Smells Like... What?

An oven turned to full with chicken slowly burning inside while water bottles rattle in a cage inside secret CIA laboratories smells of a governments failed plan to appease and control the masses through random radio,TV and newspaper stories on how great life is and how there are no worries of terrorists,high inflation or gasoline prices.

The escaping moment of happiness one feels when looking really carefully at the last sparks of flames rising high above the smouldering garden of our forgotten youth smells like an attempt from Phil Collins to do a cover song from Magma's Mekanïk Destruktïw Kommandöh with english lyrics and bagpipes.

An unlucky ice fisherman who chooses his spot randomly, drills a hole, sits there for three minutes not getting any fish, decides to change the spot, drills another hole, sits there for three minutes, changes the spot again and keeps changing the spot until the sun goes down and the night wind blows away his dreams smells like the tiny piece of mineral residue that you get when leaving a bottle of evian water with the top unscrewed left in the sun for several days to evapourate by natural means while a marching band plays the songs of Gershwin in a nearby park.

The galloping ibex approaching the revolving doors of an insignificant public library while lightbulb people prance around outside trying to find all the sky pieces of a 1-to-1 scale jigsaw puzzle of the Earth smells of a avant gard artists attempt to go beyond the medium in which he works in to expand his horizons and quite possibly his pocketbook but sadly this will not come to pass until many years after his death.

The gentle gush of wind through the window of a loft where a depressed and hungry artist slowly reaches up off the floor to paint an insecure stroke of yellow over a dark blue section of an amateurish work depicting a drowning Icelandic sailor smells of a man who can't deal with lifes complexities and daliy drudgery although he does do a good job of faking it by pouring another glass of jack daniels into the dirty glass while contemplating what the future and what his ex-wifes actions have done to him.

Edited by crimhead - July 21 2008 at 21:12

A walk in the carpark on a fresh winters morning with the mist of night lapping at your feet as the breaking dawn caresses the glistening dew on the rusting body of an abandoned Toyota while the object of your unrequited love laughs playfully at your bashful clumsiness through a telescopic sight of a high-velocity rifle from a vantage point on the roof of a nearby building smells of a plot to assassinate a former or future world leader who's views and policies are not in agreement with your own.

The saddest thing I've heard since The Quiet Game was closed smells like the day someone wanted to cry because the Answer Game got closed, yet they had run out of tissues and refused to cry.

Something I would do if I had even one good original idea in storage smells like we may have run out of ideas and thoughts in that silly story thread as well.

A lost episode of Gilligan's Island involving a plot in which the Daleks attempt to take over the world only to be thwarted by the Doctor who through some twist of fate is unable to rescue Gilligan and his friends smells like another Hollywood ploy to wring another sequel out of a long forgotten franchise so that it can get as much money from the movie going public without having to come up with an original idea.

Not even one free beer smells of the desperation of a man looking into his wallet realizing that he's got neither an ATM card nor a single dollar bill on him to pay for any beers to wash away his depression.