August 10, 2012

A Commemoration of the Fungal Foe

For an hour or more, I drove off in to the night. The beauty of the situation was the irony bottled within this plastic capsule sitting on the seat next to her thigh where my eyes kept retracing the lines of hem along her shorts were too short for her own good god damn was that driver asleep or are my own eyes drifting into the dark and out on a limber limb.

'I shoulda never taken this hallucinogen,' is what I thought as I clambered into the back of the pick-up truck, no driver on the inside nor in my mind. Surfin' down the freeway with my gal holdin' shotty, I couldn't tell the difference of my multiple realities and non-existent personalities.

The gravity of the situation was growing. Immensely so. Even doubly so, or so it seemed to be without rhyme or reason to see. And, so it can be said on record, it was either eat or be eaten for my little fungal foe. Neither preferred the former; the imaginary reality where a mushroom could eat; but, nevertheless, consume, the latter, I did.

Down, down, down I go. Spent my ticket on a miserable trip. But the trip was fine, and the air was great; and now it's time to commiserate.

Should never have gone to Disney Land. 

~BB