Author Information
Stoned Transmission from a Tea Room on Main Street
Constant out of body experiences. Like the street moves and I sit still. The room stays still with lights but does not contain. The body remains. The mind seeks to transcend and finds it only goes high enough to hover over the city like dirty smoke. Water all around. This way the sky, that way the ocean. There goes my mind again. Watching over Main street like a crusted catabal. The good news is that I no longer feel like a ravenous animal, starved of flesh and long in tooth. I feel now like a piece of furniture in this room. Wish I could never leave until the windows are shuttered and the owners move away.
Faces are strange signs I thought I could read at first, but the language was wrong. The translation was bad. The image does not correspond to the words. Faces speak when they sweat, when they snarl, when they peel back lips to reveal hard bone. I should have known. I should have shown my face when it needed to be seen, not when I became a tiny metal filing that fell from the machine and now drifts upon the shoproom floor in search of a quiet corner or that great Dustbin in the sky, where only the wretched and faithless go when they die. That’s not to imply that I’m one of these, but I’ve crawled on my belly too long to get to my knees just now.
How does this work exactly and where exactly does it go? I know it’s not polite to ask and no one really knows anyway but if the answer isn’t told I just don’t think I can move from this spot and rise from this seat and walk from this place back out onto Main street, where oddly the sun is shining for once and the rain won’t soak and get in my bones and cause the rot to set in quicker and more permanent with each downpour. No, there’s a bite in the air that’s good to breathe in but I can’t go, I just must know first.
Vinyl. Leather. Plastic. Polyester. Oils. Fats. Butters. Pigments. We are filthy filthy filthy and it’s beginning to show a bit through the skin and the teeth. Transform the earth into new skin and wear it til it falls to pieces, the earth first then blood and feces. I couldn’t find my own skin to wear so I borrowed one belonging to someone much more smarter than I, but it didn’t fit and here I still sit naked and smelling faintly of shit. Or maybe that’s just the rot again. Takes more than a sunny day or two to undo the effects of a thousand year rain. A thousand tonnes of water coming down on Main. Don’t you agree, or do you think I’m just to infatuated with being morbid to see all this wonder and beauty that exists somewhere outside me?
Well, part the sea or at least commander a good sailing craft for me because I’m about to leave. Something smells like stagnation and I know at this point it’s a little hard to believe that it emanates from anywhere other than me but movement is good and dynamics are fine. It helps to pass the time. It generates experiences that become narratives that become the self you sell when you open your mouth or open your anus to get fucked one more time.
A funny thing happened when I was on Main street. Nothing. It’s not what I expected but in a way it’s better. Something to forget or save for later.
