Sunday, January 29, 2006

Unlocking the Brain Fart

A smell lifts into the morning air, a dispersal of particles, the most potent of which fight their way into the limited convolution of your gray matter. You breathe in deep. Sound waves bounce off someone’s voice traversing the rills of your hearing. The sunlight hits your eyes as a key swinging blithely seeking a doorway. Trip goes the trigger, the door swings open and you are in the desert but you can definitely smell your grandmother’s tortillas.

She’s flipping them on the comal. You hear the sounds of her rough fingers sliding against the hot iron as she flips the crisping flatbread alternating with the sound of the rolling pin as she prepares another for the tacos everyone is going to eat before David the Alone drinks all the milk from the fridge that stood guard the night Grandpa drunk himself stupid and blamed your cousins for the death of his firstborn son Manuel who drowned a year before you were born in the ocean you first learned to surf. South Padre is a curtain unfurled, releasing hot dogs and junkies and spring breakers and nights in Mexico where preppy college kids are talking to you in slowly improvised garbles, that could pass for Spanish if you were a retard, asking you to “por favor, watcha my caro?” and which bars are better so you point in the direction of another fight where Teri ripped off Mari’s shirt and all the guys wrestled for a view of the ruins of the Roman landscape on your 25th birthday candles you lit the fires down the alley you took for a shortcut every morning that you had the munchies so you ate Vela’s gross tacos because they were the only taqueria open 24 years until the sand leaves your system. It clogs up everything inside.

Another deep breath.

Fucking sand.

You ask your buddies if they smell that.

"I just farted" Steve confesses with a smirk.

Fucking asshole.


infinitesimal said...

telling too.
I am from Houston.

infinitesimal said...

I just read again.
Well and um
because I feel you there and I do not know, but I do.
so keep telling me because I keep reading.
Your first post maybe put me there the most.

(There being the good place in your reality)

I am tired and maybe make no sense, but just wanted to pop in and keep you company again.

I check you out every day.

It is good to find something new.


infinitesimal said...

no wait,
it was the second post, sorry,
grounds for feeding the beast.
yes I very much felt you there too.

I am linking you to my site ASAP power of the scar and I will ask you this:

What color are you?

Mr Q said...

I can only say that this stinks and you know what I mean. :-)

Michelle Fry said...

I like how I can smell the tortillas you describe and can picture the preppy frat boys in Mexico but man does it slam me down at the end back into reality.

infinitesimal said...

Yeah, Hi, Me again.

The brain farts??

Gettin' a bit STALE.

Feed your fans!!