ratfactor

And I can fix all of your problems.

Now, click on the Comments link below and tell me about your childhood.

A club: SurrealSociety

It's like a yellow mist, that Deviant Smell.  It cuts like acid but lies so wispy, so soft like kitty tendrils of air in pillows, seeping into the cracks the rocks the earth.  I can smell it now.  Can you?

You are crouching in a beautiful green meadow.  The sky above is blue, flawless, deep.  It is almost too warm, but a lone tree, green, proud, gives you shade, so cool.  You are shitting quietly into the grass.  A bird chirps above somewhere.  He is shitting too, in that white liquid way birds do.  The breeze is like a song, a beautiful song of lost memories just oh-so barely unremembered of warmth and happiness.  The breeze is like the sun, so crisp, so nice.  The leaves, each one, rattles on a branch.  Together they make the tree whisper.  Saying your name.  Hello.  Hello.

But there's something else in the air now.  It smells yellow, and not in the way that the sun is yellow, golden-yellow and beautiful and life giving.  It smells deviant.  Like art.  You can feel it, surging, swelling.  Steaming.  You urinate against the tree and then turn and run like hell.  We must escape the Deviant Smell, you and I.

-Dave Gauer
18 March, 2011

A club: SurrealSociety