Monday, July 9, 2012
Lady Salvia's Neighborhood
My neighbors and I live between Hustle and Bustle, two towns separated by a hilly outgrowth of tall trees and snuggled-in homes. Our street is a cul-de-sac that we call ‘Psychedelic Circle’. It’s a tiny community unlike anything you have ever seen.
A few moments ago, I was gazing in the direction of my next door neighbor’s porch. Suddenly, a large wet tongue protruded out the front door carrying my neighbor to the mail box. She was actually standing on the tip of a wet, pink tongue. In her left hand was a glass water pipe. Pulling in a lungful of smoke, she glanced over at me with a knowing look of recognition. And then, just as suddenly as it appeared, the wet tongue retracted backwards into her front door, carrying the lady and her mail.
Simultaneously, across the street from her, ‘Checkers’ was patrolling his front lawn, occasionally sniffing the ground in front of his nose. He had the appearance of a two dimensional red and black checkerboard. He was only three inches wide, but his other dimensions were normal.
Checkers sped up to me and panted, “I think it’s 428 feet.”
“What’s 428 feet?”, I asked.
“The circumference of our cul-de-sac. Two times Pi times the radius equals the circumference.” Checkers then stiffened up and stared off at nothing in particular. After a few seconds, a steaming little loaf of shit exited his hinder.
Eyeing him with a look of contempt, I said, “Really, was that necessary?”
He responded, “What…? I’m a dog!”
Checkers then turned up his nose, twirled 195 degrees to the left, stopped, adjusted 15 degrees to the right, and pranced away.
The other neighbors were already beginning to congregate on Terence McKenna’s front lawn. People of all ages were passing around pipes, and the aroma of cannabis, incense and peppermints punctuated the air. Every Saturday as the sun was going down, the ghost of Terence McKenna would walk out onto his front porch and sit in a rocking chair. He would then speak eloquently about all things cosmic. He had a remarkable voice. It resonated out of his translucent mouth and nose, drifting across the cul-de-sac. Sometimes, when the stars came out, and if you were in the right frame of mind, you could see photons streaming down onto the roof of Terence’s house; photons from a light source far away; shimmering echoes reverberating from the transcendental object at the end of time.
Directly opposite McKenna’s house was a strange and mysterious residence. It was a dome-like dwelling with an exterior framework made of what looked like stick-figure humanoids. Connected together by reaching out to one another, these humanoids resembled reinforcing iron rods. But they weren’t made of iron. Rather, they were part of a root system that snaked upwards from the ground, enveloping the entirety of the dome‘s surface. Filling in the gaps between the root latticework were large, organic flower petals.
A door composed of wood imported from Oaxaca, Mexico slowly opened. The humanoid root system covering the house displayed a kind of reverence as Lady Salvia exited the door into her yard. She had golden brown hair that spiraled down past her shoulders. In her hand was an old fashioned can with a curved spout. Walking to the center of her yard, she tilted the can, allowing rivulets of water, the color of diamonds, to flow into the ground.
Almost immediately, the far end of Lady Salvia’s front yard began to shake violently. The ground unzipped. And then, as if on cue, Mazatec ancestors rocketed from the underworld, rising like bursts of lava into the sky.
Sometimes the people of Hustle and Bustle would talk about observing strange sights, but they never suspected it all originated from our hidden away cul-de-sac that we lovingly called ‘Lady Salvia's Neighborhood’.