surrealistic ramblings with modest mouse
Flashes of "Friends" interspersed with visions of a funeral pyre. A blaze, and the dancing frenzy surrounds you. Mangled bodies strewn on the ground, charred corpses bent and broken. Neon flashing lights point the way to the stars, and the onlookers flee, the charcoal burns their eyes. System of a wayward life, with Frank Sinatra softly crooning in the background. Dusty tomes are pulled open. Wood carvings of fornicators come to life in your hands and they leap off the page, moaning and grinding for a captive audience. The illusion of safety. The cross-pollination of mediocre days and psychotic nightmares. Why go? Why stop? Treason is almost as important as your celluloid. Get a grip. Go away. No, why stay? Please stay. We'll toast to the stream dreams, to the view from your bedroom, to the world's largest ball of twine. Why hide your Pink Floyd collection? Murder isn't everything. Don't know what is. Certainly not your wife. See her slit? It's withering. You're dying. Crazed voices meet fever pitch. The pearl in the bottom of the ocean calls you names. See it glint? See her slit? Not the way you look. Prize the possessions of an amorous mutiny. Peel slowly and see.
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I wrote this in May. I had gotten up at 2:30 in the morning and was flying to Texas, where I would meet family and witness my cousin's graduation. During the entire four-and-a-half hour plane ride over there I was listening to Modest Mouse and staring out the window. I had recently read The Magnetic Fields, and I wanted to give the stream-of-consciousness, dada, surrealist writing a try. Plus, I was in the right mood. This was the result.
* * *
I wrote this in May. I had gotten up at 2:30 in the morning and was flying to Texas, where I would meet family and witness my cousin's graduation. During the entire four-and-a-half hour plane ride over there I was listening to Modest Mouse and staring out the window. I had recently read The Magnetic Fields, and I wanted to give the stream-of-consciousness, dada, surrealist writing a try. Plus, I was in the right mood. This was the result.