mind adventures

an experimental theatre company set up in sri lanka in 1999.

Looking Through My Earphones: ‘Errol’s Story II’

II

 

I wuz drivin my brand new midnight blu Versace with chrome studs inflatable pockets and turbo boost zip, past big billboards advertising the latest cure for civil war, government, global recession & currency meltdown, past drive-ins offering faith healings delivered in 30 seconds flat or money back. Junk food!

I sped past ignoring the hookers in their close-circuit T.V’s & their neon micro-waves & watched the expectations on their wide screens turn to disdain as they flashed their memory – enhanced boobs at me. I took a left past the Museum of Corporate Civilisations where long queues of Management Mercenaries were waiting to enter an exhibition on the Microsoft Wars, past the Travelling Consultants Circus & stopped for the red light opposite the H.R. Super offering overripe M.B.A.’s at 50% discount.

Just then a Style Police riding an Iceberg drew alongside, static coming from his Suunto’s T9 Wristop, the light from his hand-made Italian tie blinding me. I quickly butted out the Miles Davis. I knew the game was up-someone must have tipped him that I was driving an imitation Versace with false designer tag! He signalled me to the kerb where he gave me a breathalyzer “to see if you’re within the legal perfume limits” he said, through teeth badly stained by smoking filterless Madonnas.

He was obviously disappointed with the results, but that didn’t stop him from stepping menacingly closer, removing his battered old Walkman to reveal eyes that had seen too much Billy Joel and too little sleep & telling me in the softest whisper “Young man, I know your kind, you’d put a Spike Lee between my eyes, to raise a smile between your thighs, you think a Face is something to leaf through & a Playstation can settle any Scorsese. You listen too much to the Edge, you live too close to the ledge, you bring stock market crashes & shame, you’re the Artist formerly known as Pain.”

Suddenly his Suunto T9 crackled to life alerting him of a Private Placement, suspect driving a falsetto coloured Issey Miyake with automatic Replay and GAP radials. Just then a Miyake answering to this description screamed past, Toyota pounding out of its speakers sending him scrambling back to his Iceberg but not before confiscating the last of my Miles Davis and telling me if he ever caught me again he’d run me out of town in my brand new, midnight blu Versace with chrome studs, inflatable pockets and turbo boost zip.

 

 

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