I rant you risten

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Streaming Consciousness

No stimulants, no chemicals, no spirits, no elixirs, just my imagination and some thoughts that’ve bounced around today..


Sex with a puffin was interesting until she asked if she could read me some Attar, he’s cool I suppose, but I then decided she was getting a little too spiritual for spirit’s sake. The only place I wanna conference birds is between the sheets. I asked her if she had anything to eat, she complained about not having any time to hit the super, so I ended up snacking on some seeds. She wanted a "sit down" regarding our commitment, I told her that I ain’t no goose. She cried and I left.. probably for the best, my breath always smelt of herring and she always beat me at Mancala. I hate losing at Mancala.


And then there were three: the coat check girl of a gentlemen’s club, a carnival ride operator, and a librarian’s assistant.. it was a task and a half trying to negotiate their way out of the giant mosquito’s nest – but the promise of thirteen pints of blood from a satanic virgin goat in heat was too good to pass up, the Giant Mosquito thought. they had 23 hours and 42 minutes to come good with the plasma or else it was their haemoglobin what was to be gobbled. The brutal death of the magician’s assistant was fresh in the back of their minds, their outcome in case of failure,, poor bunny, poor little bunny… looking on the bright side of things, this was their opportunity to break free from their sidekick labels and actually have their own adventure - even if it did come at the price of a spin-off with a group of number twos taking the lead..


Crossing the street to an internet café, I get hit by a thunderbolt in the form of a fox in pinks kicks navigating a Vespa.. she smiles my way and offers me a peek into my future.. I see room and push myself on. Inviting her for a cappuccino, she takes half the foam with a spoon and folds the rest in, I grind the beans with my molars and suck on the coffee mulch – caffeinated love perks us both up. “I wish you were here” she pauses as the phone crackles - I am enthralled by her pauses, not so much the crackles. I unwrap her like the cds I covet so dearly, eagerly hoping for electric ladyland and getting it. weird and charming she calls me, the perfect foil to her elegance and wit. In competition for coordination, I run through the fields collecting thoughts in a glass jar to light our way home..


I’m led to the dentist chair and told he’ll be a minute or two.. looking around I see the instruments of terror to be inflicted on my chompers.. to calm my nerves I get up and take a swig or 20 of the nitrous oxide in the corner.. hhhrrrmmm.. life is good.. a marsupial hops into the room and tells me that life as a marsupial all depends on if I view myself inside the pouch or outside the pouch.. just then a zebra appears out of thing air, grows fangs and dives straight for the marsupial’s neck. The blood gushes everywhere and starts to freak me out a little.. another 20 swigs, aaahhh much better…


So what is ballsy art? Handing me a cup with some nudey magazines she points to the bathroom and tells me to do my business.. she pulled the blinds and turned on the black lights, revealing her work in progress on the sheet up against the wall.. trying to walk me through her masterpiece, she points out the brush strokes and wants me to see the waterfall.. amazed, shocked, and slightly grossed out, I sat around trying to grasp her madness in an aesthetic light.. spart she calls it.. that’s the last time I spend the night at her place..


A café coretto a la grappa sets me straight.. 28 hours travelling, no sleep and Rem Koolhaas is pouring more grappa in my coffee.. the funny thing about architecture he says while we sip our spiked morning,, is that it’s not funny at all. I couldn’t agree more.. shaking the fatigue out of me, William Gibson shows up and invites himself to my scrambled egg whites.. after breakfast, lets go hit on some cyber samurai dressed high school girls in Harajuku he says.. cyberpunk or cyberperv I still haven’t figured him out.. Rem laughs, and Gibson looks at me weird like he’s hoping to insert wires into my head.. I need another coretto..

7 comments:

Cerebralwaste said...

Good Lord BR!! What goes on inside your mind is a mystery! You just crack me up! I can't wait to get you on the CW Interview Hotseat! Are you ready to take the plunge?

scarlettepimp said...

Weirdness inspires the weird! Thoughts provoked in Karlovy Vary: Dogged solitary for rascality endeavouring locality. Gilda the 70 year old rich bitch with platinum do and leatherd brown skin joins me for a run of Martini's at poolside holding tightly to her giant gold Chanel sac. Wickedness to live up to in the most beastly of places, we emulate crows on an electric post. Eavesdropping in a game of bluff, we hear only the sound of seadogs. A large girl with three husbands walks by and yells,"Is it a crime to marry when already married?", Little Edward in the whirlpool ties up his boat to make Elsie cry, Russian mobsters behind the glassed gym bring confusion to German society sipping Schnapps on their morning start. A military display of tits has no armed vessel distracted from their card game, Tyrol with his hard-earned body designs with a needle a lacework of young poolside waitors attending to his euros. Bigamy, polygamy, somebody, anything goes on this stage of abundant pleasure of daily rubdowns and muddunks.

Bahraini Rants said...

You have this uncanny ability to find yourself in the most peculiar of company, don’t you? I wanted to include this yesterday but felt I might get killed for it.. but who cares, right? The man has gotten away with too much…

I approach the sobbing drunk in the garden shed. My foot makes contact with an empty bottle of whiskey and alerts him.. ohh it’s you , well you’ve found me, here I am… this is not how I wanted it to happen you know.. Do you know what would happen if Santiago were still alive? what he would do to me? all I wanted was to sell a couple of books and put food on the table.. instead, everything escalated and now I have to continue writing lifeless crap that lifeless people find inspiring.. it’s ok Paulo, I console him.. this doesn’t have to continue any more.. I hand him the .357 magnun and make a motion with my hands to aim the barrel directly into his mouth.. you will never have to listen to anyone asking you any more stupid questions, you’ll never have to write about anything ever again.. your children will continue to live off the royalties, but this ends now.. you can end it all now.. reassured of his decision, I help him to his final drink, watch and nod as he sucks on the barrel.. the sound of a serious click is quickly followed by a successful bang.. Tormented by his drivel, Coehlo was no more…

Anonymous said...

black light is an oxymoron, the reason the colour black exists is precisely because there is no light in it...the idea of black light makes my eyes hurt.

Bahraini Rants said...

you make my eyes hurt

Anonymous said...

Things that make my eyes hurt;
1) Cheese that's been organized according to size
2) A country with no spoons
3) Beelzibub
4) Too many small things near each other
5) Words that sound like "haughtier"

Hoffman said...

Something that occurs to me through the words that mingle here, "Why are there no hats for vegans?"