The Bolus

Orb, sphere, small round mass of mystery, the bolus.

The bolus is. It moves when I'm not looking.

Right now, its there. It sits there, still and silent. Unrevealing. Mute. Not telling any tales about its origin or purpose or next step.

Yesterday evening we spotted it on our property.

It appeared in the bushes under the livingroom window looking out toward the street in front of the house. It looked as though a child had poked at it with a sharp stick, or an animal had bit a hole in it, because there were some crumbs beside it, a chunk missing, which gave us visual access to an interior, which is soap-like and white.

It's covered with grassy twiggy exterior shell, which makes me see it as a possible waste material from some huge mammal. That scares me quite substantially. I can't sleep at night. I stay up typing speeches and lectures addressed to the bolus.

Then it moved, or was moved, to the driveway early next morning.

This was intolerably odd.

Our bolus had neither wings nor feet nor any indication that it was alive and in command of any senses. It looked neither composed nor decomposed, and did n't bear any marks of servitude or direction. It seemed pointless, absurd, imprecise because unknown.

I still don't know what it is. It's round, it's almost the size of a billiard ball, a bit smaller. Heavy. A lard or soap-like hardness, not like a fluff mushroom or puffball toadstool. Our bolus is now sheltered in the abandoned haunted doghouse out back by the squash garden.

It's like being insane, this not knowing what something is, but it exists. Without explanation, without destination, without history, without value, but it's there. Staring at you. Daring you to define and exploit it.

I tried to kill it a few hours ago, but...did you hear that? I did. Shhh. There it is again. Look. It's right there, on the floor now, by the door to the attic. How did it get in? No, I'm wrong. It...it's over by the lampstand now. It knows how to roll from spot to spot and can change direction and speed when it wants to.

It seems to like me. It had been on voyages to remote parts of consciousness and now I cannot be me, for I am now the bolus, only the bolus, I ... uh ... huh? ... I feel woozy and my arms are shaking ... I am ... the bolus. As the bolus I come to ... uh ... ummm ... the ... the ... bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus.


It keeps rubbing against my ankles like a little kitten might do. It tickles a bit. I don't find the sensation unpleasant in the slightest. To the contrary, it makes me dream of days gone by, when I was a small child without weapons or language, when I was easy to defeat and invade telepathically. When I was at the mercy of the bolus and it's every command.

bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus. bolus.



I love the bolus. I obey the bolus. I am the bolus. The bolklsulaa'ld ldk ji'aussssss++++=d=d=wet b=5

bolus. bolus.