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I tend toward apprehension when topping a boiled egg. What could be in? Waiting, a stranger, some foreigner, the least expected?
The least expected
in top of a boiled egg. Something unnatural. Rather
Something natural. Another creature, perhaps. A hen, a mother hen. Now that would be…witty. Ironic, I believe it would be. The mother of the chick that never was, once white and yolk! Like a recipe. ‘Separate the white and set aside.’ Better, a book. A recipe book.
Today I topped my boiled egg and found:
A recipe book.
Blah.
Weak. Too many syllables. Too related. Today I topped my boiled egg and found: Di dum. Not di di di di dum
Also. Obvious, theme, train of thought. I want to eat, boil an egg, crack it, top it. Satisfy a craving, very obvious, not unexpected. So no hens, no recipe books. Today I topped my boiled egg and found:
A book. Boring. Arggghhh.
Empty brain as if just born.
Just born: first light, then sound, voices, just light, dazzling angry light atop an egg. Baah. Call yourself an artist. Yellow, obvious, yolk, light, bright light, sunlight, daylight. Arggghhh.
Black. Black. Black, just plain black. Not natural black like the black of night or decay or absence. Paint dead synthetic black that soaks up all light. Both white and yolk dead black. No poetry, no night sky or tunnel, no void or grave or hole, just Pantone Black 6 C or Black 4.
Today I topped a boiled egg and found it dead black. What happened to ‘di dum’? Today I topped a boiled egg and found
Nothing.
August 2025