Sunday, March 30, 2014

The saga of Gilgimarsh


As spring unveils itself the stench of last falls rotten vegetation and mold kicks in, we welcome a new episode of s.a.d. as we turn off any semblance of news and views on the proceedings of our worldly domestic squabbles and catastrophes. It is with great pleasure and mollification that we may reduce our world to an imaginary state of well being by viewing with our inner eye the vast realm of Gilgimarsh and it's likely inhabitants.

To describe Gilgimarsh in the words of Saint Josh the renowned spy and epic gallivantier, “It is a murky bright land overflowing with lasagna made with the ripest mozzarella your nose could imagine.” Why he and his cohorts would relish this place is may lie in the inherent instability of the human equation. As Justin the Bieber has noted in his great viral classic on Crime and Punishment, “There's no hot cars or pavement in Gilgimarsh so why did they go?” But good old Saint Josh with a clothespin on his nose, embarked on an undertaking which would leave no cheese unturned. His bright eyes and laughter and unwavering love of lasagna heralded forth a new land overflowing with fat cows and garlic into which he led his beleaguered tribe of brightly dressed and slightly olfacticly confused shepherds and cow herders.

And God created the toucan. And God said, 'Let us make the toucan in our own image, in the likeness of ourselves, and let them be masters of the fish of the sea, the birds of heaven, the cattle, all the wild animals and all the creatures that creep along the ground, and all the lazy humans who love lasagna.' And into this land crept Saint Josh with offerings of fresh fermented strawberries to placate the toucan overlords to leave them so inebriated that they could not regurgitate on the pathways thus making them impossible for navigation.

Life became rich for the transient tribe. Saint Josh would beam from ear to ear. They became hewers of durum with dairy maids curdling mozzarella in cottage-side vats, and with vines bursting out red ripe tomatoes on every window box as far as the eye could see. And strawberries, fields and fields of strawberries, for that ransom offering to the mighty overlord, sweet strawberry wine for the almighty toucan. It became a thriving cottage industry, the manufacture of wineskin baskets to hang in Gilgimarsh's rainy forests filled with juicy red ripe strawberries in sweet strawberry wine sauce. The toucans never left the trees and the paths all remained navigable. And the lasagna with that richly aged mozzarella became prized over the whole earth and Gilgimarsh went down in Justin the Bieber's great works as the best place for a 4 a.m. snack in the whole of the known world.

If no toucan regurgency hits the fan we'll be back with another episode of “The saga of Gilgimarsh” when Saint Josh comes home to find his community pilfering the sweet strawberry wine and Gilgimarsh waist deep in toucan regurgitation.
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