Can't Fight the Lazers

The show finally started and all bloody Hell broke loose. Fruta Bomba was trapped in a repetitive time loop of madness. Bob too. Strange sound were slipping into our mindsight. Were we too loud? Maybe, but we weren't even talking. Or were we talking? It was too difficult to ascertain.

Music blasted out the loudspeakers and lazers blasted into our eyes. The music was funky. Not feverish, but funky. Earlier the cashier laughed at us when Fruta raved that he wanted two tickets for disco fever. It was actually disco funk but boy had we concocted a fever of our own. A hallucinogenic fever with no hopes of letting loose.

Sights bent, the mind revolving around its eclectic center, the star machine was in complete control. Where we being too loud? Again, it was difficult to tell. Were people mad at us? Possibly, but for what god forsaken reasons? Did they know we had the Fever? Were they just as sick as us? Screaming and chanting obscenities at the euphoric sky? Fruta Bomba was curious...

"Seth, are all these people going through this? Do they see things like we do?"

"Fruta, I think they would be in a better position to know than me."

"No. But do they work here? Huh? Do they work here?"

It was all nonsense. But not really. I understood what he meant yet his words had no meaning. Everything looked strange. People were dancing wildly up front. They looked like spaghetti in swimsuits Some women in their fifties, or sixties, or maybe even late forties were seated in our line of sightless site, seated in a time capsule of nostalgia. One quickly overcame her self doubt and latent insecurities. She stood up, stuck that timeless finger in the air and danced like an animate fossil of her times.

The music was her savior. This was flipping us out. The sound and her were indistinguishable. Fruta was flipping, Bob was laughing uncontrollably trying to express the illusory humor manifesting itself in the invisible walls around him. He was worried that he had peed himself. The thought was too funny to contain. He did pee himself. No! It was a dream. No, he did. Yes, he really did pee himself. No. He was unsure and needed answers, quickly.

"Seth, did I pee myself?"

"Yes of course!"

Bob looks down and sees it. Sees nothing dripping down his dry pants. Fruta Bomba thought this was funny. For the rest of the show we tried hard to convince Bob he had peed himself, which he did, but had not.

"Seth, tell Bob he peed himself," Fruta would rave mad like a lost hyena.

"Bob, you peed yourself."

"Really?"

"No."

"Yes."

"Oh my Gawd it's true. There's piss everywhere."

The show continued in this manner until it was almost over. The music was different but it sounded all the same. One song caught my ear though, Its just an illusion. And that it was my friends. The grandest illusion of it all, the eternal trick let loose from the Mad hatters sleeve. We needed Alejandro to make sense of it all. Somehow Alejandro knew all the answers. Either Alejandro or the car. Either would do, but the phone systems were in operable and we didnt have to call the car. I tried opening my phone just in case and was blinded by phosphorescent Chinese letters telling me to do unspeakable things to myself.

The show was intriguing with or without the glasses. It was difficult to tell whether or not I was wearing them. The glasses just put themselves on whenever they wanted to be put on. I had no say in the matter. Even when I closed my eyes I could not escape the lazers. They were everywhere, even and especially behind my eyelids.

The show, of course, ended with Saturday Night Fever. Everyone erupted into a spontaneous conga line around the Planet Arium. We didnt participate. Why put ourselves in the feeding path of a giant venomous flesh feasting serpent when there was already one flicking its lucid tongue in our eyes?