Hammerheaded thinking.Mature

So here at last is where the tale of my downfall really starts to crank up, it gets a bit sick, but I swear it’s true, if you’re eating while reading better finish it first.

   Finished? Okay! So, the area that star’s house was in was upper-middle-class and you can imagine the icy reception this girl who is a tornado of color and energy got.

The houses are built polite enough distance apart, so that if one comes in a little after midnight and is a little ‘squiffy’ the drunken giggles of your wives’ and one-self is a mere tinkle of bird song to the happily sleeping neighbors.

Star’s neighbors got the dull roar of techno and tripheads.

The kids of the neighbors would throw rocks and shit at her and she would throw them right back at them with an always ‘just missed’ eerie grace. (I had to take a catapult off of her before she got wound up enough to use it) so when she had parties there, we often had to chase them out of the house as they would come in and grab some item on a dare.

Or run them off when they threw stones or hung around.

You get the picture right? People don’t like ‘different’ even sometimes, the different people. Star never sets foot at the local shops or market, not with the vibes she gets, no.

Star orders her food online, or a group of wrecked people go on adventures to shopping centers. And when they are there, where the piped in scent of fresh bread reminds them of what normal is, they discuss how to get it done without looking too fucked, and then they fall into chaos.

I couldn’t tell you how many people who lived at her house, actually live there, or who pays for the privilege or doesn’t and just sofa surfs, her house is chaotic and strange and in a constant flow of dirty and clean, because the waves of differing drugs come in like a tropical tide that washes away and warms at the same time.

So one summer night I was star gazing and coming up on some strong LS.D and I was lying in this kind of side garden thing, with bushes framing the border on my left and I took a huge puff on a joint and I got up and started to take a  frothy piss onto the lilies that were growing along the wall of the house (Lilies are poisonous to cats, I like cats) and suddenly I caught a strange sight in the bushes  I thought I could see a man in the bushes…no it was a man made of bushes.

Surely not? I stared and stared but the bush man didn’t move an inch. What a weird visual!

And that thought doubled the bush man!

 from behind I heard the rustle as the second bush man formed, I staggered around  and I faced in that direction, nothing at first, and then he rustled into being some more so that I could see him and he cackled at me, I turned back to the first bush man, and another rustled into being also, they giggled at me, their eyes were shiny bright flecks, I turned to face this new bush man and he rustled and moved his shape about and whispered to others who conferred in differing secret breezes. I turned to the first and he spoke words that floated out of his mouth in a secret code, I decided to try to talk to the one who came in third and spoke the most, and as I was turning to him, his bush throat opened up and a golden-green arrow of light shot past me and I screamed and whip my head around to follow it but it had disappeared! I heard this ‘phut’ sound and I whipped my head around again, and the bush men were gone and I wasn’t tripping anymore, at, all! My head in fact fucking ached! I needed to seek solace in star and knowing that she had a ‘my room’ a room in which she locked herself in and no-one was allowed in, at all except for me, as I was currently fucking her, I crept past the dying down, left over party folk, and into star’s ‘my room’.

She was sitting on the bed sketching (well, scribbling and hallucinating a picture) and looked up smiling to greet me, and her face fell when she saw the shaking wreck that I was.

I told her about the bush men, and her eye’s grew as wide a dinner plates and as shiny as an ainme kitten’s and she flapped her hands in excitement and wriggled impatiently for me to finish so that she could tell me what is was that had inflamed her so.

  Barley had I finished and she had sprung off of the bed and to a bookshelf stuffed with the books in that same logical order that I adored.

 she returned with books about an Earth spirit called the green man, and I gulped her booze and shivered at the pictures she showed me with mischievous delight at my folly.

“They granted you with a visit” said she all knowingly “you have met the green men!”

I got freaked by the idea and she ooed’ and ahhed’ over my fright and delighted in it until I got ‘old fucking stroppy pants geezer’ as she politely put it. Then she cooed me over into her book nook (the corner of the room had a leather (red) wing back chair in it, Nice, yes, but it had scribbles and ‘thoughts’ on it.) And it had a stack of books on either side, towers of book! She disappeared to find something to feed me with (chicken soup I presumed) she came back hours later, even more wrecked and awake and high than when she had staggered out of the room,  and upon her return, she proudly brandished a cold home-made bowl of macaroni and cheese, and spice and herb, and some veggies, I barely looked dup from a book I had picked out to read, a book that helped burst a bubble, but that bubble turned out to be a kind of curse.

She demanded I take the proffered food with a wailing-cracked-partied-out ‘hhhhmmm!” and a stamp of a dirty foot.

I took it and I burlesqued for her with the bowl of food.



“Ah!” I said, twirling my leetle’ French moustache. “zis dish, it bursts wiz arom-ha!” my fingers they demonstrated the  ‘bursting of flavor’ in  what I still think of as in a French-y way.

“Ze vegetables?!” I rolled my eyes and I fopped “Divinely cut!”

She giggled and clapped and one pupil was massive and the other was tiny, and they played a game favorite to all L.S.D riddled pupil’s and that is: Big, small, big, small…etc and her hair frazzled without actually frazzling and picked up radio waves.

“But!” I said twirling my moustache “what is this most unusual garnish?”

I showed her the joint end garnish, and she stomped off to find booze.


I put the food down and I dipped back into the book and my gut roiled at the protagonist’s antics and the drugs in my system zinged and zanged in my brain and made my scalp tingle in disgust, in small localized bursts, at what I was reading,.

And this book was called

The End

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