scour the fractured carapace of lifes’ failures for light and sustenance burn the surfer’s journal and look out the window the group of eyes want validation for the same some feign importance hiding behind paper mache masks made of receipts but everyone is just desperate except the old man who sold the rights to the paupers for free placing value upon difference like water flowing around soft rails and detaching from edges. ‘how do you stay sane and positive?’ said the kid ‘I don’t know I’m going surfing’ said the decades older kid but the water was black with people and the pelicans were away leaving a rabble of discourse. a short walk to an empty stretch, empty enough so watching the surf stayed the blues and the pelicans would return. ‘Is my board normal’ ‘depends who you ask’ answered the pelican. ‘Will it sell’ the pelican did not answer
The sand crab popped up and said " everything sells…eventually "
just then the sand piper, who was evesdropping,
ran by and ate the sand crab.
…ambrose…
as the clam bubbles popped in the draining sand
the whisper of ebbing water said,
" your new board is ready
do you wanna pick it up or
do you want it shipped?
as the kid pondered this strange statement something drew his eyes upwards and outwards towards the sea. two 19th century style longboats were approaching from opposite sides, each filled with angry leering people, with a small hand cannon on each bow. A bearded man spouting rhetoric fired the cannon, his aim true and splintered a huge chunk out of the opposing bow. at that exact moment a piece of shrapnel the size of a jagged grape hit the kid in the temple not knocking him out but knocking him down.
as far as vision goes everything went black for a few moments but when the kid looked up he noticed two things.
- His left eye was seeing entirely different than his right and I mean different. With his left eye it was as before, the two boats, the angry people, the man reloading the cannon. But when he closed that eye and looked through the right he saw a living room with people and a couch and a carpet and a lamp floating out there in some kind of surreal scene, right where the boat was, just offshore.
timing is random and as he opened his left eye, still keeping open the right, he saw the man fire the cannon; but superimposed over the cannonball, when viewed through the other eye, was the man himself, only as a kid of 8 or 9, flying across the room from a great hook landed by an oafy looking father figure. It was so surreal, what with the right eye punch landing at the exact moment the left eye man pulled the lanyard with rage.
- Everything he was viewing was through a tunnel opening just out of reach. He looked left and saw through water rushing up and over his head, crashing loudly to his right. It was translucent enough to be aware of his surroundings, but made images blurry and distant feeling. except through the opening of course where things were crystal fucking clear but hard to understand what with his eyes not agreeing and all.
but the pelican was the same in both eyes