Wednesday, December 28, 2011

I used to be a hurricane, now I'm just a breeze

Yes, Joe talked to Jimi. Turns out god is Hendrix. Or maybe Hendrix is god. I guess it makes sense, The Wind Cried Mary, Purple Haze, both about Jesus Christ, both the best songs about him ever. So Satan sat me down and said "We have to make this quick. Turns out there really has been a mistake, you're not supposed to be here just yet."

And Hendrix appeared. He wasn't black, though, he was violet. I don't know. He was smiling, still had giant hair.

Satan spoke up. "Okay, here's the terms of your release. You're doomed to a life of being a computer janitor. Alone. Forced to be a cup of Sanka in a Starbucks universe.What's the best feeling you've ever had?"
"When I got to be little spoon."
"Never again. And don't come back here before your time."
"What if I don't accept those terms? I don't want to go back. I don't care, I'm not down with that. They want me hooked on drugs back there. Drugs that don't do anything but fuck my body." I find it odd that they spent years indoctrinating me with "drugs are bad" but then that's their cure for every goddamned thing under the sun. That's all we can expect from the boomer generation, though, I guess.
"Those are your terms. There's no negotiation. You're going back."
And before I could say anything more, Hendrix grabbed my bad arm and we took off flying.
"Hey, hey, slow down! I want to negotiate. Those terms suck! I don't want to work on computers anymore, I'd rather be a zompire."
"No time! We've got to reach exit velocity or we're both stuck down here. As great as the first circle and the void sounds, I'm not staying in this dump any longer than I need to."
"Then leave me behind. This isn't so bad. It's at least as good as being trapped in Wisconsin with a bum arm and hand and gross ass stretch marks doing work that I completely disdain around people who are complete shit."
"Who's shit?"
"All of them. I don't need them."
"You need all of them."
And we headed back up the entrance. The music was the same going out as it was coming in, but they added that fucking song about the boots with the furs.
"See, this is what I don't need, you've got to hate this music as much as I do, Hendrix."
"Yeah, the ones that make that trash will be here soon enough."
"So is there anyone cool on your end? Besides you?"
"We got Ray Charles and Johnny Cash. They got big fucking expansive estates. Ever heard of Mojoworld? It's kind of like that, complete with the loop-de-loop water slides."
God actually said fucking. We were going pretty damned fast by then, my clothes melted off my skin. Exit velocity isn't slow, that's for sure.
"But I'm still looking for #1, the worst person ever. Do you know who it is?"
Now, I could cop out and say he told me it was Bono and it's an easy line to say it's Hanna for hurting me, but it's not ans she's most definitely not the worst person ever, she's pretty damned cool, in fact.
All he told me is "It's not you."
And I was saved. By Joe Strummer. Doesn't that make him a saint now according to the rules of catholocism? I guess punk rock really did save my life. Punk rock can keep it for all I care. I wound up back in my place sloped over the toilet filled with whiskey vomit. How is this any better than hell? I've got a beard going now. Some people have house plants, I guess I'm cultivating hair this winter. Satan still didn't place me in a job, so I've got to continue my search for computer janitorial work on my own. That's not going to be fun. At least I don't have to drink Sanka anymore. But being a cup of Sanka in a Starbucks universe is sure going to suck.

throwing garbage down the beach into the bay. For I have brought the wind for you and I have brought the rain and I have never asked at all to be repaid

said Tommy T. at 7:51 PM - #

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