Createmas Hour 3 & 4

Hour 3: Create.

Hour 4: Respond

Gilligan’s + Hector, the barkeep (by me)

“There’s this asteroid or planetoid or whatever I don’t remember the astrological term, but it’s this rock, this island in space y’see. And it’s about a three hour jump or so away from Earth y’see,” the old guy next to me at the spaceport bar had been blowing steam for the last hour and only then did I felt inebriated enough to listen.

“No I don’t see grandpa,” the zaphod barkeep responded, “what does that have to do with my belt buckle?”

The barkeep, Hector I think he said was his name, who had obviously been listen for quite a while longer, put two of his three quite muscular arms down to rest on the bartop and his third quite newly implanted left arm took one last swipe at the bar with his towel before draping it over his quite muscular shoulder.

He looked vaguely mexican. Maybe filipino. Probably a half-breed since I couldn’t tell. But his zaphod arm was definitely black. Of course it was. You don’t get to choose on a barkeep’s salary. I don’t even know how he could afford the surgery let alone even thinking about aesthetics. He was wearing some slick designer muscle shirt made just for zaphod’s like him. Extra armhole and all that, heck it looked like he was already saving up for a second implant since he had a fourth armhole buttoned up under his left arm.

The belt buckle the old spacer was gumming about was a big gold rectangle job, embossed with a couple of palm trees, no joke. Not real gold of course, barkeep remember.

Anyways I’m sitting there and my haze has brought their conversation into focus for me. I’d attained the proper alcoholic clearance authorization as it were.

“The one’s who first found this asteroid, they was on a short jump, y’see. Was a test flight I think for some new fancy ship of Virgin Galactic’s. They was only supposed to make that one jump then jump back,” the geezer is standing now and gesticulating wildly as he speaks, “well turns out the route they picked was experiencing some gas clouds or turbulent ion storms or whathaveyou, and they crash on some lone asteroid in the middle of nowhere and their comms don’t work. The thing’s big enough to have some thin atmo, so the can make do with some of the equipment on the ship, but they’re stuck there.”

He grinned a huge grin and stopped flailing around.

Hector and I shared this look and I said, “So? What does that have to do with Hector’s ugly belt buckle?”

“Don’t you get it kid,” he wheezed, stale beer breath whistling through the gaps in his teeth, “that’s Gilligan’s. That’s what they called it, y’see. Once they was found and the media caught wind of it.”

Girls are made of + Trag(ecstat)ic (by somnambulant)

A girl died of a bad reaction to ecstasy this week. It’s totally not funny. I think it’s a symptom of our outdated and harmful drug laws that this happened. But I’m not going to write about that. That’s a much larger thing than I have time for today.

Today I’m going to write about the first thought that popped into my head when I read the 140- character headline. I don’t know what it says about me as a person that I could think it, but I’m going to share it anyways.

I thought: I wonder if she was tripping balls when she died.

I’ve heard that Dr. Timothy Leary was on LSD at the time of his dying. And I’m sure he was having a good time. And I know when my father passed away from cancer, they had given him quite a bit of morphine and he was definitely tripping out. I presume this is a normal course of action for painful deaths, an act of compassion for the patient and for any family or friends.

So I wonder if she was still high from the ecstasy or if they ended up giving her morphine. Either way, it is likely that she was high.

I’ve also heard that the body produces similar chemicals, and that can be what produces the whole “see your life flashing before your eyes” or the “light at the end of the tunnel” hallucination effects.

But what if our body produced these chemicals whenever we experienced horrible or even just disgusting things?

A car crash would be turned into a crazy roller-coaster ride. A session of vomiting into a wonderful synaesthesic collage.

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