Spaghetti suicide

Thursday, March 25, 2010

THIS IS ONLY A TEST

I looked through a foggy window; it was thick plastic blurring the atmosphere. The sun was shining in a musty way hitting an oscillating sign that shifted reflecting ethereal turquoise and pinks. Stuck in a shit hole of malls and pavement. I thought no more of it and walked back to the hotel. Inside I looked out of the blinds. The sun shines in the suburb. It is not summer. The pool was drained white and dental. I fell asleep in the bathtub plastered in beige tiles. When I awoke I realized that I had flooded the room somehow. The water had filled up the room like a fish tank. I swam up to the door but could not open it. My reflection startled me. My face was covered in thick black goo. Dripping under what seemed to be a plumbing device. I opened the door and found that the whole hotel was submerged. I opened up a room and saw a man float by with his mouth open and eyes rolling. The semen explosion moved past and a woman wearing a red two piece suit was tangled up in the wiring of a lamp. California’s forest fires nearby died out. The fire started due to the aftermath of a barbeque in which a drunken smoker let his cigarette fall to the floor during a nap. The memorial of the 1989 flood would say “Bummer dude”. I saw inside the valley past the Unocal sphere and burger joints. Then into a department store to change my socks. Red Sneakers, Polka dot dresses, combat boots, blue jeans all piled up and a red toe would randomly pop up. I panicked when something grabbed my leg. Discarded alarm clocks rested in sediment of the flood and feeding of the radio waves were millions of clear tiny seahorses that squealed like kazoos. This noise was suddenly ended with a subtle toot fart. The fart was not a fart but actually a cold stream of sludge that soaked through my underwear and down my leg. The feeling was great. But I knew that I had to start running, running I don’t where buy I ran as fast as I could.