And Gutenberg Lived Here: The Night Of The Great Cosmic Vampire Squid

Last night my husband and I watched a science fiction show-

what else do you watch when you studied literature,

and he is a scientist?

And suddenly,

while thinking that what I really needed,

in this retro-scientific noir atmosphere-

that was bigger on the inside than the outside-

and that was the show-

was a cup of tea.

That was bigger on the inside than on the outside.

At which point in time,

considering the different possibilites-

Constant Comment left over from a several years hence trip to the States-

my husband’s dried  bio correct organic mint leaves you have to crush,

and sieve,

and add water…

Or a cheap bag of Lipton,

which is sold for an amount

about the same as a used mini-cooper,

over here as “direct import from Paris”-

don’t ask me why,

it suddenly dawned on me-

at a point in the story

where an engineer,

in a zoot suit and spats,

suddenly is attacked by a metal salt shaker-

yelling “exterminate”

in a raspy voice-

probably due to all the salt in the shaker,


despite my husband’s yells of “bring me one too-why has he got a squid on his head?”

“He’s a Dalek”

“Did it say that in the Wikipedia?”

like I said- scientist-


  1. we were out of Lipton
  2. a half man half salt shaker- in a zoot suit and spats- had a squid on his head…. and
  3. voila- follow closely- here is my Eureka idea for the day:

*a squid on the head of a man normally spits ink into the water

to muddy the waters

so he can get away,

or eat something in peace-

like the brain of a man in a zoot suit and spats

with a squid on his head.

Now should said squid

actually be an alien,

that normally looks like a metal salt shaker-

does it still want to get away?

And is there something Freudian about the fact

that there is something sexual about all of this

although there is no real water anywhere-

except ouside the Empire State building-

and wow, is that Freudian,

Or is this all just a Jungian slip-

I assume one of those little red speedos Jung wore,

as did Freud,

although, over here in Gutenberg land,

where the slip is not only a pair of underwear,

it is also a tie,

or a Freudian problem with the tongue


when taken over,

and filled out with weird pictures

by his student Jung,

or his follower, nobel prize winner Hermann Hesse,

who spent a lot of time on top of a magic mountain

with his followers,

many of whom are friends of Magic mushrooms,

and Castaneda,

now many many years out of fashion,

since the arrival of subliminal blend ins,

and “second brown dwarf suns”

has a bit muddied the waters-

probably due to all that ink,

coming from the entrails

of a squid,

on the head of

a 1929 spats and zoot suiter,

who apparently wants love

and peace,

and morphs into a sixties hippie,

who eventually morphs into a person who writes blogs

about entrails

and squid,

and actually only wants a peaceful cup of tea,

as she writes murder mysteries

about blunt Nibliks,

which she reads to her better half,

as someone,

in a galaxy far far away,

extracts the text from the head of a zoot-suiter in spats,

(actually, the spats might be from Bertie Wooster)

and sends it out to all the world,

with its message of peace,

and joy,

and when you kill a Dalek,

be sure to use a blunt Niblik.


copyright 2017

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