Bifurcated Dialogue Amok

“This is now. The last war on drugs was a war on fructification. It was fruit batty, it was fatty bruit. I fructified of the crucifix cross and I crossed my own path when I got there. I got there when the darkness overtook me and I wrote a novel without writing a novel word. I chose something golden that sunk my Atocha. I fructified in Dar Es Salam. I drive without opening my eyes on a a left turns. I sleep inside a mosquito infested tent. Tent on an assemblage of extracted teeth and pull nothing but the difficult out of a hat while rabbit munch grasses obliviously in the hallway. I pass summer away with the spring in your step and winter in the fog of your soulless fall. I scarify my soul in the humorless sun of a long night in a clean well lighted place which is a bullet ridden cafe in Lesotho during a monsoon month of dust and quiet whippoorwills. I prune leafy trees leafless, hot with fleas fleecing your sister’s sake. You said, “I got mine and you’ll be fine.” I said, “summer is sister’s fate in her shizophrenic haze in the strength of a weakness in her occipital lobe.” You say my comedy was sublimely written, like it was written in Sumerian script in a Mandarin world. I said, “ it’s analogue to a lime habit.” To which you plead, “let’s go to a limehouse,” moving your fingers in such a way that the air warps in pink swirls around your head and lights alternate in yellow and blue hues in your open mouth. The words you create signify tranches of truncheons and luncheons on the grass half naked in Roman reclines. A bottle of wine stoppered ordering the sky and a jaunty basket opened to the prying June moon jejune. Then you produce wildebeest and hyenas from your bloomer pockets — pantaloons full of cavorting beasties. I produce a floral array of helium filled hydrangeas from my waistcoat pocket while a Berlin zeppelin flies drunken circles above us. The man from the Maldives stands and announces the sinking of the Diego Garcia Islands. I sing the song of hegemony of the albatrosses and pelagic birds that abdicated when the penguins became kings of the universe.”

What I’m Reading:

“The world is currently on track for a rise of at least 2.5C. Based on what we have experienced so far, that would deliver death and destruction far greater than already suffered.”

— Damian Carrington / “Revealed: how climate breakdown is supercharging toll of extreme weather” / The Guardian