The Wizard of Walmart - From Destroying the Tangible Illusion of Reality or Searching for Andy Kaufman
by T. Fox Dunham
(A message about Christmas Commercialism)
The people of Flemington danced at world’s end. Comets burned in the sky, promising that their town would soon sink into the ocean off the Jersey shore. The sky smoldered in fire, growing along the perimeters of the atmosphere. Lilith flew over the sky, raining the black strands from her armpits down on the people below—not offering forgiveness or redemption. She offered long pubic hair growing from her crotch, her skin covered with oozing pocks and pimples. She was beauty beyond anything humans could understand, for she gave completely of herself—and her pubic hair.
Three strangers come among the masses from the town, which worshipped at the cinderblock temple on the hill. Strangers had come and given them the temple. They asked for nothing and took everything. The villagers opened their veins and arteries on the temple, painting it brown in their life fluids. They breathed out the wind from their lungs and didn’t draw in air. Volcanoes popped from the ground, pouring smoke and throwing brimstone at the temple, and the masses crowded about the building, seeking protection from their commercial and material gods.
A god of clothing and textiles. They worshipped the covering of their bodies.
A god of sparks and wires. They worshipped him with their televisions and DVD players. A god of house wares, dishes and appliances. They filled their kitchens in worship.
They sacrificed the soul of their town. The villagers gave up their hearts, dug them from their chests, popping ribs and bone. The marrow spilled on the dead ground. The trees died. The soil turned moribund, leeched of nutrients and the gentle stuff of life.
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