This is a true story. About a year ago I was working as a Surreal Times correspondent. A check hadn’t come in the mail for months, but neither had I sent an article out. Nonetheless, I was hungry, I was living on the brink of a wood and I used to always hear music emanating from somewhere in there. I didn’t want my presence known. I liked it. I didn’t complain. I don’t like the police. I think they’re scoundrels. I knew a woman from the woods and her name was Burgundy. She wanted to found a psychedelic cult but she needed to know someone whose brain was properly fried in the right departments before doing so. I told her that I had heard music coming from the woods and if she followed the footprints in the sand she would soon find what she was looking for.
Suffice to say, the music eventually stopped and later two bodies were found in the wreckage of a burning barn. There was nothing else found except for the remnants of a honey extractor, a burning bright and yellow tuba and two tenths of a measure of Sailor Jerry’s hard rum. I think I saw Burgundy running hand in hand with a long haired boy I used to know and they were frolicking in the ashes in which his friends laid, but he didn’t perform the ceremony and I was a bit thrown off by that.
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