How strong, how weak, how many? Even if the days are old, that doesn’t rule out infancy in their realm. Quite the contrary! Days… falling like waterfalls eroding the nearby, mossy stones that mother goose herself couldn’t stand to listen to. Yes, mother goose. Nothing but stories of blowing mist and tropical bird shit falling from the skies wiggled into her cochlea, making it shrivel and recite the poetry of somatic oblivion. This oblivion was the ether from which we emerged and as the strawberries come to full blossom underneath the flaming floorboards of your most repressed evenings, we massage and lick the mud-bathing lizards hiding in the moonlit, climaxing woods inhabiting your small intestine. As the shit flows, the colorful and idiomatic party that was this friendliness gets, if you don’t mind my saying so, quite pooped. HA!
There is a huge flash of light and as your eyes adjust, you find that you are elsewhere. No more lizard licking for you! Oh, how dull. It is that one backyard you remember from your distant childhood. You only saw it once or twice in your twilight days, when your teeth chattered, gossiped, and gambled profusely. There is a tree giving forth berries and leaves exploding with colors never before seen. How fast it grows! A toy train speeds all around the branches and all seems lovely, but that tree wasn’t there when you first saw this yard. Has it been that long? Tick tock goes the clock.
One… two… three… four. Who might that be? Whose voice was that? You’re the one who heard it so don’t ask me. You felt it bounce and breath in your polished and grinning skull. Look out! Pumpkins circle you with forks and knives in hand. They sing like kings of a gold encrusted swamp and the flames behind their carved faces grow faces of their own. They snicker and shout like a teakettle spout! Snickering, snockering, snuckering, Hey! When do the jelly’s start stinging their pray. Five… six… seven…
The sun of another living world above you, the moons of mars inside you, all was well. The paint tasted wonderful too. In the Cineplex, the sticky fingered praying mantises convened, vaporized, and blood let with the rowdiness of a bubble filled bathtub flying down the white rapids within moose veins. The vaudeville themed harpsichord in the corner is jammed by dead, dusty possums and the film was out of focus. A claw emerges. A claw emerges from the dark corners of this dusty, flickering theater. It has come to choose, by flip of shiny dime, who to take to the bowling alley of the restless chicken’s second favorite nightmare. All flee for the exits, but one remains. The quiet one, the sneaky one. The claws dig in! Out comes her beating heart. She dies holding her favorite rabbit. Sniff sniff sniff sniff. The gods gaze in awe! Sweet Jesus! So says one of the Gods.
There shant, by prophecy foreseen in the cobwebs of green lightening above thee, be a heart like this ever again. Her death was not in vain! Seahorses melt into a vast, primordial form within it’s beating core. Too euphoric to remain a solid I suppose! They float about, all becoming one in a bubbling ooze of smiles and spectral spirals. In your birthday suit and your bouquet of snake mouthed gardenias in grasp, you spin down these spirals. Where now? Far below you, you’re in freefall by the way, is a town. It’s too stuck on the earthquake ridden surface of earth to get much done. When you reach this town, they won’t be able to scrape you off of the sidewalk. What to do??
8… 9… 10!
There’s that voice again! A trillion winged maggots arise from beyond the horizon. They smelled the melting, fungal cheese burning infinitely many holes in your amphibious pockets and they fell in love! That cheese is yours! The town below you crumples, as if it were a doodle on scrap paper. The abstract, sharp cornered ball floating in the void of nothingness folds into origami. It looks kind of like you! Dolphins dressed up as witches start flying out of your ears and every pore of your being explodes with yellow seaweed as you fall towards your opening mouth of paper and ink. You gobble yourself up!! Damn, you were the best thing you ever tasted! Next to hockey…
You are not of this universe. There is nothing in the cradle but more cradles. Rockabye baby… What? Really? No! You look under this universe and all like it to prove these words wrong. Luckily, they’re neatly stacked one above the other like pages of the novels nailed shut as they spin around the twisters of peaceful blood. Below this stack you find a lavishly dressed ostrich sleeping upon a hammock made of harmonious honey. He floats around in a huge, bioluminescent abyss, surrounded by slowly melting ice sculptures of grand kings grasping their feces, holding it high and mighty so the heavens might see. The ostrich, he snores like the pack-leading bison in the dry tundra, he does! Orange mucus bubbles come flying fervently from your nose. Where do they go? They play it by ear. After some exploration of this sleeping, flightless bird of high ornamentation, they choose to set up camp under its toenails. Coffins filled with tear-ridden telescopes and lovemaking scorpions orbit their campsite furiously! FURIOUSLY I SAY! Snowmen grow spontaneously from the gopher holes around their white-hot campfire, laughing maniacally as they ripple like the acorn trees in the duck pond behind the copious heat waves. Shit! The mucus bubbles, in their beautifully intimate, womb-like tent, they smother one another with piss soaked rags stolen from Santa’s throat and stir up quite a ruckus. You feel your skin and are overcome by blissful Goosebumps.
Another flash of light overcomes you! You’re home! The sunroof opens and you find that above you there stands a glacier the size of Pluto, melting quickly into your living quarters as seventeen drunk Latvians explore it’s icy surface in the nude. The nude I say! The stinky, rainbow colored earthworms who happily crawl in spirals on the springs in your mattress predicted this whole fiasco once. Sometimes they whispered it to you while you slept, changing the course of your dreams. Meanwhile, the feathers magnetically pressed against your sleeping, blanketed thighs slowly took flight and with their gentle tickle, turned the sea mines of the astral plane above you into loving canine eyes and vials of glowing dragon ejaculate.
The large bumblebees dressed as policemen come bursting out of your delirious belly and tickle your nose threateningly with their polished stingers. How rude of them to be meddling about while you drift in slumber! To hide yourself from the strong arm of the law, you hop with haste into the clitoris of the nearest frolicking cocoon. What do you find? Darkness! Eleven… Twelve… Thirteen… Fourteen… Fifteen… Again you hear that voice! Who might that be?! So says you to the quiet, breathing black. Where could you possibly be? How can you possibly see? You vomit blindingly bright fireflies, so as to light your new world. Their light does away with the deceitful darkness. Would you like to know what they have revealed? Look up.
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