I don’t think you can count being a beggar as being part of a counter cultural movement, I said to the leper. He had fruitlessly tried to argue that each era had its own revolutionary cultures, which all, regardless of look or circumstance, consisted in entirety of irredeemable ponces, and that intransigents such as he were the Wildes, Lenons, etc of this era, clothed in filth but with the self satisfied look of great intellectuals or babes who’ve shit their nappies.
Empty globe eyes and the dumb nose of the dog pointing upwards in anticipation to catch a fractal raindrop maladjusted in decemtum. Young men dressed as contemporary fairies walked past with pompous look of the freshly sodomised. Flowers sprout around with hippy fronds in Technicolor. The beggar was adamant and I had a French bus to catch. A Parisian, always artfully late, belching smug. I wondered why all the homeless wear berets and paint their faces like mimes. He doesn’t silence, so I hobble him and let the plants have him. Vicious geraniums. And why is the bus stop a log? All about are insects going about their daily business, beetles in suits buttle to the office, ladybugs get into place as secretaries, woodlice the builders. And the growing flowers cover all.
Above it all I walk away from a similar but different beggsr to catch a train made of Belgian chocolate that travelled along sugar rails. Halfway to Nashville I ate through the coupling bars and caramel cables and accidentally derailed my carriage, which turned to glass about me, shattered and became water which fell around into an oriental mud river, with multicoloured villages sitting, living on houses raised above it on stilts. They plot acts of global terrorism with plans that are 50 years old, and one day they will pull it off, very bond villain, very peculiar, the sound of a rolling metal tongue, lightmares and nightning, blue and silver flashes in the desperate void. Black is the colour of between space-no colours so objects in the way, you look out and see the void, what exists before and out universe. It is sterile, changeless, produces nothing. Then it gives birth to creation. Rapid expansion from a point, almost like human birth - why so similar? Conspiracy? Fragmentation becoming severe, ideas dissacoiate like alien limbs in zero gravity, spaceship logic falls at the first hurdle and has to be put down, is in a bad mood for another week, weak fool to try and waste his hard effort on the futile endevours of men and of mice which always reach maximum termination at the back of the microwave and are governed by an inhospitable terror bird, code named squark, who actually squonks, the sound made when two frogs are forcibly pushed together until rupture, similar to how the polish monarch of 1153 used to wear shoes with frogs on the sole and jump about his palace yelling ribbit, until he was assassinated and his dynasty supplanted by pagan planks of wood who were later overthrown by papists, but not the papists of andulasia who were not-o-rious pederasts and big biggie fans, instert component B into slot F, gyrate with your partner then separate for two beats, on choral medley strip off and assume intercourse position alpha, and recite mantra of the lecturous, later found as recorded on a stone tablet by a dystopian empire run by a puppet government of humans rules by physic rabbits, who use them to fight their principle enemies, chicken, pig and cow.
-The deranged rantings of the man I met at the bus station.
He was homeless and raved, but I saw that there was an evil in this homeless man, he drives others to his state, entraps them, swaps with them.
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