The Jesus and Mary Chain

The best souvenir to give is to admit without pride that the creatures are alive. Alive and well, still walking naked in the lively forest.

Bare feet, shaven heads. Beautifully inked back of their necks, their shoulder blades, their hips, their ankles. Honey is dripping off their sides.

It is delightful to be around them. For every hedonist in each of us, they feel so good.
In their hands they carry noisy beehives. Honey is the essence.

Forget yourself and try the natural sweetness of this sticky lava. The best souvenir would be to admit. The hardest thing to do is to walk back. Back to the naked brutes.

You are dripping with honey inside my head. Carrying noisy beehives and ink on your body.

********

Have you seen yourself since? Has anyone?

Flying always excited you. "Come, I'll show you where penniless jokes are made," the boy with the closed eyes said. "What is the meaning of keeping them closed?" I asked. He contemplated: "I will always be glad to see you back." "Maybe, some day," I said, "Flying is beautiful," I said, "They all forget about today when they wake up tomorrow," I said, "I always have to remind them about their history," I said.
"But I, - I will always know," the boy replied with his eyelashes moving on top of his cheeks. "What if they in turn look at you and think you are the one who always sleeps and doesn't remember?"

The fountain rained with green rust. The grasstips were covered in pink dew. The only tree in sight was flowering with a great ball of frizz. The boy changed what he was wearing and came to sit on the grass in front of the fountain in a new jacket. The dew instantly discolored our clothes. His eyes were now opened. "It must be the change of clothes," I thought to myself, "When he is in his pajamas, he must stay dreaming, but now he can really see."

"What if we never talk about how strange we are, but rather talk about space and imagined stars?" I suggested. He considered for a moment: "What if, instead, I ask you just once: where is the source of all the world's flows of charisma?"
"It depends on whether many years from now you will stop at the steps of some house just a few doors away from mine, and will give up then," I responded, "So what if tomorrow we become the followers instead of making others follow us?"
"There is no 'what ifs'!" he jumped onto his feet in anguish and his eyelids shut closed.

You noticed in your well-controlled terror how his eyelashes swept forcefully across his cheeks, and, like steel whips, sliced the scars across his face open. Standing there with his bleeding cheeks, his skin cold and blue, thin as pain to touch, with his eyelids closed, he still had a smile cutting across his clownish disguise. "Even if I said previously that I would always know," he proceeded slowly and theatrically, "I might wake up tomorrow and need a history lesson. You could really stay around and request that I think and dance for you," he said.

I laughed. Flying always excited me. I laughed.

"What sort of people live about here?"

"In that direction," the Cat said, waving its right paw round, "lives a Hatter: and in that direction," waving the other paw, "lives a March Hare. Visit either if you like: they're both mad."

"But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.

"Oh, you ca'n't help that," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."