87 lines
5.1 KiB
Plaintext
87 lines
5.1 KiB
Plaintext
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_____________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ _____________
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| ___________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ ___________ |
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| | _/_/_____ | | > > _/_/_____ | |
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| | c o m m u n i c a t i o n s | |
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| |________________________________________________________________| |
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|____________________________________________________________________|
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...presents... Angry Sun
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by Franken Gibe
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__//////\ -cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc- /\\\\\\__
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Est. 1984 \\\\\\/ cDc paramedia: text #331-08/01/1997 \////// Est. 1984
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__ _ _ __ _ _ __ _ _ __ _ _ __
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|__heal_the_sick__raise_the_dead__cleanse_the_lepers__cast_out_demons__|
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Riding on a sheet of afternoon glare. It's over a hundred. I feel
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pricks of cold sweat on my chest and under my arms where it's dark and moist
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and smells sharp, pungent and profane. Where glossy black hairs coil like a
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bed of asps, or twin cunts. I feel dizzy and sick, and probably need to pull
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over, spew what's left of the Coke Slurpee and sack of pretzels that's been
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rotting in my stomach for an hour. God it's hot. I imagine the hell under
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the hood, the four cylinders coughing and choking on each fiery wheeze of the
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carburetor. I keep seeing someone sitting next to me. It's after 4pm. I've
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gotta drive 'till the sun dies and keep going through the hot, dry black of
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the desert night. I'll look out and I'll wonder what the lights are that I
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pass, way out in the desert. Out there, alone, little islands of daytime,
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like sunlight from the afternoon stranded, caught in some eddy.
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97 degrees, 8:30pm or so. I'm roaming the streets of Yuma, 'cause I
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can't bear to sit in the motel watching some Showtime movie with Kevin Bacon
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who gets bitten by a radioactive snake near Alamagordo. I drove by
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Alamagordo three days ago. I went to the sand dunes out there, an ocean of
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glare, and started taking off my clothes. It was almost a reflex. I'm
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alone, sliding down pure white sand dunes and roasting, disoriented. I can't
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see my car. It's behind that big dune, hopefully. I try to videotape, but
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the camera can't deal with the glare. It stops way the fuck down and the
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images just look like sand, like a big absurd sandbox with me, half-naked,
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sputtering something about "water... water," and falling down. I still have
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sand caught in my ass. The dunes are unbearably bright. It's like the sun's
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been atomized, and a billion billion grains of sunlight are scattered around,
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all of 'em blowing up in micro-novas.
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Sunglasses don't help. Squinting doesn't help. You fall down. You
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take off your clothes. Everything is overexposed. You feel like you're
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fading. Maybe that's why I stripped. The overexposure is intoxicating. You
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wanna fade to white, like some Jesus in one of those old Bible movies. To
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become light, explode without a sound, sweat away your nasty little smelly
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sunburnt body and burst, a soundless immense wonderful glare that you can't
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really see. You either close your eyes and see red, or you open your eyes
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wide and fall down.
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.-. _ _ .-.
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/ \ .-. ((___)) .-. / \
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/.ooM \ / \ .-. [ x x ] .-. / \ /.ooM \
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-/-------\-------/-----\-----/---\--\ /--/---\-----/-----\-------/-------\-
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/lucky 13\ / \ / `-(' ')-' \ / \ /lucky 13\
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\ / `-' (U) `-' \ /
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`-' the original e-zine `-' _
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Oooo eastside westside / ) __
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/)(\ ( \ WORLDWIDE / ( / \
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\__/ ) / Copyright (c) 1997 cDc communications and the author. \ ) \)(/
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(_/ CULT OF THE DEAD COW is a registered trademark of oooO
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cDc communications, PO Box 53011, Lubbock, TX, 79453, USA. _
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oooO All rights reserved. Edited by Grandmaster Ratte'. __ ( \
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/ ) /)(\ / \ ) \
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\ ( \__/ Save yourself! Go outside! Do something! \)(/ ( /
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\_) xXx BOW to the COW xXx Oooo
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