Trismegistus: A Caffeinated Adventure

I preened myself blue in front of the mirror and after a swift forage around my masculinity I determined I was ready to emerge. The bum blusters had come thick and fast (tuna melt) so I was overjoyed to have made it to the bog browned bowl just in time to complete a fantastic evacuation.

All clear now.

My reflection smiles knowingly. Let us, you and I mirrored me, go into the cafe and resume conversation. It is what people do.



Moments later I re-enter the coffee house. It burps sweet arabica roasts into my nose as I slip back into my chair… smiling. Beth and Sinead are deep in conversation so I direct my smile at my coffee. There’s a bigness to the mug I find intimidating, but no matter because I must unite aroma with taste and now I am doing it and it is a big gulp of warm java in my gob.

Java? Arabica? Anspresso? I know nothing of coffee only the effects upon my body.

It always sends me into a chatter skull.

The mouthful is followed by many friends and soon all the mug buddies are reunited within my stomach and so now they are tummy buddies. I can sense them rushing around, seeking out my cranium and I say a silent prayer that the bottom hoots will stay muted while my chalky skull becomes caffeine tarred.

For once my body hears and all is calm down below while the mug boys pound their insomniac tattoo upon the within of my very own brain cap. It’s a saucy couple of moments that I never before this now have enjoyed with so much delight and so my delirium must be coming visualised across my face for as my eyes refocus on the corporeal I lock the two sets of eyes with my own and I see the concern emanating from Beth and Sinead.

-Philip? Are you feeling alright?
-I am enjoying this coffee.
-You look pale… and sideways.
-Not in the slightest Beth. There is no unnatural leaning here my friendly.
-Philip you’re going green.
-Sinead, I can assure you that is a very normal hue of visage. There is no obscene pallor of flesh.

My friends look to each other with puzzlement. I do a natural act of a not sick person when I grab Beth’s coffee.

-Look, I’m fine. You’re not drinking your coffee so please let I, an un-ill guy, slurp deeply the remainder of this unsugared, black coffee. Please.

I drain the mega mug and immediately there is an ethereal fanfare blaring throughout the sweet meats trapped inside m’noggin but I know it is but some illusory trick and so I decide to combat it by throating Sinead’s several ounce latte in the hopes it will curdle the blasts of void that bleach through me.

Horror!

There is a great unlocking within my abdomen.

-Please ladies if you will allow my excusement for a brevity.

I command my person to stand but my head is table bound and I face the crust strewn plate that I had recently de-sandwiched (the cause of the original body fluting). I must have emitted some kind of unearthly mouth groan in tandem with an arse aria because my chums screamed in horror and moved away from me with ferocious speed.

-Ladies I am undone.

I continue mumbling but now all is fantastic and I am drawn upwards and outwards from my brain zone as it no longer means anything to my emerging super self that forgets preening and blusters and caffeine and talk and all it wants is a new realm, a transmigration is occurring in the most unlikeliest of places, through a set of filth pocked moments and I am become golden.

-Sir? Sir? Are you ok? Do you need a doctor?
-I are doctor… barista, be gone.
-There’s no call for rudeness. I’m trying to help you.
-I am ascending, leave me.
-I can’t do that. If you don’t require medical attention I will have to ask you to leave.
-Will? What do you know of will? Gaze upon my great work and shudder!

I’m outside. The rain fizzles a soak upon my face and I cannot see my friends. My head no longer reels, I’m wandering under loopline with an aimless gander I’ve never experienced before.

This is real life.

This is my life.

Shite.

Main image via Conor Smith

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