Sunday, 3 August 2014

Mushrooming in Slow Bouts

Fuzzy radio waves grace this landscape of surreal trees. One is wrinkled and aghast like a woman, or a scarecrow in a snowstorm. One is man-made and threatening, all rusty machine parts, and the leaves screech on their hooks like the copper signs of old-fashioned shops.

I'm after a little thing on wheels, it rolled downhill ages ago, but it'll still be there when I get there. Nobody knows it's got that secret special code inside it, to unlock the door to life again, so no-one will take it, I'm sure.

These are grey trees, their sap is quicksilver, and balls of a ballpoint pen run through their arteries like larvae. 
Some trees are growing downwards, spreading nodes of roots in cable spaghetti style. 
Nightmares grow downward like that, parasitically spreading their filaments, mushrooming in slow bouts, and end up covering the entire world with their thin fluff. Basically, the whole world is moldy. 

If I had a mask, i would wear it now. I wonder if anyone will notice if I go to sleep for a little? I'm after that little thing on wheels, but I'm sure it will still be there. Which reminds me, last time I went to sleep, the truth changed overnight and everything looked different the next day.

The truth that had been spiky and twisted In the sun , tantalizing and mysterious--an erotic dance to uncover it--had been replaced by a card catalogue of true facts. Nothing held them together. 

This is how the curtain fell on all things amazing. Life's ability to buzz in my lips and shoulders like bumble bees, went silent. Where is my candy floss tent at the fairground? I gaze after old and starry moments, but there's only a feeling of nails scratching white and chalk-like trails into styrophone boxes. And. Nothing.

If that thing hadn't rolled down the hill, I'd take out the secret key now.

My first novel (similar style) on amazon

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