#interpretaion

I think I think too much  sitting in bed, it begins one again. Was that joke even funny? shouldn’t I have said that? wait, do they even like me? Too many thoughts. I close my eyes, I open them. breathe.  No, I should know that they are genuine friends. they come to me, whenever they have problems. but - didn’t I see them laughing together yesterday? and they are going out this weekend? why wasn’t I invited? I suppose they’re better off without me. one new text message: Wanna hang out later? All thoughts were unnecessary. It’s okay once again. I’m okay.

Day 102-IBMC#4-Haiku

Ooga Booga Booga

But what is this on the chest? I took it up, and held it close to the light, and felt it, and smelt it, and tried every way possible to arrive at some satisfactory conclusion concerning it. I can compare it to nothing but a large door mat, ornamented at the edges with little tinkling tags something like the stained porcupine quills round an Indian moccasin. There was a hole or slit in the middle of this mat, the same as in South American ponchos. But could it be possible that any sober harpooner would get into a door mat, and parade the streets of any Christian town in that sort of guise? I put it on, to try it, and it weighed me down like a hamper, being uncommonly shaggy and thick, and I thought a little damp, as though this mysterious harpooner had been wearing it of [sic] a rainy day. I went up in it to a bit of glass stuck against the wall, and I never saw such a sight in my life. I tore myself out of it in such a hurry that I gave myself a kink in the neck.

Meaning of Art