recently, it has come to my attention that pens are mostly obsolete, and unless this isn't my shirt, or i've been stabbed numerous times that i'm unaware of, or someone else is borrowing garments and getting stabbed and then returning my shirts to their rightful location, which in my apartment is anywhere on the floor or convenient flat surface so that i might render the formerly useful surface  
a less useful base of operations for a discheveled stack of entirely unsorted laundry  -that there are animals of some kind eating my clothing. another theory i've considered and remain mostly doubtful of, has to do with some kind of flair fairy, who i've worked out must be in a collusive venture with an opposum, the neighborhood cats (because my cat is usually very busy doing nothing all day) or one of those rubbish-bin tipping micreants with the robber's eye mask -a raccon. that or one of my friends with an overly developed sense of aesthetic justice (and an interest in astronomy) has been lifting my line and stealing off into the night to a tailor's bench and copying obscure constellations only astronomy guys would know about with a set of ragged punches made from spent shell casings of varying calibur. it also occurred to me that i am that friend and while i think i'm dreaming, i am, and have been for some time, as a matter of indisputable fact, studying astronomy and cutting holes in my own shirts and hiding my toolset on my neighbors roof. after having carefully considered each of these, conducting tedious research and experimentation, compiling and reviewing volumes of data from research studies and combing them for patterns and inconsistencies, sketching up some rudimentry charts and graphs for obvious reasons, discussing the matter amonsgt contemporaries, obsessive enthusiasts, and seasoned research professionals, university department heads, and learning swedish to engage a panel of rare bird experts (i'd like to petition the reference book lobby and see birdsperts in there
), i settled on the notion that i'd need to say something on the behalf of my silent domestic assistants instead of doing what most people do -stomp,poision, shoot at, sticky trap, and mortally pin them. if we're going to be living together, i'm left with little choice but to make an effort to appreciate their contribution. i'd like to take this opportunity to thank our skittering chittering friends of the marsupial or possibly arthropodic persuasion for saving me an unsettled anxiety ridden bout of petrified incapacitation when some investigative type gives me the gears about my shirt being filled with chic irregularly sized and distributed holes in my shirt. mice/moths thank you for coming into my apartment and
helping me find style. ants: hey ants, i could shower your colony in praise for your diligence and resolve, award you for your resourcefulness in reducing bloated old bird carcasses and fallen mice from carrion to bones in a couple weeks. for locating lozenges and small expired candies in permeable packaging so that i may throw them away after i move the refrigerator to get to them. all this i would do, if i knew not your heart. that is why, in your honor and pleasure, in support of your ongoing contribution to our indispensable carbon cycle -in the name of your queen i dump this five pound bag of sugar in the middle of my lot. and i have wronged you so ants, my barbaric and mostly ineffective homecooked methods of spontaneous abatement, and later premeditated strategies drawn up in a fit of exasperated frustration that could only be considered
a genocidal vendetta by the most conservative interpretation, have left scars on the earth, and sent shockwave after thundering shockwave of despair and furthered divisive reciprocal hostility. our size it is disparate, yet our mission and our place bind us as cross-classified but not cross purposed
allies. you eat gross moldy microbe infested game, so i won't have to. you came from spain, so i won't have to visit. italian honey bees -that goes for you too. so let's bury the hatchet -now the orkin guy is dealing with it so i don't have to.