Fairy Tale with CDs, cont’d
Ok, maybe not such a hot idea, the fairly tale inspired by CDs bit. But I have to finish the story, so I shall, then back to just listening to the damn things and writing the first thing that pops into my head.
(part 1 is in the previous post).
Mr. G. was, it seemed, a Mister, as he had an adam’s apple, a man’s hands and feet, and a man’s face, but he also seemed to have prominent bosoms, and on second glance his face didn’t seem so manly. “You, I think, are not a girl,” Ravi said. “No,” Mr. G. replied, “I am in the process of becoming pansexual, but my other half is gone, and without her, I have no model.” He stood three heads taller than Ravi, and many more heads taller than Bob. He swayed back and forth gently as he stared the two travelers up and down for an uncomfortable period of time.
“Want some E? Ribbit,” Bob asked.
“Thanks no, I am past drugs now. Unless you have some nice Jenkem. Oh never mind, perhaps I should become a pan-racial being, do you thing I could borrow some of your characteristics, and you could borrow some of mine?” He asked Ravi.
“I think I prefer not to have bosoms, though I am not sure about that,” Ravi said. “Might we stay with you until the monsoons are finished, and we can talk some more about this exchange?”
“Yes, yes, of course, welcome,” answered Mr. G., and he led them into a large room strewn with pillows. The scent of cinammon wafted through the air, and music tinkled gently from the walls.
“What a lovely song,” Ravi said.
“Indeed, that song is by Stevie Wonder (Original Musiqarium I), a very famous blind person in the United States. His blindness gives him superpowers, as you can hear…” Ravi and Mr. G. swayed gently together, until Bob suddenly began singing “I just called… to say… I love you… I just–”
“Please! Hush, frog creature. Eat this.” Mr. G. extracted a fly the size of a tennis ball from his pocket and threw it on the ground.
“Cor!” Bob leaped down from Ravi’s shoulder and began gnawing on the fly.
“That is a very large fly.” Ravi said. Mr. G. nodded. “Yes, my friend David brings me all kinds of strange insects, it seems they emerge from his ears as he sleeps and then gather at the foot of his bed, awaiting orders. He believes he too is some kind of insect, though I think not.”
“What does he do?”
“Ah, he is a musician too. Everyone is a musician!” Mr. G. shouted, and flipped a hidden switch near the doorjam, causing an image to appear on the far wall:
“You see how he might think he is an insect? But he is not, he is a musician. He once had a very famous band (Talking Heads, Remain in Light), but no longer. Now his fame is more dispersed. He brings me the insects, and I do not know what to do with them, though now I can give them to your friend.”
“He is not exactly my friend,” Ravi said.
“No matter,” Mr. G. replied. “At least he can eat insects. My cousin is part frog, but has only Frog Eyes (The Bloody Hand), not a Frog Mouth, so he is no use. But he is also a musician!”
“Oh dear, I am afraid that is is true, everyone is a musician.”
“It is true. We cannot differentiate between ourselves, and must become a single being…”
As he pronounced these last words, Mr. G. began to expand, slowly at first, then more quickly, until he had filled the entire room. From his pores a kind of acid began to leak, breaking down the cellular structure of Ravi and Bob and of Mr. G. too, until the entire room was gorged with grey goo. Then the grey goo began to hum, and then to hum some more. After several weeks of humming, the grey goo had developed several patterns that it liked to repeat, and it was humming one of these when there was a knock at the door. Every person in the world stood outside, listening to the song, so the grey goo began to seep out into the yard, and soon it had absorbed them all. The end.