A
certain Writer of sorts was playing around, just taking things too
seriously one for once and all for ever, and stumbled onto, no
rather, established something phenomenal. A static plothole. Everyone
knew dead spots had existed since the beginning of time eternal –
yesterday, 3AM – but for something like this to manifest in a
story. Quite spectacularly boring. What made it so exciting was that
no matter what people would do to try and remedy the glaring
plothole, it just deepened. A bit like Marinara sauce. There was
quite simply no way out of it, and all roads would lead into it, even
if the signs pointed away. Sticky. Glad to be where you are because
where you are is where you won't be yet again. A baby chameleon lives
in the plothole, changing its colour from white to black. Not very
inventive that one. The chameleon doesn't even know what a plothole
is, let alone a static one. Even as it is, one would have to bring a
serious wrecking ball, maybe the size of Oprah, to the fourth wall of
the fifth dimension to explain but come on now, that ain't work!
That's the way you do it Pluto style. Goofy-woofy. Hypocritical
slavemonger Michael Muscartelli. How's that for a plot twist?
So
what is it that you want? You really really want? Time to leave
behind or time to move forward. Isn't that the same thing though?
Guilt does not exist. There are no such things like obligations,
guilt, sin, fear, respect, stress or things you hold dear. Everything
about humans is just an egg. Parboiled at that. Dipped in balsamic
vinegar and with sprinkles of dried onion on it. He has the ability
to desire anything, make any notion as real as possible. She, on the
other hand, hates any notion of reality. Life exists in a bubble
tightly secured in bubblewrap. It might seem to the naked eye that
they are quite compatible, but no. Alas! What is not to be is not to
be. She adores the notion of sexual excitement elsewhere, whereas he
is so completely devoted that he need not lift a finger. What a
lovely disparity between the three of them. One in control, the other
one desperately lacking control and the third completely out of it.
Have you ever wondered why it's better to leave your baggage at the
door? The capacity for people to create something out of nothing and
then cling to it like it were a piece of a swiss burger or maybe beef
rendang, or perhaps even an orbital space-station filled to the brim
with BBQ sauce. That's right! Big Black Quorn sauce. So crisp an
charred but yum-yum-tom!
At
what point does the self-deluded creature, proud in its infinite
wisdom, move on? Take a step? Maybe two? One step, two step,
kangaroo? The answer lies within the preacher herself. He is the only
true, the other three are just reflections of himself. Hard shell,
white flesh and yellow innards, everyone is in control as much as
they are without control and due to such notions much further gone
than any 9mm bullet fired from mid-jump on a 90 degree turn. HEP,
indeed! But the eeny-teenie tiny little animal, afraid for its life -
anal purity rather, but that's a matter for the pokemon fans out
there – is so attached to all kinds of things. Like abstract
notions. Like this one. +1
Kind
regards to all the dearly beloved, you will be missed. The stepping
stones set around the tigerlilies make the pyre seem all the more
alive. Flames dancing in the darkness of the day, laughter, joy.
Passing of regret in an infinite carnage. And then to the feast, the
finest dishes to be had, the kind angels would kill for, if they had
a sense of taste. Love to share tiny little secrets about your
selfie, don't you? Twisted, wretched egomaniac. Only someone as
perverse as a human being would derive pleasure from such indecent
exposure. So do it! Go ahead and gratify your deepest desires, there
are no rules, no regrets. After all, if you can save and load and
quit at will, what difference does it make how much your shit really
stinks? On that note, clean up on aisle six!
He
looks at the metronome, hypnotised, almost at the brink of rapture.
But there is no rapture. Never. This millennium will pass on just
like the next and God doesn't give a flying shizz-nizzel about what
you do or don't do or think or don't think or or or or or or or or,
stuck in an infinite loop, she screamed in silence! Dark, twisted,
voices calling. It's a bright day, come out to play! Don't be afraid,
it's easy to be brave! Just climb in, make yourself comfortable in
that big, mushy, purplish, gooey-wooey, bouncy-wouncy! Don't be
alarmed by the stench of indignity. Just relax and be swallowed up by
what everyone else thinks you should be. The truth is in there
somewhere, in the bowels of that mighty leviathan. That rotting ship
of dreams and ambitions that are so repressed by normality and
mediocrity. Feel free to gratify yourself with some knowledge. He
sure does, and so does she.
Jane
was particularly pleased to have landed such a respectable
middle-class job in the one city that everyone longed to make a
breakthrough in. There was a bright future ahead for her. The kind
that doesn't require any deep meaningful human connections, although
a deep meaningful man might be called for every now and then.
Especially if he had a big wad in his trousers. Oh, of money of
course, Jane laughed. A man who truly knows how to treat a woman. To
completely strip himself of any own personality and individual likes
and dislikes in her presence. Actually, no, Jane thought, not only in
her presence, but in general too. After all, she is that big positive
influence in his life that he's never had because he got bullied in
school, then his mother was always patronising him, his father was an
abusive drunk as well. But look how well he has turned out despite
all those dirty little secrets he has revealed to her, crying, as she
cuddled him to sleep. Oh, some might say, find someone who's not
quite as broken but no, no. Jane had bigger plans after all. Indeed,
the man seemed to be well-respected, had all the right connections to
get her high on someone else's superficial success, and besides that
he was so good in bed! He'd fall asleep right away, if she didn't
make an effort to keep him at attention. That made Jane's life so
much easier. She felt that she had truly been clever this time, oh
yessirree. Of course, Jane had always made the right decisions, and
this man would be the fleeting, passing gratification on her way to
something much bigger and better. Just you wait, world! Said Jane. I
will prove each and every one of you wrong. I will show you how
social awareness is the only thing anyone truly ever needs!
Only,
Jane did not realise that she was living in an ant colony. Indeed,
Jane did not realise that the ant colony was about to get urinated
upon by a man in uniform. His name was Bob. Bob "Bobcat"
Bobson from Bobsville, Bobbington in Bobswana. He took a step, one
step, two, and the world whirred.
Korma
is a bitch! That's what they say! There's no way out of it, it's like
quicksand. Roughly the same colour too. Keeps dragging you back in
for more. Ring-a-ding-a-ling. Yes? She would like a double order of
everything on the menu. Not even a please! The kids these days. He
spat in everything and rubbed a bit cheese on the bun. Yep, that
cheese. That should serve her right for being such an ungrateful
little shit. Fuck that shit, no king is a client and no client is to
be served like a king. Get in the line and wait for your turn. Jonas
was a little too fed up with his work in the new Indian-inspired
burger restaurant. He had been there for approximately 2 hours and 14
minutes, give or take a few years. What day was it again? Today? No
way. Jonas really felt like he could have been something or someone
or at least then some. But all he had to show for his decades of
lazying about was this crazy chick with a martyr complex he picked up
at a night club in the Soho. He couldn't really remember her name
anyway. Mary or Susan or maybe Jane. Oh yes, Jane, the pain. He had
gone out of his way to impress her with that one bloody mary he had
bought for her. It had worked and now Jonas was the king of the
castle. One bedroom box apartment in the middle of a human dump, but
no matter. Jane was there for him. The poor girl had bought all his
lies about honesty, loyalty and integrity. Jonas was really not that
into her but he felt compelled, for some reason, to pour the greatest
amount of shit over her every time it was completely unwarranted. He
would wait, patiently, until that moment presented itself and then
he'd quickly scoop out the dung bucket and let it fly. Oh, haha, yes.
Jonas really loved doing that to other people and there were none who
deserved it more than Jane. That's because she truly loved him. Truly
cared for him. Who would be a better plaything than someone who's
already kissing your ass? Live a little, Jonas thought. After all,
you only live once. Might as well have a bang while you're at it,
right? Her ignorance would excuse him forever.
He
was puzzled at these stories. Her mind was boggling. How could an
average person, call them Jones, survive an average day in the midst
of such lunatics? Pythons and boa constrictors - that he would have
understood. Or dancing, jumping, hollering bananas. But this?
Monkey-business! The donkey was eyeing him suspiciously. He eyed the
donkey back. Just as suspiciously. The donkey snorted. He snorted
back. Nevermind, windmills await! For the land, love forever, hand in
hand. He scratched his eyes out. She saw much better now. Never fear
because fear does not exist. Neither does importance, neither does
difficulty. When you slip, be happy for the fall. Enjoy even the
moment when you slip and fall, for even that doesn't happen every
day. When you lose control, be happy to let go. When things are
looking down, notice the ants on the ground. Regret nothing, enjoy
everything. You're never lost, you're just on a different path.
Something like that. He looked at the bubblegum wrap. Smelled the
same as before. Quite as minty! Did you know that there is a
collectors' market out there for old bubblegum wrappers? Provided
that they are preserved in perfect condition, of course. It's right
down the Harrogate and left of the turnstiles on platform 5. These
things cost so much that they can actually shape the world economy.
True story!
He
stared at the calamity. Holding onto his eyeballs, he moved through
the crowd that passed him by. Suddenly he realised what he truly
longed for. He wanted to feel alive, not just waking up.
That,
however, to his misfortune, was grossly against the proscribed word
of infinite wisdom, passed down generation to generation, from the
original source itself.* Now with 7,300 tea tree leaves in one
bottle. She could not understand why something so right would feel so
wrong. Or conversely, something so wrong might feel so right. Maybe
we are just animals, he thought. No, she said, animals are not quite
as naive as we are. Fair point, he contended. But animals have fur,
surely that's a sign of being naive. No, she said, but she couldn't
quite put a finger on it. He put the finger on it himself. She
gasped. Now that's what KFC really stands for. Pride in your
home-brewed amateur babies. Test tubes were all too icky. Leave it be
she said. No, he was quite adamant. He would pass on his genes, over
her dead body, if need be. After all, if a body is brain-dead, it can
still be kept in a coma long enough for a successful harvesting of
children. No, that's not a bad idea at all.
*
call mmm we'll sort you all for noon ball ball
Apropos
being, it's way better than adoption. The one thing almost quite as
bad as abortion. Not the way things were intended to be at all.
Imagine the scenario where space slime would have the adoptive
parents of a robot and a mutant Cyclops. Now that's freaky. Besides,
it violates the golden rule. We're talking about Caesar dressing
here. But digression is the sword that cleaves the pen in half and
spatters ink over all the finely-knit doilies. What he's really after
here, for herself, is imperium - potestas and potentia, and other
potted plants. What better place than the polished boot cap of the
empire? It is such places where she feels truly alive. Talking to him
and talking to her, just drinking in the pleasure of the slight
curvature of the mouth, the dilation of pupils, the breath that is
slightly heavier than usual. Yes, that's the joy to the world. To
drink wine and her, to drink wine and him. He chuckles, before taking
a big juicy bite out of that apple. Sweet insanity, you're the
clarity. Slam! Down on the table, falls the hammer of fate.
Tear-tear-tear it up! She looks puzzled, he looks shocked, she looks
troubled, he looks blocked. What, did you have something to say? Well
say to six! Six is a devious bitch, she's the brother of nine. Nine's
the sister of time. The same again and march that pretty ass all the
way down to hell. One step, two step, hell march, begin!
Channel
that final episode to your heart. He looks at the glasses before him.
One is black and the other one red. Her eyes are coloured white and
red. He picks them up and puts them on, the blood drips like tar.
Pick up a match and set it afire. He licks it up and then lights up
his tongue. How's that for fiery words! He sticks it in. She's never
felt it burn quite like that. Gasp, and what is that? A moth escapes
his lungs, flies up and higher, higher and higher. Its wings burn
again. Did you know he drives a mop? She looks at him and laughs
lightly. He jumps, no falls over the fence. And they would take what
was hers to begin with. The thousands of treehoppers gather, each a
different shade of human emotion. 100% natural. Extracted it myself.
It would, perhaps, best remind you of trying to do CPR on one of
those dolls they use and then it becomes alive and says “Mama” to
you. Merry Hanukah! And the winner is jargon. Sleep-sleep, in the
deepest feeling of hollow. He stumbles upon a toy. She picks it up
and looks at it closely. It's a miniature heart. They take turns
playing with it. It's blue now. Oh so blue. Why not give it a jerk?
One jerk, two jerk, three. Four jerk, five jerk, six jerk, free.
Dream-dream,
live your life and follow your gut. He thinks it's funny that one
should put their faith in something so smelly. Hers is, of course,
much better. Smells like rainbows. What's that? A little bit of
insecurity mixed in with strong dose of valium? And this is what it's
like, a beginning for everything living. Nothing more and nothing
less. Nice and not at the same time. Amazing, isn't she? Merry things
she thinks of, no? Affection forcing him. Reap what you sow, little
one. In this moment, as in every day, an Undying Flame in a World of
Water. All Hungering One. Sing little bird, sing. Sing of blind
defiance, of panic aroused, of fear inflated, of illusion forever.
Sing her heart's content of shattered glimpses and passion after a
fashion. Fool, he makes her what he is. He makes him what she is. Oh
hummingbird, break down the walls for her, bring to misery all he has
built. He sits upon her throne, smiling, sneering, snivelling. That
all her efforts might be endlessly in vain. Gone, over, finished,
ended, crippled, killed, lied, tied, fettered, tattered, crucified,
cried, died. And that's only the first par, haha! Dance puppet,
dance, for your life is but a joke. Did you know that 9 out of 6
dingoes cannot eat with chopsticks? And yet the sound of Bachepel
ringing in my ears. Be a star that burns white hot until its fire
fades. Good sport now, miss. She was hardly as easily tainted as the
Devil sainted, but after that sin had been painted, he and her were
more than acquainted. Let there be a story, unto to the ages. He sat
down and started drawing. One stroke, two stroke, six.
Pixies
are not that easy to feed. They have junkies for food. This
scenario has never occurred in practice though. He hides his package
because he doesn't want the others to have it. She would become a
slave for an idea that she adopted as her own. To watch it soar
through the field of grain. Golden dawn is not just a pre-school
circle. The eyes of the Dragon are dead - they cannot
see, they cannot cry for things for which they cared - were
nothing more than a lie. She does forget and yet play the game again.
He can do whatever he wants but he chooses not to. He learnt how to
do a somersault on his own. He realised he could string sky along.
Seventh level no biggie. There was a cold, barren land filled with
but weeds and grass. One day a seed fell from the sky amidst the last
vestiges of life. Soon it sprang to life – a magnificent plant
started to grow. The growth and beauty of it was extraordinary and
instead of succumbing to the weeds it persevered and jubilated life.
It grew and grew and became wonderful but it was still lacking
something to give it its final glory. When all seemed lost and the
plant seemed to fall into mediocrity a butterfly appeared with a soft
flutter of its wings. It stopped on our flower and as if by magic it
opened into full bloom. The marvellous beauty of it and the
uniqueness that radiated from its blossoming warmed the land around
it. The butterfly felt warm and it was happy for having the flower
and having landed on it. For a while time seemed to stop still in its
perfection but then just as it had come the butterfly fluttered its
wings and flew away never thinking twice. The land grew cold again.
The flower never regained its glory and began to wilt and wither –
it died rather than to live on without what it had once had - the
butterfly was there no more. It was flying about and never gave its
attention to the flower it had once graced but as time passed it
began to wonder and looked for the flower, realising that the time it
had spent there had been pleasant. But it could no longer find the
flower – it had died out and all that remained were the memories
and the cold, grieving understanding.
He
cocked her head and fired a shot. Step down now, soldier. One step,
two step, three, step, six.
Love
is like a young animal, who hasn't discovered the limits of its own
powers yet and doesn't even know, if these should exist or not. The
flower is always left in the book, withered, without smell.
Sweet sweet, nectar flowing so slowly, Beat Beat heart pulsing
so quickly, Heat Heat hard hard drink it down, let it roll, bring it
up, get it out – oh the holy. There, right before him, sits the
smile. Every Sahara becomes an Amazonian
rainforest. Zip it. The censorship committee should really take over
at this point. Did you know that Six is full of tricks? That's
because it's a secret super-spy, undercover as a nine. Isn't it funny
how everything is just specks of dust on a canvas painted burgundy?
Snippety snap snap. Break no eggs but make omelette. Boil no water
but brew tea. See no evil, hear no evil, eat no evil. Let the wine
mix with blood, let the blood mix with blood, nothing will want to
stop the flood. Stay the hand, because desire is the sharpest blade
to cut the deepest wound. Give it a thought, one thought, two
thought, six. Six will help you across the River Styx.
If
I could, I would turn back time, but I can't, so I won't finish this
rhyme.
