Sat Nov 13 1999
There are twelve alligators dwelling within my clothing, and it is the purpose of this letter to describe their method.
The first, who is called Gerald, has no teeth. His wit, however, is as sharp as the noonday sun on the Coog. Gerald smiles contently, even though he has no teeth.
The second, Maurice, involves bison. Never is a day complete without a meal of bison for Maurice. His days are rarely complete; for the bison are few within my pants.
The third, Candice, laughs heartily throughout the days. She has a sweet smile though, unfortunately, misplaces it. She could do well with an appreciation of irony; nevertheless I enjoy her company.
The fourth and fifth are identical twins; separated at birth but reunited in adolesence, they yearn constantly. Little do they know how much that for which they yearn sucks.
The sixth, who is Gavin, is always leaving. He is unsure of his place, which is unfortunate; for his place is that of the always incontent. One day he will learn regret, and until then he will simply learn.
The seventh is unnamed, and his timeless, resolved happiness is but a beacon for the others. His life is simple almost to the point of non-existence, and the others fruitlessly aim to emulate by bettering themselves; if only they would lesser themselves instead, perhaps they could achieve his bliss.
The eighth, gaudy soul, is named Vaughn. He attempts much but achieves few of his aims; in passing, however, he performs unappreciated feats. His skills are unrecognised; his face is plain.
The ninth, Jean, androgynous dweller, cooks pleasing desserts. Caramelised sugar and hard toffees are left in its wake. I don't eat desserts.
The tenth alligator, who we call Ingvido, smiles in the manner of summer. She can embrace the breadth of the common failure and tend it as only those who nurture intellect can; for these skills are not created but learned, and their mistakes are not the work of theory but the blessing of memory.
The eleventh we shall not speak of. Appreciation is due to stubborness. Worth is due to transparency.
The twelfth plays games, and she never loses. She doesn't know how, though that would be a game in itself and only in my conceit would she lose. I choose to let her win. She chooses to take the opportunity.
These are my twelve alligators, and where possible they swim, they breed, and they fued.
Copyright © 1995-2010 Conrad Parker <email@example.com>. Last modified Tue Feb 19 2002