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| - I remember it like it was yesterday, that one day at my old home in New York, when the postman left that package outside my door, the package not really being important, probably just some catalogs, but rather, the importance lies in the postman's visit himself, as opposed to the reason of his visit, which was, of course, the unimportant package. This postman would have a profound, lasting effect on my life, and I had been viewing him through my peephole for several months now, from inside my little New York town house, a terribly fine little house that resided perfectly parallel to Washington Parallelogram Park.
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| abstract
| - I remember it like it was yesterday, that one day at my old home in New York, when the postman left that package outside my door, the package not really being important, probably just some catalogs, but rather, the importance lies in the postman's visit himself, as opposed to the reason of his visit, which was, of course, the unimportant package. This postman would have a profound, lasting effect on my life, and I had been viewing him through my peephole for several months now, from inside my little New York town house, a terribly fine little house that resided perfectly parallel to Washington Parallelogram Park. This postman was rather cute, or so I believed at the time, that is, the opinion that I had formed of him was one of beauty, not only in image, but character as well. Lord knew if I actually knew his character myself! I had nary even passed through my own doorway, not on my own accord, of course. It was my father's fault that I never ventured outside of this perfectly parallel flat much often, as he was often too busy tormenting me sexually or pointing out my and his own psychological flaws in long and flowery run-on sentences, as he so often did, such was one psychological flaw that he contained, actually, and possibly passed onto me. But I digress. My father had two brothers who were into leather and two fathers that found him in a river when they were vacationing in the south of France. Vacationing, persay, or rather, fleeing the homophobic villages of their old town. Anyways, they took my father out of the river and came here to New York. Then they died. So it goes. This may explain for my own personal sexual, er, deviancies, as the local Parish likes to call it, though Father O'Kinnerty, as I know from personal experience (and a pair of my uncle's velour pants) that he is quite the hypocrite. But I continue to digress. I could swear the digression would never end. But at long last, it did! I decided to act against instinct and finally punch my way through the door and meet the postman head on, apply directly to the forehead. Head on, apply directly to the forehead. Head on, apply but I digress. I barged my way through the doorway, after opening the door first, of course, and chased after the slowly fleeing postman in a flurry of anachronisms. No, that's not the operative word, it was more like conjugations. A smattering of injunctions later, I caught up to the postman, but alas! I realized I was at a total loss for words! "Uh um err uh, well, I don't know, Tuesday? "What, sir?" "Erm. Yeah. Uh. Hi." "Hello to you too, sir." "Having a nice... mail?" "Well... yes, yes I am! Today is the release date of the finest new Sears, Roebuck! I must say, it sure is deli-" "Have you ever noticed how Washington Parallelogram Park is perfectly parallel to this house?" "Uh... yes? Wait, sir, why are you not wearing clothes?" I suppose I should have mentioned by now that I was not wearing clothes. I had darted out of my house, onto my front lawn, into the bustling city of New York, perfectly parallel from the park, to catch up with the postman, in nothing but my birthday suit. My embarrassment was tremendous, but I masked it with clever wordplay. "Why, yes, it appears I am not wearing clothes at all! How about that, mister postman? May I inquire your name?" "My name is Eugene, naked but also good sir." "Such a splendid name! My uncle was Eugene, may he rest in peace." "Oh, I'm sorry to hear about your uncle. How did he die?" "Poor fellow was raped and murdered by my father." "Oh." "So I'll see you tuesday?" "Fuck no, you're weird." The postman walked away, never to return again, except but in my dreams. I spent the rest of the month brooding in the park, pondering my existence and parallelity, and perhaps, in addition, my overabundant use of commas and clauses. Note to the editor: get rid of them. I cannot command control of my comma consistencies. End Transmission.
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