Good Day.

I am peaking when my sister, home sick for the day, announces that I must buy her Mi Goreng. Distracted by the patterns in the road, I can barely walk straight. I spot a fellow pair of tortured bare feet and watch them cross the road; cracked at the edges like worn leather. It is only when I hit Coles that I realise my true dilemma - I have no idea where they keep the darned stuff. I dial home, get a wrong number, and try again.
"Hi"
"Muz?"
"Yaah?"
"Mon can't find the Mi Goreng."
She turns out to be no help. I try the aisles, each more confusing than the next. It's not with the two minute noodles. It's not with any of the noodles. Or the pasta. It is, in fact, with the taco shells.
To whomever decides where this shit goes: I'm on LSD. What the fuck is your excuse?

Outside, there are flowers on the walls, breathing blue like the sky without these dropbellied clouds. Vines multiply beneath the petals. Sinister fingers, they creep behind the loveliness, yearning for a throat to choke. Above is purbleblue and heavy-wet-trembling with anticipation. The Earth, full of a hunger I don't think I'll ever comprehend, is begging for God's cumshot to the face.
I am almost home when it starts to rain.

2pm. I'm sitting in the kitchen, chewing gum and rolling cigarettes. There are flies in the house and cracks in the walls. They shimmer and shift and breathe sickness into the afternoon; I am afflicted. I am free.