Cocaine Monks
Reality had popped, somewhere along the route reality decided to pull over and take a shit on us.
See me and Sam were about to snort some Cocaine. Or rather, Sam was going to snort some coke with me, he was already on it. While he yapped away in a coke induced ramble he packed a bowl of some Salvia for me.
I’ve never done Salvia AKA Mexican Sage.
Sam rambled on and on as he explained how coke was mad wise, controlled the universe, and is the reason Aliens visit the planet. His logic – “Crop circles look a lot like triple beam scales. Seriously man! Aliens don’t know what the Fishscale is you know. This is Fishscale fool, look down at it and love it.” – He also claimed, “Cocaine was the most evolved thing on the planet. Its unit of measurement ruled the planet, the kilo. A kilo is a thousand grams, it’s easy to remember.”
All I know is the moment I was exhaling the salvia, and wondering what the fuck Sam was talking about, midway I blinked, and reality popped. I looked down at the four lines of coke on the table, four little lines arranged like pedals around an imaginary flower bud. The glass table’s background covered like a white frost plain and little mountain ranges of chunky cocaine. And the big mother pile, the eight-ball watching over it like Mount Everest.
Then all of a sudden I was staring up at me holding the bowl as I finished exhaling. I should really trim my nose hairs more often.
I looked around - I’d become one of the coke lines, surrounded by a fog of coke, Sam was another coke line. The two other ones were Monks. Not any particular type of Monks, just Cocaine Monks dressed in white robes, with powdered faces and bald shiny heads.
Sam’s face was powdered too, but still looked like Sam, with his short hair which was normally black, but it had turned white, and big wrinkly hard working hands, but they also were powder white.
The robe I had on felt like the silkiest smoothest coke on the planet. Nice and cool to the touch, where I pushed, the powder would indent, cracking in its cool dryness. The air was crisp with the smell of Italian powdered milk. All of a sudden I started having a flashback to when I was a baby and my mother was handing me a bottle of milk. As I put the nipple of the bottle to my mouth, the bitter taste of numbing chemicals brought me back to reality.
The Cocaine Monks also had on the same style robe except it looked a lot better on their thin bony frames. I guess Cocaine people don’t eat much.
A defining bassy chant - made Cocaine flakes fall from our beings and unto the floor. NUM NYO HOORAY YAYO. NUM NYO HOORAY YAYO. NUM NYOOOOOOO.
“What the hell are you guys saying?” I tugged at one of the Monk’s long sleeves and it dissolved into powder and fell to the floor.
The Monk looked at me with his little coke rock diamond shaped eyes. “All know the Way, but few actually walk it.” He began walking down the little trail of coke left by the credit card used to extract lines from the big mound of coke on the table.
I looked at Sam, he was going nuts. He looked like a kid in a candy store bouncing from aisle to aisle as he snorted up one side of the road then the other. He shoved fist-sized clumps of cocaine into his nose, making it enlarge as he sucked it down, you could see it going down the side of his neck.
“Sam, what the hell is going on man? Is this real? It can’t be.”
Sam said nothing.
The Coke Monk looked back at me over his thin bony robe covered shoulder, “Do not speak - unless it improves on silence.” His bony rigid pointy chin hovered over his shoulder.
Grrrnnnnnhhhrhrrrrrrrrrrhhh, Sam snorted up more piles of cocaine that make up the road.
I ran up next to the Coke Monk. “Did you just basically tell me to shut the fuck up?”
The Monk stopped and looked at me.
Sam started snorting the foot of the Coke Monk, snorting up the coke laces of his sandals, then his big toe.
The Monk raised one of his cocaine line index fingers, hinged with little rocks of cocaine “Things are not what they appear to be: nor are they otherwise.” He closed his eyes.
“Talk about a mind fuck…” I shook my head.
The Monk continued to walk, now with a slight limp as he followed the other monk.
We approached a stairway with three steps that led into a giant Cocaine Cathedral.
There was a little spider monkey with a fez and nice white vest on. He had amazing white frosted powder fur, and it looked as soft as light. His dark eyes stared into my soul.
The Monkey moved out of our way as we walked up the steps, “To go in, is to leave the outside.”
Shiny white mother of pearl made up the sparkling white arches in the front and Peruvian White made up the walls and dome inside. Coke Monks and Nuns walked around us taking their seats, the nuns with the nuns, the Monks, The Monks.
“What the hell is this? This was just an eight-ball we bought how the hell did it end up making ST. Johns Basilica?!” I looked at Sam.
Sam was snorting up Cocaine Monks one at a time, grabbing them and just shoving them into his nose head first.
“SAM! Stop!’ I yelled. I felt bad for the Monks.
The first Cocaine Monk leaned over toward me on his bad leg, “If you live the sacred and despise the ordinary, you are still bobbing in the ocean of delusion.”
I raised my hand up in a moment of revolutionary passion, “He’s snorting up your people, look at him, oh no!” I made a fist.
Sam grabbed a Cocaine Nun by her neck and angled her into his nostril.
I slapped my forehead and Cocaine powder surrounded me like smoke, “Sam! She looks like Mother Theresa!” I launched at him but it was too late, I couldn’t save her. Sam was snorting her up so fast that by the time I took my second step all I could see the outline of Mother Theresa’s head, her big Cocaine nose, and the hood of her hood looking nun thingies that nuns wear pushing outward from Sam’s now enlarged and stretched out nostril.
Mother Theresa was snorted all the way down; I saw her wiggling sandals disappearing into Sam’s nose.
“Dude, you’re going to hell… like, really, you’re going to hell. You just killed Cocaine Mother Theresa.” I get back a little, “Dude, you’re going to fucking hell…”
The Monk walked over happy as can be, “Anything that is created must sooner or later die.” He shrugged off Mother Theresa’s death.
My eyes were watery, “….that was Cocaine Mother Theresa…” I stared at the Monk.
The Monk looked at me and then looked at his people sitting in the aisles, and walking around us. “All happiness comes from the desire for others to be happy. All misery comes from the desire for oneself to be happy.”
Sam rubbed his nose with his left hand in a calm manner, the Cocaine was stuck in his nose he pressed against one nostril and snorted inward then pressed against the other and snorted inward clearing the Cocaine snot built up in a short rocketed fashion.
Then Sam realized he was made of Cocaine. His eyes became squinty and he smiled and made a fist shoving his arm into his nose, leaving a little wiggling stub by his shoulder.
The Monk looked at me, “Anything that contradicts experience and logic should be abandoned.” He raised his eyebrows in enlightened haze, and smiled.
Sam ran to one end of the big archway that made up the doorway, and began snorting at the support beams.
“Well I hope Sam has a good time… I guess. I don’t really want to be here.” I started to feel enlightened, and then reality set in, “Sam isn’t going to snort us is he? See that’s why I don’t like Coke, you start off with an eight-ball at nine PM, and at three AM You’re snorting up your arm.”
The Monk shook his head, “I am not, and I will not be. I have not, I will not have. This frightens all children, and kills fear in the wise.”
The Monks all rose.
A Cocaine Pope walked out slowly from the back, unto the pulpit. Behind, he left a trail of powder from the bottom of his robe which dragged against the ground. He wore a big white draping robe, with different types of Cocaine gems dotting it, and a big mother of pearl glimmering shard of Peruvian Fishscale right in the center. He held on with shaking hands to a rolled up 100$ bill which was just a little taller than he was. He looked old and wise, and was helped by two Cocaine Priests who held on to him by each arm.
He smelled like really old school coke, with the slight smell of mold masking the smell of the man, he was the purest Cocaine ever made.
Little Alter boys followed the Pope, with rolled up one dollar bills which were definitely way taller than them.
The Cocaine Pope took a seat in his giant chair. The chair was made of stacked up kilos, and adorned with fresh green Coca leafs hanging over the edges, equally numbered, equally split in half in a humble balance.
The Monks began to chant in one deep vibrating resonating tone.
The Pope nodded his big Cocaine pile pokey hat proudly.
The Chanters stopped.
The Pope began doing the sign of blessing to the audience, holding up his big right Cocaine thumb like an ancient Roman high in the air pressing against his nostril, sliding his head slowly to the left snorting an imaginary line, then repeating the process with his left thumb, this time going to the right, making a loud snorting sound both ways, Ggrgrgrgrgrgrhhhgrggrgrnnnnngrgrn.
The Pope Leaned forward a little bit more, and in the most humbled voice that carried to every single crevice of the Coke Cathedral, “know all things to be like this: A mirage, a cloud castle, A dream, an apparition, Without essence, but with qualities that can be seen.”
“Whoa,” I said.
Damn, Sam was right, whatever that was, where ever we were it was mad wise. I was probably deep in my subconscious somewhere. I looked at the Monk, and then I looked at Sam who’d snorted the back row of the Cathedral by this point, had turned a right angle and started snorting up the people at the end of each and every aisle, making his way to the Cocaine Pope.
The Pope stood up, and almost hugged his 100$ rolled up bill as he leaned on it and closed his eyes.
All the Monks and Nuns immediately stood up; Sam began snorting everyone who was standing up and too close to the aisle as he made his way down to the pulpit. His one arm was waving frantically as he shoved Monk after Monk up his nostrils.
The Pope began to speak. “May all sentient beings have happiness and its causes, May all sentient beings - be free of suffering and its causes.”
Sam snorted two Monks, at the same time. His little nose had the power of a black hole sucking up everything in sight.
“May all sentient beings never be separated from bliss without suffering, may all sentient beings - be in equanimity, free of bias, attachment, and anger.” The Pope stopped for a moment.
I looked around at all the Cocaine Line People, living peacefully with each other, paying attention like no cokehead ever could.
The Pope breathed in. “Life to its doom is led. Our gears are few. Led to decay, for us no shelters stand, who contemplates this fear of death, let him so act that merit brings him bliss.”
Everybody nodded their heads at each other politely, and began shaking each other’s hands. I did the same with the Monk who was with me the whole time, as I shook his hand and grabbed his arm with my other hand I leaned over, “What the fuck does equanimity mean?”
The Monk stared at me.
Sam was behind him just snorting up Monks and Nuns and Alter boys, and benches.
Then everything just started spinning, jumping up in the air and flying towards Sam’s nose.
A strong wind slid me on the floor towards Sam, sliding me on the powdered cathedral marble floor.
The Monk began sliding with me.
The Pope started to spin in the air like some old ass break-dancer doing spins and head stands and helicopters, the Pope turned into dust in the air.
The Monk spoke. “The hours pass by and nights drive us ever on.” The Monk spoke through the yelling moan of the wind heading towards Sam’s nose, “Stages of life in turn abandon us.” He raised his arm as it turned into dust and mixed with everything else, “Whoso doth contemplate this fear of death let him reject the bait of all the worlds!” His head began to collapse into dust until only his lips remained floating in the air, “Let him aspire after the final peace.”
I began flying faster and faster until I broke the sound barrier and did a sonic boom and the cocaine dust bounced for a moment like dust on a speaker hit with a loud bass beat. I went head first into Sam’s right nostril, the White Cocaine Cathedral disappearing into the peaceful dead darkness.
I opened my eyes and there was Sam still yapping away as he chopped up lines of Cocaine. We were back in his chaotic house, with old smelly pizza boxes stacked up all over his dirty floor. The only thing clean was the table dusted with coke.
I took a deep breath to regain my senses, and then ran out of there as fast as I could. As I went through the front door off the corner of my eye I saw the little spider monkey with the fez and the vest on. “To go out is to leave the inside.” He ran off some other direction, and I never saw it or Cocaine again.
Reality had popped, somewhere along the route reality decided to pull over and take a shit on us.
See me and Sam were about to snort some Cocaine. Or rather, Sam was going to snort some coke with me, he was already on it. While he yapped away in a coke induced ramble he packed a bowl of some Salvia for me.
I’ve never done Salvia AKA Mexican Sage.
Sam rambled on and on as he explained how coke was mad wise, controlled the universe, and is the reason Aliens visit the planet. His logic – “Crop circles look a lot like triple beam scales. Seriously man! Aliens don’t know what the Fishscale is you know. This is Fishscale fool, look down at it and love it.” – He also claimed, “Cocaine was the most evolved thing on the planet. Its unit of measurement ruled the planet, the kilo. A kilo is a thousand grams, it’s easy to remember.”
All I know is the moment I was exhaling the salvia, and wondering what the fuck Sam was talking about, midway I blinked, and reality popped. I looked down at the four lines of coke on the table, four little lines arranged like pedals around an imaginary flower bud. The glass table’s background covered like a white frost plain and little mountain ranges of chunky cocaine. And the big mother pile, the eight-ball watching over it like Mount Everest.
Then all of a sudden I was staring up at me holding the bowl as I finished exhaling. I should really trim my nose hairs more often.
I looked around - I’d become one of the coke lines, surrounded by a fog of coke, Sam was another coke line. The two other ones were Monks. Not any particular type of Monks, just Cocaine Monks dressed in white robes, with powdered faces and bald shiny heads.
Sam’s face was powdered too, but still looked like Sam, with his short hair which was normally black, but it had turned white, and big wrinkly hard working hands, but they also were powder white.
The robe I had on felt like the silkiest smoothest coke on the planet. Nice and cool to the touch, where I pushed, the powder would indent, cracking in its cool dryness. The air was crisp with the smell of Italian powdered milk. All of a sudden I started having a flashback to when I was a baby and my mother was handing me a bottle of milk. As I put the nipple of the bottle to my mouth, the bitter taste of numbing chemicals brought me back to reality.
The Cocaine Monks also had on the same style robe except it looked a lot better on their thin bony frames. I guess Cocaine people don’t eat much.
A defining bassy chant - made Cocaine flakes fall from our beings and unto the floor. NUM NYO HOORAY YAYO. NUM NYO HOORAY YAYO. NUM NYOOOOOOO.
“What the hell are you guys saying?” I tugged at one of the Monk’s long sleeves and it dissolved into powder and fell to the floor.
The Monk looked at me with his little coke rock diamond shaped eyes. “All know the Way, but few actually walk it.” He began walking down the little trail of coke left by the credit card used to extract lines from the big mound of coke on the table.
I looked at Sam, he was going nuts. He looked like a kid in a candy store bouncing from aisle to aisle as he snorted up one side of the road then the other. He shoved fist-sized clumps of cocaine into his nose, making it enlarge as he sucked it down, you could see it going down the side of his neck.
“Sam, what the hell is going on man? Is this real? It can’t be.”
Sam said nothing.
The Coke Monk looked back at me over his thin bony robe covered shoulder, “Do not speak - unless it improves on silence.” His bony rigid pointy chin hovered over his shoulder.
Grrrnnnnnhhhrhrrrrrrrrrrhhh, Sam snorted up more piles of cocaine that make up the road.
I ran up next to the Coke Monk. “Did you just basically tell me to shut the fuck up?”
The Monk stopped and looked at me.
Sam started snorting the foot of the Coke Monk, snorting up the coke laces of his sandals, then his big toe.
The Monk raised one of his cocaine line index fingers, hinged with little rocks of cocaine “Things are not what they appear to be: nor are they otherwise.” He closed his eyes.
“Talk about a mind fuck…” I shook my head.
The Monk continued to walk, now with a slight limp as he followed the other monk.
We approached a stairway with three steps that led into a giant Cocaine Cathedral.
There was a little spider monkey with a fez and nice white vest on. He had amazing white frosted powder fur, and it looked as soft as light. His dark eyes stared into my soul.
The Monkey moved out of our way as we walked up the steps, “To go in, is to leave the outside.”
Shiny white mother of pearl made up the sparkling white arches in the front and Peruvian White made up the walls and dome inside. Coke Monks and Nuns walked around us taking their seats, the nuns with the nuns, the Monks, The Monks.
“What the hell is this? This was just an eight-ball we bought how the hell did it end up making ST. Johns Basilica?!” I looked at Sam.
Sam was snorting up Cocaine Monks one at a time, grabbing them and just shoving them into his nose head first.
“SAM! Stop!’ I yelled. I felt bad for the Monks.
The first Cocaine Monk leaned over toward me on his bad leg, “If you live the sacred and despise the ordinary, you are still bobbing in the ocean of delusion.”
I raised my hand up in a moment of revolutionary passion, “He’s snorting up your people, look at him, oh no!” I made a fist.
Sam grabbed a Cocaine Nun by her neck and angled her into his nostril.
I slapped my forehead and Cocaine powder surrounded me like smoke, “Sam! She looks like Mother Theresa!” I launched at him but it was too late, I couldn’t save her. Sam was snorting her up so fast that by the time I took my second step all I could see the outline of Mother Theresa’s head, her big Cocaine nose, and the hood of her hood looking nun thingies that nuns wear pushing outward from Sam’s now enlarged and stretched out nostril.
Mother Theresa was snorted all the way down; I saw her wiggling sandals disappearing into Sam’s nose.
“Dude, you’re going to hell… like, really, you’re going to hell. You just killed Cocaine Mother Theresa.” I get back a little, “Dude, you’re going to fucking hell…”
The Monk walked over happy as can be, “Anything that is created must sooner or later die.” He shrugged off Mother Theresa’s death.
My eyes were watery, “….that was Cocaine Mother Theresa…” I stared at the Monk.
The Monk looked at me and then looked at his people sitting in the aisles, and walking around us. “All happiness comes from the desire for others to be happy. All misery comes from the desire for oneself to be happy.”
Sam rubbed his nose with his left hand in a calm manner, the Cocaine was stuck in his nose he pressed against one nostril and snorted inward then pressed against the other and snorted inward clearing the Cocaine snot built up in a short rocketed fashion.
Then Sam realized he was made of Cocaine. His eyes became squinty and he smiled and made a fist shoving his arm into his nose, leaving a little wiggling stub by his shoulder.
The Monk looked at me, “Anything that contradicts experience and logic should be abandoned.” He raised his eyebrows in enlightened haze, and smiled.
Sam ran to one end of the big archway that made up the doorway, and began snorting at the support beams.
“Well I hope Sam has a good time… I guess. I don’t really want to be here.” I started to feel enlightened, and then reality set in, “Sam isn’t going to snort us is he? See that’s why I don’t like Coke, you start off with an eight-ball at nine PM, and at three AM You’re snorting up your arm.”
The Monk shook his head, “I am not, and I will not be. I have not, I will not have. This frightens all children, and kills fear in the wise.”
The Monks all rose.
A Cocaine Pope walked out slowly from the back, unto the pulpit. Behind, he left a trail of powder from the bottom of his robe which dragged against the ground. He wore a big white draping robe, with different types of Cocaine gems dotting it, and a big mother of pearl glimmering shard of Peruvian Fishscale right in the center. He held on with shaking hands to a rolled up 100$ bill which was just a little taller than he was. He looked old and wise, and was helped by two Cocaine Priests who held on to him by each arm.
He smelled like really old school coke, with the slight smell of mold masking the smell of the man, he was the purest Cocaine ever made.
Little Alter boys followed the Pope, with rolled up one dollar bills which were definitely way taller than them.
The Cocaine Pope took a seat in his giant chair. The chair was made of stacked up kilos, and adorned with fresh green Coca leafs hanging over the edges, equally numbered, equally split in half in a humble balance.
The Monks began to chant in one deep vibrating resonating tone.
The Pope nodded his big Cocaine pile pokey hat proudly.
The Chanters stopped.
The Pope began doing the sign of blessing to the audience, holding up his big right Cocaine thumb like an ancient Roman high in the air pressing against his nostril, sliding his head slowly to the left snorting an imaginary line, then repeating the process with his left thumb, this time going to the right, making a loud snorting sound both ways, Ggrgrgrgrgrgrhhhgrggrgrnnnnngrgrn.
The Pope Leaned forward a little bit more, and in the most humbled voice that carried to every single crevice of the Coke Cathedral, “know all things to be like this: A mirage, a cloud castle, A dream, an apparition, Without essence, but with qualities that can be seen.”
“Whoa,” I said.
Damn, Sam was right, whatever that was, where ever we were it was mad wise. I was probably deep in my subconscious somewhere. I looked at the Monk, and then I looked at Sam who’d snorted the back row of the Cathedral by this point, had turned a right angle and started snorting up the people at the end of each and every aisle, making his way to the Cocaine Pope.
The Pope stood up, and almost hugged his 100$ rolled up bill as he leaned on it and closed his eyes.
All the Monks and Nuns immediately stood up; Sam began snorting everyone who was standing up and too close to the aisle as he made his way down to the pulpit. His one arm was waving frantically as he shoved Monk after Monk up his nostrils.
The Pope began to speak. “May all sentient beings have happiness and its causes, May all sentient beings - be free of suffering and its causes.”
Sam snorted two Monks, at the same time. His little nose had the power of a black hole sucking up everything in sight.
“May all sentient beings never be separated from bliss without suffering, may all sentient beings - be in equanimity, free of bias, attachment, and anger.” The Pope stopped for a moment.
I looked around at all the Cocaine Line People, living peacefully with each other, paying attention like no cokehead ever could.
The Pope breathed in. “Life to its doom is led. Our gears are few. Led to decay, for us no shelters stand, who contemplates this fear of death, let him so act that merit brings him bliss.”
Everybody nodded their heads at each other politely, and began shaking each other’s hands. I did the same with the Monk who was with me the whole time, as I shook his hand and grabbed his arm with my other hand I leaned over, “What the fuck does equanimity mean?”
The Monk stared at me.
Sam was behind him just snorting up Monks and Nuns and Alter boys, and benches.
Then everything just started spinning, jumping up in the air and flying towards Sam’s nose.
A strong wind slid me on the floor towards Sam, sliding me on the powdered cathedral marble floor.
The Monk began sliding with me.
The Pope started to spin in the air like some old ass break-dancer doing spins and head stands and helicopters, the Pope turned into dust in the air.
The Monk spoke. “The hours pass by and nights drive us ever on.” The Monk spoke through the yelling moan of the wind heading towards Sam’s nose, “Stages of life in turn abandon us.” He raised his arm as it turned into dust and mixed with everything else, “Whoso doth contemplate this fear of death let him reject the bait of all the worlds!” His head began to collapse into dust until only his lips remained floating in the air, “Let him aspire after the final peace.”
I began flying faster and faster until I broke the sound barrier and did a sonic boom and the cocaine dust bounced for a moment like dust on a speaker hit with a loud bass beat. I went head first into Sam’s right nostril, the White Cocaine Cathedral disappearing into the peaceful dead darkness.
I opened my eyes and there was Sam still yapping away as he chopped up lines of Cocaine. We were back in his chaotic house, with old smelly pizza boxes stacked up all over his dirty floor. The only thing clean was the table dusted with coke.
I took a deep breath to regain my senses, and then ran out of there as fast as I could. As I went through the front door off the corner of my eye I saw the little spider monkey with the fez and the vest on. “To go out is to leave the inside.” He ran off some other direction, and I never saw it or Cocaine again.
