DEROGATORY ODORS OF MANKIND.
He wakes up in a
room. Shrilling noises from Aesop’s fables pervade him. Smeared in paint with the faint smell of
Listerine raping his nostrils he says, “Ravaged by the times”. A pain and
suffering he knew all too well. Melancholy
visions of severe colon incursions perplexed him. What happened? The light fragments glistening off of the
shards of his former front door told it all. “A crow stole my fry,” he said. The indecency of the situation didn’t sit
well at all. As he clothed himself hoping not to impale the walls with his
derogatory odor, he questions the ambitions of his right hand. Allowing broken pieces of levity to be the
defining moment in this escapade, his follies at the taste of vintage wine
procured him to drown once again. “I’ll indulge” he gasps, after high priced
commodities soothed his paining past. The hypocrisy of a lecture taught by Adam Sandler left ancient thoughts of goats criminalizing the shores of Cuba fresh in
his head. “I love
pineapples but, the glitter is too masculine for me”. Why these thoughts
materialize in the midst of foreign students baffles me. He recites a poem his
mother sung to him after a bar fight in southern Iraq. “Anger and strife, agony and
pain, the thrill of a woman who’s insane. Life’s here to teach you, no ones
here to guide you, helping you to go where it guides you. Lies kill the hope
and truth cures the lies, lullabies lullabies where are you going to hide”.
In the door
enters the characteristic of last nights thrill ride. Taming was the first initiative I thought to
bring on. Gallivant laughter was the
premise of the whole visit. Hunger pains
intrigued his taste buds mitigating them to a higher passage of personal
salvation. The house was discarded as a luxurious masterpiece distraught by
promiscuous souls. He explained his gestures as he mimed the theme to the
empire strikes back. The haughty policeman knocking on the pane that once lined
my door, subdued his explanation. Howdy! A term used to evaluate shipments of drugs
exporting the Czech
Republic. What a
dramatization of exfoliating leaves you have here. “What big teeth you have”
should’ve been my response but I thought better to regurgitate last nights
sabbatical. You may enter. Cravings of
ingrown paint particles crossed my mind while offering a drink to this slightly
obese individual. Lemonade? I asked. The details are all I came for senor bum
bum.
Don’t you
already know what cables connected this catastrophe? I murmured. The damsel in
distress, which whom I hung by the gallows promptly before I arrived in this
Listerine infested nightmare, told me about the sponges with the French tip
nails. A memory shot horizontally through my mind reminding me of a part of
last night’s injunction. “Mayballine my queen” I answered. Then he rose to his time tested repugnant
feet and bellowed “My name is: a man is a tree branch. I am a multi-billionaire with hair and
pillows and someone stole my Camarillo
brillo.” The thought that this man was
not a cop controlled me. Have you tasted
the wine? The only means of escape I
had. Before his lips grasped the chamber of air that was 10cm about him, the
room went dark…for him.
I dashed with
the mime to a place where only crows roam.
The hideout was sleek and partially bathed in corsets from a previous
runway show went homicidal. "I’m reaching
for the skies", my foul-mouthed associate reported. When I looked up I found 12 pieces of
Shakespeare robe lined about the ceiling like a means to illustrate a native’s
behavior after a piss. Colorful by sight I had to record this unlikely event.
Down the hall we heard the sound only to be described as two marsupials
penetrating the ozone. We quickly
advanced toward the hall. Makeshift dreams and foul hopes are what we found
lying on the ground. Puddle of sacrifice, my dream sped away. A clue to my
present past time paraded in my thoughts as rain fell to the earth dancing
around us like a hooded giraffe in the ghetto. An archway sat before us in such
a way that the tone of the mime went sour.
As we passed through the towering viscid of monkey fat concentrated into
a single ounce of purified pickle consumptions, the drips that arrived upon my
fore head enticed me to question the ambitions of my left hand. The end was
near, but my hunger was closer, we stopped at the nearest subway and proposed
to Jared. It’s a monopoly you know? Caned by an old migrating crane from Spain.
Uncomfortable dinners provoked me to enlighten my pants but the company was
sociological. I’m done with the prelims let’s get down to business. So simply put but, anger convinced the owner
of this canine establishment that we were after his soul. “You’ll receive my fury,” the old man said.
“You’re horseradish is too weak Welch”.
We flew through the entrance while muttering stats from last night’s
ballet recital. Before our native feet touched Slavic soil, Jesuit priest
abducted us.
Waking again,
provoked by a lash on the noggin, I revealed my study partner from Oakland found his way
into an Amish chain gang. “What were the processing fees?” I scoffed. We’ve
learned that you’ve lived in cahoots with anti-Semitic dwarf semen. The
porcelain rag doll hanging from the ceiling confused me. I thought you priest
died with the musketeers? “Your slouch anticipates you’ve seen the coercing fields
of Jabbers.” “I’ve seen what you say but don’t stay on my account, sheep need
herders and my ears sway the pain of groaning antelopes in the southeast.” My
statement hurt his malformed ego. Sonic blasts permeated the air as the priest
slam to the floor as a means to escape ravening wolves. We fled the scene and
found ourselves outside of a castle in the middle of 21st century England. The
Bobbies were after us for charges of skinning eels without permission from the
electrician down the road. My gin was all gone. The lead paining my foot
reminded me of northern Alaska
where we escaped a similar situation by hunting down the town drunkard and
making him our bride. This seems to be the same case. His name was Armand but his English was
stagnant. Decisions of what to do next plagued our minds. I switched clothes
with my evenly sized Armand; we named him the skinner of eels. After the
authorities had their vicious way with him, we sighed and downed a quart. We
broke into corrugate pairs as we danced an English jig to the song “who let the
dogs out.” Intoxicated, we tried to concentrate on these horrible events while
entertaining our new alcoholic peers. With a short glimpse I saw the cop whom
arrived at my front door some days ago.
Where’s the passion? He’ll spot me in no time. My invigorated classmate
will give away our disposition. “Time to go”, I hollered. His demeanor was one
of a Taiwanese stripper on her last buck.
We avoided him with caution. The rabid police car sat out front the bar
inviting us to coarse the whim out of it. After driving for about an hour,
talking about survival in its rarest form, we proceeded to find the nearest
hotel to spend our days. We stopped in
front of an elegant agency, where the lights were low but the foul scent of the
upper class ran high. The hotel keep
issued us our rules to dwell in this paramount domain. We laughed as he scorned us about the Jesuit
priest on the prowl. Had we made our way back to the same involuntary
destination we just escaped from? No. I don’t remember the faint smell of
passion fruit rotting in a sweet Hungarian minefield before. By the way, the name is Corvin. Corvin Duphrane,
I didn’t feel the need to introduce myself before, but as current situations
arise I don’t see myself escaping this pain alive. My ill-mannered associate is
Jim. I don’t have a last name, nor will I ask that demented buffoon. It’s been
5 days in this heat seated benadryl emporium, and no sign of my present pastime
anywhere. Its half past midnight and my fellow roomy is sound asleep. The weasels following us have lost scent of
our trail and my sadness is converted thrice. Soaring images of tainted parsons
plastered my 5-minute doze. A brisk walk
was much needed. On the corner I approached two waitresses, (I gathered from
the burger stained garments), talking about evening classes at the local
voyeurs club. They conversed with me and offered half torn sketches of Liza
Minelli in exchange for wallet-sized photos of Elton John. As we approached the
corner I had seen a figure at distance. Mayballine was alive! As I advanced to
meet my female survivor I felt cold tingling feeling crease my spine. As I turned around I came to the conclusion
from the shadow in front of me that the cop had got me. I fell to the floor
rattling off combinations to the next Rubik’s cube commercial and fell
unconscious.
What roomers lie
in wait at the gates, and where is my ham sandwich. Peace came to take me but
my ticket expired. I have no bloomers in my bottom drawer next to the
pall-malls. The trains comin’ and we’re
all here, time to feed the gerbils. Pain has a gateway and I found the Camarillo. Sayonara and
farewell, time has been tested. I’m
quite sure the funeral would be costly and my barnyard would be sold for the
finest cognac but my Camarillo
avoided my garment seeking love and played out her mischievous game. She lost
ha haha haha…………………………..AWAKE.
I’m in a
hospital, I think. No nurses’ insight.
Pain is my particular state at the moment. Who’s there? (The shadow in
the corner convinced me I’ve been duped.).
As the shadow came closer, I began to recognize the image. It was my
roommate but his image was convoluted by aging in its entirety. “You’ve been
gone a while”, he mimed. “How long” I asked. From the constant slapping of his
hand abusing the pane of this festered environment, I figured 6 weeks. Most of
my lip reading moments transpired over steak and eggs. My shadow and I were Seeing
Eye to eye. I’ve been treated with Oxycontin.
“Fate, as it may seem, has taken
the turnpike.” “It seems you’re wondering about your situation” he mimed. And
damn I’m getting good at this. My focus blurred out by this terrible drug my
thoughts became clear. Escaping was the
only option I had. I grasped the metal rack that I could only assume they served
“inedible” in, and asked the mime for help to sit up. As he drew closer, the sound of glass
breaking looped my concentration. I looked toward the window and looked back at
the mime. Life has left him. What a pity. Looking out the window I viewed a
figure fleeing the building. I quickly got up and noticed the drug has not worn
off. I stumbled out of the door and noticed the hospital was empty. Strangely
enough, I discarded the thought and fled the scene.
As I reached
outside I noticed my gown wouldn’t do in this tempered environment. I
remembered Armand and acted on my ambitions. I saluted the drunkard as I took
his life in a matter only pigeons would find acceptable. A terrible screech
wavered me as I gazed upon a vehicle heading straight for me. In shock, my feet
meshed with the ground. The car stopped in front me and my heart grew sour. “Mayballine
once again”, I muttered. She begged me to get in. she handed me poems to Ozarks
favorite play of the 18th century. This tainted my spirits. Plagued
by the thoughts of turpentine shots in the deep winter, my mind pace harbored
sick images of revenge. “What’s the verdict”, I said. “I’m sorry to have got you into this
mess”. “What happened at my house that
night?” I asked. She filled me in with
all the details. It seems I was in the middle of an espionage game gone
personal. I was drugged and hypnotized, which would explain the crow stealing
my fry. The codes for this shady deal
between lovers with French mullets were stored safely in my head. Mayballine apologized for the probing with a
sorority kiss beneath my belt. Suddenly the echoes in life made sense. My pain
is unexplainable so I’ll keep my sentences short. I’ve quarreled with many
ancients and noticed liberation from this practice was much needed. “We need to get you to izon”, warned May.
“He’ll decipher to code locked away in your thoughts”. A pelican flew by the car and told me his
life story through his eyes. This was a heavy breach of contract. “Who’s izon?” I asked. Scared of the reply, I drank the coagulated
coffee that has obviously been sitting in this car for some days. She never answered but, I knew the cop had to
come in play.
We pulled up
next to a fire hydrant and watched man’s best friend relinquish himself with
his girl watching. Peace is a poem I’ve become to know. Silent personas killed
my performing dialect as we entered into a smoggy atmosphere. A shadow came
forward in a ever so harmonious matter that my natural instinct caved in. As the figure came closer it muttered, “Has
he drank the coffee?” “When will this pain stop!!!! “
They sat me in a
room where patrons gathered there parcels for the winter. Izon sat me in a chair and muttered off
strange variations of gator squabble in an elegant manner. All of a sudden my mind went blank and my tongue
performed the same strange dialect.
After some time of quarreling with my vitals, my mind became clear of
everything I did since 5th grade homeroom. “Am I free?” I asked. “We have all we need here but let me tell
you, you’re one sick puppy.” I could
only imagine that I told him about my part at the Slavic saloon.
Freed and on my
way to a whole new catastrophe of misgivings, May ran down the street
screaming my name. She clued me in on
how she really felt and sought out some way for us to stay together. We spent a night at the local dinette and
proceeded to a place of carnal resting.
After plenty laughs and obnoxious behavior, I passed out in light that I
might find May by my side the next morning.
I woke in a
state of bliss and found myself strapped to an operating table of some
sort. Obviously I’ve been duped again.
Wait…I’m still sleep.
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