NOTICE: THIS TALE IS A PARABOLIC TALE OF THE DAY. Whatsoever you do – do not take slurp of the FROG SOUP.


Once Upon a Time, in a Timeless State of Mind…

There was the Pumpkin Headed Son of the Earth named Jack. He resurrects tall and high from a pumpkin patch with Gospel, the vampire bat, hanging from the stem of his mind, and also, with a cross to bear…

Jack:  Gospel, resurrect, I find myself a cross to bear. A seed that is in my head takes on a hardship and finds himself a black hole where his soul had once did sit. I must go inside of myself.

Gospel expands her stretchy black wings, pilots flight through Jack’s left eye, eyes the soulless seed, leverages it open like a clam, and then pulls Jack inside of himself by the roots of his feet.

FROG SOUP.

Jack:  What is this folly, Gospel? Look at this garden, they have toy rocket ships and shiny red plastic race cars sprouting where the flowers are meant to sprout.  You there! (Directed at a flower.) You are the only blessed gift of thy Mother’s Nature that I do see. What is your name? 

Falter the Final Flower: I am Falter (Coughs) the Final Flower. 

Jack:  Explain to me this blemish, and why your life is duly spared. Surely you must be wise to have lived through catastrophe.

Falter:  Catastrophe this is. Wisdom has granted me this blessing, but a witchy curse is what it unduly scales. I am the symbol of life, and so I am the last of it. I am the world, and so I am the tick-tocking clock of Father Turtle Time. As you have a bat called Gospel that swings on your stem, I have three swinging petals on the stem of my own. One for the hours, one for the minutes and one for the seconds in time. In time, the final petal will falter loose, and I will falter to death with the death of this faltering world. 

Jack:  Where has she gone, the Mother of all things? There are toy rocket ships and shiny red plastic race cars sprouting where the flowers are meant to sprout. Justify this.

Falter: (Coughs) It is not justifiable. The beings of this world have disappeared and slaughtered the grandeur of Mother Nature away from themselves and more importantly, out of themselves. A day dies away and up sprout the new bunch of toy rocket ships and shiny red plastic race cars where the flowers are supposed to spring.

Jack:  They do not take kind in these plastics, do they? 

Falter:  For the blink of an eye they do, and then it is onto the next thirsting. They have become like dogs who pursue their own tail. They eyeball and chase and pick and race, and when they encase… Well, they have their tail to face. It is a pseudo joy for a timeless chew. They nibble on it for a spec, grow tired, and then they pursue for another licking. Mapping in circles is their only compass, and so no one moves a hair. Like a lost toy it is a lost world. Do you have the frog soup antidote?

Jack:  I do not think that I do. What is this frog soup that you grumble on?

Falter:  Please, do take this plastic rock from my side so that I may hunch as to not be a fraud and pretend healthy. (Coughs) Through the acre and up the hill is Golgotha, the plastic boulder that is manifested like a skull. It is up there that you will find Rip the Rat, the undertaker undertaking the Graveyard of Newborns. Store in your head this plastic rock, which is an empty symbol of an empty world, and plug it into the missing tooth of Golgotha’s smiling skull. Rip the Rat will learn you on the frog soup.

A petal falls.

Jack:  I will because I will.

Jack pursues the adventure though the acre and up to Golgotha, with Gospel the vampire bat hanging from the stem of his mind.

Rip the Rat:  Halt! I care not how tall you are nor that your head is that of a pumpkin. Halt, I say! Halt!

By the stem, Gospel twists and pops Jack’s top and Jack yields the missing tooth of Golgotha, Rip Rat’s smiling skull.

Rip:Why, it cannot be… It is the missing link… Ha! Halt the halting! I will ajar for you the gates. 

The gates ajar, and Jack walks.

Jack:  This place… there are so many…

Rip:  Hamsters? Treading around in their little spinning wheels?

Jack:  Millions…

Rip:  And counting! There are Blubbleheads popping every second! 

Jack:  Blubbleheads?

Rip:  Why look, here are two passerby’s now…

Jack:  What is this? There is air where their skulls are supposed to rest, and they wear a grin the size of a crescent moon! Such large teeth they have, so white…So…

Rip:  Plastic. Like the hamster’s wheel.

Jack:  And yet, they have a waterfall of flowing water falling from their fragile eyes, and flowing down where their rubber cheeks have pirated the habitat of their rosy real cheek bones. These blubbering bubbleheads are going to flood the world! 

Rip:  They will because they will. Scarce is there a seeker here who does not pass by I.

Jack:  Pass by you? What is the loins of your land?

Rip:  Golgotha the Smiling Skull is the base for the Graveyard of Newborns. 

If you pursue well enough to tweak your lens and adjust your dials, you will spy out the baby newborn hamsters erecting from the ground of the garden in the graveyard.

There’s a few now…

Jack:  It is so odd to see these hamsters born and birth out of the Divine Ground like that, but I am blind like a bat as to where Mr. Death is collecting his toll.

Rip:  Do you capture no death here, Pumpkin Headed Son of the Earth? Why, it is the millions of hamsters running within the millions of wheels. 

Jack:  These hamsters are not deceased, Rip.

Rip:  These hamsters are the deceased, Jack. 

Jack:  Explain your cringing words.

Rip:  The Dead blossom here at Golgotha, the Graveyard of Newborns. These hamsters are the souls of the beings that pass, R.I.P. They chased in the world, and so they must regroup and tread the wheel as a hamster for a hamster’s lifetime, contemplating how to make their next skin a more righteous one for God.  Do you have the frog soup antidote?

Jack:  I do not think that I do. I hoped that you might.

Rip:  Please, where Golgotha had forgotten a tooth, I resided a plastic ball as replacement. Do take the plastic ball, which is an empty symbol for an empty world, and reverse it with the plastic rock, which is also an empty symbol for an empty world. You will put the plastic ball in your head and travel up Misery Mountain. Upon the hemisphere that is casted with Lady Dark you will discern a grotto. This is where world meets shell.

Jack:  Shell?

Rip:  Father Turtle Time. He treads and paddles along the weeping ocean of timeless tears with this unholy world propped up on his Holy shell. He will learn you on the frog soup.

Jack:  Once my venture is peeked, what shall I do with the grotto?

Rip:  Like the Frog, make the leap.

Jack:  I will because I will.

Jack undertakes Misery Mountain with a ball in his head and the Gospel hanging from the stem of his mind. He stands on the ledge of the grotto…

Jack:  I will because I will.

…And leaps.

Father Turtle Time:  Oh, you are visitors! Hey, hi, how do you beings do? I’ve never had visitors before, this is so lovely.

Father Turtle Time jerks the unholy world off of his Holy shell, catches it in his fins, and begins to dribble it.

Father Turtle Time:  Such a hollow ball this one is! Such a time to be alive. (Sighs) I rarely find any worlds this dense. 

Jack:  You are causing earthquakes, you must stop.

Father Turtle Time:  Stop! Ha! This is the most fun I’ve had in a billion years! I will not. 

Jack:  You are causing disaster and devastation, surely you must not do this.

Father Turtle Time:  Wherefore art thou my partnership in this responsibility? My ball is light and empty, Jack, is this my doing?

Jack:  Well, no, but it does not help.

Father Turtle Time:  If they have only helped themselves, this world would be reaped with golden stock, stuffed with light and aglow with extravagance; it would be heavy loaded with wisdom and seeking and finding, crammed and completed with the zest and the charm of life. But these beings forget what life is all about. They take part in fuzzy beliefs, and the beliefs that they fuzzy in, they believe not with a reddened heart. They are full-brimmed of uncertainty, while they singe the mask on their face of being so sure. Truth has gone amiss, and so it is a lost world like a lost toy.

By the stem, Gospel twists and pops Jack’s top and Jack yields the plastic ball.

Jack:  Here, bounce this. (Tosses it to Time)

Father Turtle Time:  (Dribbles ball) I can only dig this for a moment in my time.

Jack:  Why so?

Father Turtle Time:  No possession can last in one’s heart, do you not know this, Jack? Desire is a fading thing. Once it is collected, it is evaporated just as fast. It is not really what is wanted; it is decoy like the scarecrow, to scare the crow into coming back for more. Let go of it, for it does you no good to track yourself aimlessly around in zeros. Do you have the frog soup antidote?

Jack:  I do not think that I do. I hoped that you might.

Father Turtle Time:  Please, do remove this plastic glove from betwixt my shell and my fin, it is garbage but we will birth it useful. Take the plastic glove, which is an empty symbol for an empty world, and carry it in your head to Sin the Sly Serpent. He resides as Priest among the fruit tree at Blubblehead Cathedral, which is their devout church of worship. He had always yearned for a glove, so perhaps I can make it his Time. Hop onto my tail, and I will resurrect you back from whence you came, you will take the gold brick road and it will trek you direct to the Blubblehead Cathedral. Sin the Sly Serpent will learn you on the frog soup.

A petal falls. 

Jack:  I will because I will.

With Gospel hanging on the stem of Jack’s mind, they are resurrected and put onto the gold brick road. They arrive at the Blubblehead Cathedral.

Sin the Sly Serpent:  Sssso… you want to see the God…. do you?

Jack:  He resides here? Then I will enter in and sort out what is wrong with this world.

Sin:  Sssure…you will….

Jack jogs the staircase and enters into Blubblehead Cathedral. He scurries back in a flash.

Jack:  It is a bar of gold. I am sick to my stomach.

Sin:  Sssee, I told you…. Why look… here are two worshippers now…

Mr. Bubblehead:  Well I just don’t-

Mrs. Bubblehead:  –Know? We’re you going to say “Know”?

Mr.:  No. I was going to say, well I just don’t really-

Mrs.:  –Understand?

Mr.:  Care.

Mrs.:  I think I might wear-

Mr.: Socks? Socks, right?

Mrs.: A wig.

Jack:  What is with these Blubbleheads, they are jumpy with judgement. What is the meaning of an ear if one does not take kind in it for listening? These beings spew reaction from the guts of their stomachs and not from the attention of the hearts in their chest. Surely, they are self-dooming.

Sin:  Jump. Judge. Jump. Judge. Where’s the control? …Sss…Where’s the discipline? …Sss… They are out of control and so they hop and leap with jumping jumpy judgements to control. Situations, expectations, calculations to appease one’s reputation…

Jack:  Surely this is a twitchy fig that must be broken and burned.

Sin:  Until then…Sss…Gold is your God.

Jack:  It is your Time, Sin.

By the stem, Gospel twists and pops Jack’s top and Jack yields the plastic glove.

Sin:  Ssso it isSss… slip it here… pleasSssse…

Jack slips the glove next to Sin’s scaly side and Sin sprouts a hand that swells the plastic glove.

Sin:  Well…now I can blessSsssss…

Jack:  Bless me on the frog soup, Sin.

Sin:  The frog soup is no blessing… why… it is the voodoo of all jinxes, Jack. It does kill before death and does not thrill within life, it is a rat-trap and the Blubbleheads of this world have welcomed it as their annual slimy super…Sss… It drains their stomachs void while pretending to feed; it surrenders their precious Father Turtle Time while pretending to cure wasted time. It is a curse to the psyche and a psychological vex to their hovering spirit above their squirming souls. They have adopted it as nature naturally, yet it is unknowingly the faltering Tower of Babel that they have adopted. Do you possess the empty symbol of this empty world, Jack?

Jack:  In Father Turtle Time, I have possessed three of them. The plastic rock, the plastic ball and the plastic glove that you possess.

Sin:  There is a fourth in your head, and so you must venture to the nest. Through the Witches Forrest and passed the cast iron benches you will see yourself a mansion with many rooms; it is Mr. Blubble’s, who is the Mayor of the town of Blubbleheads. He is rich, and so the soup serves selfishly cyclical there. The frog soup is delivered from the frog’s nest; a rainbow-box in the living-room-where-nothing-lives.

Jack:  With the rainbow in my eyes, what will I do?

Sin:  You will, so you will know.

Jack:  I will because I will.

With the Gospel hanging from the stem of Jack’s mind, he sets off for the Witches Forrest, sits for a break on a cast iron bench, and lets himself inside of Mr. Blubble’s Mansion. He sorts out where the living-room-where-nothing-lives is and finds the family of Blubbles in a drooling hypnosis as they sit and watch the rainbow-box.

Jack:  Enough of this nonsense, you are lacking movement of mind, surely this is no way to spend your precious Father Turtle Time.

Mr. Blubble:  A freak like you telling a Blubblehead how to live?

Mrs. Blubble: Look at that stupid head of his, Blub, he knows nothing about life.

Jack:  So much judgement… they crucify the one who tries to give them salvation…

The Frog Soup Song: “Frog soup, frog soup, it’s time to consume the frog soup, open your mouth, it’s time to dine, the Blubbleheads lick to kill their time… Slurp up, Blubs!”

Jack:  This song has destroyed my psyche.

Son Blubble:  Super time!

Daughter Blubble:  I’m so thirsty!

Hither now to what happens, a change in the tide of this Fairytale being fairly told. The rainbow-box quakes and levitates to the air. It stretches and forms; molds and morphs, and from the center where its soul should be it reaches out a webby green hand attached to a slimy green arm with a fish fin scaling off of it. The hand holds the ladle that has been dunked and doused with the poisonous frog soup. The family of Blubbles all lean in for a family slurp.

Jack:  Nonsense. (Jack knocks the ladle to the Divine Ground.)

Mr. Blubble:  Rodent!

Mrs. Blubble:  Roach!

Son Blubble:  Serpent!

Daughter Blubble:  I will murder this seed head!

With claws for carving and knives for skinning, the tribe of Blubbles ambush Jack in a frenzy for disturbing their desire.

Jack:  So much anger…they crucify the one who tries to give them salvation…

Jack hooks the frog arm with his own arm and is yanked into the source. With a frog limb stabbed to a stick and a cauldron full of bubbling green frog soup, Jack finds Luci, weeping. (See Lucky Lucifer)

Jack:  Devil… 

Luci: (Sniffles) Luci.

Jack:  You are blubbering like the rest of them? My, even you are assisting in the flooding of this world!

Luci:  I cannot help but to weep away my sorry sorrow for these stupid sobbing sucking slurpers of uncivilized scamps who would syringe my soup if they sought; but these Blubbleheads don’t seek for anything! They put up no battle, no sword fight, no left-hook, no nothing; they have forfeited life! Where is the drive to put a halt to the ladle that I serve? I would say that the drive drove out of them, but that would imply that the vehicle had once been parked! It is not my fault for feeding, it is their fault for consuming. They slurp on my soup because it is my duty to stuff their minds full of mush; as it is their duty to turn me away and seek higher knowledge. No one seeks, and so the mush is served. It is a lost world like a lost toy. Do you have the empty symbol for the empty world, Jack?

Jack:  I am empty with empty symbols, I carry no more.

Luci:  Nonsense. You possess the antidote within your head. Figure it out.

Jack:  The symbols? But they are empty. Surely there is no antidote within an empty symbol from an empty world.

Luci:  Nonsense. You possess the antidote within your head. Figure it out.

Jack:  I find in my mind a relation of two but the rock does not exist with a ball and a glove.

Luci:  What was the plastic rock used for?

Jack:  For the Graveyard of Newborn’s base… ball… glove… glove… glove… Bat? 

Luci:  An empty symbol for an empty world…

Falter’s third petal falters.

Jack:  Gospel, you’re the antidote!

Jack takes Gospel from the stem of his mind, steals Luci’s pseudo frog limb, sits Gospel in the bowl of the ladle and shovels her through the box of every Livingroom in the world. 

Jack’s seed cures.

Jack:  I will because I will.

Abracadabra.

 

 

For The Birth of Gospel: Jack & His Furry Black Demon Named Drudge

For The Birth of The World: Lucky Lucifer

 

COPY @ 2018 JACK O’LANTERN