I saw a poster the other day, in a shop, beyond a lady, behind a pavement crammed between fluorescent and flannel bodies, a road of bicycles screaming at cars, and finally, smashing through this bus window. The poster was a blender, or maybe a bomb. I couldn’t make out the writing beneath, but presumably the slogan hung down with an ‘explosives and calories’ or ‘ban the liquidiser’.
Did you see the reports of nuclear bombs falling from the sky, a fallout covering plains that were once villages, then towns turned mighty cities and swept beneath the surface of oceans thick with all the rank dust of humanity? It came on just after this really great infomercial for $99 (or €129 if you took the gamut of accessories, you glutton) which offered the ability to turn to dust and slime any ingredient you’d managed to grow from your barren fields and community gardens.
How do you accessorise a bomb? I’d probably go for sprinkles instead of nails, acorns over atoms, or bright pretty contrasting colours to mask the flavour of pouring upward flame, and of billowing death and destruction.
Can you liquidise an atom? Or would it taste like one of those green kale almond milk and oat smoothies that person at work desperately wants to tell you about? Even nuclear war runs off my tongue now, like some unreturned ice cube. Shamefully quipping about skin stripping from bone I sink with all the expectation that once I never had an end.
Book of Pye 