The Newland Chemistry Set by Rich Mills

"But it's raining... (dum   dum   dub-ba..!   dum   dum) Raining in my heart..." A distant wave of dash-white-line hugging radio being transmitted from the 'WHO THE HELL HAS BEEN MESSING WITH MY TUNER???' morning-show drifted through the rows of tree lined avenues and terraces. Unfortunately it was being received by the aerial of his clock-radio and thus turned into camel's-back breaking de-tuned noise, which eventually permeated a membrane somewhere inside Roy's skull. He awoke with a headache. He sat up in bed. The vertical rush caused the pressure gauge in HIS head to go into the RED  HIS HEAD EXPLODED  Sending pieces of fleshed hair and mind matter to splatter against the bedroom walls and ceiling  A little light-headed he picked up the fragments of his shattered mind and went downstairs to face the morning.

The light of the morning star streamed through the kitchen window  Dazzling ! HiS HeAd ExPlOdEd  The aftershock from the blast caused the window to bow outwards Reaching its conveX limit it  Shattered ! Showering sun gloried glass gracefully beyond barbwire backyard walls  The headache clung on tightly to his bloodied stump of brain stem. Picking himself up, he opening the kitchen cupboard. Finding that Old Mother Hubbard and her stinking dog had been there before him and licked out the inside of all life. The HEADACHE squeezed  As an unstoppable instinct slammed the cupboard door closed  hiS heaD exploded  The bare cupboard bore the brunt of the impact, splintering the doors  As a bodiless cranium ricochet off all four walls before eventually losing its inertia and depositing ITself at HIS feet  He collected his thoughts. Returning their tender vessel to his shoulders.

An explode-ition INto the OUTside ensued  A dangerous and difficult task! Undertaken without full control over the detonation device that could so easily spark another explosion that'd level his safe bohemian/studenty/arty-farty/working-class neighbourhood. He walked up Newland Avenue  Passing a butchers  ONE of too many for such a short shopping stretch, how did they all keep in business? Is this a particularly carnivorous area of the city? Contra to the avenues myth that is whispered through the rest of the city of it being inhabited by a roaming tribe of free grazing hippies. SLAP! The stench of burning fat from roasting bovine flesh and foul spat at him from an open shop-front  hIs hEAd ExplOdEd  Managing to contain some of the blast by placing his hands over his face  The shockwave that emanated from the back of his skull caused collateral damage to:

3 - Cash Machines (That's the local economy buggered!)
1 - Portaloo (Who used it anyway?)
1 - Tree
1 - Telephone box
2 - butchers
2 - bakers
0 - candlestick makers

And some slight bruising of some apples at two fruit and veg. shops were reported.

Deciding Chain-store chemistry wasn't the answer, and too far to walk in his condition anyway, Roy turned back to his Local Community Pharmacy. It mushroomed garishly from the new-landscape. He entered the mystical apothecary, famous across the land. Approaching the counter he heard 'Mr. Pharmacist by The Fall' playing  tHis voice was soon drowned out by the rushing waters, "Welcome to THE MACHINE !"

Collage courtesy of Rich.

The Newland Chemistry Set (contd) by Rich Mills

"How may I help U... Sir?" Unable to speak, he stubbed at his Temple with an indeX finger. "Ah I C U need your head sorting out young man." A regretful nod rattled his marbles HIS HEAD EXPLODED  The MAN behind the Counter ignored his customers idiosyncrasies and carried on regardless, "Do you like architecture Sir? I love architecture!" He went on, "Bauhaus now they were architects, architects of sound." And on, "That Murphy bloke... You know the one... Maxell break the sound-barrier..." A dark hushed gothic tone of his voice hit a silent chord. "Shame though I think... I loved Heavens vaulted ceiling and once the sky had gone out... There was little left but the exquisite corpse... Don't you think so Sir?"

He'd remembered the cause of his headache and where it'd originated. The day earlier the shadow of Apollo had past over him. Three months late but still enough to cause a monumental headache. His doctor had told him that he would never be anaemic. In fact he was loaded down with iron, rust and seizing-up being problematic in later life he'd been told by his quack-doctor. Any great magnet like the Earth was gonna pull him down. Then with the recent tidal effect of a demi-god's sweeping wake-up call. Well the gravity of such a mass was bound to tug at him a bit. The weight of all that molten iron rushing to his head. No wonder he got a raging headache, he was top heavy, it was obvious. He needed to drain the blood downwards, into the parts of his body that had started to shrivel and die from lack of use.

"I'd like to have one Yogic Flip Candy Shake, my man." Roy said.

"Good choice, would that be with extra flakes of Karmic Understanding?" Said the crater faced assistant behind the Counter.

"I am the illegitimate child of a virginal Old Father Time." Said The Formica Counter.

"Get off your high horse, and drink your chemically emulsified flavour enhanced milk product."

The Drug Store Cowboy punctuated his drawl with a spit wad of chewing tobacco, "Howdy stranger? You're nu te deez parts in't ye?" A saliva encapsulated carcinogenic lump rimmed the spittoon, picking up enough speed so that its escape velocity was sufficient to break free of the gravitational pull of the black hole it was rimming. Once free of the holes tidal effect the lump rocketed towards the newly liberated headache free region of space, the impact blacked out all communication in the radius of his universe... Out again..! Wake me when it's over..!

"Huh, No!" Instead of being a pulped mess on the pavement as he'd expected, Roy found himself sat bolt upright in his bed. In his dream he couldn't remember reaching the bottom, it had seemed he was falling through an endless void. Yet somehow he had definitely felt a solid surface rush towards him, and experienced the fleeting brush of impact. Now however he knew it had all been a dream, a perfectly normal occurrence and one of a common subject matter. Wasn't it? Dazed and confused by the sudden reality switch, he yearned for the empty void of dreamtime rather than handle the, well just anything really, he just didn't like dealing with anything in this world. Why should he it all sucked anyway, nothing surprised him anymore. All appeared mundane, all groaned heavy with boredom. Nothing new ever seemed to happen round here anymore.

After all you're bound to be disappointed in life if you are expecting the end of the world at any moment. At which time you half expect the four horsemen of the Apocalypse will come knocking on your front door to declare your daughter to be the Anti-Christ. Oh yeah, not forgetting that Roy believed that he'd almost cracked the mysteries of the universe, and he considered himself to be almost (but not quite yet) a god! What should have caused Roy to pull himself up and take notice was his degenerating appearance. The image of the devil himself stared back at him now from beyond the looking glass. Eyes shot with arcs of scarlet lightening, the thinning beard no longer hid the deepening hollows just below his cheekbones. His doctor had diagnosed high blood pressure, a psycho-social disorder, and a touch of manic depression. All probably the result of stress related to the intense expectations placed on him by  by  by  himself. However to be on the safe side his doctor said he would treat him for manic-depression, and throw in the psycho-social disorder seeing how they had a 2-for-1 offer on this week. Plus that way he got to try lots of new combinations of anti-depressants and sleepers. Apparently there is a whole new range out this season, for the discerning lunatic. He'd suggested possibly sectioning him under the Mental Health Act if things improved. At the moment he was too sick to be allowed into any of the state mental institutes, their strict admissions policy prevented overcrowding and stretching the already wafer thin resources of the state health care system. The severally mentally deteriorated members of the general populous are seen as a burden on the system and so the policy is to ignore them, in favour of less ill but more financially stable and economically viable patients with complaints such as Chronic Hypochondria  Anyway..! Crisis Over...!

©  Rich Mills 2003

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