You know when they say the ocean is in the drop and the drop is in the ocean, well, it's the same with wine, the bottle is in the glass and the glass is in the bottle...
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Another teenage glass of soup with a mouth too soon was pretending to grow onions like the best of them with a handshake here and there for good luck. Massey Ferguson rolled over in his grave and had a fight with Charles Bronson at this.
An Englishman was trying on shoes in a department store and talking half here and half there about things, said: ”Lemmings have a half life that gets left on the shelf you know.”
“I didn’t know that,” said the teen with curly hair.
“And Peter was a piper part elf.”
“No, really?” said the teen looking around.
And then Never in a minute who had changed his name from Now in a minute came over and said: “What’s going on here?” To which no one had any reply.
Another pair of shoes came to be fitted and the Englishman became lost in his thoughts…
And it doesn’t matter about the time, the time is whatever time is; in the tropical dance where time is no time at all; where we come to un-become we become what we want, or become what we are. This time comes from an arrow that was lost, but then found its way home again like a boomerang with a smile behind its ear in the electric wind of mystical fortune.
Suddenly, money poured in to the bank from the money tree and was withdrawn immediately for a bus to the south, and this was okay too.
The Englishman was on a roll. With 30,000 dollars you could buy a lot of bus rides. You could even buy a bus.
And then the poetry started to flow out of the ears and this made the Englishman very sleepy, so he went to bed and fell into a very satisfying dream.
Shortly before the fall of Rome, by about a million years, and over in another galaxy was a little worm with a lot of knowledge about floating about. He also had a wireless TV that showed pictures of CQ the mermaid in the carnival of peace. And he had other things too that were strange.
None of his friends knew where any of this came from, but some say it was from the space ship that crashed a while back, and that it came through the wormhole from some place far distant.
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The TV was solar powered, but had a faulty circuit and gave off electrical waves that made you dance whenever you came near it. The little worm was always dancing and his friends thought him strange now, and such a change they said, and to think he was once the same as us. And so, one by one, he lost his friends, who all turned into strangers.
It was not so long before the little worm had no friends at all, and talked in a strange language that no one understood.
The little worm wrote down his new found thoughts, and after reading them, people said it was the ramblings of a mad one, lost, to one and all. And so they avoided him and all his works, and the little worm became very alone, spinning in his floating about that he came to know a great deal about but was wondering what was the use of it if it drove everyone away?
Forty thousand meters deep in worm world, burrowing about, was a wormhole of dreams with the unlikely name of True-good. He was a French wormhole who had escaped the time of the guillotine and had come to worm world to be safe.
He was of course a little bored, being among only other worms, and missed the excitement of Earth.
So, one day, from out of nowhere, the thought came to go and create some mischief or something, anything to relieve the endless ennui of burrowing about in the dirt.
So he gathered up his by hook or by crook and went north, that is, straight up, and popped out by the TV, which was showing a picture of CQ doing things on the screen. Immediately, the electrical waves of the TV sped across the ground and caused the wormhole to dance.
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“Yes M,lud, this is exactly how it happened, all written down here in this note book.”
“Well I’ll believe you for now. Carry on with the story,” said the honourable judge presiding.
Well, the wormhole was doing quite a jig in the left happenstance of thereabouts. And so, the little worm, coming upon this scene came over to see what was what, and began to dance too, with thoughts that became mixed up with the wormhole.
Pretty soon they were doing a fair dance, and that’s when the town’s folk came to see what was going on. It looked wild and esoteric to them all, but what the hell: it was a party, and who would gainsay it?
Ole blabbermouth began to, but he was shut up with a bottle of beer, and then everyone began to dance.
The night came and they danced far into it, no one wanted to stop, and the beer just kept on coming.
Blue sparks from the TV showed CQ melting down into a jelly ghost, and that danced too.
15 virgins, out for a lark, came across the dance, and so they danced.
An old salty sailor, banging a drum, danced.
A rabid dog came to nip at the heels.
Nimber Yander was waiting for a bus.
Rowboat Friday dropped in without his rowboat as someone had taken it.
Sanchez the leopard came.
Suzy from the whorehouse with Jungle Pete and Samson man danced around the edges, while the witch of mustard spat out incantations that the Englishman and his pal, the adventurers and Zen the wanderer could not make out, and some kind of bird in a tree came too to dance as the mosquitoes from hell left no one un-bitten.
“Excuse me,” said the judge banging his gavel down hard.
“Yes M,lud?”
“I don’t believe a word of it.”
“Sorry M,lud.”
“Where did you get this information?”
“I can’t reveal my sources M,lud.”
“Never mind. Carry on.”
“Yes M,lud.”
And then time sped up and did a jig as Captain Wales, who shall forever be unnamed, blew his nose in the back benches of the judgement room. But it made no difference to the story. It was only when the cleaners started switching the lights off and on that anyone began noticing what time it was.
As we began this story with no time, then we shall carry on in the same fashion, and so it is and such like and so on.
Now, as the birdie in the tree was recording all this, hush, hush, and the Englishman was on his bus going south full of whisky and a girl on each arm. The driver, who was an old Texan from Missouri farted a lot and took no prisoners when it came to bridges, and truth be told, his life span was measured in now kind of moments.
He played the Doobie Brothers on the sound system of the bus and was growing his beard very nicely and long thank you very much, and he would never pinch Exxon if he could get Esso, it having a tiger in it.
The fields of doom in their masquerade in a dune buggy could calibrate no turns on their straight road to find more beer, and so flew past the bus in a flash at a hundred miles an hour, but nobody saw them, and so did they even exist?
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Ben, the kangaroo fighter thought not much, and so, did he even exist?
Some kind of bed was calling to everyone to lie down and rest, but not yet, the night is not over. Even the judge in his courtroom of judgement was nodding off.
The cleaners were bored with switching the lights off and on and so went into a closet to play cards and bet on the outcome. But the outcome was a determination yet to be made.
“Zoopdust,” said the wormhole. “Make your mark here.”
And so the little worm jumped in and zoomed through the heavens at nineteen thousand miles an hour, which is pretty fast for a worm on beer.
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Kundalini was the password and the little worm knew it off by heart and so flew down to land beside the Englishman man on the bus who had his hands full with the two beautiful girls and so couldn’t shake hands as was proper.
As no one was English except the Englishman, no one knew why it was so proper, but there you are.
A big bang was suddenly heard and the wormhole appeared in front of everyone with an invitation to disappear forever.
“O.M.G, if only we could,” thought the judge.
The bus blew a little singularity to show what it thought about that, and the radio played gone with the wind to let us not forget our heroes here.
The Englishman and the little worm began to burrow into existentialisms and co-existent none-thoughts as was the way of things while being driven on a bus by a Texan from Missouri.
Up above in the here below never to be mistaken was another thing to be taken into consideration as the judge moderated this all of it all in the time that never was with a big froth of beer in the last glass to be drunk.
“If only,” thought the judge on his throne, wishing.
“Bad men come here with their hides and I would see the truth in their sunken misdeeds, but today I cannot find any bad men to judge, and that is that,” said the judge.
It was a first for the court room so everyone stood to applaud as the judge left the story that is coming to an end for want of a big stick to beat it onward.
The judge went home to sleep what was left of the night. Time carried on, as it does. The birdie made a last note then put its head under its wing. Money kept pouring into the bank. The electric TV kept giving out electric to zing the masses. The French wormhole kept on inviting to come in and disappear. Beer was poured forever. The mystical fortune packed its bags and went home. The little worm expounded its knowledge to the Englishman who nodded away to it all as the bus went south to forever.
CQ calling. CQ calling, anybody there? Oh never mind, CQ over and out.
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