Another strange tale from strange times

[maniclion]

Now I'm starting to reminisce on the yellow VW bug I saw one day while walking stoned down Lewers in Waikiki, in the windshield it had a scale model of a yellow VW bug with the interior hand painted to match the white and yellow hibiscus seatcovers of the larger version so I peered closer to see how detailed it got everything seemed to match and I tripped out on it and then I spotted in the windshield a micromachines VW bug and next thing you know my face is pressed against this cars window trying to see if the seats were painted and then I hear a distorted murmur behind me "SHESCUSH ME SWHASCHT ARESHU DOOOOINNTTGGGG" I think the murmuring is directed at me so I snap back to my senses and spring from the car trying to pinpoint the source when I see this cute little surfer chick in full on Wave Battling regalia(a bikini)like so:

Now most surfer girls don't wander far from the beach with out a sarong or towel on the bottom but this girl knows what shes got and flaunts it. I luckily was so high I got the words out and said how much I admired the creativity she put into her triple scale model so she told me a little about what went into it and we talked a bit and I found we had alot in common next thing I know I'm in the passenger seat and being whisked away to this mountain flophouse for surfers that is 4 stories of home descending down the mountain/hill side. We start discussing beat writers and how much we love Kerouac and could live on Apple pie and ice cream as well and we're on the fourth bong rip when she asks me if I want to go higher and I'm like alright. So she takes out a little metal box with a lock on it and takes a mini luggage key from around her neck and pops the lock off and inside is a whole cache of pills, baggies, vials, etc. She grabs a syringe and rubber tube then it happens she jabs me and my face falls into a seemingly endless spiral of a smile, my eyes are closed yet so wide open and I hear her voice. So familiar are the words when I realize she's opened my backpack and is reading from my journal of poems, lyrics, scribbles and musings and she reads it all and then folds a page and writes the date and hands it to me...

Chickenscratch as thus:

If there are halos around the lights and stars tonight
does it mark me soon to die before the sun shines bright?
Hours swim by and I lie in my undeath,
my eyes afixed on the last fading star as dawn swallows it,
morning light stalks into my eyes scalding them and I growl
"But for what misery".
I know only one nonmystery at this moment so pucker for me
and I will take my breakfast from your lips,
devour me as I devour you and we will fulfill a revolution.

 

[Little Wing]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]Aubade
by Philip Larkin
[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]In time the curtain-edges will grow light.[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]Till then I see what's really always there:[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]Making all thought impossible but how [/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]And where and when I shall myself die.[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]Arid interrogation: yet the dread[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]Of dying, and being dead,[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times] [/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]-- The good not done, the love not given, time[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]Torn off unused -- nor wretchedly because[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]An only life can take so long to climb[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never;[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]But at the total emptiness for ever,[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]The sure extinction that we travel to[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]Not to be anywhere,[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times] [/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]This is a special way of being afraid[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]No trick dispels. Religion used to try,[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]That vast moth-eaten musical brocade[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]Created to pretend we never die,[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]And specious stuff that says No rational being[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]That this is what we fear -- no sight, no sound,[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]Nothing to love or link with,[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]The anaesthetic from which none come round.[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times] [/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]And so it stays just on the edge of vision,[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]A small unfocused blur, a standing chill[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]That slows each impulse down to indecision.[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]Most things may never happen: this one will,[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]And realisation of its rages out[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]In furnace-fear when we are caught without[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]People or drink. Courage is no good:[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]It means not scaring others. Being brave[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]Lets no one off the grave.[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]Death is no different whined at than withstood.[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times] [/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]Have always known, know that we can't escape,[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]Yet can't accept. One side will have to go.[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]Intricate rented world begins to rouse.[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]The sky is white as clay, with no sun.[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]Work has to be done.[/font]

[font=bookman old style, Times New Roman, Times]Postmen like doctors go from house to house.[/font]