!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> pegasus horse cake.


reality and i are sometimes pals. buddies.
he lets me know when my feet are hardly touching the ground, by tugging at my socks. he helps me make my mind up, whispering into my ear.
other times we are enemies. resentful acquaintances.
i point at him accusingly whenever i watch the news, or read the tiny chiens ecrases articles, or (often) about personal issues. he shrugs.
most of the time we respect each other's existence (yet sometimes i will ignore him, and if i do so for too long, he'll bite my ankle).
this relationship needs regular conversations, so as to not lose contact with each other, because we live in a semi-symbiosis - just like he does with everyone else, every person as important as the next.
what we do the most is play games. over the games, the dialogue unfolds, may it be interesting or tedious, humorous or serious, hasty or slow, hyper or mellow.

the other day i called for him, looked all around the house, went into my room, and called again.
there was a snicker. listening more closely, it came from under my bed.
'aha!' i said, raising the bed cover abruptly. he squealed and laughed.
i bent my knees, pulling my skirt up, and tilted my head over to look at him.
'so. you're under there.'
'you were hiding again.'
'you couldn't find me!' he giggled.
'you're meant to count, ah', he sneezed.
'you're being tricksy again.'
'you can't complain about me, hardly-'
'oh yes i can. get out of there, it's dusty. i'll bring you a glass of water.'
'you hate me.'
'you do' he rubbed his nose, and shifted his weight.
'well, i don't exactly hate you, it's just that you excercise a lot of favouritism.'
'no i don't!'
'excuse me? you have a whole world of facts that say quite the opposite.'
'that's not my fault.'
'it's not...? then who's in charge? god? i'm sorry, i'm not buying that.'
'no, no, no' he shook his head energetically, his hair ruffling up even more.
'are you saying' i sat down, my knees getting strained 'that when one man's good fortune crushes another's isn't your choice? you're not the variable?'
'you are. everyone is. you all are. i just react accordingly. i transform what you do, translate it into wider terms.'
'but you could stop things if you could. refuse to let them happen. avoid evil being in you.'
'i can't help it', he scrunched up his nose, 'i'm not good or bad, i'm just what you make me.'
'or so you say.'
'or so i say.'
'what do you want to do today?' i jumped up, grabbed the bowl of cucumber cubes in balsamic vinegar, chewed on a few.
but the lack of answer already told me that the day's session had reached its conclusion.


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