Weight Watchers
you ever have one of those days where the world not only threatens to open its gaping maw and masticate you to mush but the world does open its gaping maw and sucks you down, kicking, punching, clawing at the spongy flesh of the worldâs ribbed, greasy gullet, desperate to maintain your balance, but no, the world ainât having that shit and the world gulps real big-like and forces you on your merry way and you come to rest in the worldâs first belly, though it doesnât look like any belly youâve been in before but like a cardboard box sealed all around with camouflaged duct tape, belly juices a pool of moldy blue jello, other folks the world has swallowed today all around you, mad, lost, ill-prepared, and then that gooey gut shifts and youâre sliding again, getting pushed down a hole in the corner and fllffp! youâre plopped right into the worldâs second belly and itâs like a party from 1977 up in there, disco ball strung by ligaments, reflecting rays from bio-luminescent nodules and you feel your skin peeling away, digested by the world, this olâ hungry world, this grand olâ hungry world whose second belly is an echo chamber of lifeâs pulsations, which induce in you gyrations you canât control and though your ears are sliding from your head the worldâs rhythms pound pound pound through you like a jackjackjackhammer and you try to find some respite from whatâs beating and you lose your footing, slip and yes, youâre sliding again, sliding to belly number three and the silence there brings tears to your eyes which parade down your skinless face stinging something fierce, prompting you to cuss out loud but your tongue falls out on the white floor in front of you and then the rest of your soft, luscious, tender, fresh, juicy, tight, hot body sloughs off your skeleton and though youâd like to think, âdammit all to hell,â your brain just liquefied so that thoughtâs spreading all over the floor and youâre a walking model of bony absolution tiptoeing around this vast white belly with the other osteopariahs until you lose all volition and tumble into a perfectly-placed hole, waiting just for you, expressway to belly four, and what are you now but a pile of bones pretending youâre human and thatâs all right, thatâs ok, thatâs all anything is in the fourth belly of the world but all too soon your calcified existence also breaks down because the world needs nutrition, the world needs three square meals a day, and the world doesnât know the meaning of the phrase âone of those days.â