Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Full Moon Fiasco #48 Tuesday March 10th, 2009

It was just 19 hours till my flight would be landing in St Louis. I am pulling up to my house after a 9 hour drive from the west. I had enough time to pack some things, tidy up, and make a few calls. After smoking a joint and finishing off a bottle of mezcal, I stumbled into bed. Shoving aside the assortment of dirty clothing, firearms, and my typewriter that lay atop; I hunker down for a small amount of much needed rest. As per usual, I awoke with the very minimal amount of time needed to catch my flight. Where the fuck was my travel pack? Feeling a little groggy, and riffling through the pile I had created a few hours ago, I grabbed what was needed. On my way out the door I notice a bomb I had made. How have I neglected to shoot that? I said to myself. I quickly loaded my Smith & Wesson model 29 .44 Magnum. On my walk to set the blastpack down range I was thinking: what better way to get the body and spirit going in the morning, than shooting 12 lbs of explosives! I stepped back several paces, and took aim. Then came that all too familiar sequence of events. I pull the trigger, the hammer falls, the gun gives a nice hearty kick, the deafening bang of the bullet is dwarfed by the charge it hits. This is the kind of blast that thumps your chest and rattles your teeth. The ground shakes, and the trees bow to the shock wave. My heart racing and full of epinephrine; I jump in the land shark, and tear out of my driveway. In my rear view mirror a mushroom cloud of cinder, earth, and shrapnel still rain from the heavens. I make the Aspen airport in record time.

Arriving in St Louis on schedule, I had time to visit a local thrift store. I was told this was a good place to get bicycle. After some misdirection, I finally found the place recommended to me. I never get accustomed to the sheer size of shops in big cities. This was not your usual mom n pop, but an acre and a half of discarded americana. The place was buzzing with deal seekers, arguing couples, and people yelling on their cell phones. I promptly made a selection, and got out of there. After spending about 40 minutes wrestling my recent purchase into the back of my tiny, foreign rent-a-car, I was ready for a drink.

Time went by quickly once in the bar, and I had to hustle to make the ride. I maneuvered the little Japanese sardine tin with a finesse that was the stuff of legend. Weaving, cutting off, and infuriating every commuter in the city; I made it to Turtle Park in minutes. As I fished my bike out of the back seat, the car gave off an aroma of burnt rubber, shredded clutch, and e-brake carbon. I had just enough time to lock up the econobox, and put on an extra layer, because the ride was leaving as I pulled up. With a misaligned saddle, under inflated front tire, and squeaky chain I joined the rear of the pack. We immediately turned and navigated off the road on to a dimly lit asphalt path. With barely enough room to ride two abreast, we wind through the woods. Jesus I thought, I chose the wrong mix of drugs before this ride. Hallucinogenics and low light are not a good mix! Particularly when trying to guide a bicycle down a crowded narrow path. The drugs were definitely kicking in. I kept seeing piles of trash, huge ones! Was this a city dump we were riding through, or was my mind creating these images in lieu of blackness. The group came to a halt, was this a rest spot? I stumbled into the crowd only to realize that I was right in the middle of a fucking reptile zoo, and somebody was giving booze to these goddamn things. There were piles of trash everywhere, a devil troll seemed to be the ringleader. He had great massive horns, two mouths, and was speaking gibberish so loudly that I could hear nothing else. The bright full moon was blasting through the clouds with such fury, it gave me quite a shock. I think the sudden surplus of light was throwing me into another dimension. I quickly decided this was a bad scene, and made a dash with plans to spirit away on my trusty bike. Obviously one of the reptiles anticipated this move, and replaced my steed with one of his henchmen. I grabbed what appeared to be a femur bone and started swinging the bastard violently. A brutal battle ensued, it was everything I could muster, but I held the attack off in spades. I was completely wrecked, the cyclist group had totally fucking vanished, and I needed some sleep. The beasts were still making a hell of a noise, but I thought if I crouch quietly in this trash heap they will mind their own business. Even with 100 decibels worth of troll chatter in the background, I doze away instantly. It's amazing what kind of clarity a few hours of sleep can bring. I awakened to find my nightmare was no more than two dinosaur statues, a playground perhaps. A once carefully pruned evergreen bush was the henchmen that I so gallantly slayed, and now lay in scattered ruin. It was all so different in the daylight. How many had seen my breakdown? Did it all happen after they left me? Did my rampant scourge through the park go unnoticed? It occurred to me I should get out of there before some form of authority brought the hammer down for my sins. After wasting some time trying to find where I left my bike, I decided to hoof it back to my car. Oh well, paying 30 dollars for a 20 dollar bicycle, then losing it about two hours later will make for a good story I thought. As for the Fiasco ride, I'm at a loss as to where they ended up.... I had witnessed the start, I was sure of that much!

Till the next one you filthy animals!!! You dirty beasts!!!

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