Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Delusional Enlightenment, Part 1 of 0

Warning: This might fuck with your mind for quite some time! Read at your own risk.


Riding a bay was never this easy. But yes, you had to think it through.
Sort of like floating on a wave that you saw in your dreams. Sheiffer
Frown always disagreed with this. He felt it a trifle unbecoming of
him and his stature to allow his intellect to be seduced by the charm
of imagination. His twin Elana, felt otherwise. And they quarreled to
no end, neither allowing the other a foothold, much to the humor of
Jorgensen, who did enjoy trifling matters a little more than the
average nihilist. They never went anywhere. Just met in places,
obscured by crowds, not for the want of oblivion though. They did
breathe their last in oblivion. That, you and I, would have to agree
to, in order to be able to self righteously proclaim our sanity or
whatever shreds of it that we can forage in times such as these.

The trouble was never the fact that I, Albrecht Furtinson, had
more Temapazine than I could handle. The trouble was when
there wasn't enough of it. Fate does play cruel tricks on us.
It does toy with us. It makes us question and then it makes us
question our own questions. This happens till our curiosity
bites us in the ass. And then we've had enough and can't face
our reality, and so there comes a substitute. Temapazine.
They tell me this is not what its supposed to do. My ass.
It does this and a lot more when you spike it with a "little
something".

It all started with the quest for the "little something", one rainy
evening. Sheiffer was standing in the hallway with a dirty
left shoe hanging from his mouth, fidgeting with his hands in
the other for cash. Too excited to notice, the dangling shoe, let
alone prying eyes like mine. Elana, circumspect and skeptic as
always, Jorgensen, smiling like a horse and a silly one at that,
looking around for some grass. They looked pretty. With their,
etiquette, their love for art, with their elan or the pretense of it,
they looked like angels out of rehab. It always made me want to
kick them in their teeth. But you can't hurt something pretty. It's
strikeningly similiar to being a peadophile. I might be a lot of
things, but I wont be that. Some evil has to be left for other's as
their rightful share in the grand inheritance that the persent times
are. After all we are the devil's own children.

Jorgensen kept smiling like he was just discharged from death
row. Elana returned to her reading. Sheiffer found a 100 strong
wad. "This should help us brave the weekend".

It did help the weekend brave us.



His Insanity, The Duke, would be appalled on seeing us. "Again?",
he would snort. And then he would snort a line. "Again?", we
would snort. Derisive laughter would fill the dark room and when
His Insanity would deem fit, we would partake of the "manna". Of
course, money changed hands much before we reached the room.
Duke thought it sacrilegious to mix money and forays into the unknown
such as these.

He was a veteran. Gone soft in the head, and always had a hard on
for custom. If you don't have much to live by, I guess you have a thing
or two for rituals, ways and means. Guess when you see the end
near, you realise that the means are more important.

A room that looks more like a safe from the inside. One bath tub. A
pint of gin. One bottle of opiate smuggled from the district sanitorium.
4 baskets of bread. A saline drip or four in this case. One kaledioscope
to con yourself that you are high on life. Four needles - "no sharing, or
my Royal Insanity, The Duke, would be displeased". A bottle of
amphetamine, one bottle of vicks, permanent marker, betel nuts and
about a bottle of whiskey and you are just about to begin.

Plug the bath tub and pour the saline, the whiskey, the permanent
marker and the pint of gin. Then add the pills and the opiate. Mix well.
Mix very well. Smile. Offer a prayer for the dead brain cells and for
those about fizzle out of existence. Praise His Royal Insanity.

Place a betel nut below your tongue. Fill the drip satchels. Affix the
needles properly. "Plug and Play".

Louie Armstrong's voice in the back ground. Jorgensen's lack of faith
in even nihilism, forcing him to believe that seizing the day is the
summum bonnum. His Royal Insanity's eternal battle against the
forces of the human scientific temper, waged under the sigil of his
stupidity. Sheiffer Frown popping up and down, thinking of the devil
knows what. And Elana. Life plagues me even more and rends my very
being everytime I think of her.

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