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Flodis Issue 31
great balls of flaming fire, it's
***** FLINGERS
**** FINGERS
*** FOAMERS
** FRENETIC
* FLOWERS OF DISRUPTION
* number 31
* the zine for tashee and anjah
* november thanksgiving afterwards 1999
* if it doesn't happen before the world ends, the world will end
-=*()*=-=*()*=-=*()*=-=*()*=-=*()*=-=*()*=-=*()*=-=*()*=-=*()*=-
you jump up and down on my stomach wearing kangaroo shoes. your gloved
hands wave in the air. a smile erupts on your face as you become
illuminated. you are the cross on my altar. and you've fallen.
you roll around on the ground like a tasty carpet burrito. static
electricity livens your hair. you sing a song of sixpence for a homeless
man. my brain jiggles in joy.
i tap you on your shoulder twelve times.
"pardon me, where do you keep your skeleton?" i ask.
"that's for me to know and for me to keep secret," you reply. if your
teeth were white chocolate they wouldn't be there anymore.
"how is your skeleton doing?" i prod.
"it's quite nice, living dangerously." roll about.
my arms cross my chest to bar the doors to my heart.
"you are supposing things," you tell me.
"like what? what am i supposing?"
"you believe my skeleton is mean and evil. you believe it makes my eyes
glow and my mouth lock. you suppose that you could talk to it and ask it
to leave."
"i've not yet met a friendly skeleton," i comment.
"maybe they're all scared of /you/. maybe they just want to be left alone.
maybe they're deaf and dumb." if the streets were full of people you'd swim
through like a dolphin. split apart the seas of fantasy.
i sit down and my hair grows. and i breathe. "what is your skeleton's
name?"
"we've only been briefly introduced, then it went and hid. i haven't talked
to it since. would you like to ask?"
shining.
"yes, i would."
"so would i," you reply. majestic. you roll over again. something about
the wall holds your interest. stare.
"sometimes you would like a milkshake, sometimes you'd rather have a
suntan." your eyes are on holiday and i stare at the ceiling.
a haunting measure of script music runs constantly through your hair. too
complicated a melody to sing along.
"what's floating about?" i ask.
"huh?"
"what's on your mind?"
"i'm talking," you say.
"to yourself?"
"or someone like that."
the wall seems so captivating. but i'm not interested.
"rinky dink! shake that bag-o-bones!" i dance. my arms form waves. my
head bobs left and right. i dip and rise forth.
something is making you giggle. no, sob. it couldn't be me, i'm not
around. it's something inside you. you lay on your stomach and i watch
your back. i watch the shirt on your back. i love how it moves without
acting. it arches without bending and curves without weaving. it
cordially shakes hands with your hair while mine waits in line.
and i can roll with it. i can place my hand on it, and do. my palm melds.
i can hug you, i can hold you, i can feel you and you can sob. you seem to
have a spine, i touched it. it's a fine spine. it's made out of a stone
which looks like putty. i could throw a vertebrae and expect it to bounce,
but it would bend the earth.
your face is warm and wet, which makes mine so. my head leans to yours.
the tears have splashed onto your cheek, hands of windshield wipers, spread
moist over an uneven surface, dimples and pores and a warm rosy complexion.
a steamy red washcloth. lots of clean soap.
your soul is a cottonball named peter cottontail and he stole my carrot.
run from the farmer because
"my skeleton is buried deep beneath." my head leaves yours. my hands
on your shoulderblades.
"the garden?" i ask.
pupils pop. eyelids gone. head falls. you stand.
"i'm sorry," i apologize. "with the carrots, and peter cottontail, and
all. we humble ourselves." i stand and bow, arm across my waist. "at
your service, madam."
i now see your head has turned again. suddenly my legs give out. my back,
my hips, my arms, my neck. a mass of flesh working towards the ground, the
skyscraper minus the elevator. minus the iron frame. cracked windows.
dead people.
my eyeballs roll. you look at them.
carrying a sack labelled "BONES", you scuttle toward the door.
"thanks," you leave.
"bye," i ask.
-=*()*=-=*()*=-=*()*=-=*()*=-=*()*=-=*()*=-=*()*=-=*()*=-=*()*=-
jingle bells
go to hell
i don't give a crap
if you're lost and crabs eat you
i'd laugh right out my head
*ding*
jingle bells
nimble fool
fight inside your brain
when yer hate is all you got
yer mouth is full of rot.
*ding*
deck the halls with balls and toppings
fuhfuflhufhlfuhlfuhfluhf
easter bunny smells like mommy
fuhlfluhflfuhflufluhluhfluhfuhlfluhfhlu
grab the toast, my jelly's melting
FufhUFHlLUFHhufuhLFlhuFLUHFLuh FLal al la lal ala
hallelujah, death is nodding
LA L ALA LAL LA LAL AL AL LA LA LA
-=*()*=-=*()*=-=*()*=-=*()*=-=*()*=-=*()*=-=*()*=-=*()*=-=*()*=-
the lobsters gnash. click clack shells go smack but who started the fight?
was it lenny or bruce? hmm, seems bruce doesn't even know that he's
fighting. and now lenny's walking away. Coward. start a fight and then
leave. oh, but bruce is bleeding. he's bleeding blue kool-aid! pardon
me.
<fills canteen>
bruce smiles. lenny guiles. the word on the street is bruce can shell two
peanuts at the same time but lenny can only do one. lenny's been telling
people lately he can shell THREE but nobody's seen him do it. i bet if i
went over and looked in his window sometime, i'd see him practicing. but
bruce is so far ahead that i bet when lenny's out at the bars cracking
three peanuts simultaneously, bruce will be at home shelling FIVE and not
even telling anybody. after all, he's got kids to look after.
kids are building a sandcastle as it sticks together with blue kool-aid. a
nearby towel advertises Salem cigarettes and an umbrella spins in the wind.
a car in the parking lot knocks over a garbage can while pulling away,
women scream from inside and dogs find a feast. the best meals are
prepared by other people, brought to you by servants, resting on a plate in
front of you, ready to be devoured. pringles are premanufactured and best
eaten at a beach on a warm day under a fiery sun and over the sand. no
crumbs on the blanket. a green cooler says "mountain dew" and contains
melting ice and cans of pop. a wet smooch between two lovers sounds out to
the ocean and echoes back on waves. somebody's waiting for 'guffman' and
doesn't know if he'll show.
-=*()*=-=*()*=-=*()*=- beaches
-=*()*=-=*()*=- make
-=*()*=- love
easier
ÕÕª .-.
»ÕÕÕº ª »ÕÕÕÕº Õª ÕÕÕÕÕÕÕª | | this was an
Õª ÕÕ | | honestly bad
»ÕÕÕº ÕÕÕÕÕ | | time-waster
»ÕÕÕÕÕÕÕº | | email-box
ÕÕÕÕÕª ÕÕª »»» | | filler
»º »ÕÕÕÕÕº »»ÕÕºÕº »ÕÕÕÕ»Õº »ÕÕº »»ÕÕÕÕÕÕÕº | | from
.----------------------------------------------------------| | trilobyte
`----------------------------------------------------------`-'
flodis / flowers of disruption #31 / 27.11.99 / trilobyte@hoe.nu
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