Whether or not this trip was made under the guidance of benign Gods is not for me to say. There was darkness. There does Man.
The wind howled in the rigging fore and aft. The ship was tossing about. Warm was the coke and the TV heavily distorted. The cook got sick, barfing abaft. Some hands lost their minds. Many got lost in the fog. But all the way, our figurehead stood firm and proud, leading us bare-breasted with a smile and a wink.
The wind howled in the rigging fore and aft. The ship was tossing about. Warm was the coke and the TV heavily distorted. The cook got sick, barfing abaft. Some hands lost their minds. Many got lost in the fog. But all the way, our figurehead stood firm and proud, leading us bare-breasted with a smile and a wink.
The journey took us to lands far and near, real and makebelieve, through mist and dreams, rain and typhoons, shite and onions. There we saw meadows in bloom, where brown-eyed cattle stood lazily blinking in the sun. We saw unclothed girlfolk, pure and righteous. They made us lie down in green pastures. Leading, restoring our soul. Priests of perversion they were, giddy gals. They were laughing, playing with purple veils and perilous skateboards.
We climbed over hilltops, laughed hysterically, we asked for forgiveness. We crawled through jungles, oozy, dying of thirst. We met druids, knights, whores and pirates, advertisement salesmen and mariners in various states of intoxication. They gave us riddles, they smote us with confusion. Creepy vines obscured our way. In a clearing, we were attacked by cigar store Indians. So we fought like lionesses, then skulked in the undergrowth till we heard bloodthirsty sirens breaking in shining song.
Scratched and bleeding we stumbled upon some ancient ruins. And some new ones too. Two hundred and sixty five thousand stones. Jubilation, rejuvenation. Yes.
We climbed over hilltops, laughed hysterically, we asked for forgiveness. We crawled through jungles, oozy, dying of thirst. We met druids, knights, whores and pirates, advertisement salesmen and mariners in various states of intoxication. They gave us riddles, they smote us with confusion. Creepy vines obscured our way. In a clearing, we were attacked by cigar store Indians. So we fought like lionesses, then skulked in the undergrowth till we heard bloodthirsty sirens breaking in shining song.
Haven't you just recently (somewhere else) said that you were bored? If your boredom results in tachnicolor dreams like these, everything's just about fine.
ReplyDeleteI want this story as a Terry Gilliam-animation with a soundtrack by the Bevis Frond (Well, Syd Barrett is still dead.).
Hey, thanks, Jan Martin/Hagel (can I call you Jan Martin here?) for liking this. I liked it too and writing it was what lifted my boredom. I'm no longer bored. I should write every day, to keep the boredom away. Wish Syd were here too. PF without him was still good but very tame.
ReplyDeleteCall me any way you like, my Martian brother.
ReplyDelete