Musings of a mindfuck

From the ants in my head come an illusion that only a mother can love...forget a night at the opera...lose the mirages of an evening of dancing...there are no summer nights here....and without further ado, we present to you Musings of a Mindfuck: Fear and Loathing in Islamabad.

At an Afghan gay bar called Kharan in Islamabad, one may imagine there is nothing more going on than men with excessive facial hair, sacred goat worship, and the smell of freshly born cattle. There most likely are not thoughts of kinetic pictures, floating facades, and trapped imagery. Lose your inhibitions and step into 1607.....

Of course, there are a few small material requirements. A facemask, some Tangerine Dream, vapors, Fresh, still-lights and a cute moose will do just fine. There is nothing like an evening of living in a gap between past and future.

At the door, Tiger Ali Singh collects tickets and there arises the opportunity to go mindfuck yourself. Before you enter the form room, you must engage in the controversial worship of the blue light special sitting on the door. Yes, I understand it is not an average farm animal, but trust me, it is so worth it. Perhaps you may sell your soul, or a deep secret, to someone who is anxious for a big payoff to let you in.

At long last, the wonder comes to a peak as the images dance on air. In the background, a Lego-built parking center serve as the center of the city. Light provided by the eye of the sky illustrate the outlines of photographs that will linger in the mind for a lifetime. A glimpse of the night sky outlines a showgirl lugging an elephant in a journey of the ages...a blowfish's gentle breezes scurry along, allowing disabled trout to follow in line behind a great white whale. Only in Islamabad can you get Christmas in Octomber as Santa engages in his yearly S&M ritual of whipping Rudolph as other unsuspecting reindeer wish and desire the same treatment. A quick look down has you wondering, "How long would it take a Starburst to reach that ground?" To jump from seventeen floors...and crash into freefall....but then the meep of a cute moose signifies the temporary end of Eden, but not to worry, there will be more of this to transpire....

It's time now to kick back, enjoy a glass of chilled orange juice in a wine goblet, and take in some of the energy channeling from the glass think tank. To get the full effect of the picture show, put on a facemask, add some vapors as an armoatheraputic measure, and kick in some stress relief via tangering dream. Fresh is everybody's friend just waiting to be compamionized at the couch. From the glass think tank comes sounds and images that have you wondering, "How did I get this lucky?" One such scene playing out shows a retail prostitution of sorts, a peddler desperate for some attention dances within the glass panel selling various paraphernalia....."We got the shit that made Michael Jackson white....'B. Dialin.....We got the shit that saved Janet Jones' career...that's right, Wayne Gretsky cards...B. Dialin...We got Ken Griffey Jr.'s toenail shavings...B. Dialin." Dialing the 342-5464 may not seem like such a bad idea...keepsakes of this evening will be accessible to only a precious few...but Niblet has some other ideas. Fresh is on display for a laser light show in the restroom. Just keep in mind that urination cannot happen whilst wearing the facemask, or whilst the show is in progress. However, just as the show is about to begin, you notice that Fresh's life is in jeopardy...two of the still-lights are jutting from his back and nobody but you can revive Fresh's career. You may bethink yourself a freak for attempting to do the impossible, but some simple manuevering can save his life. A rush of relief and accomplishment flow through your arterial tunnels as Fresh effortlessly carries on with his light show. In the pool of irridescent waves, Fresh dances on water and entertains the masses. Reds, purples, and greens come together in a love affair of the ages...the vapors and hues linger in a flirtation that stick to the mind like wishes for pancakes and Cheddar and Bacon Ruffles. After such a feat, there is only one other place to go...that's right, the blue light special...but how do you get in there? Take a bow to the Southerly wind and hope for the best...

At worship time, Angelina approaches...without inspiration, you babble, "I know what's behind that door...all I have to do is get behind that...," and without hesitiation she offers, "Have you tried the doorknob?" Awestruck at the aspect that you need not offer large sums of money or life changing intelligence, the door suddlenly opens and once again the opportunity takes shape for intellect and induction to happen.

In the Pakistani skyline is a party that only the enlightened can see...but the mistake of looking down is made and a security vehicle is noted. Preoccupying your mind would clearly be a mistake since the Capri Classic is clearly at least 100 feet away, but there is drama to be had. Worried about being exposed, you make your concerns known to other revelers, but that's not the smartest idea...until you can be a good fag, you are banned from the window....

But all is not lost...there is a picture portrait of a tree over a lounge bed, and what better way to enjoy a time-out then losing yourself in the scenery? Take a gentle still light, balance it on your nose, and engage yourself in yet another virtual picture show. The landscape of acres and acres of trees, open land, and caring people captures the essence of this imaginary kingdom. Tress dance above grass, children move in unison to the beat of the wind, and the wildbeest is at bay. A journey up the tree takes you closer to Paradise and the children cheer your courage. The grass rises, acting as Nature's buffer. The grass gas fills the air with an aroma reminiscent of spring cleaning, and its consistency is that of cotton candy. "Paradise can wait until later..." you think to yourself as you take the Nestea Plunge into the mat of soft grass blades. Time once more to join the others in another executive meeting of glass and light. I want my MTV...

No such thing is to be had...pictures of obese ladies dressed in masochistic gear accompany hairy old men in similar fashions to a picnic-esque aura of sex, lust, and bubbly stomach rolls. This clearly moves your gastrointestinal tract into paranoia, and the restroom is the automatic next destination. Concerned patrons inquire as to your condition, and you're doing just fine, but can really do without people who should not be having sex, let alone glorfying kinkiness...if you ever get close to a human...and to human behavoiur...be ready...be ready to get confused...

Tiredom starts to set in but you realize that all opportunities have not been taken advantage of just yet. Try another meeting at the glass and light show, things may get better...and indeed they do...fascination sets in as carrots ooze, producing an evil twin on a train ride from obscurity to the middle of nowhere...generic enemies come to life, providing entertainment of the mock blowing-off sort. Bag em up and send them back to Nutnik, you can find your real adverseries somewhere down the line...and in fact you have when you come across a boy band whining about lost love...yet there is enough black and white on the screen to trap the mind for even a few minutes...is it the hope of seeing a cute guy? Is it the hope that one of the boys will make the switch? The questions of life remain unanswered as slumber wins the fight of the fluttering eyelids...

Morning has already arisen, and those same concerned patrons invite you to the Islamabad Cafe for breakfast. "I REALLY hope they have pancakes and Cheddar and Bacon Ruffles," reads the bubble of thought over your head. The elevator engages in its freefall to the bottom floor and the doors part, much like a supermarket. Luckily, no one has yet been sighted, but that is soon to change. A father with his wife and matching daughter cavort over a bitter breakfast bitchfest, but you cannot be so bothered as the sight of Hollywood manufactured eggs and microwaved tater tots take form before you. Your plate magically fills and the contents disappear with equal expedience, and it's time for another stumble to the buffet. Freezing cold french toast and more of those yummy generic taters are the rule this time around. The nice man who toasts the French for you seems strangely familiar.....does B. Dialin ring any bells?

342-54.....

But alas it is almost time to exit the safe haven...and the same elevator that once took you through space and time opens and the images are just mind rattling. Patrons were floored as a scary old lady with hair roller emerges, touting herself as the standard of beauty. Luckily, she floats into non-existance without Medusa-izing anybody, yet she lingers in the mind long enough to serve as a temporary dose of conversation.

Curious as to what one last meeting of the glass and light meeting would show, you go to it and see commentators shouting, "THE BEARS CAN'T COVER YOUR GRANDMOTHER!!! AND SHE'S AT LEAST 305 YEARS OLD!!!" Studio audiences flash across the glass in gobs of infrared and you know how cool it would be to sit in a stadium as a glowing black and white dot.

The moment is finally upon you to exit Kharan. Will you ever see these people again? What will become of the lady, the elephant, Santa, Angelina, B. Dialin, breakfast bitchfests, Fresh, and hair roller woman? Will you take the Nestea plunge again? You've overstayed your welcome, but the mindfuck is just beginning....