Mexican TV Show

by Aladdinsane

Posted to Stories on 2002-08-08 00:00:00

I’m breathing, so I guess I’m certain I am alive. I’m in a hotel and I am on a Mexican TV show, too. Everywhere around me is sex and death; colors and sound clash into me. Everything could be so perfect.. In the centre of this parade of the senses, a rose grows- I could have spent years contemplating and debating on whether or not to touch it. I bet my life that all the objects around me are smashed, smashed into compact, mobile, intelligent beings with minds of their own. How I lament you, dear telephone.. Then I abruptly crashed headlong into my own psyche; I was being stabbed by innumerable flaming arrows. Fire man, it’s an element.. what a drag. Everything might or might not be a drag. It was then that I realized that I feared my own demise by some Howard Stern guru, a Jerry Springer swami. But all is not lost when I look into the horizon.. a vast, densely layered forest of dreams, dude. A marvelous city of candles spread alongside the bay. Evidently in the wild celebration of some high holy day. The inhabitants admire my pale skin and tell me about incense. I had to split so a madman taxi-driver gave me a ride. He rode me on a horse called death & his ID read, “Pestilence”. We were headed for the otherworldy bus-station, to return me to the confines of the friendly west. Ah man, I must have started counting.. all the ghosts present in the landscape but I lost count. Everyone is so haunted, sometimes. However, on the way to the bus-station, we got lost in my state of comptemplation. The governor of meditation floated all the way from the capital to give me up as a burnt-offering. Whoa dude, I’d become Issac..again. The Howard Stern guru was there again, laughing sheepishly and going down on a huge thing of cotton-candy. All the dust surrounded me and all I could taste was the saltiness of the Dead Sea, some several thousand miles away. It left my throat parched and dry. The spectators got weary of the scene and split, the saintly virgins sighed and flew off, out of the desert. My America is lost on the west coast and it has left me in the mercy of my immortal host. It encloses me and capsizes my delicate sensibility; I am also fragile and soft-speaking on schedule. I break free and end up in the the hillside sanctuary of idolatry. She sold me sanctuary (even though I never heard the song before) and offers asylum from the jackals of war. She performs all of these services in exchange for a kiss and a rose; the latter really made me regret my former hesitation. She dances, madly, through the rings of a fire. She tells me all the secrets of this place, like how violence is obsolete and how eternity lingers incomplete ’til we say so. Then I took one glance at her I-Ching curves, a chance at all the spiraling things I deserve. She washes my mind & body clean. I almost forgot a world growing fat and obscene; everything is special, all so special. She gives me a clean slate. She goes off to change and I wait by her altar; everything is so erotic… I then remembered some wise words, “We only talk in fleeting words to receive that which we refuse to believe.” Who say that? No one, probably. She returns and proposes a child-like challenge, I immediately accept her dares. Then, as I reached out to touch her, she vanishes into thin air.
And I’m still on a Mexican TV show.