This is something I wrote the other night while I was thinking about something else...
A vast disappointment and ninety six on the Richter scale was dialling up the fury like there was no tomorrow on the stage as a light shone through my eyes the many paths I’d trodden to here where the thousand faceless singers assailed me with their song.
I was bad; and I knew it; and I’d made it to here, and that’s some going.
The French girl, sitting beside me and chewing gum, turned her head my way in all the mystery, and leaning over, punched me on the arm and said: relax.
Okay, okay, I said, and relaxed.
As I relaxed, I stared at the stage, my eyes transfixed, and could see nothing else, but the faceless singers.
The faceless singers began to grow huge in front of my eyes, singing their song, so that my pea brain seized, and had to call out for another bottle of wine or something.
The barman, on my frequency and who knew my tastes by now brought me the wine I wanted, and then went back behind his bar.
A sidestepper, listening in to the conversation, whispered in my ear that maybe I should start dating her, before anyone else did.
I was not sure about anything by this point, and I didn’t want to date anything that I wasn’t sure of; so I paid my tab for another day, and walked off to find the light, where all the deja vu daisy met me, unbidden, and out of sight.
And what can I create from you I asked?
What do you want was the reply.
When my face began ray-beaming me in the mirror all of a sudden in the bathroom I had to get to, I took a step back, and screamed: who is that ogre?
This is the breakdown of the contents to here: Many shoulders of care were without a refrain and half broken, fighting on in all the slaughter and needing a hero.
But ogres were not the soup of the day.
What can we break you of now; asked the faceless singers as I continued looking at my face…
I won’t take you this one to meet, I can’t even find him myself, so I’ll just draw chalk marks everywhere to say I’ve been here, and pass the peanuts, and brave all you can dare.
I’m coming from my soul you know, in the face of the deja vu daisy crying for my soul.
And I know how to dress, and light the fire, and jump into bed at the first opportunity. Oh, please marry me.
The deja vu daisy cheered, and passed out the peanuts…
The mayor, who had a new drugstore on his mind, pretended nothing was happening, until a sinkhole opened up under his feet and swallowed him up whole; and down he went.
I see, so half of you is not quite there yet, and the other half will never get there.
Which half are you then?
I’m the other half.
I just knew I was going to have to go home soon, the bar man was eyeing me up with his beady eyes as if I was an artistic keyhole hanging off the back of a lorry and punch drunk to boot.
Codes, only the heart knows were going on like drum beats from the jungle as screams rose up from the dying of the innocents under the machine’s doom, and the telephone in the corner of the stage was all broken up on the hard points of this doom and would never ring again, and sighing lay down in the dying forever.
If we die like this, we may never wake up again the same as we were before, said the aficionado from the gloom.
I didn’t know where I was anymore in all this and so took another drink, and then lit up a smoke and thought: I’m glad I’d planted myself near to the fire escape so I could flee from the doom.
And then the doom thundered: doom, doom.
So I did flee down the fire escape with doom close behind me.
Down, down I went on the never ending staircase until I ran out of steam beside door 35.
Clutching my sides I breathed all the oxygen I could, and banged the right side of my brain to wake it up a bit; doom was around somewhere and I needed to get a move on.
I looked at door 35 and wondered what was in there; maybe all my dreams, or maybe just another empty sack of gold.
Through my extra sensory senses I detected something mystical emanating from door 35.
When you’ve lived in the mud all your life, door 35 can seem most attractive, most especially when doom is at your back.
I pressed the button of the door bell, and waited.
After a while of waiting I was thinking that door 35 was not what I really wanted, so much so, that I ran off.
And as I ran I thought: there is no door 35.
It’s funny what you think about when you’re running isn’t it.
I flew past everything really fast, and as I went, someone called out: the shift is coming.
But I was too broken to do anything about it except to carry on for a few more steps.
And then I stopped running and became still and counted the seconds until all I could hear was the music coming from inside me.
But the shift was coming so I had no time to listen.
Door 35 called me to come home, so I began running again and wondered if I was doing the right thing.
Was the shift behind door 35, or somewhere else I hadn’t found yet where all my questions were piling up?
Let me put it to you this way:
Fried peanuts, fried peanuts
Come get your fried peanuts here.
I know how to find my keys, they're in my right pocket; and I know how to find my lighter to light up, it's in my left pocket; but how do I what I’m looking for?
Hmmm
Fried peanuts; fried peanuts anyone; come and get your fried peanuts here.
The bottomless pit was calling again, writ large as life; and the déjà vu daisy was laughing I felt sure, even though I could find no trace to put in the diary...
End of part one
Image from Pixabay
