Moi Le Cthulhu

Posted: August 30, 2011 in beTwixt & beTween

He found himself floating.

The noise in the sardine can shaped bus didn’t disrupt his thoughts. How can one complain from noise and the sounds that make up life’s ambient soundtrack?

Sadly some do and those are the very same assholes that lock themselves up in a room with a cigarette in one hand and a pen in another. The smell of coffee fills the room, where this so called writer is trying to squeeze a few good ideas from his mind. He is sitting there on his chair like a man leaning over a dirty porcelain bowl waiting for the last few drops to run out from an aging bladder.

I am going to keep this short. I only wrote this because I wanted to add a few words to the above illustration. So a picture speaks a thousand words! Well fuck maybe I want it to speak a thousand words + 405 words.

So where were we? Sorry had to drive my Grandmother to my uncle’s place. See my creative process didn’t get fucked up. I pity those who find it hard to be creative under fire.

The shell that brought down the wall didn’t stop Waheed Wehdani from finishing page 30 of his novel, Wolves with One Foot in the Trap. He heard the roaring of the tank that was stationed up the road. Its chained wheels tore through the flesh of the earth. “Zionists bitches…” he thought to himself.

That’s another story …

Back to the man who found himself floating.

Suddenly his lower body disappeared. Pain shot through his spine. Five gray tentacles shot from the bleeding void.

“Fuck it hurts! Nobody told me that metamorphosis hurts like a hardened piece of shit.”

He forgot the pain the moment he heard the screams. People were pushing and shoving. Men screamed like women, and women, well, they screamed like women too. Fear filled their eyes that were glazed with a matte finish.

Half man half octopus the young man tore through the roof and shot towards the azureus sky.

“Funny! I never realized I can fly or survive the coldness of space. Fuck! Now how am I supposed to finish writing my 1000 word essay on the process of creative writing? I have two days left. Shit!”

A shade of sadness splashed across the canvas of his face. You could read the title of his thoughts in his eyes.

“Moi Le Cthulhu! Moi Le Cthulhu!”


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