Table of Contents:
Shrooms & The OJ Man
The Cigarette Man
The Devil’s trumpet
Bigfoot
The Dog
In memory of Weces, one day we all become myths
Introduction
Many of these stories are currently being investigated. These first drafts are local myths and legends from the small cities I grew up in. As kids we would retell these stories, these are my recollections of them. I am currently in the process of contacting people I grew up with, old friends, neighbours and acquintances to see what they also remember from these stories.
Shrooms & The Oj Man
In the streets of Kuta Beach, a young man walks around. As he walks, he jiggles softly- left to right. His arms lightly waving like serpents as he steps carefully down the street, trying not to tilt his head. He was a young mixed boy with pale brown skin and blondish-brown hair. His eyes black and beaded, endless and no longer there. Some say he was big on taking shrooms like skies the limit as was his tolerance until one day he never got out of it. He walks up and down the busy streets of Kuta beach, stuck in a universe where he is a glass of orange juice. As he walks, he swishes the juice inside him but is very careful not to spill, keeping his head upstraight.
The Cigarette Man
I used to work at F.R.E.A.K. Coffee, a small café in the middle of Jalan Hanuman. I would start work around 10 or 11 morning and would see him a few times through the day. Walking down the street with usually a similar grey polo shirt with blue lines around the collar. He wore brown flip-flops and navy blue shorts. He was maybe not over 40 when I was working at the café as his kept a boyish length with some gray strands you could see from upclose. He was smooth and deeply tanned from the rounds he’d make everyday, and had the same expression on his face- His eyes looking forward at no one really, his eyebrows slightly raised and his mouth slightly pursed and sometimes slightly open. He would walk around the block every day, how many ever times. Arounnd Jalan Hanuman straight into the junction that streams into Jalan Raya Ubud, from there maybe down Goutama and into Dewisita. Every once in a while he’d stop in front of whoever was there and gesture to you. With his right arm in an L shape and his index and middle finger in a V shape, he’d signal for a cigarette. Up and down very gently. Then when you give him one, he’d wait for your fire then continued walking. Some say when he was still in SD he was a math genius. One day the pressure got to him and he snapped. He was never the same ever again.
The Devil’s Trumpet
There is a white flower which grows at the cracks of streets and sidwalks, on football fields and forests. A short flower which grows up to 25cm to 30cm tall. It’s pedals from from 4 to 5, bellowed and oval rom the bottom to slight thin swirls to the tip. They call them the Devil’s Trumpet, a powerful drug which casually grows through the city scape. Our elders tell not to eat it, it may send you through euphoria or trap you in the most terrifying of realms. It’ll have you in agony until it washes these nightmares away with infinite slumber.
The Dog
In the middle of the quieet Mid-west subarbs, eagles set at height watch at their horizon brown-bricked apartments compounded to each other by black railed balconies. Together connected, forming a hexagon. An apartment on each corner and the inside of the hexagon empty, no roof, no nothing except for the cement laid on the ground. Each reailing connected to each neighbour. Below were the staircases to the basements. §
Iphone photo of water colour painting