The [Freak] Show, vol. 5

(February Issue)



So I thought I had discovered The Meaning of Life. I thought I had it all figured out. I thought. Seems as though I've been doing a lot of that lately. Here's some background so you can better understand what I mean.

I'm driving along in my car down a peaceful country road. A dirt road. With a corn field on the left and a wheat field on the right. A picture perfect scenario for a nice Wednesday afternoon drive. There are birds chirping in the trees, almost in harmony. There is a rabbit along the side of the road. I slow down and it hops along side the car for a bit. Then it stops and I stop. He looks up at me and we just look at each other. Staring. I swore then and I swear now that even if I wasn't on drugs that rabbit smiled at me. Then it looks down the road, back at me, down the road, back at me and darts into the corn field. Thinking nothing of the little creature's behaviour, I once again sped up to my drug-induced speed of 50 mph (going along a dirt road @ 50mph is rather fast). It was then that I saw it. Because of my "state of mind" I couldn't make out what it was. But it was big. At this point, having the common sense of a two-year old, I decided to investigate this thing. Since I didn't feel like walking what could be 20 feet or 20 miles, I decided that the best thing for me to do was to speed up. A lot. Because as any logical person high on assorted drugs knows, if you want to get somewhere better, you have to go a hell of a lot faster. So I sped up. A lot. The thing seemed to be getting bigger, giving me the indication that my choice to speed up seemed to be working. The thing, which now appeared to be bluish in colour, had strange shiny vertical lines on the front of it. Once again, I decided upon investigating this. So I sped up. More. From the general direction of the large object came a rather loud resonating sound that hurt my ears. Being the rational druggie that I am, this made me angry. Now let me once again point out to the reader that I was quite stoned at the time. This led me to believe that my 1976 Datsun would protect me from any damage this thing would attempt to inflict upon me. Now at this point in time, the thing was really big. The noise sounded again, this time louder and obviously coming from the thing. That fucking noise. Why does it keep making that noise. I hate that noise. Closer...

So that's what happened. And that's why I'm lying here in middle of a field of corn with nothing intact except my brain. And for some strange reason, this doesn't seem to bother me. Maybe it's because I had taken so much drugs that there was sufficient amounts in my brain to keep me stoned. Or maybe I have come to inner peace. Right now, I'm thinking the latter is true. Mainly because the last second that I was in my body was a rather sobering experience to say the least. What I also find odd is the fact that I am still able to exist sans my body. But once again, this doesn't seem to bother me. So I go with it. I think about my life, what I could have done different to avoid being in this rather awkward situation. I have come to one conclusion. And it is my firm belief that this conclusion that I have come to is the Secret. The Secret we've all been searching for our whole lives. Now everyone's Secret is different, so don't go thinking that what I am about to tell you will be the solution to all that troubles you, because it won't. The Secret that I discovered was the Meaning of Life. Or more specifically, my Meaning of Life: Always pay attention to the rabbit.

It's really quite funny how it all turns out. This thing that we call life. We think we're in control of the future, in control of our destiny. But we are sadly mistaken. See, if I was in control of my destiny, I would have either realized what was happening or not been so stoned that I didn't care. But instead I'm lying in a field somewhere in the Mid-West in a million pieces. I told you it was funny.

So anyway, I'm sitting here with nothing else to do. So I decide to think. About what I am not exactly sure. But I think nonetheless. Random thoughts enter my mind as they often do. Thoughts of daffodils and politics and Rocky Road ice cream. Ways to solve the world's problems with the push of a button and how to end world hunger with a loaf of bread and a Fillet o' Fish from McDonalds. But eventually I run out of things to think about. So I die. It's just that simple. I get tired of thinking things over. Because there's no sense in sitting around being nothing but a brain if you aren't going to think. So I die.

Eventually my body, or what is left of it, will rot away and decompose. But my soul will live on. Whether in an another body or some place where winged men and women walk through the clouds or where the harmony of agonized screams is too much to bear. But no matter where, my soul will ponder things, just as it did in it's final moments spent as a cerebrum. Over and over reliving those last few precious seconds that saw my head bone connected, if but for a brief shining moment, to the grill of a Mack truck.