The Looking Glass Magazine

Back to normal?
Danton Thorn

The fucking alarm clock! The alarm rang and rang and I woke up leaving Bobo in the realm of fantasy. Marci was all ready up, I could hear her cooking breakfast in the kitchen. My girl, what a life... a cocaine freak, she'd probably all ready got off. Oh well, least she paid for her own. Jesus I loved playing guitar in a rock and roll band, there was nothing like it... the money and the babes... right now I was running through one coke whore after another... it was wonderful...my drug of course... I wouldn't use the shit... I was pure as the driven snow... the cruelest most insane trip of all.

I'd been troubled by these fantasies for a long time so I'd went to this shrink in Palo Alto, he came highly recommended by this drummer I knew who committed suicide in a swimming pool, cut his own throat with a small samurai sword and pitched forward into the crystalline waters in clouds of red... my mind won't slow down and I gotta play tonight... I remember the old days when I was in my twenties and I'd go screaming through the Seattle streets higher than insanity in clouds of destiny It don't matter how it sounds, worse is better, the world is a whore.


Who am I... I'm my own worst nightmare...I'm the man who can't stand amid the darkness that is coming down... The jungle was dark and damp... we'd been three days escaping the panther that was stalking us. First he'd eaten the dogs, the porters... it was Bobo and I who found entrance to the cave which dove deep within the Brazilian depths and found the mountain of gold. Gold is the most plentiful substance on earth which is why it is the most valuable. The center of the earth is pure gold, molten and frothing far beneath the surface. It's an inverse reaction to the laws of physics... you'd think the heaviest particles would go flying out as the earth spins but that isn't the way it works, it's a fantastic dynamo that will eventually crash into the sun taking all but the sons of Zenon and their slaves with it... and that's Bobo's and my mission, to stock the slave pens of Zenon.

Zenon, our home planet is a wonderful place, much like earth, except that we have harnessed atomic power. I said harnessed, not released, as the poor idiot physicists of earth have accomplished. We on Zenon are about to accomplish one of the greatest feats of mankind, for we are men and that is the transmigration of reproduction to the higher level. That means we are about to impregnate another universe.

Okay, for those of you who are trapped in conventional physics... don't be, it ain't worth it, there ain't no end to nothing... and everything goes inward forever and outward there is no end, but on a certain level, on the dial of my watch there are molecules that have electrons spinning around them. Now on one of those electrons stands a man looking at a watch... and on that watch on his electron microscopic level there is a dial that has molecules with electrons spinning around it on which stands another man looking at... you got it a watch... and looking at my watch I look up at dad whose wearing a watch and checking it out... it's time for me to enter another dimension... the dimension of delight. She's blonde and fifteen, smarter than a whip and dad's got a hard on for her that won't quit. White light, testosterone, he loves it and he stalks her in fantasies that are beyond the craziest moments of life... he wants to kiss her toes and lick her pussy as she murmurs in ecstasy that's why we left those bimbo cop bitches languishing in the slave pens of Zenon.

Lingering on the
edge of a beer
wondering if I should kill
myself or if fear means loathing
in the insatiable sea of sobriety.

People live like that and the world
keeps going round and we want to make
something of it, but there
ain't much too it but the mastery of the art

the chilling hours spent alone
when the sea is the only friend
and we live a life harder than that
just the edge of insanity on the other
side of dimensions
of peace, the rising
moment resists and we twist
to the calling of our hearts,
there is more than
just errant darts, there
are real people doing real
things in enchanting isles on the
primal dream
of a scream which is too real to deal
with in the moment of the mirror
we are here were there are
writing off the top of our
head and love it
though to sell it is a crime
we look then rhyme,
rhythm a symphony, claxophony.

 

©2002 Nirvana Publishing Co.

 

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