Metallic Doom in the early hours…

But first…
Dulltown, UK: Today’s elephant in the room is the one embarrassing everybody by balancing on her front feet with her back legs waving in the air like she used to do in the circus.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The phone rang at 2am this morning. I was in bed. I had just finished a chapter of The Birth of Kitaro by Shigeru Mizuki, I had put the light out, and was about to doze off.
I picked the phone up and an echoing metallic voice said, ‘You’ll never guess what’s in it…’ I didn’t respond. The voice again said, ‘You’ll never guess what’s in it…’
Again I remained silent. The voice enlarged on its first statement, ‘You’ll never guess what’s in it, Dave…’
This idiot had to be either Tony Mayonnaise or Simon Doom, a pair of poets from the glory days of the Hull Surrealist League. I took the 50/50 chance and said, ‘Hello Simon, what do you want?’
If a stunned disappointed silence has a particular sound, that is what I heard. Then the voice said, It’s a new app I’ve got on my phone Dave…’
‘Good,’ I said and I hung up.
Of course he rang back immediately and now in his normal, but drunken voice said, ‘You’ll never guess what’s in it Dave…’
‘In what?’ I said, my voice revealing a little of my exasperation.
‘In my surrealist van,’ he said.
‘You haven’t got a van,’ I said.
‘No, but if I had…’ he said.
‘Alright…’ I said, with as much resignation in my voice as I could convey, ‘…what is in your van? You’d better get it off your chest,’ and then I added, ‘I might jot this down and share it with the world in my blog tomorrow morning…’

Six packets of tarantula-shaped chocolate biscuits.
A small piece of Francis Bacon’s bacon.
A one-metre cube of lard with a precious jewel hidden in it.
Two stuffed goats painted orange.
A solid gold model of a slice of wholemeal bread.
A sleeping politician in a pink plastic bag.
A sunset glow captured in a cheap plastic egg cup.
A dozen coloured crayons floating in a bucket of warm engine oil.
A song with ten lords a-leaping in it.
A 3B pencil the size of a crocodile.
A hammer once used by Harrison Ford to hang a picture.
A blackened iron latch from the Gate of Hell.
One of Jane Austen’s white ankle socks.
A pod of dilithium crystals from the Starship Enterprise.
The voice of Barbra Streisand in a bubble under water.
An ice crystal shaped like the smell of the jungle.
A polished mahogany box with a freshly fried egg in it.

Simon Doom 2017.

About Dave Whatt

Grumpy old surrealist artist, musician, postcard maker, bluesman, theatre set designer, and debonair man-about-town. My favourite tools are the plectrum and the pencil...
This entry was posted in art, books, brain, composition, Hull.UK., humour, poetry, reading, Star Trek, style, surrealism, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to Metallic Doom in the early hours…

  1. Aside from the circus elephant, and your weird friends who ring you up with ramblings, (Jolly good post though – loved the Streisand Voice Bubble!) I just noticed you have 500 f0llowers (+1). How amazing is that? Well done, I’m delighted for you! Thats worthy of a celebration, yes?

    • Dave Whatt says:

      Yes, 500… I’m amazed.
      It feels odd though – it’s difficult to imagine them all out there in the big wide world.
      I think of the people who read my stuff as just a couple of people sitting opposite me eating buns and supping coffee at a cafe table…
      By the way, wanna buy a fried egg in a shiny wooden box?…

  2. parkartist says:

    What no Partridge in a pear tree!

  3. Claudia says:

    Is he that clever during the day? If so he should be writing novels!

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