Tuesday, 29 September 2009

Funny World #2

Sixteen, nine and nine are the numbers upon my return to the rented flatland.
I expect everything to have changed today, but it fails to mirror this high tempo that my mind flaps had recently been moulded into. A minor anticlimax as I felt overly shagged, fagged and bluggoed.
Still on a tall fizziness of bubble wasps stretching through my flight horizons with no means of expenditure. I found myself in out in out under the nozzle of a silver, round-headed fellow, a funny little man, conversed with him nineteen times in all, over a churping of two short sun rises.
He wasn't sure if I was awake and oddly enough we didn't talk about anything at all. He ran all hot and cold in my tummy wumbles with an ambivalence that shot through to next week. He politely gave me his cocaine face for willies and bimbles. It portended to pimpulgate a velvet stingfolly, an uncomfortable splendid tingle all over my physical, like watery caterpillars scrattling about in tiny boots, up and groundwards to the tiled horizontals.
How do I know if I'm awake?
Do you know when the black speckle snakes swirl in the circles around your tired tiffy-viewers, and the levels are painted over contrastedly making the world dizzy and spiffly into forgotten recognitions?
no...me neither.

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