A clever tomato with the mind of a potato climbed out of the dirge of mistune and took a shower before appearing in front of everyone with an announcement.
This was good thinking on its part.
But, oh, how can the mind of a potato think these days without running out of ink said the clever tomato in front of everyone.
Silence….
Golly gosh, is it really that time. I really do think I have to go now said the clever tomato and ran fast for the end of the story.
This caused many eyes to go here and there in the audience, until all that was left behind was a small trail of crumbs leading nowhere that said: tomato Tao to anyone that looked at it or braved a sigh…
The audience sighed…..
Oh dear, said the clever tomato running most fast and getting nowhere at all.
Oh yes, oh dear.
Ok okay, it is pistols at down then, if we must, puffed the clever tomato.
Yes, we must, said the audience.
…
Dawn came suddenly, and the audience was there.
The tomato, not feeling so clever, puffed up its cheeks and swaggered into the limelight where the audience was waiting with their cheeks all puffed up too.
Hello, said the humble tomato.
The audience said nothing, and waited.
With no mind at all, and reaching up on its toes, the tomato twirled with arms like a ballerina.
Someone in the audience clapped at this, but went to silent mode when everyone else looked at them as if to be quiet with daggers in their eyes.
Twirling under the moon’s glow, the tomato danced all night long until the sun came out of the horizon like some madness, forever sleepless and bruised, to cause mayhem to anyone not rooted to the earth, and even to some that were.
The audience were really not amused by this but were too polite to boo, and so said nothing at all.
The tomato became crazy to budge them out of the state they were in and tried everything that could be thought of for quite a long while; but it was no use, the audience would not budge an inch.
Logs floated downstream in the slipstream, and girls screamed, while men and boys became agitated that the audience would not give up and go home; so pictures were painted, lips became red, and the guru fainted.
Tomorrow could never come fast enough in this kind of promise that tomorrow was where it all was and that here was nothing, sang the singer singing the song under the blue moon, back up against one more last stand.
Three days of singing the blues later, the dancing girls came out of hiding and did a knees-up right across the stage, which was really something, said the tomato all to itself and blew a little bubble to say: all is well, send a pizza.
Lips were licked and everlasting graves were dug as the elastic band twanged and smacked against this.
A little twerp in his evening tower across the waves heard about the ruckus and closed his window and pulled out his trusted balloon and blew it up as far as it would go, and then went back to his seat, sat down, and became very quiet.
Tomatoes anonymous, was called for to rescue the plot, but the number came up empty; and anyway, the sword is too rusty these days to penetrate the beauty said the tomato all to itself.
Of all the empty that there was, the tomato was in the thick of it somewhere around the middle and edging outwards, when sounds came that were identical to Japanese bells dinging.
Shoot-through, the Belgian snake eye specialist from morocco was playing his toga again and saving up to go home when the audience began to blink rapidly.
This made him pause in his playing momentarily, but a beat later he was back in the fray and going most stongly towards the finish.
Yes, much was going on in the esoteric mumbleweed as the tomato grew towards the Tao.
Image from Pixabay
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