Where We Feed Them Carrots
This man is holding a carrot. We ask that you disregard his rabbit mask. We ask that you pay little attention to those furry feet. Yes, he’s going to chomp that carrot, he’ll make quite a racket of the whole procedure. We’re anticipating the carrot shavings and spillings, the wet cubed crumbs, we’ve ordered the proper broomery to make a nice sweep of the room. He’ll do it all as if he were a true bunny. Look at him already acting like one, with that carrot eating grin.
Bunnies are a nuisance. It is known. Men dressed as bunnies - more so. We imagine this man in his palace, decorated in mostly gold, and otherwise marble. We imagine him practicing his hop along the shiny floors. We imagine the long hall of tall mirrors, him stopping to practice his bite in each reflective piece of glass, smiling wide, acting surprised and all that bunny stuff. He holds the carrot with his whole fist, holds the carrot between his thumb and forefinger daintily, holds the carrot within both hands, fingers touching, like he's in prayer, each scenario ending with the familiar snap, the gnash of orange crunching between his enamel. Then he gobbles the rest of the stick up quick. And then we send in the brooms.
Indoor bunny men are tricky to catch. Local eateries have placed them on endangered species lists. So we are no longer meant to snatch the bunnies in traps, not any more, not like we used to, not with the kind of carnage we’re thirsty for. We miss the blood soaked carcass. We miss peeling back the furs. We miss the meals. That's why we built this plaid holding facility, that's what we'd like you to pay attention to. They're out of the comfort of their gold, their marble, and they're here, with us.
Take for example this room. There is a single white plastic chair, a wooden table, a blue bowl with three oranges, six bananas, and one tennis ball within it. On the wall near the door is a sconce that we’re not crazy about but the Brick store was selling them for low prices and we couldn’t turn up the deal to have so many matching sconces for all of our many rooms. There is a heavy maple color from the table, it is what we call the foundation. Then there is the white from the plastic chair, we call this the complementary contrast. Then there are the splash colors: orange, yellow, neon green. The sconce emanates an amber glow from its frosted glass and gold case: this is what makes the plaid sparkle.
The bunny doesn’t see what is in the room. The objects are just lines crossing lines. It is our understanding that dots, circles, the colors we process to turn individual objects into separate entities are, when the animal is left unfed, turned to linear paths, a grid of lines, plaid patterns.
We’ve done many rooms this way. It’s how we trap the men dressed like bunnies. It’s where we feed them carrots. They cannot tell when the walls move. They never know it, until they’re being squeezed. We've sound proofed the rooms, of course, to not disturb the other bunnies. Then we make the soup.