Saturday, December 29, 2007

Moth and Reality

Moving at a glacial pace, he stumbles upon Jagger the wide mouthed moth. Flutter flutter. Scratchy pollens fly off, waft about for a second and settle upon his suede. Allegoric allergens trigger the finicky foxholes of his mind. Scratch scratch. Blood red blotches mushroom the decaying neurons of his caloried impulse. Jagger smiles at him and with a furtive poise in air disappears into the bright lights of artifice. Flash flash. Ruben, is left stranded on the clueless corners of Blind spot. Tall moments of absolute cluelessness look down upon him like buildings. Unkilled mosquitoes, aeroplanes, crows, cats sneer at him with a triumphant demeanour.

All at once. Twice, thrice. vroooom. honk, honk. vroooMMMMMMMM.....

Bullock cars run him over, time and over again. Bright light is cast upon the entire town of Blind spot. Fuse white electricity burn out the fatty suspensions of his impulse. Ironically, he feels gold.

"Whoa!", he exclaims....."Bermuda shots!"

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