He takes a step down the corridor. Then another one. The stench of fear is rank in this place. He walks down the corridor. A lamp is hanging from the floor, right next to the window nailed crookedly across the floorboards. Must have been an energetic one! It took whoever nailed this thing down a good forty two nails or so. He pauses only for a moment to blow out the candles on the caterpillars' backs. A sloppy job indeed. One step, two, one door, two.
He looks in through the diagonal doorway set right in the middle of the wall. A kitchen. What a sight! Lincoln Burgermeister is just finishing his vegetarian escalope. He takes great care to wipe his mouth with the star-spangled tablecloth. He smiles at us. Then he picks up his Desert Eagle with white doves carved on the sides and shoots the teacher and a few classmates. Three boys and a girl. They were bullies! Nah-ah-ha! Who's in a locker now, fuckface? He loved her though. What a joyous light it was when it left her eyes. He smiles. He guns the lights out. There's nothing more to see here, I whisper. He turns and moves along the corridor.
He avoids the antelopes that have come to offer their prayers to Vishna and dodges the dancing skeleton. Must have misplaced his closet. A bell sounds behind him. Or was it a gong? Yes, rather a bird's song. He turns around to look at the broad vastness of the desert. The highway is as long as it can get. Flat. Sand. Empty. He performs a headstand to satisfy the gods and progresses towards the cube-shaped temple. He opens the hatch and steps inside the cubicle. Water pours down from underneath. This place has the highest percentage of rainfall in the history of frogkind! One step, two.
The water's still too hot. The wine scalds his face. -50 degrees celsius is no laughing matter for sugar. The python leaves his back-pocket and slithers between his shoulder blades drinking the honey with furious thirst. He turns his lynx eyes towards us. One blink, two and we do not exist. The jungle is quite inviting one would say. Yes it is! Sir Malcolm Switzerland replies the virtual yet wholesome question with mischievous glee. He opens his mouth but only mice come out, no words. It's so sad. A lily falls from the sky (now on the right because right is right) and tattoos itself to his eyebrow. Sir Malcolm Switzerland slices the knife in half and bites a handful of dust. Choke-choke and his dead. Ha-ha. Our hero steps away from the shadows. There are spiders there! Beware! He puts down the white flag and waves to Caesar's floating head. Ça va, monsieur? Oui! Et tu? Et tu? Et tu.... Et tu... Et tu, Brute! He is impaled by the butterfly. It smiles at him. What a bright white light envelopes the world. He woke up! It's a miracle the doctors in their black coats exclaim while the exorcist strips his white tunic off, right down to boxers! They are green like the ocean and blue like the sky. A beeline of hens in the middle. He takes one step down the corridor, two.
The harlot is preaching again! She just doesn't shut up! The bitch has been going on for 12 seconds already. It's all bullshit! She usually stops by the time the tigress swallows her tail, but oh boy! November is such a long way away. He steps into the garden through the keyhole in the ceiling. The atom bombs are nearly ripe! This season's harvest has been truly impressive – 251 and a half! All the branches are nearly drooped to the ground. He smiles. Oh, Tinkerbell is here too! But she doesn't like her. Oh no! She is too thin! The fat cunt could never make her way to Chile. He twists the cap off the orange and swallows the drink in one go. Only $12345678 and 9 pence. What a deal! And you know, recently the prices for toy cars have gone up! Can you believe THAT, Margaret? No, you can't because you're busy watching Dante wash his clothes in his nine Paradise gardens. Let's drink to that. The pollen is so intoxicatingly sweet that he just has to fornicate. Zebras! His love is here with a pair of watermelons. They smell fresh. Like butter. Ejaculation. Oops. You failed that maths test again, Little Timmy! What is your mum gonna say about this big red F? This big blue Fuck You all over your scrawny writing? Bot Lo! Timmy come to the back room now. Be the teacher's good boy. Oh yes! That's a good boy, Timmy! Lick the keyboard! The robot shut its ugly mouth after having long-circuited from the pleasure offered by the little boy. He pulls the plug on the mainframe. No more Morse code for you! Actually! No more of anything! No more Macintosh in your tea! No more Microsoft in your pants and remember not to use protection! Should he ever be rid of spam and viruses he would surely die!
The long and wide hall stretches on and on. Bang! He smashed his head into a door. Now, where the fuck did that come from? The pendant stared furiously at him with yoghurt-filled eyes. “Bitch” But he had no time. No time at all. He was, indeed, already late for the pass. The road had been shut off due to heavy cotton candy drops from the sky. It reminded him of war. They always used to play with cotton candy then. Ahh, the fun! But days of such harmonious lullabies were long ahead. He would have to wait till yesterday to see the sunrise. Of course, funny you should call it SUNrise, because actually it's the Moon. Have you ever thought about that, Jenny? Funny, eh? After all this time we're still together! The perfect high school couple they called us, prom king and queen's maid of honour. Having said that he kissed her finger goodbye and tossed it in the body bag with the rest of her possessions that she had sold to pay for his drug debt. Shivering warm he thought. Or rather blazing cold. Rupert Garwinkle was a bald man. The kind with mushrooms on his head. I hate mushrooms! he exclaimed and ran away from home. The Jaws tailed him into the car park but luckily they couldn't swim into the logs that the floor of it was made of. That is the deal with birds like those. Just like submarines they just flew away! But you've been a bad boy! Go to your school! Want more of that? Daddy's got plenty of gold in his folds! He looked nervously at the fat belly that was throbbing with sickly blue aristocratic petrol. A pint of blood, please! No, make it two pints and 0.33 ounces! I'm feeling lucky today, you see! And that is how he googled all his money away. And he thought he was a liberal fascist! But the shadow men were still there, crying with peaceful little kittens on their heads. He walked on. One step, two.
He had the world in his palm but he didn't care. He placed it neatly below the other prized possessions in his pocket: a fish head, a sun, a big flake of snow and an autograph by Travis Bellmann-Hoper-Jarvis. Yes, that's right. He was a Jew. He and the big white swastika fit right in. He had been to this club before, that's why he couldn't find his way around the different sanctuaries. He bit one of his toenails off and stepped on.
President Musharraf-Ali Wood had been in this asylum for a while but he was still feeling a bit small compared to the enormous Bonaparton Napolee. Jacket potatoes he thought and stepped on.
One step, two. And they were settling their row outside. Caress him softer a cockney voice called. Another cock shouted various obscenities at the lesbian praying mantises. It was too late, level one wasn't done but the Ark had sunk. He stepped on. One step, two.
Broken glass felt round under his feet. Blood sprouted from his hands where the potato wedges had been. What a joke! And only three days ago he had gone to sleep. He took his eight other incarnations by the hand and led them on. He had lost one in the tube. The room was black and white. He put his hand in through the mailbox. It turned black and white. Scared, he shook the noir atmosphere off. It fell on the floor and formed a smiley. It's as if it had had a life of its own. It was just too funny for good health. It might have even cured his leukaemia. But the animals had to be fed and so John picked up his axe and bow and charged like a night through the knight. The scoundrel only smiled weakly and kept fastening the screw to the badger's eye with superglue. John took no notice and went to his unicorns and centaurs. He fed them acid. They liked the high it gave them. Made them think they were nightmares, ha-ha!
He stepped on down the stairs and arrived on the top floor at the brick wall of steel to Hell. One knock, two. The bouncer let him out. They were old buddies. Knew each other for, oh my... how many years was it again, darling? Ahh, yes. One pregnancy ago. Anyhow, where was I? He jumped onto the back of the black and gold rainbow that escaped the salamander fire. That's because the abbess had been taken advantage of by the little lion. He flew among the subways until he slipped and fell. Through the depths of oceans and right bang into the middle of a cloud. Ow, that was hard. The ladybug glared at him and spoke in a manly voice: ... Ahh, but he couldn't understand. You see, the snake had told him to eat from the tree of Babylon but that had caused him to forget the speech of men. Alas! Look at the time! He crawled on, over the table legs and under the curtains. One step, two.
St. Fold a Lither was happy. She had just aborted her pair of twins whom she would have called Germaines. Germaine North and Germaine South. Tick-tock. Ho! Time is of the essence fool! She leaped on like the skeleton antelopes she had witnessed stampeding before. The EYE nodded in agreement. Risk it. A bottle of sleeping pills went down a bit too quick with only a little water.
You wake up. You glance at the time. Ahh, five more minutes! You press the snooze button and slumber once again. Beep-beep! “Honey! You're gonna be late for work!” You get up and kiss the figure lying in the bed gently on the cheek. “Mmm...” it murmurs happily. You make your way to the bathroom and brush your teeth. Out of toothpaste again. You make a mental note of buying a tube at the supermarket after work. You go back to the bedroom and get dressed. You've always liked that shirt better than the other one. Your darling did buy that one but sometimes you just like things you've picked a bit more. Feeling guilty, you hug your love give your second half a kiss on the lips and wish them a good day. You go downstairs, pick up the papers for work from the study and the newspaper from the door. You go to the kitchen, put the papers in a file and put some coffee on and some toast in the toaster. You open the newspaper but you have no time to read because your children have woken up and joined you for breakfast. You greet them happily and give them cereal. Oh, look at the time! You usher them to the car and just back down the parkway. The weather's nice, you've noticed. You look in the mirror to make sure they've got seatbelts on – they have – and smile again. You're living a dream. You drive the children to school and make haste to make it to work on time. There are no traffic jams and you make it ten minutes early. Your colleagues greet you as you make your way through the maze of cubicles. Your best friend gives you a reassuring smile before you enter your new office that you just got as a part of the promotion your boss gave you last week. Still on for that night out with us? Double dates were never this fun. Sure! You go to your office and settle down in your boss chair. You are living the dream! Who wouldn't want this? Tick-tock. The dream ends. The office explodes with the rest of the dream fabric reality into tiny little speckles.
He wakes up with shock, cold sweat all over his body! He had been expecting anything but something as terrifying as this. What's the matter his love asks and caresses him with a slimy tentacle. He remains quiet and steps down the corridor once more.
He is where he started from but this time it's all wrong. The lamp is hanging from the ceiling. He can't take it any more. He loads the water gun with mouse shit and blows his brains out one after the other. Bang-bang-bang. You're dead. He smiles. Finally he's alive again. And he steps down the corridor. One step, two. Two. Two. Two. Two. Two. tw... two.
Raspberry un all over the visor. Muscle car revved up and ready to go. Two. Program malfcuntion. Two. Tacos for locos! Two. Locusts are vicious little angels. Two. He closes his eyes and smiles. Two. He breathes the sunshine and smiles. Two. He opens his eyes, they are red, and smiles. Two. He is free at last. Two. He walks around his prison and smiles. Two. He's home again! Two. He ends this.
Two.
The inverted pyramids continue spinning like mad. He brushes off the slugs of greed and pushes the Cyrillic button back into the framework. The ghostly hail recedes. He picks up the boots made of puss and throws them off the edge of the mountain base. So much of that then. Disappointment and exhaustion overcome him. He tries hard to fight laughter but ends up sneezing anyway. Lightbulbs and pears hold hands as he makes his way down the corridor. One step, two.
He comes to a door. He opens it. Two doors. He opens them both. Four doors. Eight. Sixteen. Thirty three. He opens the middle door. There's a wall. He steps right through it. It is dragon-like now. But the four-dimensional geometry of the gateway is far from the shape of poetry. It's too... round. Yes, that's the word. He steps down the corridor. One step, two.
The moles' eyes open wide with calamity. A breeze sweeps through, fruit scattering through the liquid. He steps onto a volcano. His foot gets stuck. He steps down the corridor. One step, two.
The palm trees shine with mirth. Peach princess. He takes a sip of the mojito he had ordered a millennia ago. He loves peppermint. And rum. And lime. No shame, just alcoholism. Seahorses wiggle in the plastic foam. Liquorice coloured and caramel coated, the sunset is extra ordinarily beautiful. The whole atmosphere is so romantic that when he engages in it, sex on the beach gets a whole new meaning. He steps down the corridor. One step, two.
Don't worry. A rhinoceros will send him your belated condolences. He takes a bite out of a star. He swallows it whole. Yum and yuck. No manners. He takes a step down the corridor. He steps down the corridor. One step, two.
He picks up the Desecrated Grail and puts it to his ear. He can hear the sound of a forest. Leaves rustle without wind. They chatter among themselves. He is victimised. He takes it on his kneews. Useless trinket, he throws it away. He meets the forty virgins and Baba Yaga. He is grateful to his god. He is his god. He is god. He steps down the corridor. One step, two.
He hates you for being a bodybuilder but shh... that's a secret. My advice is: use the blocks for something more purposeful. Like a mattress. He steps down the corridor, one step, two.
Nymphomaniac. Everybody likes it. Everybody wants it. Why lie about it and hold your hunger back? Buy a ticket now and you could be in the running towards becoming the world's next top idiot. Alligators grin as he slips up with his poker face and betrays his position to the enemy. He carries heavy luggage, yours and mine, his and hers, even the girl's from next door. Such a sucker for that. He is one for one and all for none. He is like mankind is. In its infancy. He steps down the corridor. One step, two.
The asterisk growls and screams at him. They meet. She rapes him over and over again. She is strong and she takes what she wants. He empties the contents of his wallet onto the wall of the corridor. The puke melts the wall away. The purple haze seeps in through the whole. He steps down the corridor. One step, two.
Sadistic and masochistic his steps echo in our consciousness. Poison.It smiles at us, bares its lovely teeth and licks its fangs. Flutters its wings and continues to devour credit cards, yours and mine. He steps down the corridor. One step, two.
When did kings win anyway? Jealousy, oh yes! The cute little gnarling shape bares its teeth and flutters its wings. He stares at it disapprovingly as it flaps over and sinks its curved mouth into his neck. It suckles. It feels good and he closes his eyes to fill his whole being with the sickly pleasure oozing all over him. The pink goo has black spots all over it. Lovely. He dies. He's dead. It's killed him. Over, forever. And now he's a part of that mindless smudge that wanders the world quite openly in search of other victims. He steps down the corridor. One step, two.
The voodoo priest stares at the newcomer. He is not afraid, nor is he nervous. Alas! Lo! And behold an insect from a secret sect of a thousand little legs left his nostril briefly in order to breather. It can get quite stuffy in there when you're filling your tummy with that lovely banana mucus, making a nest for your offspring. Oh! That's right, it's about time. The world spins and turns and topples over as he crashes onto the pillows laid neatly around him. Paralysis has set in. That happens when you nibble away with great sloth. No, that's not it. Ahh, there we go, gluttony of muttony! La-oh-la. He steps down the corridor. One step, two.
The bizarre antiques shuffle together into a cluster as he passes by. No, silly, they have no eyes. But they can sense him and their pack instinct has told them to stick together. Fight like a man, you punch like a girl! He turns around, there's no one there, just a pile of antiques. Oh no! Has he noticed us?! Paranoia sets in and his spider sense goes wild with orgasmic tickling . What's a pack to one may be a pile to another. He lights a match and inhales the bubbles that fly off the end of the tip of the purple flame. Oh, the soft and tender cold light they produce in his lungs! He steps down the corridor and dances a little rumba. One-step, two!
There is nothing. He doesn't exist and quite frankly, neither do you. It is a paradox that shouldn't even be recorded for the sheer impossibility of it. Chewing gum exists. But that is of no greater consequence or purpose or destiny or grand scheme. What is the meaning of life anyway? He steps down the corridor. One step, two.
Why would you grate potatoes and not cheese, you imbecile? What would your parents say if they found you hammering away at it with your right hand. Strumming the cords of your “guitar”? Blasphemy! Go to your room! Down into the basement again. Those are the words scattered and splattered all over the painting in his room. Wait, something's wrong here. The zombie PC-mouse licks his toes. Rather grotesque but better than jelly and definitely better than knowing that you don't actually have a room. That's what he decides. Razor sharp clicking leads to internal bleeding. His bones bleed on the inside and he lets her in on the inside of the outside. He steps down the corridor. One step, two.
She purrs neatly under his touch. What would you give me she whispers as his hand rolls over her back and perfectly trimmed buttocks. An eternity, a star, a car, maybe a drink in a bar. She gasps with pleasure as his fingers slide into the crevice between her lips. Wrong answer, try again. She tears his finger off. Collapse. True love is an elusive beast. The hundred dollar bills get on their tiny feet and run into the holes and cracks in the walls, leaving the room unusually tidy. He stares around – just the pole, tons and tons of hot snow and a bed for two. No, make it three. Penguins and polar bears deserve their freedom. They had a cat. Mr. Pussy. He steps down the corridor. One step, two.
He has faith no more. He steps down the corridor. One step, two. HA-HA-HA!
And thus you see, dear reader, that any random collection of words, images and notions can become a work of art when you apply human imagination to it. Everything is innocent until your prejudice corrupts the image. It is a beautiful thing.
Wrong! It's bullshit. Life is an endless repetition of events that lack logic and perfection, that is as long as we do not create logic and perfection. Yet we are incapable of it in a universal sense. That's your lesson. Now go and do something useful.
