Backgrounder
The following bit of fledgling fiction is a follow up to one of Nick Bantock's exercises in adding words to images, written by Two (formerly known as Trudi Sissons - the current faciliator at the parlor)
And so it goes: Desperately Seeking Peace of Mind
You see, through his telling, he encouraged me to hang my inner art critics by the neck and embrace my creativity. To live a life uncensored by those nasty, persistent and rabies-infested venomous villains who had embedded their hoofs in my left frontal lobe, directly blocking the top half of my third eye. Since September 1967, they had regularly wreaked havoc, viciously shouting atrocities with the clear intention to amputate my Artistic Soul and permanently extinguish my Heart's Desire. They roared in sound bites trumpeting profanities infested with ineffable judgements. Why, even if I was to glance at a blank canvas in my mind's eye, the decibels of their howlings would immediately quadruple.
As reason and queasiness would have it, the thought of the nooses and lynching gave cause for my skin to crawl, moving me to invent an alternative fate. Soon after, my Summer Solstice Plan gave birth, commencing on the eve of June 23 (standard earthly time)and precisely 3 seconds before the stroke of midnight. Heh, why not, it's my story. With delight and the promise of joy a trembling finger tip away, I lined those demons up, one by one, like putrid muddy green army men on a 70's harvest gold shag carpet. And off they marched, left-right-left-right, woefully whistling the tune of Yet to Be Decided by "The Who." Single file they trudged across the moonlit path through the thick haunting woods of the Savannah Corridor Forest Parkway onward to the Sea of Nevermore. Hup 2, 3, and at 4 they fell, through the legendary Sacramental Crow and off the edge of a key lime stone karst. Slimy bellies over diminutive left brains until their hairy toshes landed, with the eye of a needle precision, into the eager jaws of the famed Killer Gop Shrakmites. Karmic justice to their wasted existence. Peace be to the Gods and Goddesses of Morpharchengigel I cried, for as the last IC rat tail disappeared, my battered and neglected self-esteem morphed into dust and in that nanosecond I became an artist.
Several nights ago, I heard whisperings through the space bubble cracks in the universe, that 3 of the D-IC's (dead inner critics) through no fault of the Shrakmites, willfully escaped and have now taken up residence on a tacky houseboat somewhere in the Bowels of the Lower Sewerland of Purgatory, (BLsP) . Further speculation suggests they are neighbours or living in close proximity to the Joking Goat's Society Hall across the Rat Tail Suspension Bridge from the Saan Store. Clearly, they are down under. Tsk, tsk. But more on that, later, ...maybe. For now, I'll live under the perception of peace and clarity of mind. I wish we all knew that happiness is always only a thought away....
In the meantime, the parlor is weekly sprouting fresh organic artists. Of equal value and importance, they present as kind and tasteful Humans Being. They currently represent the old world of two countries in North America. We share a vision to create a New World of Peace. While some continue to battle with the evil forces of their own LIC's (livid inner critics) together, step by step, the pals in the parlor (aka Parlorites) appear destined to create one masterfully picture perfect world with ideals born of a desire and longing for peace through creativity. Custom-made, ( both PCB and IC-free) diverse countries are popping up from dreams weekly now. Some are inclined to think they are imagining things. Others, like the country of Uniqos, has already sparked a magical and undeniable life of its own. A few, like Modeus, still silently lurk, waiting for that moment when the spark ignites their email-muse. The Kingdom of Gilleygog citizens recently survived with souls intact after a brutal clash with Mother NATURE, so says Layla.
