Hospitality Inside A Demijohn Of Helium

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

A washing-machine full of novocaine and helium becomes a spinning canvas for centrifugal forces. And it is clear the outside paradigm is more to do with the stable economy of LSD (librae, solidi, denarii) - than the welfare of the status quo. WARNING: complete gobbledygook ensues!

Bonjour! I am monsieur Creme De La Onyx. Au revoir . . . so pleased to meet you. You are the children-faced tiger lillies who laugh at their own purring whalesong of elastic meows? - here at the vaudeville of no walls and ceilings. You have travelled far from the lower valleys of winter to the higher pastures of summer - your transhumance will be rewarded with the best I have to offer, for I am famed throughout the kingdom for my foxglove tea!


Putain de chatte! Sir, you look at me as if you've never seen a coiffure - a quiff as black as licorice - perhaps equal to the oily plumage of a fledging crow squawking for its first gelatinous worm? Ah, don't worry. After a hot glass of my brewed pink leaves, the world of sight and sound, my friend, will be akin to an obsidian marble steamrollered between the buttocks of Siamese moons - then catapulted - the newly-pressed tiddlywink lands in a vitelline ocean-Jacuzzi of piccalilli. Quiet - now sip! Soon the grandfather clocks will be sheep-dipped. And tu-whit tu-whoo . . . tu-whit tu-whoo! - a tuxedoed owl with a monocle, will foam at the mouth (chewing poison ivy).


Old chap, you must be hungry? There is a flambeed skillet of cock-a-leekie, right now, on the Aga - my pet stove. Eat it with that silver spoon. Hold it close - do you see your face swimming back and forth - from left to right - as if your features lived inside a gold fish bowl?


Try it - the soup is delicious! What's in it? it's a creamy combo of Teriyaki mushrooms, mussels, calamari . . . and mother's dumplings! (The fork in the middle of the adjacent table's bolognese, I notice, keeps twisting spaghetti until, just before the greasy pasta is hoovered up, it flicks tiny shuttlecocks of sauce in my direction, most of which I'm proud to say, I volley back with the tip of my tongue.)


I have spent roomless hours- my friend, you interrupt me? He says everything is beginning to seesaw - as I imagine heavy-tilted raindrops would unbalance the end of a knife encrusted with barnacles. Anyway, I am a daddy longlegs unborn inside the sauna meat chrysalis of a semolina hot dog with platinum onions - sauteed in a loofah bread roll of sweat! Undecided - a yoke inside its shell - the orchestral symphony of the sausage and oily tressels of caramelized onions is a warm sleeping bag for whatever happens!


Another guest has passed out and is face-down in their ratatouille!


My friend - sitting at my table - says he hears:". . . The barking of pitball cauliflowers!" I slam the table with my fist - the cutlery jumps like flying fish. I point at his tea with an index finger the size of a cucumber. "FINISH IT!" He gulps it down and avoids eye contact with me. In his direction I whisper: adieu . . . adieu!


I sniffed - took a deep breath! More novocaine, more helium! Bring me a teapot glazed in mustard and honey! Everybody looked at me with boiled egg faces. Was I a little loud exclaiming the exact words they wanted to knead and bake into verbal naan dipped in phall? Cough! Eyes watering. Give them all lassi drinks to sugar the pill!


Yeast . . . sugar . . . fermentation - but there is a whole world of undiscovered space and freedom beyond the limits of our hookah vessel. We are dolls with cannulae full of potassium chloride - and we are termed by our overlords: Lebensunwertes Leben!. And so it goes on! Hospitality on the brink of madness. Pretending: everything's going to be alright. But it's not! Panic! psychoneurosis - getting older, death of a loved one, crap job, drudgery and poverty of existence - PANIC! FUCKIN' PANIC!

Submitted: October 22, 2019

© Copyright 2021 Jobe Rubens. All rights reserved.

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Mother Nature is so generous with her teacups of toxicity. Surreal in the extreme; a fantastic read!

Wed, October 23rd, 2019 7:42pm


Hully led me here - I'm glad I came, to be steamhosed with exuberant, literate, psychotic associations.

Yet I fear there may be method in this feigned-madness... I wonder whether I'm reading just the latest excursion of GPT-2 with the transition probabilities amped up? If HJFurl gets to read this, I'd value a second opinion.

Thu, October 24th, 2019 11:32am

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