Carbuncles and the pink chuck.

It whisked past like a knife, I bet it looked amazing reflected in my pupils as I lay there on my back. Like a silver arrow it shot across the sky, winking in and out of existence in a nanosecond of brilliance. By the time my brain had stumbled on what the thing was it was long gone, hardly even a memory. Sort of like a pink chuck.
You know how it is, when you’re grooving in amidst a group of sweaty “Individuals” at a show and somehow a converse chuck with a leg sticking out of it comes at you from the squirming masses. Before you can say, “Holy shit I’m going to get kicked in the face” the chuck has broken your nose and your being trampled on by an army of almost zombie like followers while silently admitting “a pink chuck? Yep… a girl just kicked me in the face.”
The shooting star was very similar to a pink chuck experience, except it doesn’t near hurt as much and it doesn’t rain on your masculinity like a pink chuck roundhouse kick to the face does. Unlike a chuck, the shooting star was almost beautiful; in it’s brief explicit peepshow like manner. The way it appeared naked as it traveled it’s inch across the sky could be personified as Mick Jagger dropping his dacks at Wimberley stadium a second before the par cans loose power.
What’s the point? Had I not been there, lying on the bonnet of the Holden Kingswood Belmont gazing up into the night sky it may well have slipped by completely unbeknownst to any other living thing. Leaving no memory, no impact or no trace of ever occurring, it would have been as though the thing never existed.
Had it passed by purposely hoping that perchance two strangers would find it as an excuse to enjoy a first kiss? It made sense but then again why would a ball of ice light-years away from the earth’s surface give a shit about a kiss that would probably lead to an abortion? And besides I didn’t think shooting stars were capable of independent thought.
My eyes were beginning to sting for I still had them wide open, I sometimes do that, I don’t know why. The doctors say I’m a very inward person and I can recede so far into my own thoughts that sometimes I can sort of forget my own body and the world around me. The cigarette in my left had had almost burnt to the filter and reminded me of its neglection with a brief sting to my forefinger so I raised it shakily to my lips for a final kiss before turfing its carcass into the bracken.
I was finding it difficult to concentrate on my inner monologue for the car bounced rhythmically below me and by having my eyes fixed on a point in the darkness that was stationary I began to feel nauseous like I was on a boat. I sighed and the sound of my own voice frightened me. It shattered the silence and came out of the darkness much like… a pink chuck. The wheels squeaked and I could hear the faint muffled cry of an acknowledgment of satisfaction. I was beginning to feel seasick. I laughed inwardly at the notion of wearing a lifejacket and punished myself for finding hilarity in the thought. There was nothing funny about that. I don’t know why I ever agreed to that deal, playing the waiting game while the dominant male plays the mating game. Why do I have to sit on the deck feeling seasick and cold while he’s always in the cabin whipping the ship’s parrot? Well at least that’s what it sounded like. I suddenly felt envious of the dominant male and the feathery spouse he was entertaining, lucky them doing the backseat shake; I bet they even had the heater on. While I’m forced to lie on the bonnet in the freezing cold while slowly growing sores on my arse, I guess that’s why they call them Carbuncles.

• Favorite
• Report Concern
• Share This
  • Facebook
  • Twitter

Add your comment

You need to login or signup to add your comment to this work.

Tags:

acid, australia, kingswood, lsd and psychadelics