This is a to be continued from Leave In conditioner pt.1...
I merged my body and all of it's living systems nice and easy into the current of these animated corpses who had been freed from the deep sleep of the grave by some kind of powerful evil. Inside the slow but steadily moving crowd I could hear their bones creaking and fluids dripping and a cooperative low moan that was gathering in intensity the closer we got to the large tent in the distance. All the sounds assumed a strange rhythm that fell apart and reassembled itself over and over, responding to the shifting rhythms of the drums beating in the distance. Big viking drums from space and deeper in the mix some steady island steel rocking. Those clicking and grinding bones stepped on ahead and from every orifice, fluids dripped making the path slick and awful smelling. We stumbled and slipped along getting closer to the music.
There were spotlights on the clouds that were full of lightning but no rain. Carnival lights hung around the perimeter of the tent. I saw that as each body passed through the entrance to the tent they spit a blob of grey matter into a black oil drum. When filled these drums were sealed I watched them rolled onto the stage by dental assistants. These were drums we had been drawn here by. Animatronic creatures with disco ball heads and bat skeleton bodies banged away on these drums.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was one of the attendants of the tent. There were two of them, female, twins, Navajo or Apache. They were drunk as shit and not in the mood to be working. They each took me firmly by the arms and led me into the tent. I was amazed at the scene. The tent was filled to capacity with the undead all swaying and moaning and drooling to the drums. There was weird casual loopings of Bread going on over the drums too but you couldn't hear that unless you weren't really listening. There was an incoherent chanting coming from all sides that I have decided must have been some deciphering of the projected binary code that was scrolling in chaotic patterns across the roof and sides of the tent. My minders and I rushed towards the front of the tent towards the portal to backstage. Before we crossed over I caught one last quick glance at the stage and I saw two black dentists chairs rigged with all kinds of serious looking restraints. I worried about that.
Then I was backstage. It was a disorienting shift coming from the audience side of the tent. Back there it was almost void completely of the chaos out front. Although the backstage was almost completely empty there was a high energy, last minute frenzy that you would expect from behind the scenes of any large scale event like this or even one of John Cougar Mellancamps puppet shows to save the heartland. Most of the space back there was assumed by enormous gas canisters that were between 5 and 20 feet tall. they lined the entire outer edge of the tent. I have no idea what was in them as the contents of them were only written in indecipherable hieroglyphics. There were colored hoses running from each canister up and over the path I was on and into the massive wall of electronics that I reasoned was part of the stage. A few Native Americans sat backwards on horseback, heads drooping down and moving slowly through the space sporting gas masks and wearing their own purchase of sky as vacant headdress. They lazily shot out arrows at random into the heads of shadow moving underlings in dreadlocks and straight jackets. These arrows with poison tips of useless motivations sent them scurrying and spinning to and fro crashing into everything they could on their way to achieve some menial tasks with heads full of pulsing neon. A large array of hairstyling chairs with hydraulic lifts sat in waiting. Only a few were occupied by those bodies I recognized as belonging to members of the Newton Historical Preservation Society. They were being waited on and preened by strange mutants who were unlikely from this side of the galaxy. Their chairs would rise through stations systematically intensifying their hairstyles. Teeth with haloed personalities and closed eyelashes floated gently everywhere.
Staircases that led to nowhere and back again disfigured reality and my ability to tell where the hell I was being led. My handlers took me up one such staircase and through an unmarked door of high frequency black lacquer. I stepped through the door and they closed it behind me. I found myself in a bare room of even deeper quiet and immaculate white wall to wall carpeting of enormous pile. As a connoisseur of high end carpeting I recognized this as one of the most information rich floor covering I had ever stepped on. I immediately took of my shoes and socks and took a couple of luxurious steps into the room. Although I only took a couple of steps I suddenly found myself equidistant from all sides of the room which seemed to have doubled in size. I looked around at three walls painted in a white that matched the carpet one of which contained the black lacquer door. A perfect match save the texture of the flooring. That was a language of its own. I looked ahead to the fourth wall was windows that I could tell from the sounds from below would look down onto the scene of the tent and it's revival atmosphere. I wondered if I could ever reach those windows. I took another step and again the room expanded in every direction. I only found myself experiencing the sensation of being closer to the center of something than I ever had before in my life. I wanted to see what was going on down there. Suddenly the carpet came alive under my bare feet and toes. I felt every fiber begin to vibrate and swirl in between my toes and along the undersides of my foot. I felt the level of the pile rise to my ankles and I felt an intensely relaxing bubbling sensation from the toes up. The carpet had begun to bubble and fill the room with foam. I looked up and around for escape as the relaxing sensations gave way to panic. It was only then that I noticed the ceiling was covered completely in bats.
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