Daily Goals of Awakening

The more I live in what I consider to be the real world, the more I want to escape it. I sleep on porcelain. Then I dream. The curtain slides aside mildly squeaking, revealing a window. Like a random show on TV, my dream is performed in front of me. The characters, I know them. They're friends, colleagues and lovers. They're also villains and monsters and those who want to keep me here always.

I wake up. My head hurts, so I shave my chin. At least I look a bit better in the mirror. Like a little garden, maybe, it helps when one tends it. I trimm the bushy sideburns too. Looking at a rampant garden can be discomforting. Even intimidating. I can't lose my touch with reality, the mission is what matters. Only the mission. Otherwise I can't justify what is real. It's the only way, so it makes sense. A shaved chin is my anchor here. I see grown hair and I can tell time has passed.

I'm really trapped here. This bathroom is my shuttle, sitting on the toilet seat, traveling through the galactic corridors of the cosmic gallery on the back of a gargantuan carp. Or is it a catfish? I've never seen it. I only know it's there, and has always been, even before I came along. I took it from the previous tenant not knowing that in reality he also was a prisoner.

I hope one day I will complete my mission and be set free.

I will find God.

And when I do, my chin will be shaven and neat.

 

 * * *

Eki? 41

Eki anakineki I was watching the moon. Its warty silver face was grinning, probably mocking me. Hanging from the night sky like a Christmas decoration it should know better. What does it have to shine for itself? I will kick it down and put something else in its place.

Eki anakineki doesn't really mean anything. If l replace the moon with it, then it will be the thing that fucks my nights over and it won't be better, just different. There is some sort of allegory here, but I can't quite philosophize it to realization. I'll just say it has something to do with radishes and spinning tops. Both things I like, so everyone is happy. And that's it for today. I consider my duty to the world and radishes and spitting toads done.

Bye, I said flying toward the moonshine and into where meanings go for a smoke break. The thick cloud of the pink cigarettes engulfed me and got into my flesh vessel through an orifice that was previously my navel. It felt like a genie coming home and now I was a stranger about to get evicted, for genies have zero tolerance for squatters. Even if all my life I had been living here.

My body then became animated and colored in the color a defecating squeezing face would be painted if smeared with beets, but a mild gust of air dispersed my gaseous form, and all I could see was something unpurple getting smaller and smaller until it popped like a pimple. Then, the voice of God said something like: "Ouch" and I got some minor relief. 

 

 * * *

 

Excerpts from the Sleepless Cycle - Bicycle

 When the earth cracked open at the park, the little girl was swallowed inside the chasm. It wasn't my first time positioned in entropy's graceful side, and even though I knew the wrongness of what I was about to do, I didn't even flinch. I moved past her - emptying my heart of guilt and making room for a strangely familiar reprieve. Her accidental fall was but an opportunity for me. Her little bicycle, toppled at the edge of the chasm, was there for me to take.

Erik

Whenever Erik would visit Rust Alley, he'd see the donkey-headed man grinning at him. Erik would look at his big white teeth, even though he isn't supposed to, and the donkey-headed man would say a thing so weird, that the contemplation of its meaning would consume in unhealthy ways a good portion of Erik's waking life. Sometimes it would haunt his dreams too.

The donkey-headed man is three legged, blind and vast. His appendices stretch away, hiding in the shadowy corners of the alley. Heart-shaped sunglasses reflect the lamppost's light, looking back at Erik with two bright pupils, and like graffiti on a wall, his body merges with the derelict shacks behind him. He says:

“Why do I hear a telephone ringing? The wiring isn't installed properly. Am I blind? Am I not deaf? Ruined by your vindication, I smile to welcome fear, for a broken messenger I am. Would you fix me with your coins?”

Queendom Come

A clock begun to tick.

And I charged into the battlefield.

Leaping feet, sword in hand and a silent battle cry filling my mind with blasting rage.

I saw her coming from the other side. Shinning white armor, determined stride, face painted death.

Overtaken by a terrible ecstasy, my eyes blazed with glorious hatred, my arms transformed into weapons of justice. The command had been given. The enemy was in sight. First blood was about to be drawn.

But then, she stopped. Right in the middle of the battlefield, she stopped. Idly staring at me, staring at her own demise.

Handker Chief

I hate it in here.

It's dark and wet. I'm wet.

I'm accompanied by things unworthy of my great heritage. The crumbled candy wrap, the coins of petty value, the surrounding lint and hair. A key amongst sesame seeds. Has this pocket ever been emptied?

Why did I end up here? I thought I deserved the world.

Because I haven't always been a napkin. No. I was made for more. I used to be proud and brave and ruthless. Once, I was a flag.

Spiteful Ode to a Butter Fly

Butterfly, damn butterfly.

You're not a real butterfly.

You're just a normal fly,

which sat upon my butter

that's why I'm gonna now,

I'm gonna fetch the swatter.

And I will surely avenge

my now infected butter,

for it's the only thing

which in my life does matter.

You sat on my left cheek.

Some say it is a bless.

But if on me I hit you,

my own face I will mess.

So go away fly,

go away.

Spit down on your path you lay.

I don't want you in my kitchen

and I hate your buzz to listen.

I don't like you as a pet

You're just here for my nape's sweat.

Did I get you?

Did I not?

To find the body I cannot.

So I sit on triumph's verge,

while you, from behind emerge.

And you fly to the next room,

cunningly delaying your doom.

Fly you toadfood!

Fly you cunt!

I will get you when you land.

* * *

* Traditional anti-fly song by the peoples of Swamp Cukoucukacou, during the first Swamplordiness election. The toads won that time, with the mosquitoes coming very close, contrary to the general belief that the Electric Racketman has always claimed lordship.

First published in Kernel Kiki's 1894 poem and song collection, titled “Silliously?”

 

Once Upon in Al' Dah Kash

Once upon a time, there was a sultan who was mostly stingy and enjoyed counting his money and numerous possessions more than anything.

The Intermediates

This is the place where all the important things happen.

So they told me at least.

I didn't argue.

I've been coming here for years, but it didn't get any easier with time.

We were given a space to be and a seat to sit. Next to each other and still invisible to all but ourselves.

Knights' Nights

There once was a knight

who always at night

sad poems he wrote

to deal with love drought

After much thinking

and certainly drinking

the knight left the bar

to go really far

for some sort of quest:

To slay evil monsters,

be on all WANTED posters

Be rich,

kill a witch

Save innocent people,

help even the cripple

Don't be like the rest,

but only the best

He drove across plains in his shiny white Porsche

(Some say it's unfitting, improper and silly

And nobody thinks it helps jousting really

But goes so much faster than the traditional horse.)

And he battled for a king

who was known to be just

for it is the common thing,

like they say it is a “must”

Liberating helpless people using pointy battle forks

swording through the trolls and goblins and especially the orcs

So he did all deeds of valor

Even he became a sailor

to explore all magic places

see all kinds of different faces

But despite trying a lot

little pleasure to him brought

for the hollow in his heart

had not found it's missing part

And he watched night skies alight

while sad poems he did write

* * *

Strange Fruit of Paradise (Part Six)

 They stood for a moment looking at each other trying to adjust their minds on the curious encounter they just had. The girl seemed lost in her thoughts, but her big almond-shaped eyes looked calm and aloof, like she wasn't really surprised by what had just happened. Ovolon noticed this and spoke first.

“You seem like we didn't just met a God. Have you ever met one before?” he asked with a half-fake inspecting tone.

“I don't think so.” answered the girl.

“Aren't you surprised?”

“Well we met someone who claimed to be a God and who gave us a map to the end of the world. It is what it is.” said the girl and gave him a smile like all the cares and the burdens of this world were not enough to smother her optimism.

The Gentle Process of Letting Go

Floating on the surface of poorly done leftovers

down inside a toilet above the septic pipes

there it sat comfortably among the yellow waters

a little brownish blob of captivating flies

To defecate he thought it was to decompress

he hardly ever needed to stay in there for long

but solid as a rock it came to suppress

his ass' fartly song

He moaned and blushed and pushed with steel determination

to lead his constipation to total termination

Suddenly wishful thinking began to form a mass

As echos in the room produced uncanny gas

Coming from somewhere between the poor man's hairy ass

He startled jumped and loosened his body's bottom hole

and saw his makings down there, looking them as a whole

The turd stared back at him and there he had a hunch

Granting him specious information about the latest lunch

Corn and tomato colored with shades of fresh cut spinach

Should he consider eating for next time a packet full of peanuts?

He got up, cheered a bit and then he started flush

Hitting the shite he had delivered, holding a toilet brush

Thus having executed complete evacuation.

Now savors of a feeling of utter relaxation.

* * *

Strange Fruit of Paradise (Part Five)

The sun was already up, having emerged from between the distant sand dunes in the east. The girl watched Ovolon as he was packing their things to go. The look of him; crouching, carefully stuffing everything inside his backpack, with messy curly hair and an unshaven chin, reminded her of monkeys eating lice from each other's backs.

“Ahem, so where to now?” she asked in a faked serious tone and tried to hide a giggle as Ovolon turned his head and looked at her with confusion.

“I thought you knew!”

“Nope. No idea what to do now. All I knew was that we should hurry get inside. I don't even remember why. Maybe it was just a hunch.” she said as she strolled around him, with her hands behind her back and her head looking up the sky.

Strange Fruit of Paradise (Part Four)

It was early in the morning and the moisture in the air was still thick bringing drifting odors into Ovolon's nostrils. He stoop up from the rock he was sitting and took a stroll around the area, stopping casually to examine his surroundings. Downhill he could see the Great Path passing between the hillsides which formed it, making it bend like a snake heading towards the stony mountain gorge which led away from the familiar meadow. He didn't know what was beyond it. He wanted to go, wanted to know, but he had always postponed this. Fear of the unknown maybe.

Strange Fruit of Paradise (Part Three)

“This was nice. We can meet again another time and have more fun” said the girl leaned to the right a bit in a charming little bow.

“Sure, we can go to places.” answered Ovolon.

“Yeah, do things! Explore the meadow. Discover the whole oddness and the rareness and... and the indulging personalities that we'll meet” she said and her voice gradually became a murmur and her glare drifted to the sky lost in the reverie of imaginative possibilities. “Anyway. Good day for now”

“Have a nice trip. We'll meet again for sure” smiled Ovolon and did a courteous bow himself.

She waved at him and turned around taking the road to her home along with her blue friend.

Strange Fruit of Paradise (Part Two)

For a long moment they stood before each other staring in silent blinking of the eyes. Ovolon had indeed quite a few sagittarian ages to witness such a beautiful sighting. I totally wasn't expecting this, he thought and suppressed a feeling of instant elation, turning it into an unnoticeable shudder. Her hair were long and curly and delicately covered the better half of her breasts. Just enough to awaken primitive instincts in his mind, which were asleep and forgotten since when, even he could not remember. He noticed her gaze was in a way a mix between apprehension and curiosity, but she too seemed to welcome this unexpected meeting.

Christoffer

Christoffer came back today.

I saw him in the cracks between the door and the wall.

He had come for the first time sometime around May. I noticed him on the wall behind my desk. It was only for a moment when I saw him, I blinked and when I looked again he was gone. He must have entered through the window blinds, it had started to get hot these days and I kept the glass open most of the time.

That night I said it was just my imagination and went to bed, ignoring the little cracking sounds I kept hearing before sleep took me. Must be the dogs in the yard turning around in their cage, I thought.

Strange Fruit of Paradise (Part One)

Ovolon lived under a tree just at the edge of the greenless meadow. His tree was wrinkled and unblossomed and no nests had been built on it. In fact, birds were by years now, gone.

The girl with the magical hair lived under a tree just at the other edge of the greenless meadow. Her tree was also in no good shape. This one though, had a little hummingbird nest. And the little blue inhabitant rarely flew away.

Winters passed and the meadow was covered in snow up where the eye can see. In the nights with no rains or snowfalls, with no clouds and the big moon blazing the field alight, all the stars could be seen. These nights, both Ovolon and the girl would look up the sky.

Goatlegs

The train was sliding on the rails like a dizzy snake.

Outside - roads, buildings, trees, people. Nothing seemed to ever be changing in this world. Especially people. He knew that much. There is always a pattern towards their innermost desires and motives. All one has to do is find the right buttons to push and he could end up with an inflatable rubber doll to push around as he wishes.

The Pillow Case

Record:

Sun Oxen Year & ¾ , Eighthday

Around Noon

It was when I pressed my hand on the crystal ball that I saw.

It was dark.

The moon cast her luminous strings, twisting the forest and filling the land with shadow and twilight. A night breeze made the trees dance, sending their leaves to the hungry soil.

There was light coming from the top tower of the castle. A dim candle melting by the window, shaped pale outlines in the room, making the old wooden furniture look like oddly dressed tree-men. Inside the colors of gold and black painted curtains and sheets. A great chandelier hanged from the ceiling and claret walls carried portraits of insignificant dead folk. Intoxicating odors of the perfumes of lustful women lingered in the air, permeating decadent aristocracy.