doriandra

there is mirth in the believing of the gas light ghost people living out beyond the bamboo grove behind the hovel i built for myself many days ago in which i made music by myself in a little room aptly titled 'the blood room' for 7 straight months and saw no one but my one offspring and drove two sets of neighbors to madness by the use of little sheep bleater sound toys which induced a morbid fear in one man that grew so strong that he eventually was forced to call the health department who came bumping along the dirt road in a very official government black car to inquire as to the accusation of my raising sheep for the use of nebulous nefarious purposes and whom i laughed in their pasty and petulant faces and promptly nailed the door shut and made another batch of some unknown wild weed tea and dressed up in the bottom half of a skunk suit with a festive avocado print bikini top and went back to working with my mercury experiment which consisted of shooting the magical and highly toxic substance out of a hypodermic needle into the bathtub to watch it scatter into many shiny pieces and converge back onto itself as i believe all things bright and wise should do but my skunk tail being the rather unwieldy piece of pulchritude that it was became ensnared in the small and insect filled space between the eucalyptus tree growing in the bathroom and i found myself trapped like a rat and the record player was skipping madly and all time became a rather ominous tick tock slowing down and i realized that some worlds were very small and horrid places and i turned up my eyes to the aggravated crow who kept company with me against his better judgement and he pecked my eyes from my head and sucked upon them like flavorful lozenges and when he took flight, there i went, away and with him,away.

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