at the far edge of town where the grickle grass grows
and the wind smells slow and sour when it blows
and no birds ever sing excepting old crows
is the street of the lifted lorax
and deep in the grickle grass some people say
if you look deep enough you can still see today
where the lorax once stood
just as long as he could
before someone lifted the lorax away
something powerful, ominous, imaginative, and inspiring in those words. hard to believe they were written by a simple author named Theodore Geisel...which the world more commonly refers to as Dr. Seuss.
yes, that prose is actually the first 2 pages to the children's storybook The Lorax
. but i always find myself reciting that prose, especially in dour times when i find myself staring out a car window and witnessing the utter ruin and blank, careless devastation of my hometown, solely for the purpose of building another unwanted set of ugly housing developments.
Evil Orange. that is what the scurge of my roadways is now labeled by me. their sole purpose in life: to make you wait and make you late, for whatever destination it was that you tried to get to peacefully. nope, they will not have any of it; their mission is specifically to wreck your roadways and destroy your patience with minimal effort and a big fucking red stop sign as their weapon of choice.
they are also in cahoots with the incessant, rumbling steel beasts that i've been forced to follow in their wake down the highways. their 2nd line of attack: trucks! the single greatest hazard of my freeways, and quite impervious to all forms of avoidance since they multiply rapidly and cause incredible irritations across the entire landscape of mild-mannered drivers, like me.
~1,000 curses to the Evil Orange~
may their tools rot into rust piles
and their coffee turn cold as ice
i pray that their cigarettes burn up in their face!