Tablets of Wisdom

Tremors begin. Vibrations of the head. It is lovely and disgusting at the same time. There is boiling, there is leftover silt. There is flickering. Skeleton death masks appear, books on witchcraft and alien invasions. Black felt spiders crawl in yarn webs. White chalky tablets fall from the sky into your palms. You insert them in mouth and ingest, according to the accompanying pamphlet. Your cat meows from behind the door - tap tap tap with his paws. He wants to come in but you prefer the sound of his insistent wants to his actual presence. You are alone in the fish fry, the new world philosophy that you have been adhering to for the past six months. No one else is on board. The tablets help you gain insight that you cannot express onto the world, they unleash gutteral machinations on your soiled interior. It is messy; there is no clean-up.