Blast Off: subsubsuburban nightmare

Stretching into the cosmos.

Been a while, can’t say why. Music lull at the moment. Very busy. Modeselektor keeping me going. Hello Mom, not Happy Birthday which I’m not a fan of. Living in a suburb of the middle of nowhere and feeling cast adrift. If only I had some high-powered hallucinogen to keep my monkey fur interested.

Was thinking about Ray Bradbury’s Martian Chronicles and the nature of existence.  When I look around me, I wonder if this is actually real. It doesn’t seem logical, yet you are forced to believe. Maybe a new world is what I need. So, I started punching holes in the fabric of time and through constant pounding have created a small universe where I can hide when I want to be alone.

It’s actually the room under my stairs, but sitting there with my glo-stick and rave music playing was very pleasant until my dog demanded I leave as he was trying to sleep. I turned off the rave and this appeased him, although he snorted consistently and let out the occasional sigh. So, there I was feeling quite content and blue coloured when I heard rustling amongst the paint tins. My glow stick grew dimmer. I felt nervous. I could make out a shadow and my fur stood on end. A low groaning sound came nearer and nearer. I couldn’t turn around. A gigantic hand planted itself on my shoulder. AAAArgh. Oh, it’s David Mitchell!

“YOU HAVEN’T FED ME!”

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