Blue Wale

You have been breathing, been lying. You've gone down, deep. You've come back. You've done it all before. Don't be scared to go back. Don't be scared to go back. What did you see? You saw thought shake the flesh, grey matter tremble under the vision of the future, bone creak to a stop at the very sense of rationality. It's all been pushing; your body like toothpaste in the tubes of times; crushed and brushed in the bristles of a blue wale's jaws. Fish smells like pure sadness. The rot I cannot fix, and so I wander. Deeper into the blue wale I trail. Pink and grey slosh at my ankles and knees. I hear a voice reverberate against these walls. I approach a great sack of flesh hanging from the roof of this stench ridden mouth. It sings to me: tell your stories, find a new way of talking; a voice is nothing but a new form of action; be different, be you; shape and turn the tubes. The voice is too familiar to be comfortable when sat on these ears. I fold the cushion of my head lobes and find it a hiding place; its comfort something I can't accommodate. The song still rings in the flesh around me. And I feel it pierce my frame as I slodge forward. The grey and pink soup is getting thick. The slime between my fingers is making me feel weak. I feel a pit in my stomach start to fill. It's with acids and refuse I now wander. The acid burbles in me. There's no escape, another voice. It's too familiar to be stomached. I try to throw up. I dive into the pink and grey ocean. I think I have found the heart of the issue. I hold my nose and drink in the briny waves. This may kill me, but the acid in my belly must go before it starts to speak. I gag and pull at my throat. I scratch and cut, then just give up. I pull my eyelids from their place and harbour in my eyebrows the waste of all the visions I never had. I then take my toe nails and gouge my eyes out. I push my elbows deep into my eye sockets until I can lick my wrists with an upward flick of my tongue. I scream with the flap of my throat and bear all the weight I can with my chest. I push and pull with impossible vigour whilst kicking myself twelve times in the spine. The initiation is complete. The call may begin. I free my throat of my limbs and jam my knuckles into my belly button. I find the plug and pull. POP. And out it comes. The acid sprite floats in the pink and grey bob and ebb in front of me. I tap my shoulder 4 times and drop from between my legs, three litres of wale guts, purple now they've become. I watch my excretion swirl around my floating carcass and begin to sink. Only my eyes are above the surface of this turbulent sea. I taste the irony blood of a dead creature I can't see below the surface. Little did I know it's lunch time down below. The sprite catches my attention and it asked me one question: Do You Know How To Sing? I said no, and it dunked my head and exploded. I flew through the feeding frenzy, a carcass so stripped not even the wale sharks would have me. I find the underbelly of the beast I came in. The waters turn clear, and wash up a further stink. Three fish bid me a good morning. I told them good bye. I have travelled so far now and don't know where to go. I don't want to talk to the wale; he doesn't like parasites. So I sat and meditated, for four-thousand years, on the issue of love and sense, and came to the quick conclusion that this place really stinks. My limbs had grown back, some extras now too. Four thousand years can give you a lot. I tumbled through the clear waters, flipping and spinning on my new nine hands, my seven feet and sixteen fins. I moved so fast through the undercurrent, I awoke the fog. It spat between my eyes and said I should stop. I refused, and dove into the small intestines nearby. A brittle smell circled my nostrils as I supermanned my way through the miles of twisted cord. My fingers would reach past the lumen and play a tune, on the ridged, bumps and pollops of this slimy speed show. I found myself instrumenting a great escape, through the shitter of a great beast and back towards help. Four yellow dinghy boats greeted me at the shore, but said they could only guide me inland if I was going to refuse to shower. I eventually opened the door to my mansion, found my mum and sisters and shouted at them. I then went to my beach shack and found my girlfriend; she never noticed I went; only 3 days went by on the calendar. And she had been meditating, lost in space on her own. The disco clubs have ran out of roller blades. I told her quickly how I'd forgotten her face, but that it was a pleasure to see it back under her hair. She lost it twice underneath it. It took us a thousand years to find. She asked me how many sacks of nonsense I had brought back for dinner. I said nine. We ate that evening, both rather blue. We lamented how the world used us and how we hadn't figured out how to properly use. We then stood before a slim mirror and it told us a story; we were old and only getting uglier - there was nothing we could do. We drank the elixir of the millennium past and went to bed, huffing up great plumes of smoke. She became a dinosaur and I a fish. We swam to Mars, to Jupiter and then settled in bed. We saw a lot that night, and hadn't yet closed our eyes. Our stomachs didn't want to settle. She said I smelt nice.