dirtymaggiemae's Journal

Of Covers and Strawberries.

Last night I bought a bucket of strawberries, well I lied, I didn't buy them. I left some money on the counter and took them. No, it wasn't me planning suicide, no. I simply watched them all night long, sat on a bench eyeing the fruits. Just to see what sort of spell they casted upon the moon.
I stared at them until they were rotting, decomposing, slowly dieing on my arms. I didn't move until the putrid smell forced me to take them away.

I threw them into the waters of the park, they splashed red water around, then sank on a reddish well.

Coincidental enough I was wandering around the park a hidden spot that I later denominated "Strawberry Fields Forever", when I found a magazine on the floor. It was RAT, I had written a few articles for them, but I only published one. The editor was constantly high, and still the magazine had good stuff in it. But anyway it wasn't the content which caught my attention, it was the cover.

You see while the editor(Desmond)and I set the details for the publication of my article I was able to roam around the office(its hardly an office, but who's counting? Its the Village.) on the mess of place I found the original covers, going through them I found a stunning one, something that really didn't relate to the rest, something blimley amazing: strawberry bombs falling through Nam. Desmond never knew who had sent that, and said that it probably wasn't even intended to go there. Intentional or not I folded it and pushed it up my sleeve.

Well this cover, this cover had the exact same style! Sure the theme was nothing like it, but it was done by the same person. I knelt and stared at , recalling I had the same coat on.

So I took it out again, unrolled it and palced it next to the cover, it had to be the same author, same artist, same art.

It was so real, that it made me pick a notebook and write, its not my very best, but it had been a while since something made me take a pen, and drag the sharp end through a paper, writing stuff no one would read or get, except for me and the pavement.

"Let me take you down, let it flow with strawberry bombs
hand grenades of red crawling on my guts
disintegrating veins, bulbs and pumps
by this very point is the one tune that can have me destroyed

Yes let me take you down
I made a yes, but its all wrong
Let me be the Faust
cos I'm fucked all across strawberry overdose."

I've got to find the artist.