the hate of eating orange jelly beans, when there could be better flavors in your mouth..
Sitting on the curb, I feel great.
you wouldn’t think that, looking at me.
I look like shit. literally. I am covered with filth, haven’t had a wash since the emancipation proclamation. I’m full of cuts and bruises. some inflicted, some accidental. some healing , some infected. some going north to south, others east to west...
my coat is green, but don’t let that fool you. it used to be beige.
but I feel great.
you want to know the secret?
well ...if I tell you...you’ll need to listen. you sure you want that in your life?
ok then. fine. if you’re soooo interested in my existence, then..well...I have a bag of jelly beans in my pocket. I found it after the kid went running up the street and the policeman was shouting...trying to catch him. it fell out of his pocket.
maybe he threw it out. maybe it escaped on it’s own.
I haven’t had any food in two days. my teeth hurt and I don’t really have an option to go see a dentist . you see, I am what some people call a hobo. some, more sensitive perhaps, will compassionately call me homeless. while others will use their discretion and just look away. in any case, I can’t chew much and don’t really feel hungry for things anymore. but jelly beans...I have a weakness for sweets. maybe it explains my dire dental state, maybe it explains other things. maybe causation is not correlation..
I pop a jelly bean. I can’t chew, but I just let it slowly, slooooowly melt in my mouth. it brings me sweetness. and a rush that I haven’t got from jelly beans before. I see colors and wavy lines. things blurr into each other. the flavor is banana plus lime, I think. but it has an aftertaste of falling leaves, and that Richard Cleiderman theme.
now...I don’t want to jump the gun here, but I suspect the young gentleman that was fleeing the policeman was in fact a drug dealer of some sort. I have seen him around and know that people give him money for undisclosed services or goods. it is not a judgement. he just wants to avoid the state that I’m in, with my teeth and getting beaten up on a regular basis. He sells narcotics, while others sell jet fighters and limousines. now, I have never engaged in the illicit act of taking drugs, or drinking. I am a ‘clean’ hobo. I limit my distractions, and focus on the real issues. but I have a feeling that my strange state is related to the jelly beans. what do they have? LSD? something else? I do not know.
but I’ll tell you. banana and lime are nice. I dig in my pocket, taking out a new oval bit of heaven. this one is whiteish with blue and pink marbling: melon or pina colada, I’m not sure. maybe both?
ooh...pina colada...this time the aftertaste comes fast. it strangely tastes like the London philharmonic, playing the 1812 overture. my grandfather had it on a record. I’m a classical music fan too, but if you have to choose a record to buy, would you really spend your money on that? I can hear the scratches the needle made that added “tss” and.“tchh” that you can hear with old gramophones. all broken up now, I’m sure. the celebratory piece is heard no more. I know because it was I who broke it. one of the many regrets I have. after the old man died. I couldn’t keep his stuff. some I sold. some I left out. but for some reason, when I saw the black vinyl disc, sitting in it’s fragile jacket, the devil took hold of me and I smashed it on the table corner. goodbye Tchaikovsky.
so many regrets. so many things I could have done. I could have been an astronaut. could have been a first officer in a cruise liner(but not the captain...), I could have composed a symphony, I could have been the next Sigmund Freud. but I didn’t.
next one is strange... tastes..like...ginger?!
something new to the lineup. ginger. times are a-changing as John Lennon said (haha).
no aftertaste for this one...
John Dylan...Bob Lennon...Bob Ballard of the Woods Hole institute of the geographic Nazi party.
it’s strange. these beans are never vegetable flavored. why be narrow minded?
I could have been a confectionery chef. probably die of diabetes after two days..or lose a finger taking a taste from the blender.
it’s a choice to live. it’s a choice to do things in a particular way. i did not cloud my judgement with chemicals and yet i turned out like a mud pie. them's the breaks.
now...I have no illusions. well..maybe.now...
I know that I’m doing something dangerous. popping these bad boys all at once will probably kill me. if not that, the kid who kindly dropped his bag of goodies would want them back for his mercantile enterprising. he will be displeased that I had taken the liberty of liberating some of his yummies. he could very well decide that restitution should be forthcoming, and having no money and six-month old underwear, would be disappointing to him.
he’ll break me like a certain overture.
but that’s fine. that is one of the choices I was talking about, young man! I choose this path, sweetened by dubious confections, rather than go on. you look at me with your baseball bat and your jeans and your sneakers. and you’re confused: why is he doing thus? why is he willing to give up on all if this kingdom that he owns? why is he using the word “thus”? does he think he’s Shakespeare or something?
well, to answer your question, let me pop another bean, before you take it away, oogh..orange...that’s it. the final stroke. orange is not a worthy flavor to have a last call with. but it suits the moment like a glove on a dentist’s hand. like pigs in a blanket, like a bouncing Betty... go ahead with the bat , young man ,ere I partake of all your treasure further...
I see you hesitate. although frequently engaged in criminal excursions, you must feel that life is not something to abruptly end. you might fear getting caught, or at the very least you might fear for the sanitary condition of your magic beans...oohh kiwi and..papaya? strange. it leaves me with memories of a very sexy movie about a girl riding a bicycle with pigtails and a skirt. ...gone now..replaced with a vision of a sundew plant. I don’t know..this is strange...must be the kiwi...
but , friend. I’m holding you up...you are busy, and need to get your stuff...well..get it over with is what I’m saying. you need take action when seeing ugliness in this world. I’m feeling great now, but I won’t be feeling so, soon enough. the jelly beans will run out, or you’ll take them from me, or I’ll eat another orange one!! why?!?! god..why orange?!...that’s how it goes. the rest will be more of the same. filth and pain, shame and fear. this is what my life is like. I could in the middle of a overflowing sewer, like I saw one if the crazyies do. it will not make me more dirty or less hygienic. I can eat a day old mayonnaise egg sandwich, and not get any sicker. it’s because i reached a level perfect misery. I am at the peak of how high shit can be piled . take a look..see the scars...wait...let me get another...hmm..strawberries...tastes like...a balcony with my childhood neighbor, Mrs. Reus, practicing the cello in the breeze...I think I got into classical more because of her thighs then my grandfather’s breakable collection..
so..swing away...bash me to a pulp...just stop standing there staring...do something about the noise pollution in this place...just let me take another one...ORANGE again?!?!?!