Am I past my peace by time date yet?
No, I think you’ve got a moment left to spend on anything you want.
Gee, I’m so gladdened by that.
You can have a penny knocked off for closing your mouth as well.
Does this mean that I’m coming up in the world?
You’re time’s running out here faster than you can think.
Then, give me an end of night sandwich, a bottle on the rocks, and a plate of grease to go, please.
Coming right up…
Over in a field somewhere in a field, a farmer’s watermelons where ripening marvellously; while on the other side of the universe and close by, many rabid dogs barked out their sordid news amongst the conversions of many appetites and made me squint into the sun to see if where I was going was where I wanted to be.
The next convergence of the stars will not come for a thousand years said the loudspeaker beside me in the gloom and made me jump out of my skin a little bit, until the organic farmer in me rallied his senses and spoke up: my watermelons are ripe enough to eat, come get your watermelons here.
Many, came by their senses, and many came otherwise, and me with not a watermelon in sight to sell them. So suddenly I began selling many tales that came out of the desire for watermelons, and as fast as they came, I sold them, until one day I was all sold out; which is when I caught the chip pan on fire with the desire for something else; watermelons aside of course.
A man, wearing almost nothing, pushed his cart past me, and made me fall to the side, and him hoping for me to call out for him, as he went past, for he was too tired in his life to make an unnecessary move more than one foot in front of the other to keep going.
As he passed me, I reached out, but felt too tired also to make a sound, and so held back from going all the way.
Moments like this have made up my life, I said into the ether of all that surrounded me in the moments that made up my life, as one more moment began to pass.
A ripe watermelon out in the field, burst, and began to sing in French with funny verbs n stuff that made me think of other things, until a sunny stranger came up to me and said: I’ll take one.
Here, I said, handing him the keys to all I was and would ever be. Take this, it’s better in the mornings, and anyway, I have nothing left to sell now.
Calling me from my lonely grave, the whispers that made up all my hopes, burnt into cinders, and expired upwards. So I let them go, and mustered the moment to carry on, selling ripe watermelon stories for something I could hold onto in the dust of my yearning, where nothing could save me but myself; or so I was told most often.
The convolutions are on the radio now you know.
How many voices are there?
Oh, one or two.
Anyone of them got a watermelon?
There are some here that thinks that thou hast a desire for a ripe watermelon.
They could be right.
You must have one then.
Oh, thank you very much.
Many ripe watermelon seeds later…
The kiss is inside the grave, isn’t it?
Yes, I am afraid it is.
Is this why Jesus died?
Not really.
You must think me such a fool.
I don’t think that much normally, on that subject.
Let us have some watermelon to quench our thirst, so that we can think more on the subject.
Got any gin?
I’m all out of thinking on this, and so I must lay it down and see if there is another story waiting for me to read, and let this one go to its watermelon grave.
If we think too much, we may fall out of our tree. And then where would we be?
Inside the roaring of the silence I heard my name being called many times from the shadows, where the shadow was lurking.
So I perked up my ears to hear as much as possible and god damn the fairy witch for making me so perfect.
Half way through the frying of this, a new song came on the radio that had a piece of history attached: Is the collective sublimating you in your thought, or are you more than this to be thought so perfect?
The history lesson over, I came again to where I began the dance of this at the beginning, all over again to where I was now.
Huh?
Swaying, I fell over, and decided that now was a good time to go to sleep upon my perfect last words.
But the machine would not shut down so easily, for it was built to withstand all that stood in its way.
It was around about here that the silence exploded into exploding head syndrome and spat out watermelon seeds faster than light.
Hear ye, hear ye, many watermelon seeds are being expelled. Please take cover.
Just how many metaphors can you take at one time?
Many more than you can throw at me.
Okay then, here’s one more: on an empty page, what do you see there?
I see you trying to trick me.
And what else do you see?
I see flowers and shells on a sea shore that stretches away forever.
You must be on a roll; quick, show me the light.
And all it’s made of is light…
And watermelon seeds…
Sometimes there are no words to say anything when it’s very, very still.
…
..
.
Image from Pixabay
End of part 98
