A crazy fog has just rolled in off the sea, suddenly converting Copacabana into a humid surreal night time nether world of terror. As if it wasn’t ugly and strange enough to begin with in the middle of this dark carnival of lost souls. Actually the fog seems to have even taken some of the edge off the stark sharp ugliness. Night four of this pre-apocalypse Carnaval where everything seems so sordid and common and dull. Never have I seen such a frightful assortment of fat, ugly deformed looking bitches out on a ho-stroll. Never. Not here, not nowhere. Its like a horror show out here.
And now with this unseasonable fog rolling in its all in perfect creep show order to make a profoundly disturbing spectacle of the whole depressing affair. It would be hilarious if it wasn’t so spooky. What was just revolting an hour ago has suddenly become downright terrifying. Shadowy old flabby-ass fuck-monsters creeping around in a foggy horror movie creep show scenario that damn near gives me the chills. Think its time to get back on the bike and split this scene, take a ride over to Lapa and hope I don’t get stabbed in the back for the gold in my teeth over there. Where have all the sweet little whores of yesteryear gone?
The other day when I commented to Narcisa how I couldn’t find a decent looking bitch out here anymore, she just smiled enigmatically and informed me that she had cast some kinda spiteful voodoo magic spell and it wasn’t gonna happen for me anymore out here. Well that may well be so. But that don’t mean shit to me. I’m out here anyway and for me its all grist for the poetry mill goddammit! Fog, fat asses, flabby rubber monster mask faces, fried egg tits and all. Whatever don’t kill me makes me meaner. And more depraved. Not necessarily a bad thing in these final days of humanity. I feel like a Pit-Bull in a world of Chihuahuas tonight….
An hour later I walk thru the fires of hell in Lapa. The gates to the lower regions are wide open now. Walking through slime and piss and snot and filth over fetid cobblestone streets, gasping for breath in the piss-stinking sweaty mist of drunken masses, pounding drums, voices singing, screaming, shouting… Then right in the middle of all the stupid apocalyptic mayhem and dementia, I saw it – a ghost. Not just any old ghost, but a true demon, an angry shit spitting fire and brimstone demonic entity, a lost soul out on a day-pass from the darkest regions of hell. One of Narcisa’s old friends who kept going, taking it to the limit. Now she’s a toothless old beggar, rolling in the gutter, filthy, with a nuthouse crewcut, the shaved head adding to the overall cadaverous screaming skull look. Nice.. Spitting drunk, demented, violent, crazy. Looks like a walking mummy with AIDS. Thinks she’s got it going on too. That’s the worst part… Made me think.
**NOTE SIMILARITIES
There but for the grace of God goes the whole fucking human race. The only thing standing between me and such a fate is the small degree of humility I’ve somehow aquired from the multiple ass-kickings life has bestowed on me like a shower of holy Grace. Guess that’s what it takes. Multiply that by 8 billion and you got a pretty good vision of the near future of the planet. Party down!
Copyright Jonathan Shaw 2009.
wow. that last line, especially, is deafening… and so…damn… insightful. awesome shit.
Surreal…