Lonely.
Lonely, lonely, lonely - looney, lorry, lovey, laddie...
Alice? Sweet, sweet Alice... Where was my sweet, sweet Alice?
I looked out the window, but no Alice, only an ugly man. A hideous man. A deplorable, anus, abysmal excuse of a homo sapien mine eyes hath ever laid upon. Look at his teeth, how they poke out his fat lips. Look at his saggy, sorry, surly face, how it droops like an old hound, or those wimpy, wispy eyes. Oh! How they shudder!
His hair is damp,
he clothe's a tramp,
his yellow, jaundiced eyes,
a dead lamp!
I could look no more, and turned my fluky feet about face.
Ha! What have we here?
An old apartment? thought I.
No, surely a store. A special store.
A store of ticks and tocks, of funks and flocks, and golden, little, clicking clocks. Wonderful trinkets of every size, whirring, buzzing, ticking by. I tried to count them all, but alas! The wooden, red cuckoo caught my eye, and I lost count at five. I walked up, curious I might say, to one of these whizzing wonders. Proud, tall, grand stood the grandfather clock, taller than I. Sharp, sculpted, capital, crossed i's and v's, painted primarily to edge, but twelve, three, six, and nine, aligned so perfectly, a mirror unto itself. I looked down as the needle struck six, a cheshire cat's slit staring, and his innards started purring.
DING DONG DING DONG
He roared, his tonging bells knelling. A beautiful cacophony, a perfect catastrophe of symphony, a gallant roar of pings and pongs!
His roars died back to a gentle purr, and in his glass casings, I looked upon the rusted gears clinking in reluctant collaboration. My fingers played along the fine, golden lock, and unsuccessful, as the fragile widget held firm; I stepped back, disappointed. What a sorrowful shame...a terrible calamity. A -- Ah, the key, of course. Fine and golden as the lock she fit, hung a flowery gaiety of 24k. I took her from her royal perch and put her into place. Yellow, spidery fingers turned the narrow trinket with a sharp, cheerful click. The glass door opened and allowed myself to devour the whole complexity of its phantasmal, ticking innards.
Clickety clackety cloo, the apple makes fine stew- no - clackity sukitwa- no - abery- no, no, no, NO!
I took my head with rigid hands and shook it furiously.
Madness... absolute madness! You can't just look at grandfather clock and sing about apple stew! Preposterous, an outrage, a heinous act of deviants!
It goes...it goes...
It goes...
"...I go."
My voice sounded strange to me, and my lips seemed as though they had forgotten how to move, the silly things.
"Go where?" I looked up to see Cheshire Cat's eye upon the face of the grand clock.
"Go where? ...go where?" I gave him a rueful smile and tapped my head. "You misunderstand cat, I've forgotten my hat."
"Your hat?" asked the cat in that curious, petite little voice.
"Oh yes," said I, nodding. "My hat, cat. My very merry cap of ten or' the six."
"You should take a look or' the cap," he said, and with a blink of his needle-like slit, vanished into the face of the numbered moon.
I tilted my head, and quite curious, felt atop. My hand nestled in my matted scalp, and kept to my expectations. No hat.
I wrinkled my nose and snorted. "Lier. Never trust a cat."
