A JUNTA OF STARLINGS

Two-dimensional visions of a man…a man I knew well…as a cartoon bear; of the crucifixion, with the Christ in female form, eerie and bloodless, her Mother forsaken of her; to behold a forest, a very real forest, yet to see it as if drawn by a child using wax crayons; to touch the bark of great oaks and feel them as gelatine and broken glass; to panic under the attack of hallucinatory hornets giving loud and violent chase; to see tired old lichen and moss enveloped granite gravestones that transform to ones of gleaming unblemished marble before my eyes; the ghostly aura of daises awaiting the shears, sensing their death is nigh; the capricious mood swings of dandelions for the same reason; to suffer the crush of a livid sky pulverizing my very being, like a great invisible weight crushing my rib cage as it bears down on me and knowing its conjuror seeks to vanquish my living soul; The Titanic slowly and improbably drifting past the egress of a cemetery, it’s four funnels steaming a heavenly lilac haze, its horn beating out the tortuous, monotonous rhythm of the heartbeat of rambling, feral ice cubes and, in the distance, a solitary fiddle playing a lament; to thirst for the elixir of life and to find it in a ‘can’ by the roadside, surreally too ponderous to carry away and with no ring pull to open it; to feel, to squeeze in my hands the hunger and empty passion of a starving nation as vultures pick and pull at the wasted tendons of a million dead, soon to be forgotten by all that is white, black babies; to stand by and gaze at a junta of starlings devour first the clouds and then the sun until there is only darkness; to discover immortality is merely an inexpensive treadmill; to take notice of symphonic music and treasure its energy and exquisiteness for the first time; to wear a vivid cloak of prosperity salvaged from, and stained by its benevolent, helpless of late, possessor…an ultimate falsity.


I have lived all these things and much more. But that was long, long ago. To this day, I miss moreish Ms Mescaline, our affair short-lived. 

Prior to our entanglement I’d neither contemplated life’s meaning nor meditated upon its purpose. I unwittingly idled through life unaware that about my person, in that convoluted mass of nervous tissue that is my mind, there was a flint, that when struck, would spark, then ignite the embers of such contemplation. When the fire catches hold it burns away the junk of immaturity that both blurs and forestalls the unrolling of the person…that is the rub. 

My eternal thanks, Ms Mescaline wherever you may be.

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22 thoughts on “A JUNTA OF STARLINGS

  1. What a sadder world we’d have had sans Grace & that dormouse—thanks. (I’ve got an old vid on our YT channel that relies a lot on this music & them days, I’ll post it soon, for Auld Lang Sayne) enjoy your blog a lot

  2. I never did manage to get off on mescaline. Now, LSD and Psilocybin mushrooms, those worked just fine.
    Hmm, maybe I was ripped off back then. Perhaps I was sold an aspirin with food dye on it. There was the time the pill was massive, and I got high, shook, shivered and got sick & lost. A pal told me it was mostly speed and whatever.
    Said once a year the mafia cleaned out its drawers, mixed everything up in blenders and pressed it into massive tabs.Sold them off to idiots, like me.
    Ahh, the good old days!
    …. but I digress.
    I enjoyed your piece, Mike.
    You never disappoint.
    Love White Rabbit! Know the words by heart.
    Carried the words on a piece of paper in my purse for about a decade.
    NEW PIC!
    OMG! So clean and proper! YOFY

    1. Good day, young Resa. I found said mescaline a delight. I agree that those others did the business as well in many respects. This post comes from a manuscript I wrote at least a decade ago yet did nothing with it. ‘Twas the story of my life. Once written it I decided that in the global plan of things, I was, am and always will be, about as important as, put coarsely, a one legged man in an arse kicking contest, hence, to put it out as a book would be pompous in the extreme. I found it the other day on an old external hard drive. Had a laugh reading it and thought ‘stuff it’, even the waste of space such as I am deserves a chance. I’m just putting the book into its proof process, then ‘An Only Child & His Mum’s Amazing Germ Phobia’ will be out there boring any readers senseless. I’m told by my blinked wife that sometimes I scrub up well. Regards, TOOF

    1. My thanks, Liz. It was probably for the best you read Castenada and Huxley rather than join them. I suspect ‘imagination’ was something you had from the outset. For my part I had little choice…in hindsight…as pre the event I was devoid of imagination; post said event I saw a whole new world. I wish it could have been different in many respects. It is said humans only use 10 percent of their brain power. In my case, maybe 1%. Mescaline came to the rescue. I’m up to 2% these days. Regards, The Old Fool

      1. You’re welcome, Mike. I was too afraid of damanging my brain to try halluncinogenics. My brain was the only thing I had going for me. I stopped smoking weed when it affected my short-term memory.

  3. I’m tempted to visit with Uncle Sidney again.
    FYI: Your embedded Amazon link automatically redirected me to the local store (France). I didn’t need to search for it manually.

    1. My thanks, ‘Tis a strange world we live in. I only wish I was ‘redirected’ to France. I miss it and it seems this virus will make sure I don’t get back there soon. Such is life. Regards, The Old Fool

      1. You’re welcome. I’m looking forward to being able to occasionally leave it. As you say, such is life. Regards, A Younger, but not young, Fool.

  4. I like the way you blended the song with the painting. I have to think about music that inspired me recently so I can share the bands with you.

    I am choosing this post to do this: Rush, Razorlight, Black – its a wonderful world, Siouxsie and the banshees, Heilunge, and the one that made me have goosebumps recently was a band called Skal. Skal are french I think but they made me have the goosebumps. But yes, it is refreshing to do the music with the pieces.

    1. My thanks Vishakha. ‘Tis unusual when the surreal is the truth, yet every word written here is said truth, albeit from a long time ago. Some would call me an idiot and likely that is also true. Regardless, my sincere thanks that you took time out to read. Regards, The Old Fool

    1. Life is deliciously strange. If I recall correctly this one was an extract of my ‘dope’ days long, long ago and makes an appearance in my new book…an autobiography of sorts…’An Only Child & His Mum’s Amazing Germ Phobia’. Regards, The Old Fool

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