Monday, September 13, 2004
O'er Elysian Fields
I can’t fucking believe it. I spewed the entire contents of a small municipality’s sewage pond on this soiree, and these guys just keep shoving limeade into me and screwing under a boat cover like nothing’s wrong.
I nudge a cherub who’s sitting on a wall next to me. “Hey, chubby. Where’d all the shit go that I spewed out? Didn’t faze ‘em.”
He looks at me, and smiles beatifically. “Nobody shits on Yahweh’s picnic, man. Duh. You see any ants? Bees? Flies?” And then he flutters off with his harp.
Mary stands up. “Well, I’m to put Baby Jesus to bed, and then take a dr—er, I mean, do the dishes.” Jesus is snoring.
Looks like the party's winding down, except over by the boat. Doug's talking to himself. Probably all those ribs.
Me, I gotta pee. All that green beverage. I’m turning into a cumulonimbus. My head is up in 7th heaven and I’m loaded with moisture. Whooo-ee. I decide I better go around to the front of the house. 'Cause, y'know, I'm a modest cloud.
There’s a phone truck outside Yahweh's place, and there’s a ladder against the house. Um. Better not cut loose here, then. Might short-circuit something, or electrocute myself. (Can clouds get electrocuted, I wonder?)
I move briskly along one vertical horizon, looking for a safe place. Someplace dry that needs rain. I spot what looks like a field of wheat, growing on a pale, soft belly. Looks dry. Farmers need rain. So, I cut loose. It’s a good storm, too. I even somehow cut loose with a bolt of lightning and plenty of thunder, which surprised me. I guess I clouds can't get electrocuted.
I look. The wheatfield is wet and shiny with green liquid. Some of it is running off to the sides of the belly and down.
Suddenly, the wheatfield sits up. There are little huts and houses on it, I see now, and the people inside are looking up. Not at me. At the head of the guy whose belly was covered with wheat. He’s wearing a cool hat. Like King Tut or something. His eyes are painted all around, very gothic and he has red lips.
“Who dares expel urine on the belly of Osiris?” he rumbles. “Who dares fling lightning at the mighty God? If this is some sort of Olympian prank, I swear, I’ll…”
Oh, shit, I think. This isn’t good. Osiris. Some Egyptian big shot. “Uhhh, it was me. Sorry.”
“What, you? The cloud? Who do you work for?” His teeth are very white and sharp.
“Nobody, really. I mean, I used to be a detective for Sufi U, but then I became…a cloud…and…look. I really didn’t mean anything by it. Your wheat looked a little dry, and I don’t know how to control the thunder and lightning, yet…” My voice trailed off. I sensed I was in trouble.
"Really? An inexperienced cloud wanders into the wrong part of town? Ha, hahahahaha!" His laughter shakes every droplet of me.
And so he poked one finger into the top of me and began swirling my innards. It was a very strange feeling. I felt myself turning into a twisted, like a, a sort of…o, shit! A tornado! He’s turning me into a tornado.
“See what you think about that!” he laughed. A hohoho, hah hahaha! And all the people on his belly laughed, too, as I spun away across the adjacent landscape of heaven, unable to control my twisting and undulating dance. I was sucking things up, up into myself, but what? Where am I headed? Is this up or down? I feel something squishy being sucked up into me. And then something crunchy. Tastes vaguely like a Chinese dish I had once. I feel nauseous.
“Twist and turn and turn and twist he goes, and where he stops, nobody knows!” And as I skittered off, Osiris just laughed and laughed, and the people and the wheat and the little houses and huts rippled in waves.