Zombie Woof

When the ‘’’Zombie Woof’’’ is behind your eyes, all Beth’s are off. Completely out, stumpf. The world see you as a methamphetamine addict, or a phase-shifted chord of gears or even a nice Canadian six percent beer. The Tubes made reference to a baby’s arm holding an apple. I was, in a word, cantankerous.

Never mind all that. The French have a saying:

Now that I’m old, I see more clearly the ceaseless depixelation that occurs in all that exists, notwithstanding not within my ken. You can hear it in a seashell, taste it as a sour pickle, smell it as a thrice permutated epic weasel fats. Those selfsame weasels that ripped my flesh and turned my blood into hippie noises.

And panic you should! If you don’t realize by now that the dada is strong in this one, then indeed, she has two wheelbarrows on her head. She packs a Webly, and she knows how to use it.