Growling sounds behind him had prompted Paul to once again sprint sprint upwards. So many enjambments but no where to hide. Tracks behind him a guide to his heavy progress. The glossy brown borders moving up up reaching a ceramic sky.

 

“Two ice cubes. No more, no less”

 

A sloping whiteness, no trail or markers. Space dissolving behind in an orange heat. Paul finds a clearing, its openness astounding after weaving for so long through the boxy brown climbing clusters. Yet, despite this openness there is no sky view. Branches, timelines, style guides, newsletters, train schedules, academic journals, maps, calendars, cover sheets, text books, drafts, faxes, laundry lists, notecards, romance novels, parking tickets, encyclopedia articles, Christmas wrapping paper, penny dreadfuls, toilet tissue, concert tickets, day-to-day pullaway calendar sheets, shopping lists, business cards, graphic novels, television schedules, post-it-notes,  how to manuals, hate mail, hamburger wrappers, D&D guidebooks, telemarketing scripts, literary journals, business reports, flashcards, boarding passes, manifestos, wedding invitations, memos, Christmas cards, tree limbs, toilet paper, train tickets, visitor identification badges, twigs, outlines, flyers, self help books, pulp novels, announcements, vispo, indexes, comic books, dictionary pages, novellas, laws, proofs, newspapers, Mormon bible tracts,  zines, posters, scrap papers, straw encasements, paper bags, post cards, fan mail, tabloids, envelopes, legal documentation,  love letters, blue lines, sight seeing guides, class notes, court subpoenas, hard copies, arts magazines, bills,               , bulletins, tax return forms, magazine subscription inserts, loan applications, photopaper, notes passed, corrected copyedited pages, instruction manuals, xeroed copies, box tops, dot matrix printouts, children’s refrigerator artwork, standardized tests, stationary, finical records, stock reports, ticker tape,  appendices,  lined paper, certifications, telephone directories, loose leaf paper, & footnotes all form a canopy clotting out sky.

 

Centered in this clearing, a small grass halo with a cigarbox.

 

Will Paul ever find an open patch of sky? Will anyone actually read that text chunk or just scroll though to the next episode?

 

Tune in tomorrow for Part VI of “Paul was cereal”

Paul was hired. No longer was he, as Chad Kroeger stated, “a poor man stealing,” or,

“tired of living like a blind man/I’m sick of sight without a sense of feeling.”

 

No no.

 

Paul had to been to the bottom of every bottle & now was employed as a marketing coordinator for “International Communication Network.”

 

Yes, the resounding radiofriendly Canadian hard rockers now reminded Paul of employment.

 

Tomorrow, his job to start.

Paul was

and it had taken Paul four attempts before he could properly reproduce the knot, the other three pinched & manhandled, loose & baggy, misshapen, amateur.

 

Paul’s operation of the pressed collar was also less than impressive, a large swatch of silver & grey silk spitting out of the back of the halffolded material.

Paul was in his graduation suit, black & three buttons, white shirt, his only tie grey & blue, shiny & silk. He had missed one of the stickers on the back of his left thigh,

 

34×30

34×30

34×30

34×30

34×30

34×30

running up his leg.

Paul was interviewing for a position as a marketing coordinator. The job listing had said specifically “English” & “Public Relations” & “Writing.”

 

A catchall of sorts.

 

Paul turned his vehicle into an industrial park, tractor trailer loading docks & shipping offices. He found number 434 in reflected sticker letters. Like the ones used on mailboxes.

 

“I  C     N”

 

Opening the door Paul walked into the space. Not an office, more like a cliché idea of an office cobbled together with leftover dorm-room furniture;  three collapsible quad chairs, a small non-descript plant, a foldout poker table with products and promotional flyers fanned out, the shaky looking  empty black & chipped entertainment unit with oversized stereo atop its small radio receiver cable spidering up the wall its pinnacle held by a piece of scotch tape.

 

Nickelback was softly playing.