v i s c e r a l s t o r i e s

Cataracts In The Skies

The colossal eyes with pellucid irises tainted in eburnean and flavescent exploding colors have fallen from the skies. Their collective judging gaze accelerated the growth of stalactites and hoodoos. In the field where withering ambrosias blow, scarecrows walk at illuminating glow. The light that marked the sky that made us sing, yet you're still watching static in the television after that sudden interruption of a boring show while sitting on a sofa in the middle of nowhere, eating pina colada and too many carbs. And eating carbs high on the glycemic index can cause a spike in blood sugar.

This is our virtual warzone filled with serenading bangs, amid the carbines shooting hypodermic bullets, amid the stielhandgranate's explosion that sent little Susan everywhere, leaving our one-time pad encrypted hearts in a shell shocked state.

As Mr. Muscleman slowly disintegrates and woe, sinews became seeds for the impending tilling before he was vanquished by the kiss of sunset glow, leaving us the words "Enjoy the good times because something terrible will probably happen. Have wild sex or coffee — not soy — or something", hoping one day you'll meet that stranger again and his thick sinewy ass and incredible words of wisdom so euphoric it can erect even those with erectile dysfunction.

Just like a Mexican plumber with a funny mustache high on psilocybin shrooms that's trying to save a certain princess in a castle against this ugly turtle with a spiky carapace, it is pointless because the world we live in is a hell of endless suffering and despair, where we desperately fight for the illusion of happiness which subtly distracts us from our inevitable deaths and fear of the unknown. This gift of sentience is a curse. Existence is futile and everything will be left bereft. Nothing can save that princess so she'll just gallop and dance like a ballerina while a palette of obscure colors will become her guardians, birds flying above her head singing, "let us kill them all", mushrooms growing in her shoulders and her porcelain neck will be teasing stalking anemic vampires, wanting that rare flavor of a plastic doll-like sweetheart. That poor Lolita lost inside her head.

Since aeons, since the old ones released the fungal spores in the cosmos and melted into planets, these inseminated seeds germinated, wretched vegetation, microscopic anomalies turned into pseudo-intellectual parasitic forms thinking that their knowledge is an accompanying phenomena while they are impotent to determine that all their actions or relations of life is relativity meaningless, gazing at the ephemeral image of their own emptiness; but the real body has its being to live, and will live it, careless of defunct fantasm of itself, in return to the ever-shifting pressure of things deprived of it.

And maybe one day, when we die, our life and memories will be preserved in archived chips and probably live another pointless life but as robots and that's cool like yeah, missiles coming out of my ass *zooooom*. We'll become robots, reminiscing human absurdities and personal flaws, falling endlessly in a void without the darkness, wondering about questions with no answers.

A jigsaw piece that doesn't fit anywhere, because we're believers of nothing and it pains us when literally anything occurs.

"That's not our monologue but I'm not even mad." she said, giving me this stern look imbued with a murderous intent. I assumed that in her mind, she's killing me in every ways possible and that includes shoving up a water hose inside my butthole, bloating me until I explode.

"I still hate you for buying this burger."

"It's not my fault the ratio of bread is a hundred times greater than the patty. I'm on a rush." I explained. "Earlier, I had this nuclear explosive diarrhea and I crossed my fingers it wouldn't ruin our date so let me tell you that it's very hard for me to clench my butt while I'm gushing my philosophical thoughts to you. It requires a massive amount of concentration and dedication."