Raphael #30: Rainy Day Rant

Rainy Day Rant

By: Raphael The Contradiction



So one might ask what is the addition of two bears and two geese? Is there truly an answer? Can we ever we truly begin to understand the ribald habits of the ever insatiable bears with their genuine grins of modicum dissatisfaction as even they are those who cannot truly understand why they steal picnic baskets and scare Stephen Colbert.



In days when I see the rain I’m led to believe that the sky is falling. In a strange and unknowable way it both is literally and figuratively lunging onto the world with little regard for days when we were scheduled to dance the Macarena with the Macarenians. It races down in sheets with its garish attempts to do us in by way of murder at the very moment when we understand the key equation that pi multiplied by pie actually equals cake. Murder by rain cake is murder most foul indeed.



The clouds have struck down upon us with stern looks and abject neutrality towards our dioramas of the Ed Sullivan Show. Has our liberal use of the word “dude” finally gotten their raged brains into frenzies of bloodlust and chocolate jalapeño hot sauce? A liquid tailspin drains from the heavens, which threatens to engulf our shoes and melt the witches of Eastwick. Why the witches never got sun block is beyond me. On that train of thought sun block really doesn’t help against the rain. The rain is a slippery foe of much mental cunning indeed.



I sat on the couch untilled by the demands of the modern and heavily saturated day in the shadows of the painted parlors perfectly pitched into watery disaster but not in pointless pontification. Why should purpose to move be created on such a day when smiles are only seen on the faces of similes and allegories get all the girls. I guess rainy days were made for allegories and sunny days were made for Easter Island statues having Sunday brunch.


Undulating and seeing red the time is squeezed carefully out of a Casio digital clock in order to keep the leaves from flying south for the winter. Flowers can’t see the thoughts of psychic fish while a man berates a buffalo for having no wings. The power a name creates a nexus in which few intellects can escape to explain the truths about mad hatters and men named Doug. You know what I mean. At least I hope someone does. Psychic fish I’m looking in your direction.