TARANTULAS CRAWLED ALL OVER MY FACE

Tarantulas crawled all over my face. And I liked it. Their little hairy legs seemed to push right into my pores, pressing nicely into the grooves and swizzling around in the oil. For so many years I had been deathly afraid of spiders,. What a fool I had been. Now that I knew they were the ultimate inner pore masseurs, I made it my business to have them crawling all over my body at all times. I no longer needed clothing, since I was now covered head to toe in tarantulas, twenty fours a day. I'm not sure what the tarantulas were getting out of this, some sick sexual pleasure no doubt.

A GOAT CLAMBERS

A goat clambers along the rocky outcrop that it calls home. Well naturally the goat doesn't actually call it home, goats don't speak English and don't really think that way. Goats speak Spanish and like to think wherever they lay their hat is their home. Unfortunately most goats eat their hats as soon as they get them and then have nowhere to call home. But perhaps that's just the way they like it. After clambering for a while, the goat  became tired of living out this goaty cliche and levitated the rest of the way to the disco, green lasers shooting out of his eyes and cutting down trees all the way.

EVERY MORNING I SEE THE WIND

Every morning I see the wind. I see it wrap itself around the leaves and dance with them. And every morning I think perhaps I will write about the wind, but I can't write about the wind every day. It makes me think of young lovers on the park bench like in that old Nolan Strong number. It makes me think of wicked winds a coming and evil carnivals coming with them. But mostly it makes me think of a certain woman and pictures of her riding a tram on a certain day and the way I felt watching the wind that day. Duke Ellington was drifting out loud and clear from the house and the sun was shining and I could feel a phantasmic current connecting us across the city and I felt buoyant and serene and on a plateau of pleasure and contentment that is rare indeed.

MINNIE THE MOOCHER

As Minnie The Moocher kicked the gong around Chinatown, carefree as a lark, the locals were plotting her demise. Day and night they were tormented by the sound of its clanging. They constantly worried that their children would be injured as she sent it flying down the alleyways, knocking over trash cans and scaring cats. How they cursed the day that man taught her how to kick the gong around. They plotted perhaps that they could poison her food, but she never stopped to eat. All she did was walk the streets, surreptitiously sniffing cocaine from inside her shirtsleeve, and kick that gong ever further.

SHE LET HER HEAD LOL

She let her head lol on the edge of the martini glass. The gin and vermouth felt cool on her skin, and just the fumes from the alcohol were intoxicating. She had climbed the ladder and stepped in gingerly, not sure if she would have some adverse reaction to soaking in hard liquor. She had been doing it most of her life in a manner of speaking, but this was quite a next step. She giggled and splashed the liquor with her toes, batting the olive around like a cat with a ball of yarn. Breathing a great sigh of pleasure, she turned over and arched her back, pressing her breasts against the glass. This day was turning out wonderfully.

GREEN LUMPS OF KRYPTONITE

Glowing lumps of Kryponite. The green light radiated on Superman's face. He knew it meant weakness and sickness and certain death to pick them up, but flying and lifting tall buildings and helping people had become such a drag. He needed new thrills, and that could only come with danger. With the possibility that he might end up on the losing end of a confrontation. He blinked hard, swallowed, and made a high whimpering wheezing sound. Then he picked up the lumps of Kryptonite and stuffed them into his underwear. Feeling woozy immediately, he staggered onto the street and started shouting obscenities at the first man he saw, a rather burly bearded fellow who looked as if he probably drove a truck and ate several steaks at a sitting and didn't take kindly to speculation about what his wife and mother did together when he was on the road. As the man laid his fists and boots into Superman, he tried wanly to resist and felt a great tremble shoot up his spine at the uselessness of his efforts.

I AWOKE AS A NUB OF POLLEN

I awoke as a nub of pollen, drifting on the wind. It felt good. I hadn't had too many cares beforehand, but now I was just cruising wherever the day should take me, cool wind buffeting me around, supporting me like a great invisible pillow. I began to think about my new life as pollen, and wonder how much I really knew about my kind. I was pretty sure we had some role in the sex life of bees, and possibly we were like heroin for some species of bird, but this was all hazy hearsay from my school days when I stared out the windows and imagined many things, but never that this pollen talk would someday be so relevant to me. I certainly hoped I was right about the bee sex thing. As a human I had always greatly enjoyed sex, and if I couldn't somehow be involved in bee or bird sex, I didn't see much hope of me having any in this new pollen nub life.