Descartes's Colouring Book

Henry sick as a dog, he just couldn’t seem to shake the gookalygok, wondering what kind of a virus last a month? He felt doomed, disheveled, feeble, covered in green slim. 

He looked like shit as well, like an old Bulldog with scattered strands of long blond rooster hair growing out of the top of his head and a mouth full of busted up tar coloured teeth, a contender in the ugly dog contest.  

Hard to get much inspiration here, old age physically beating the shit out of Henry, a hero slumped in front of a bowl of noodle soup, despicable, invisible to most.

Dope and booze made him sick, he couldn’t take it anymore, thinking of it made him nauseous. Nausea didn’t stop  the old fool though, he didn’t know any better, ready to hit the opium parlour for relief on a whim. 

As a young man he spent hours looking at himself in mirrors, never missing a chance to catch a reflection in a window sill, now avoiding mirrors like washed-up vampire.

Wondering what there was to write about? Henry’s latest story, “ High in the Pines” took him out of his pathetic self some,   romantic stuff from the past. Henry a pus and blood filled pimple, Quasimodo dreaming of Esmeralda past… inner self fading fast. 

In front of a computer typing  away madly in a coffee shop, watching the young things sucking up university rot, beautiful and fit, the world was about them, not him, and he knew it.  Henry, poisons festering and morphing inside him, breathing goo on the innocents in mute fantasy, spreading Ebola and plague as he breathed, the destroyer of young dreams and hope.

Stopping by the Chinaman’s on the way home, he scored cocaine and Oxy-Codiene which he pulverised and snorted for a balanced high. 

A few minutes into it and Henry was rocking again, "Tumbling Dice" was playing on the coloured radio. All things were a matter of perception he thought,  Descartes was right, it doesn’t exist unless you perceive it.  “Good and bad days, feelings,” were a colouring book of perception.

Descartes’ colouring book, that's the ticket Henry thought.

High in the Pines

On a bus late one night in darkness,  Henry deep in Mexico somewhere, doped up on reefer and codeine. 

It was late at night and the driver woke him with a shove, saying…

“Gringo this is the last stop for you, get out and take your dope with you.”

Henry wasn’t sure were he was,  Rio Verde maybe.

He had no destination in mind and this city was a good as any, he liked Mexico of the Antigua, the past transported him.  

Looking for a cheap hotel he found Los Americana, the rooms were somber and rundown with mildewed brown wallpaper and old curtains made of orange lace on the dirty windows.

He laid down in bed and snorted some pulverised Codeine off a small mirror and then took a drink of mescal from his flask with a gold skull and crossbones on it, a joyous poison all right. 

Henry loved the sound of the Cantina bands, happy go lucky speed freak stuff he thought. Sitting alone and listening for hours, he would eat and drink too, copious amounts of homemade tortilla and beans while downing shots of tequila.

Henry was eyeballing  a ravened haired gal with milk chocolate skin, a Barbara Carrera in the jungle, a brick shit house of a women, Henry liked big exotic women. 

Having finished a few hard  pints he was ready to strike it up with Isabella. He asked her to go on a picnic tomorrow afternoon (How corny Henry thought?).

She says, 

“Sure gringo what is your name?” 

“Henry” he says. 

“Ok Poppy (Her name for Henry) meet me in front of the cantina tomorrow at two and bring plenty of booze and dope, I will bring beans and tortilla.”

A good trade off Henry thought.

Then Rosa says,

“ You got any coke Poppy?”

Henry surprised, happy she dug dope.

“ Sure babe,  Codeine  and killer bud too.”

Henry  turgid,  full of sex charged vision…. delicious  anticipation,  would the moment live up to the prelude he wondered?

Rosa and Henry met as planned, heading up hill looking for pine trees to lay in and lose themselves in drug, booze and sex.

The innocents spread out a colourful Mexican blanket on the pine needles and downed codeine with tequila as the smoked dope. With their heads well into the clouds, Rosa spread her legs in a debauched manner. Henry skates his hand leisurely up Rosa’s chocolate coated and wet legs ripping off her panties.

Henry nonplussed says,

“ Rosa darling you have a cock!” Realising that he should finish what he started, after all, he had feelings for Rosa 

Rosa says to Henry,

“ Poppy darling didn’t you know that the Hindu God Krishna is both man and women, the lack of gender propels the God to the top of the chakra chain and into the heavens.”

Henry says, 

“ Babe we sure are high in the pines.”