Blindgroping
U mad 'bro?
Part IV
So I was sittin' thar, mindin' my own buisness, enjoyin' the foam on my rootbeer. When this mighty zephnyr does gust my head onto a sheet of newspaper layed atop the next table.
Now, I may have been miffed at having to sip a frothless root', but before the travesty could register, I noticed the particular way foam had laid itself out. It was surreal yet entirely unmistakable. The hills, the ravine, the roll of bubble-wrap, and the soon to be dried up puddle of brown stagnet waters.
Ah, what of it you say? There was a picture of a ford model T not just half way into the ocre stain of the news article where I had left just such a model T not 30 years prior.
A mite odd if ya' ask me.
So I bolt up in shock and suprise and after a spot of tag dancin' with two o' the regulars, An' after a bout of hootin' and hollerin', the ground just seems to dance under my feet. I leave the establishment.
I was outside and even though the street was clear and the day was bright, it felt as if I were in a dark swamp with my feet quagmired in the muck. Every where I looked, it was as if I were in a hall of mirrors. One direction looked so much like another.
I was stumped, I was stymied, I didn't know where to go or where to turn or where to start.
Fortunately, upon my cry of despair, a chariot with a brilliant golden aura came careening toward me. I barely escaped bein' turned into so much unidentifiable animal carcass as it came to rest in exactly the same spot I had been occupying. Eerie.
The side of the chariot beheld a name embeded in the side,
"Terrans Against Xenophobic Invasion". I thought, My kind of people.
Shielding my eyes against the glare of yellow, I peared into the window. And amidst the transendental mists of purple, orange and green, I saw a ghastly sight.
What was driving had clothed itself in a lime green velvet fedora and a fire-engine red smoking jacket that you would find in the unwanted free bin at a second-hand store. But it was the he, it, Them! that got me.
The driver, Oh the driver. Ihe image and feeling it gave me makes me shudder to this very day.
Imagine gene-splicing a bunch of weasles, carnival plush-prize ferrets, and a road-kill mink. Imagine lots of them, aranging themselves in to the shape of a human body and sewn together with spearmint, unwaxed floss.
The nerve.
So I was sittin' thar, mindin' my own buisness, enjoyin' the foam on my rootbeer. When this mighty zephnyr does gust my head onto a sheet of newspaper layed atop the next table.
Now, I may have been miffed at having to sip a frothless root', but before the travesty could register, I noticed the particular way foam had laid itself out. It was surreal yet entirely unmistakable. The hills, the ravine, the roll of bubble-wrap, and the soon to be dried up puddle of brown stagnet waters.
Ah, what of it you say? There was a picture of a ford model T not just half way into the ocre stain of the news article where I had left just such a model T not 30 years prior.
A mite odd if ya' ask me.
So I bolt up in shock and suprise and after a spot of tag dancin' with two o' the regulars, An' after a bout of hootin' and hollerin', the ground just seems to dance under my feet. I leave the establishment.
I was outside and even though the street was clear and the day was bright, it felt as if I were in a dark swamp with my feet quagmired in the muck. Every where I looked, it was as if I were in a hall of mirrors. One direction looked so much like another.
I was stumped, I was stymied, I didn't know where to go or where to turn or where to start.
Fortunately, upon my cry of despair, a chariot with a brilliant golden aura came careening toward me. I barely escaped bein' turned into so much unidentifiable animal carcass as it came to rest in exactly the same spot I had been occupying. Eerie.
The side of the chariot beheld a name embeded in the side,
"Terrans Against Xenophobic Invasion". I thought, My kind of people.
Shielding my eyes against the glare of yellow, I peared into the window. And amidst the transendental mists of purple, orange and green, I saw a ghastly sight.
What was driving had clothed itself in a lime green velvet fedora and a fire-engine red smoking jacket that you would find in the unwanted free bin at a second-hand store. But it was the he, it, Them! that got me.
The driver, Oh the driver. Ihe image and feeling it gave me makes me shudder to this very day.
Imagine gene-splicing a bunch of weasles, carnival plush-prize ferrets, and a road-kill mink. Imagine lots of them, aranging themselves in to the shape of a human body and sewn together with spearmint, unwaxed floss.
The nerve.