And Now For Something Completely Different... (homage to MONTY PYTHON there...)

08 November 2017 12:00 AM
Recently, I wrote a piece using automatic writing/stream of consciousness, i.e., MEDITATION. I'm part of a writing group, and we had an assignment to write a prose piece which included 36 words, pulled from a hat. I did this piece in ONE SITTING - definitely STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS. I like this piece, so I decided to put it here, after meditating for 14 minutes - hence my reference to "completely different". Tomorrow I'll get back to my normal routine! :)

Theater of the Absurd Treatise #1

Her costume’s diabolical, so much so that he decided to investigate in order to isolate the curse from whence it came.  Would he be victorious, he wonder, as he knocked on the door of WHATNOT, intersection of Canal and Bourbon Street.

Hello,” he said as the door opened.  “Forgive the intrusion, but I’m a Cormorant diving for fish in the deep blue sea.”

“That custom I’m unaware of,” the proprietor said and then smiled.  “Come.  My garden in the back is in chaos and I need to irrigate.  Entertain me with your lies.  The curd of my disbelief has not coagulated, yet.”

Nodding, he followed this buffalo down the narrow hall, admiring her elegant gray hair, magnificent mane …

The Coreopsis crowded the back porch, a broken down slab, vermicular golden glue “healing” the cracks in the cement.

The shopkeeper smiled when she saw him glancing down at her handiwork.

“I transmogrified it,” she simply said, gesturing towards the yellow flowers.  “Coreopsis, which these are, means to be always cheerful.  I figured they could use the accompaniment.”

He, the customer, glanced at the bees nosing the flowers and at the hovering white butterflies.  Looking back at the woman threw him into a swivet.  He also hyperventilated.  Was her hair now blonde?

For a moment he was enamoredStaggering back, he pulled himself up by the bootstraps; determine to tell the proprietor – this changing woman – about his problem.  So he began.

The woman was on her knees pulling up vines.  Finally she looked up.

“Are you a squirrel,” she demanded, “screaming in the trees about some squirt of a girl, a cloud in the sky who has no place in your world?”

Her speech was mesmerizing, leaving him in a state of confusion which irritate

Wanting to instigate, cross words, swords, he whirled around instead and went down the hall hearing her laughing, in scorn, which left him so mad he went home and created an insurrection.

Moral of the story is – Don’t mess with a witch.