“LOWER HER DOWN GENTLY PATRICK!! WE’VE FOUR MORE BUCKETS TO FILL BEFORE THE DAY’S OUT AND WE NEED TO GATHER AND COMPACT AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE!”.
I knew I was shouting but I needed to keep the conversation going. Things had changed since Patrick’s near death endeavour the previous week and I was intent on keeping him occupied both physically and verbally as we began to lay out our self-publishing master plan.
Part of me told me he would be fine. Part of me agreed that the noose and the beam had been a turning point in Patrick’s life. He had been given strength, a second jolt to continue existing. I wanted to believe these thoughts. I wanted to believe that Patrick would get better. He certainly looked much happier. I had even caught him whistling the other day as he strolled across from my left inner ear lobe towards my broken, distorted septum.
But here we were, shovelling the shit straight back in with grins on our faces and the sun on our backs.
Still though. I hated the silence. There hadn’t been much of it granted but I had tried my best to make sure his every waking moment had been filled with sound.
“JAM HER IN GOOD AND TIGHT PATRICK!”, I continued to yell. “MAKE SURE THERE’S ENOUGH ROOM FOR THREE MORE LAYERS!!”
We had been tirelessly working all morning long. We had spent the last several hours raising and lowering buckets between my mouth and my ears trying to cram as much knowledge as possible into my long term memory bank.
We knew that knowledge was the key to helping us on our self-publishing path. Surely if we had enough of it we would be able to spark a plethora of ideas. And so we had gone to the one place where knowledge was in abundance.
Now, if we had known that the information we were currently scooping into buckets was taken directly from the reject lines, you know, the ideas and thoughts that a brain expels as fast as possible in order to prevent toxic contamination? Well, we would have stopped immediately. We would never have begun. But here we were, shovelling the shit straight back in with grins on our faces and the sun on our backs.
“DO YOU FEEL ANYTHING YET MASTER!?”, Patrick called up as he pulled down heavy on the tethered line, feet planted shoulder width apart for posture and steadiness.
“I DO PATRICK!!”, I replied with glee. “I SEE SO MANY IDEAS! IT’S ALL BECOMING SO CLEAR TO ME NOW!!”
“SHARE SOME WITH ME MASTER!”, Patrick hollered back up in excitement. “UNLEASH THE INNER CREATIVITY. LET IT RAIN DOWN UPON ME!!”
Suddenly, the vowel exploded sending a wave of putrid acid down the back of my throat.
Eager to keep Patrick engaged in conversation I began to spout my new found ideas aloud for all to hear.
‘”ELEPHANT! CHOCOLATE COVERED CHIMNEY! HAIRY MARS BAR! THE IMMACULATE TOENAIL CONSUMPTION!”
Patrick tried to interject but I was on a roll.
“MARZIPAN! FLATULENT LEPERS! PERVERT UNDERPANTS! EXPLOSIVE TIRAMISU!
The ideas flowed from my mouth, bouncing off my teeth as they pirouetted with pride into the awaiting atmosphere and it’s welcoming array.
I felt so invigorated. I felt so in tune. Nothing could stop me now.
As the last vowel began to edge it’s way out of my mouth to join it’s party of three on the other side a foul stench numbed over my gums.
“That’s strange”, I thought to myself as I grasped the vowel between my tongue and the roof of my mouth, pressing down firmly on it’s belly for closer inspection.
“I don’t remember drinking bin juice?”.
Suddenly, the vowel exploded sending a wave of putrid acid down the back of my throat. I gagged almost immediately. The force of the wave was countered by a flash flood of vomit as it rose up from my bowels, pushing the putrid matter aside as it spilled out over my lips and down my chin towards the speckled ground below.
Patrick leapt to safety, narrowly dodging the acidic rain as it fell from my mouth, melting and burning anything it came into contact with. It was a narrow miss but a miss nonetheless.
“I TRIED TO WARN YOU MASTER!”, Patrick cried out. “I TRIED TO STOP YOU BEFORE IT WAS TOO LATE!”
“I’M FULL OF SHIT PATRICK!!, I replied in disdain as I spat a wedge of carrot down onto the street below.
“INSTEAD OF TOPPING MYSELF UP WITH CONCENTRATED KNOWLEDGE, IVE DONE THE OPPOSITE PATRICK! I’VE DILUTED MY BRAIN WITH GRADE ‘A’ FAECES!”
“ALL IS NOT LOST MASTER”, Patrick replied.
“HAVE YOU HEARD OF THE PSYCHIC VOICES?”
“PSYCHIC VOICES?”, I returned.
It just so happened I had.
Legend said that their digital voices rung true and rung loud. Locked away behind something called a podcast, their essence was known to provide answers and guidance to all that sought them out.
All we needed was an iTunes password.
I pulled out my smartphone and began to enter the cipher. As I confirmed the final letter of the password and hit the blue acceptance button, the application purred and vibrated to life. Soon we would unlock the digital Gods. Soon we would have all of the answers. With that, I plugged in my earphones and cranked up the volume.