RAVEN MACK is a mystic poet-philosopher-artist of the Greater Appalachian unorthodox tradition who publishes zines & physical books & electronic books & music & photography & digital art & just generally whatever feels necessary to survive this deluded earth thru Rojonekku Word Fighting Arts survival systems (Version 69, establish 14 Feb 1973). Comments encouraged.

Friday, September 4

45s on 33 – #6: “Babies Having Babies”

There’s this big ass toad that lives under our porch, and he’ll hang out on the steps in twilight, and twice now I’ve almost crushed him walking up the steps. Both times I pull my weight and nearly fall over, then finish carrying whatever the fuck I’m carrying inside, to go back out to check on the toad I think I squished. The first time I got down on the ground and watched the little dude, so got a good long look at him and know what he appears like. I poked and petted him and he didn’t jump, so I picked him up, which caused him to piss on me (I guess it’s piss, or maybe some sort of toad protective fluid… I don’t know), which freaked me out and I dropped him, so he sat there, then finally jumped away.
So when this happened the second time, and I squished him harder, but not fully, and I went back out to scope it out, I knew it was the same guy. He didn’t jump away this time either, so I was certain he was internally fucked, but when I picked him up he pissed on me again and I dropped him and he tried to jump away. At that point I figured this must be some sort of thing with him, like he is having fun pissing on me after I think I killed him, or maybe he’s sitting on the steps because he knows I won’t try to step on him and he’s trying to kill me. I honestly don’t know. Toads are really smart. But I caught him and carried him over to the edge of the field and put him down there, hoping he’d move along and not live under our porch and try to piss on and/or kill me.
The next day, my ol’ lady told me she stepped on a toad on the porch, like hard, and asked me to clean it up. I went out there and there was no toad. Not a sign. I asked her, “Are you sure you killed it?” And she said she stepped full weight down on it and there’s no way it didn’t die. But there was no toad. I can only assume this is the same toad.
My concern now is what the fuck is the end game here. What is this toad’s ultimate goal in living under our porch and trying to get under our feet. And have we actually “killed” it multiple times? Like this might be some sort of supernatural toad that can’t die. I find it unsettling. The worst part is my youngest child is deathly afraid of toads, and while I used to always try to convince her there was nothing to be afraid of and I’d hold toads up for her to see how harmless they were, maybe she is tapped into some supernatural knowledge herself and has been trying to warn me. So I’m really confused as to what to do now, but luckily we haven’t seen the toad in a few days.

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