The
Salad BarGreetings from this here (over yonder) corkscrew pub and cafeteria, surrounded by sheepishness bleating in the field, somewhere on the gorse and heather side of the UK. Yes, I am flying... it's a special spatial mission on that well known challenging rocket, courtesy of NASA, and we just went over Europe in three seconds; it was pretty cool.
Blowfish tuna-type revenge ravaging like hell in some pre-prepared sandwich. That kind of thing. Welcome to my blind mind. You will soon see more. I am now experiencing severe eye-dotting problems on a flight through space-time and worlds beyond reason and belief. Tell me... how fast can YOU hallucinate?
Let's try to find out: how many times can you see the same film clip of an exploding mushroom cloud (a high speed trip over my childhood hometown) — as a lethal weapons mass production thing — repeating in your head, or perhaps in real life as a mushroom falling off of the salad bar in dejà vu format?
I ask the difficult questions surrounded by crushed ice. I am blue with green fringes and yellow eyes (black pupils dilated like camera lenses). Mixed in under the snow, I am blinding me with reality imposing. And too tough to master are the school masters, on the rampage to fill us up with unnecessary and entirely useless facts so that there is no more room (OR ELSE). I escaped it by daydreaming and doodling most of the time.
The piggy bank is full to the top with big bad million dollar bills stolen from somewhere in the Alps — frozen under the snow because the big bomb froze the rest of the world into glass. And ever neutral Switz was all that remained. Protected for some time by an overturned large black plastic salad bowl, which one of my friends knocked onto the floor just now.
All that remains of the truth is the blood clot that I mixed in with egg salad on someone's white bread. I laughed hysterically over it until I flew out of my private nest by accident, and was placed high in the bare tree out back, naked in the night so that I could watch the moonlight. I was warm and blissful until someone threw me their coat, and I put it around my cramped and aching legs and then began to shiver convulsively.
Building up a reason in my head that no one else could understand, I returned quietly, subdued and engulfed in orange-scented colors, and florescence illuminates the grated carrots stashed in my coat pockets. The feel is a bit slimy.
Curled in the big black bowl, nestled under the nice soft liquid, I cried, until I realized the liquid was my tears, and the salt was really stinging my eyes. Hurting also cuz I got too deep where they popped along with my ears, and the surface was a land of white powder-coated stretched nonsense which made me sneeze a great deal.
A spoon was thrust in my hand, and I wielded it for a while, like an ax, until somebody told me I was acting like a donkey on a deep grass roll. I smiled and replied that the air was clear, and I couldn't find the time to comb my hair first before publicly appearing. IMAGINE! Gagging on a pickled onion on rye. Then being hung out to dry.
I scream quietly that I need to take a pee and they laugh at me, saying it's okay, go right ahead. So I do and then I'm kicked in the ass from behind, and fly out the back door of the moving van, and go careening down the road bouncing to the beat of the tune in my head, until I stop in a slow motion moan, gasping for my tool set and try to begin repairs. They all stand around me guilty. And traffic, blocked for miles into the sunset towards doom, stands still with the occasional honk of a pretty pathetic horn. Little tiny ears of marinated corn.
Five o'clock on the rock finds me still as stone on the roadway, and tracing a white outline, they circle endlessly around my body until I am dizzy, sick and envious of their movement. I want to circle the maze while engaged in my own private daze, but I'm afraid to ask. I don't have to because someone hands me a piece of colored chalk, and with red, I draw my motto of life on my forehead in a hurry.
I can see IT clearly before me, and someone adds to the overall glances an evil eye. Black, pitch forest of the night, the world stands still for me. Nothing approaches or moves away. Changeless. In my state I can observe and know that I can leap from the edge of the black bowl into the still liquid. When at last I land, everything will have been worth that headlong falling dive.
But the lettuce is in my way, and I can't quite fly. Green textured dense undergrowth expects me to dream, so then I see — life before ME was just as it is now. I was somehow already worked into the overall pattern. Lifelong passageways flow around the bend just the same, all the while cold and wispy blue haze surrounds. Making it all pretty tricky to navigate or control.
So, walking slowly, I see a way of retreat, but instead insist, ONWARD! There is a faster way and there is a colder way, but I am afraid. Scared of reaching in and taking off, leaving behind dreams unaccomplished and memories forgotten. Eyes stare at me from the corners of my vision — at the heart of my longing, and deep into my fear (of the one big plunge). And in the darkness I try to stare back, until I am nauseous with the trying.
Sick, sick, I am sick and green, scared of not being truly seen. The eyes answer my troubled mind with a convergence and the very deepest resonance. The kernel that is eternal. I believe they know me better than even I know me. Which is a bit obtuse of them.
I cannot quite somehow tip this big black bowl right side up and drink the whole world in. Though it seems to be expected, the tears are very heavy. Around me in the water, I see sparking drops distracting one another, slipping through my hands, inviting me to follow, to join the river and the dance from whence I came. It actually looks like a lot of fun. But then I run...