Watch Them All Fall Down
"What is going on here? Are we in some Twilight Zone-like weirdness?"
"I have no idea, Neil. I got up, took a bath, got dressed and then BOOM! I was standing beside something that didn't look or sound like nothing before and I just freaked."
"Yes, I heard you," quipped Neil. "I'm sure everyone within hearing distance did as well."
"Okay, that's enough idle chitchat. Is there any light switch so we would be able to see something?"
"There will be no lights and no windows." Neil and Chris turned abruptly around, searching for who or what matched the laconic voice. Chris's instinct was to take off running, but, somehow, his feet were stuck in some heavy duty glue or bubblegum and was forced to remain with Neil. "Well, I should think you'd actually want to stay here with me."
It wasn't long before both of them would learn that the voice belonged to a very old man and his equally ancient partner, who stayed quiet and didn't appear to be able to use her voice.
"Who are you?" Neil asked. "And what do you want from us?"
"We don't wish to hurt you two--at least, not for awhile."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Chris was becoming irritated with this nonsense.
"You will find out shortly. But you will never be able to go home again. You both need to accept this and no amount of pleading or bargaining will save you."
"How did we get here in the first place? One second, Neil and I were at home and in the next we're here with an elderly pair in some weird galaxy. In some tin can."
"Love the reference to David Bowie and "Major Tom", Neil was trying to inject some humour into the dismal surroundings, but it was falling flat.
"You really don't know what I'm telling you. This is not a joke-machine--it's two pseudo humans, older than the moon and you act as though I'm taking the two of you to a party. This is what happens when rich and entitled young punks who think you're living productive lives by writing hit songs and performing them onstage. Well, let me give you a reality check. Nobody knows where you are. Shooting blanks, as you do all the time, won't save you this time."
Neil couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What's your point, then?"
"Our point? Do you mean that you have garnered more information and still you act as if you are totally innocent?"
"We don't have the foggiest idea what's going on. You claim that you dropped by and emerged from some ill-conceived spaceship---"Wait. Did I ever mention the word "spaceship. Did we, Hun."
Hun, the eighty-five year old married partner, spoke up for the first time. "Let's just move on from this silly war of words. They think they understand and have no idea what our agenda is."
"Your agenda. What agenda? You've accomplished nothing but prattle on like children in a playground. You must know how anyone in their right minds will see you as two ancient idiots with an apocalyptic mindset selling snake oil to the masses. And Chris, I wish you'd speak up once in awhile. Remember when we were on this show with an obnoxious Ausee journalist during the Performance tour and I had to speak up when it was clearly obvious that he was trying to start trouble. The interviewer pointed out that we were known for hating U2 and you just stood there with your arms crossed, leaving me twisting in the wind?"
"I remember that hot mess. I figured you were doing a good job on your own."
"Well, at least I got you to open your eyes and offer something productive at last."
Once they'd finished with their walk down memory lane, Neil and Chris tried to find the door that would get them out and back into the real world. "Face it: Grandma and Grandpa Weirdness are very old and might last another couple of years."
Chris shot Neil a disapproving look. "Let's concentrate on finding the exit door."
"Well then, Einstein, it's pitch black in this hell hole and we don't have a flashlight."
"Blind people have a way of getting about, you know."
Suddenly, they felt the floor below them vibrating. "What's going on?" Chris was becoming quite panicky and Neil tried to be the one to figure out this frightening turn of events.
What they discovered was devastating, so much so that their lives were no longer in their control----they'd been reduced to puppets. Real puppets, that is. And those horrifying ventriloquist dummies have scared me all my life. You just don't know who is behind all the greasepaint. It could be a serial killer like John Wayne Gacy. Okay, that sounds a bit paranoid even for me.
Some random pictures posted here because I was too lazy to put clever captions under them. And since I'm not sure that anyone reads this bizarre blog (and believe me, a lot of it is pure crap) the story isn't finished yet,
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You were healthy then, you had a glow.
But I didn't understand how you are slipping away
Slowly frightening the ones you loved. Why was I so blind?
Time has experienced a cruel metamorphosis. Not undeserved.
I always loved you. But over the years, the light dimmed.
Fearful of me for years, I became angry. I've hurt nobody
But myself. Over and over again, we were torn open
After I wrote that book, the pages flew open and tragedy was released.
My troubled life was on display. Had I but known ahead of time
Would everything be different? Would I finally bond with you?
Now, you've been given a harsh and unyielding disease.
Three thousand miles away, your suffering was kept from me
Could we embrace and forget the turbulent years? Or at the least
Fill the time left with hugs, be they real or expressed by emoticons.
I'm so sorry, Diane. I love you.
Love,
Jane aka Lonelyheroine
1017.
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| Believe it or not, people, eager for the Method Of Death actually still live here in urban decay. |
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| They all fall down |
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