Tuesday, March 31, 2015
I will open the door and let you in. Step over the threshold and make yourself at home. Enjoy yourself in every way. Let your eyes trace over the ripples in the paintings, feel the texture as you would with your fingers. Recline and and enjoy the soothing music playing, the deep golden sounds of the trumpet. It plays for thee. I will feed you and entertain you and do my best to make your stay in this place a magical time that will continue to hum inside you long after you leave.
"Dmitri", said Stalin, "I want to kiss your on your mouth. Long and tender. Would you like that?" Shostakovitch stood there and made an involuntarily high pitched keening sound, the kind one makes when in an uncomfortable situation, as immortalized by the middle daughter in the hamburger cartoon program. He knew rejecting the titan Joseph Stalin was a risky business and he was already in some hot water over the content of his symphonies and ballets, but golly gosh darn it, he reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaally did not want to kiss Stalin. That moustache. Ugh.
Sunday, March 29, 2015
I woke to find myself in an olive garden. Not the american restaurant where one can take the family for a cheap and cheerful brunch, but an actual garden filled with olive trees. I pulled an olive off and attempted to eat it , but it's taste was most foul. Whatever it is they do to to olives before I buy them at the delicatessen, it sure makes them taste a lot better. I could see nothing but these olive trees, so I climbed one and tried to stand on it's highest bough to get a better view of the land. The bough snapped as soon as I stepped on it and I went tumbling down, fresh olives slapping me in the face as I went.
Saturday, March 28, 2015
When I eat this steak, it will be forever. Time will slow down to an immeasurable crawl and loop like one of those videos of Arnold Schwarzenegger biting a carrot. We will be joined, me and the steak, by my pink tongue and all it's capillaries, alert and at attention, feeling the blood and the flesh and the mustard pressing down onto them. My eyes will roll back and stay there. It will be the moment of glory, truth, reckoning, and all that shit.
Friday, March 27, 2015
Cosmic rays that have floated through space ever so slowly, building up speed as they enter our atmosphere, are penetrating me at this moment. At the point where they hit my skin, they split off into multiple fragments, some shimmer along the surface, bump bumpy riding over the pores and the hairs and the nipples, some go just under the skin and ride along the veins, silent like a submarine, and some penetrate deep into my gooey insides, setting off a chain reaction that fills my whole meaty self with glowing cosmic sching.
Thursday, March 26, 2015
Christmas with Satan is such a delightful time. He puts aside all his evildoing and just takes some time to enjoy his friends and eat pineapple and make eggnog. By god, he goes nog crazy. He likes to make a very traditional batch and then a whole heap of others with different spices and little bits of fancy liqueurs. By the time you've tasted them all you're in a deep noggy coma, face down and dribbling on Satan's shag pile carpet with Satan's cat pawing at your face.
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
My sagging brains, they droop down until I am stepping on them. They squish between my toes and it is kind of sensual but really disgusting. It also affects my power to step off them or try to get them back up into my skull somehow, so instead my foot just jerks spasmodically and squishes them more. This is quite a situation. I am going to try my best to just stand still and if someone can come along and push my brains back up where they belong and maybe tie them up with a rubber band, that would be great.
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Ointments and unguents were smeared all over my body, pills and potions poured down my throat. Many a formula were injected into my bloodstream. But still I was not right. They isolated me in a special room where, under dim light, I listed to records and drank rum and stroked and played with my hair and blew bubbles and occasionally had a hot bath. This seemed to be helping, but they would have to keep me here a while to make sure.
Monday, March 23, 2015
All the bitter-sweet dark honey in my heart is oozing out of my pores, coating me, coating the floor, spreading out all through the neighbourhood. I walk slow. I walk sticky. I talk slow. I talk sticky. It is like a fog, but a fog you can swipe at, hide in. This bitter-sweet honey forces one into a slow, measured throb of feeling. It is time to walk around slowly and get used to it.
Sunday, March 22, 2015
The inflated tear hovers precariously over the earth. It shudders like the stomach of a pregnant lady. It gleams in the light. Everybody goes about their business, but looks up every now and then nervously. Inevitably, and soon, it will burst and flood the world, and all who it touches will sob uncontrollably and add to it. There will be a great period of crying all over the earth. The people know this, but still in their hearts they are unprepared.
Saturday, March 21, 2015
It seemed, for a moment, as if heaven had fallen to earth in the form of parsley. It was everywhere, rich and full and pillowy. I could leap up onto it and be buoyed like an angel on a cloud, but I could also permeate and travel around in the undergrowth. I picked great handfulls and stuffed it into my my mouth. I brushed my face against it like a cat. Oh, parsley.
Friday, March 20, 2015
I can see through walls. I see the fig tree in the back yard with it's over ripe fruit oozing viscous juice which drops in a sticky, sensual splash. I can see the neighbours next door cooking and reading the paper and seething at each other. I can see Jorge in his bedroom, laying on the bed in his monk robe and groaning and rubbing his head. I can see all the way across town and through many walls to where a lady lies on a pink couch in the dappled sunlight. She is reading and Marvin Gaye is playing through the fly screen and she is smiling quietly.
Thursday, March 19, 2015
Windswept moors have no laws. You wander alone and search for a bone. You give it a chew but then it chews you. You recoil in horror, and hope for a better tomorr'a. You continue to wander, but end up a lonely despondent desponder. You think this may be terrible grammar, but you take your dictionary out and smash it with a hammer. The crows circle around, and you hear that french horn sound. The light it seems to be fading, you step into the water but there will be no wading.
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
Bleating crows and rusty gates and trees stretching, they make a mini symphony here in my yard. But who is the conductor? Am I making it all happen with deep parts of my brain I cannot consciously access? Is it GOD? Is it YOU? If it's you, you really ought to put a bit more thought into your symphonies. The sounds are pretty cool but the arrangement is really all a bit random and nowhere. You ain't gonna end up in the pantheon of immortals any time soon at this rate.
Tuesday, March 17, 2015
My brain is covered with ants and snakes and weevils. They don't want to hurt me, they just want to walk and slither and crawl and dance around there and have a good time. But it is making my brain frazzled and I wish they would just chill out and have a siesta or even better still, just crawl on out of my ears and give me a rest altogether. I know the inside of my head is a groovy spot and you guys wanna hang there, but sometimes I just need it all to myself.
Monday, March 16, 2015
Longing. It goes deep down into the ocean where fish no one has ever seen bob along with lights on their head. They feel the longing trickle down onto them, but they've felt so much before, it's just like a fly in summer. They just brush it off. I long to feel the phantasmic current of connection, the purple glow that reaches around fences and through the leaves of trees and dodges dogs and cats and cars and hits it mark. I shoot it out from my heart but it fizzles in mid-air and evaporates.
Sunday, March 15, 2015
Crunchy plantains had been fried up in an aeronautical space vat till they were crispy good with perfection and zen subtlety. I bit into it and could feel my very DNA changing. It was a superfood, I was now a superman. But with these powers would come grave responsibility. I walked out of the restaurant and clobbered a bag snatcher. I stared up at the full moon.
Saturday, March 14, 2015
I felt like crying with joy. All the women I love, well not all of them, but a whole lot of them were all in a magical place being strong and radiant and amazing and giving me a hug and around every corner and in every room there were more of them. I felt as if I might float up to the ceiling. It was like I was in the magical theatre from Steppenwolf, but it was really happening here in my mortal, fleshy, human life. Oh what joy it is to be alive.
truncheon beat down on the man's head. the man's head split open like cantaloupe and the goop and brain juices spill all over truncheon beating man's black glove. he call his doberman over and doberman hungrily eat up the brain juice. truncheon man is disgusted at dog's brain juice hunger. slaps dog. dog takes offence and mauls man, biting him right through his rubber costume and piercing his pitiful human flesh. doberman taste blood and shakes all over.
Thursday, March 12, 2015
In dreams I stand by a hotdog stand, so lonely and blue under a blue blue moon, tears dripping down onto my hotdog making the bun soggy, grease dripping down onto my hand making my hand greasy. mustard dripping down onto my shoe, making my shoe saucy. I am paralysed with hurt and can't move. If a car comes careening out of control towards me, will the will to self preservation snap me out of this inertia, or am I beyond that now?
over the line of no return, tomorrow drifted into the past three hours ago and, of course I mean yesterday, yes, it's tomorrow now, there is ringing in my ears and the light is too bright, as I meant to say, yesterday is three hours ago and I can never get it back and rescue my failure to write thus then, please, whip me and make me feel ashamed of this failure, but don't whip me again for those other days I missed, no need to go overboard
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
Underneath everything else, underneath my hair and skull and brains and neck and oesophagus and ribcage and intestines and knees and feet and shoes and the carpet and the concrete and the dirt and the dinosaur blood and the molten lava and the chinamen and the blank space and the stars and the planets and the black holes and the other universes, there is a steady beating pulse that I can feel always.
Monday, March 9, 2015
Traipsing through the forest, I savoured the dew that lay so wet and moist and cool on the grass and the twigs and the leaves. I touched it gingerly with my fingers. My god it felt good. I started to lick one of the twigs, but suddenly I got the feeling I was being watched. I was filled with shame and ran deeper into the woods, crying and slapping myself in the face as I went. The woods become darker and soon I could barely see. If I meet a bear, I thought, this is going to be it. The greatest combat of my life. And I will lose and be torn apart, screaming.
Saturday, March 7, 2015
I ate seven pounds of raw rice. It swelled up inside me and I popped into the shape of a cube. People painted me different colours and started playing with me like a rubix cube. They twisted me this way and that until all my bones were broken and ground into dust. When finally someone had solved the puzzle, they let me go and I flopped into a sickening boneless blob. Why did I eat that rice?
Friday, March 6, 2015
Twinkling blue lights led me down into the ocean. It was dusk and I felt as if walking into the ocean with all my clothes on was the right thing to do. I followed the lights for three hectares until I found myself at a shimmering doorway. It was a green door. I walked in and found myself in a cave full of gold doubloons. I took off my wet clothes and rolled around naked in the doubloons, tossing them into the air in delight, feeling their cool metal plummet back down and strike my skin. Oh goodness gracious, I don't ever want to take these coins and spend them, just to mush my body into them for the rest of time.
Thursday, March 5, 2015
I would travel underneath very low bridges that require me to master the limbo arts, over great mountains that required me to change my name to something like Adolf Van Heusen and eat innumerable power-sauce bars to get over, around great fat men so wide that by the time I got to the edge of them their trousers and skivvies were completely out of fashion, and through the middle of a great whale who had been eating all sorts of funky krill that would slop all over my face, just to find me a home in your heart,
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
As I sat meditating, my mind collapsed in on in itself with an unearthly squishing sound. My body was now a brainless husk sitting in the lotus position. The eyes rolled back in my head but my body stayed stiff. Saliva dribbled out the corner of my mouth. In time crows would come along and pick out my eyes and some of the juicier bits of my flesh. Perhaps some bats would have at it too. I should hope that friends wouldn't shoo them off in some sense of loyalty to my earthly body. I didn't need it now. My mind was happily bobbing along through the cosmos.
Tuesday, March 3, 2015
A badger stares into a cars headlights. He determines to see if by sheer forCE of will, he can make a powerful field of energy around himself that will repel it, sending the car flying end over end, the humans jostling about inside like poorly packed mail. He closes his eyes and feels green shimmering circles ebbing out of his body. He is the master of the universe. He feels himself floating upward. He opens his eyes and realizes that he has already been squashed by the car and is now a phantasm floating upwards toward his meeting with the badger council of spirit elders. Oh well.
Monday, March 2, 2015
Bound at the wrists and feet, I prepared to meet my fate in the meat grinder. As I trundled slowly along on the moving platform thing that I can't remember the name of, but it's like a belt wheel thing like what those machine trucks have that run over the skulls in the future bit of The Terminator, you know what I mean? And they throw a future grenade under it and blow the fucker up. It's some kind of moving belt thing. Anyway, so as I rolled along towards my doom, I figured as long as I'm gonna die, I might as well make a nice s&m thing out of it. So I pulled against the ropes and revelled in the feeling of them cutting against my wrists and ankles, and I shuddered in anticipation of the sweet searing blades of the meat grinder chopping me into little pieces. But just before I got there, Superman swooped in and saved me. "Way to go, Superman", I said, "you fucking cock blocker."
Sunday, March 1, 2015
She lay on the bed, her head lolling over the edge. the alcohol had gone to her head, making it heavy. Then it fell off. It cracked through the floorboards and then plummeted all the way through the centre of the earth. It passed through the molten core without melting, pushed through to the other side of the earth and popped right out and into space. As her head floated through the cosmos, she saw many wondrous things, but still she missed her body so.