Is it Pinkish?

himktages`

Pinkish? No, it’s a Crucifix!

[excerpt from Katz of Hinterland]

Comments & Q’s welcome 🙂 contact at bottom  … also, for best view, zoom in a few clicks 🙂

Phelia lays her weary head on a blood-reddish pillow. She feels herself in a rare mellowish mood, and so she reaches for her Pink Floyd CD, the one with the cosmic track that sounds like an interstellar journey, and she inserts it and pushes the play button. She also turns on her DVD player and plays the section of 2001 Space Odyssey, no volume, where the music of Pink Floyd seems to fit right into the imagery. She learned this trick from her friends back in Frisco. It is so uncanny how the music goes along with the footage. The astronaut is speeding through the cosmos and the pinky-floyders are just cooking it up with their trans-cosmic journey,

icldmages

and Phelia is day-tripping on the swirling colors and far-out sounds. Instead of her head jerking around in gyrations, her face slightly tilted back and forth like she had seen a Hindu lady do on TV one time. Then she hears something really weird, something really off. There is some new sound, like something new was just dubbed onto the track. “What is it?” She thought.

umbrella-future

“Is it pinkish?” she inquires to herself. “Yes, that definitely sounds pinkish—yeah—or, is it somewhere between a ballerina pink and a clown’s red nose? … really bizarre … the kind of stuff they do, but, although it fits like a glove, I definitely never heard that kind of riff before, and I had it all memorized … at least I thought … uh, something strange is happening here.”

10383645_371373589681781_2736833966445757881_n

“Now I know,” she thinks. “That sounds like the screeching of… uh … what? A cat screaming? Yes, it is some cat screaming! No doubt about it. Or, is it more like cat chanting in a high-pitched screeching tone?” Then she is irresistibly drawn to her window. It is so freaking dark outside, and the woods looms ghoulishly in a dense bog.

tumblr_mzavdxWl9P1ru2kmto1_r2_500

But suddenly, she sees a bright flash of light. A spotlight suddenly appears. “What? A spotlight,” she thinks, as she turns back to the flashing journey of the spacecraft and the pinkish concert. But the cat screeches right there, right on time with the music. As if it was dubbed onto the sound track. “How do they know, how to sing along with pink?” She thinks. The music is building up to a climax, and the guitar lead explodes, as David Gilmour rips out his articulate guitar licks in towering form. Then she looks again to the open window, out into the yard, her eyes are dragged to that spot light! That glaring spot light! Somehow, someone, some thing,

impluyages

had turned the porch spot light around. Usually it lights up the porch. This time it was turned around to a particular spot in the woods! And what is in the limelight? Her eyes squint to see what it is. “Wait,” she tells herself, “you are missing the climax of the 2001 pinkard mind blow!

imhfages

Turn back to the telly, you are going to miss the best part!” However, unable to turn back to the pinkard crescendo, she rivets her assaulted eyes upon the hideous sight in the woods, accented by the turned spot light. It is a crucifix! Two arms were stretched out and upward, like the crucifixion of Christ! And two legs are nailed with thorns to the rotten trucks of trees. And the head, what is it? “It’s a cat!” thinks Phelia, “it’s a hideously mutilated and crucified cat!!”

immwages

A voice appears in Phelia’s ear. It is that old familiar voice of some cat in the woods. It says, “take heed, Phelia, and look for our emissary. He is coming. You will help, you will channel us. You are part of the plan. Do not fail us. We did this. We’ll do it to you, if you fail us.”

imcsages

Phelia cried out, “You monster, look what you did!”

The voice says, “What is the difference? You humans do this all the time. You gloss it over with euphemisms. You kill animals all the time, and you dare to call me the monster! You string them up, you hang them up on hooks, just like a crucified victim, and then you cook their muscles and stuff their charred flesh into your gullet, you do it all the time! So, what’s the difference between you and me?!”

Phelia thinks for a moment, of what he means, and says softly to the woods, “oh yes, we do slaughter animals all the time, and men think nothing of it.”

Excerpt taken from “Katz of Hinterland” – a novel, http://tinyurl.com/Katz-Amazon

xximxwages

“The game is afoot!!” says Silvester Sleuth

tumblr_mz38klb7dz1rfrrjso1_500

A foot? The game is about a foot?

Om Tat Sat

Recommended blogs:
Sherlock  chap 1 – http://wp.me/p4m90U-R
Sherlock  chap 1 pt 2 – http://wp.me/p4m90U-1B
Sherlock  chap 1 pt 3 – http://wp.me/p4m90U-56
Sherlock chap 2 – http://wp.me/p4m90U-6g
Sherlock chap 4 – http://wp.me/p4m90U-aW
Mandates of the night sky – http://wp.me/p4m90U-1Z
Rory chap 1 – Einstein & golden Ratio http://wp.me/p4m90U-4p
Rory chap 2, the law of confusion – http://wp.me/p4m90U-7z
Rory chap 5 father time – http://wp.me/p4m90U-9U
Mind over matter – http://wp.me/p4m90U-2m
Willy Wanko – http://wp.me/p4m90U-18
Tolkien in Hinterland – http://wp.me/p4m90U-aC
Beehive of devotion: http://wp.me/p4m90U-3d
Even children can take part: http://wp.me/p4m90U-5E
Exhortations of Humble Love – http://wp.me/p4m90U-9p
Real Happiness – http://wp.me/p4m90U-ca
Coronation of Lord Smithy the Third – http://wp.me/p4m90U-bL
Telling the Gents What to Do – http://wp.me/p4m90U-cK
Game is afoot- http://wp.me/p4m90U-cA
Catterwaul cuts the crap – http://wp.me/p4m90U-dY

All you need is Love!

All you need is Love!

37112_375575235928283_7478344160963646025_n

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s