When you arrive at the base of a volcano covered in blocks of stone like some shoddy pyramid you are received next to the escalator by an usher, a friendly fellow saying mostly nothing. And gobs full of it. Pure hollow distraction expertly distilled. Superficial deductions might have you believe blabbering bullshit do not come cheap as you recall that luxurious vehicle that spawned him in the parking lot. And by the constant flash of teeth he’s probably petrified or ecstatic. Knowing this particularly ignorant form of uncertainty offhand you opt for some (God forbid) feeling in-between. Why not use the stairs, you ask expressing the advantage of burning some calories, something he so desperately needs to consider, that or a bigger clown suite. Never, he insists, the stairs are for all the poor sods paying their way to the top. Besides, (wait for it) …“the escalator is solar powered”. Nothing sticks to a forehead like a complimentary concession. At this point you agree to avoid a scene but seriously start to question the true cost of such an exemption.
As the escalator softly hums upward you feel the need to look around but your eyes are firmly held ransom by this chatterbox. Being courteous has its’ disadvantages. Your mother has taught you, perhaps, too well. Halfway up, your mind at the verge of filling in a leave form, you notice the yapping yahoo’s tone of voice soften like a badly guised lullaby to the leviathan. You’re probably yearning for some decent elevator music at this present moment in time. Or mesmerized close to the point of crying mommy! I commend you for your persistence. Well done! Soon you’ll be able to move on to more advanced things like text without pictures and dialogue outside bubbles.
The elevator, I do apologise. The escalator eventually retches. Two fairly insignificant figurines cast over a huge copper door with a cheap imitation of you know who carved upon it makes for a rather unpleasant return to the bigger picture. No use in trying to recall the journey. The usher is now franticly fidgeting with something. It’s the keys to his car. Oh no, guess who’s taking the bus back to a home soon to be auctioned off today. Fare thee well.
Ah yes, the door of no need to knock. They’ve been expecting you. They will do the knocking hence forth. It is well documented that the average putz expects a beauty of fantastical proportions virtually begging him for the ride of her life beyond these doors. You’ve already got the car. And there is no free escalator ride to the queen’s chamber. Now let’s imagine sticking to your guns, literary ones of course, this is a family show after all.
You enter knowing that walking the doughnut of self-deception is no easy task. Bet you’d love to see their faces as you attempt to ace their little questionnaire on bridging divides and such. Hopefully no one will notice the entire universe falling back into existence through its’ own arse. I believe He did in no more than five words and within the allotted sum of hyphens. At this stage you may wink back in gratitude and excuse yourself.
But of course you have to repeat the same to exit, and anticlockwise on this occasion, before you get to ask the big question. Stare at yourself in the amber pendant for as long as seems appropriate. Self mutilation by fire has no timeframe. When you’re done painfully loving yourself please remember that you are now a supplier of highest quality fir and do hand out some to those still shivering behind fig leaves on your way down. Guess who got stuck down a flight a stairs thinking he’s going to make a killing. I for one know that she purrs beautifully and by the way, only those that purely came for the photo op and golden handshake has been hard done by during this figment of my imagination.