| "less and less dull, this itching metal tag planted in my skull. makes me dream i've snorted up a wasp. i crawl from the furniture, blinded and lost. swim through arena lights to the kitchen. going to need more than a rolling pin. the roof dissolves, i'm in a whitewashed oven, scampering through overturned cupboards as the shape drops. my ears pop. there's a change in the air and a sound i've known all my life but never noticed: obelix basilix obelix basilix obelix basilix obelix basilix. the sky is eclipsed by a ship. it's a chopper without blades, without skids, without 'copter' or an 'i'. it just hangs, sways like an old man. all i see is me, my scowl, my shielding hands pushing back down from the supersilver belly. (the motors insist: obelix basilix obelix basilix obelix basilix) i'm hit by a slab of light, charged, chilled, hoisted up a treadmill to the stars. i fly with ease but no control. i've the constant urge to sneeze. my skulltag bleeds down my nose, and the bumble bee inside shakes its ass --a waggledance. above, grey in the skin, the creeps peer down as if by chance." |