It May Be Dramatic But It’s Exactly What Happened

LinneausDay 1

There was a mosquito the size of my fist.
Our tents hit 50 degrees and all the muesli bars and Killer Pythons melted together to form a gelatinous fibre-filled rainbow snack.
There are also actual killer pythons.
It’s hard to sleep because we’re woken up by the sounds of brown snakes choking on cane toads.
Or that one fucking bird at 4:36am.
We don’t recognise any of these bugs before but we’re pretty certain they want to kill us.
What are we doing.

 

Day 2

It’s fun
We’re a bit dirty now.
We slide on the ground, let dust fill our noses
Building monsters out of each other
Perform battles
Speak in gibberish
The stalks of the building creak and sway
As we run from left to right
To see where we can bend
Where our limits begin and end
What are we doing.

 

Day 4

Okay
We get it now
Dirt between toes
Crevice in the belly button
In every fold of our skin
Layers of ambergris
Dried saliva
And congealed sleep
We can wash it off, but the pores in between are permanently dyed
Without thinking we dislocate our shoulders to peck our own faces
And breathe in smut
Mad as a cut snake, drum rolls in the long grass
And it all makes sense to us
What are we doing.

 

Day 5

There’s a trip to civilisation
We look at everyone a little strange
We keep track of them in the corners of our eyes
Get offered free entry to a club where the “local youths” go
Blacked out windows
We just stare back
And slowly reach for the wristbands
These will make good sustenance
If we boil them down and drink them.

 

Day 7

Pitch black
When you don’t know where you’re going
You just run forward
Racing the sun behind you
Trying to get to the other side

 

Day 9

One by one, less leave our tents
Sleep in, pack up and leave
Less like we can’t hack it
Less like answering the calls of responsibilities back home
More like grey hairs falling
More like wrinkled reptiles trudging through mud
Until we are left with the final few
Comets streak overhead as we twerk
What are we doing.

 

Day 11

Volcanos erupt on the horizon
As we dive down to the pond to pluck a weed
Collate our dead skin with clay, shave bends and shapes in them
To create someone that looks like us
That mirrors us and challenges us
We don’t know what we’re doing
But we know it’s pretty damn great

 

Day 14

Roll each other up
Like elephant skinned rugs
Mould what’s left, to fit in the car
This is all in silence
Just the hiss of smouldering ash
Our assgrooves will grow over
Our compost will decompose
Our clay statues will die and we will grieve, settle for it or try again
We leave with one small and slow step forward
What are we doing?

– Scott Sandwich

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