Sunday, September 20, 2009

Flash Fiction contest entry - earlier this year. "L"

Winston’s final thoughts - before 1984

Supposition of a Virtual exploration of a Genial Mind.

I had flown in from miami Beach and didn’t get to bed that night.

These thoughts run through my head, planning for a dreadful flight.

“I just got off a boat, I came to contemplate new auras” said Yoko, as she caressed my shoulder.

“I would love for you to see my work, I’m showing in a Gallery on Broadway and 116th.” Then out of her jeans came a $10 bill which she threw at the busker, as we passed.

The busker looked back with a wink and a smile, and asked us to stay a while .... while he sang.

“Let’s get an ice cream, or some type of Sundae, to cheer on the day as we talk”. “I’d love to” was my reply.. “but I’ll just listen!!”

The harmony and chords intertwined and complemented her every movement, as did her face.

I thought and looked into the future to see some Spanish Lace, and my new found guapa Conchita now had a wrinkled face. Somewhat like a Geisha who’s powder keg had run dry.

The eyes were there and so was the smile, time though had taken its toll. She had been old for a while. Her breast were sagging, which; in retrospect - should have alarmed me BUT, I found them kind of sexy in an avant-gard crossing-guard kind of way.

Saint Peter walked by and said: “Hi, hi, hi” denying us thrice, which was wise, as always.

Just then a cop swallowed his donut.

Sea-urchins blazed on the sidewalk, as the chalk dust exploded. The impact of a raindrop, the impact of the sun.

Then time stood still in the calm of that hazy lazy afternoon, walking through a freeze frame.

Clockwork Orange men appeared out of nowhere and tumbled from the sky like an open air Cirque.

While Gordon Liddy stood on some street corner waiting to take a bullet from a water-gate pistol.

Jack Ruby feigned a killing and let Lee take the bullet. Somewhere in the distance a voice was heard saying “ You’ll swing for this”

It was Elvis, impersonating Gump, they’ve ever been like Brocolli and Spam.

The paintings were hung, Hang-Ten suspended in mid-air by an O’Neill wetsuit freshly skinned from a black pearl diver.

Somewhere in the mid-atlantic a gold-toe was singing “We will Sock you!” Little did he know that Freddy had died, years before.

Prior to being fed to the pigs, Hannibal had been drinking his Chianti. Reminiscent of casting pearls before swine, he hurls before wine.

The Austin Powers union jack e-type based on Harry Rosen days had not yet been invented, but I could Imagine it.

Her cavern was packed, a silhouette in the window outlined Henry performing an equine tango - it should have been a waltz. Al Pacino just said: “Boo-yah!” and continued to sniff his way inside.

Marauders jumped on passers-by with that quaint and distinct panache usually acquainted with Depps’ interpretation of a Rolling Stone.

Once upon a time in my prime I used to laugh about everyone that I saw hanging out, but now Things have Changed.

A shot rang out, then another I saw my mother like Father McKenzie.

Three more, he was giving his piece a chance. The last and final blow

winding it’s way home. How do you spell New York? It was like cocaine running around my brain.

Well, now I lay me down to sleep I pray for the rock and Roll Hall of Fame my soul to keep.

If I die before I wake

I pray for Second-Life my soul to take, in another guise. Some other guys.

“Bingo” shouted Paul, “Ringo” said I; by George he is next.

The blood stained pavement, the pilgrims, the sooth-sayers and the curio-hounds all gather for the end.

It’s only the beginning. Game over.

As I breath my last, my breath is taken away. Now is the moment of truth. Am I greater than God?

Man, I had a not so dreadful flight. Happiness is a warm sun, beating on my face drawing me towards the light, the double-white.

Come in Number 9!!

I wonder if your mind was just Heaven Sent. Goog-goo-ga-joob.

“L” - 16th. April 2009

Some sad thoughts that I had put down on paper imagining that final thought rush.

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