The Jungle Book VHS Cover

I am swiftly plunged into an eternal abyss of the beginning of existence. Pure, unfilled nothingness. Calm darkness. Paralyzing death. Epic stillness, I can hear a muted stampede of undead angels, colored in innocence that is a perfect purple dome. This is the floating limb between the land of the living and the kingdom of death.

In my field of vision, God creates life. It is a simple collection of water colors. The beauty of fluid existence poisoned by a thick semen of artificial neons, creating this unbearable sludge. The colors of this sludge include a sky blue, one that allows a solid kaleidoscope’s view into a blanketed, repeating eternity.

The second color then infects that sky blue. It is a solid, lush green. It’s drops are small, so that they may attract the cavernous interest of the human mind to one pathetically tiny space. Finally, God cries a color of molten concrete. Or solid, heavenly piss. It’s size is uncontrolled, as is the infection and it’s unguarded progress. The infection that sickens the other two colors of this reality, the most essential colors you can craft with.

The dried, green droplets of water color morph. While lush, they become solid. While fluid, their tangibility becomes multiplied. The green is now a collection of soft, benevolently gelatinous leaves. From the bush of seemingly endless nutrition comes a stale and splintering trunk. Yet despite these traits, the trunk is alive. Alive, and simultaneously motherly and fatherly.

The blue paint stretches. Not to spread its own presence, but rather to have heaven penetrate it’s infection in focused, muffled points. In this formation of colors, I believe that eternity is white, not black, and in botany bigotry and naivety, I am permanently misguided.

The final color, the heavenly piss, constructs itself distant from the other water colors on God’s canvas. It finds itself individualistic, selfish, and prideful at this. It now uses its own poison to create progress. The water dries to stone, and the paint remains paint as the water dries. A pimply surface of black holes emerge in this coloration and signifies an inevitable self-destruction at the inception of an endless progress.

What was once merely a colored canvas is now a vast rainforest, crawling with miniature lives, able to burrow in your skin and soul. In this jungle harbor the most bloodthirsty predators, standing at seventy thousand feet tall, sharpened to pierce the pure essence of life itself. The soldiers of Hell walk amongst their parasites.

In this jungle, there are only few guardian angels, set by The Great Blue Fluid Spirit to protect the one singular soul who has not been corrupted by the diseased, red monster.

These harbingers of innocence and love are contained, imprisoned within the walls of an abandoned palace, a palace rotting for centuries. The blocks are nearly dust, some compact mix of liquid stone and old mustard. Yet, in the face of entrapment, they persist in eternally finishing their duties. For these beastly angels are fully aware of the importance of life. For they shall live forever, immortal upon Mt. Olympus, yet poor Mowgli shall one day descend into the depths of Mother Terra.

A force of greed, gluttony and corruption unleashes an evil, unbreakable force of perverted desire onto each angel and the singular mortal not yet corrupt in this universe. They are chained to the mission of taking a permanent, artificial corporate stance.

From the highest right corner of the Earthly canvas, Kaa descends herself. She has been vanquished from The Kingdom of Heaven for her outwards biology. She lives every day and night, starving, with no assistance from her father in order to defeat the never ending perception of Satanic identity. Yet often conformity seems to her easiest option – as it does for many of us – and she allows hungry temptation to overtake and influence her overflowing powers. She now, from the highest right corner of the Earthly canvas, descends herself. She is suffocated by the apocalyptically strong grasp of a dominant, caring gray bear.

Baloo, as interpreted by the being who brought inception to these forests, is a mentor wholly focused on responsibly and protection. But now, as they are controlled by a witch washed with bleach, our Baloo has become the opposite of his image. One who sees no reality in death. One who smiles at the activities which end in life long torture. His expression is gracious, as real as a three dollar bill.

From the highest left corner of this earthly canvas, a shapeless entity of power bound force and unrivaled intelligence looms in pure darkness atop a cliff lifted ten feet from the slowly crumbling rock that has been paved across the surface of Mother Terra. Most know this creature as Bagheera. He knows himself as only he who is known by others. His eyes are furious with yellow, swimming rage. His mind is that of perfect nirvana. His body is in standstill to bring Earth unto Hell. But all he does is watch, and pretend to love, so honestly he does so.

Underneath this cliff that Bagheera rests upon dances The King of the Manipulated. Freedom surrounds his village, and yet his disciples continue to relay an image of chosen slavery. It pleases the blecached with that controls their existence. Even more blasphemous, King Louie constantly proclaims to have a desire to transform into “a man like you.” He is, in and of himself, propaganda.

Finally, the center of the objectives of those storied beings, is our dead Mowgli. He stands in a frozen dance, meant nothing more than to dance for wealth from the infected puppets to the bleached witches. This young boy, protected by those written to be his fathers, has become yet another symbol of greed, gluttony and corruption.

So the bleached witch is prepared to spread his stolen canvas of creation and perpetuate his desires to all who seek purity. Under the attraction of distraction, the creatures of this image have a freer mind. They are paralyzed with fear but not yet paralyzed with force, for the time being. Their movements are yet completely still however their emotions smooth into something…human. This paralysis, this calming, is only a self-psychological tactic. Something meant to regulate their heartbeat before…

The Jungle comes alive. No longer a perfectly stitched together lush paradise, now it sounds and sees the way it seems. The Jungle roars from many different creatures, gargantuan reptilian kings of predation and blind behemoths of mammoth size, their blades carved from a thirst for flesh long abandoned in its literal form. Several thousand parasites become fully aware of their mission to poison and infect, those several thousand parasites set it upon themselves to sacrifice the greatest for the least.

The teeth of the guardians sharpen. They could feel the teeth being individually squished by air pressure on the left and right sides, squished so that the dentin fall and push the enamel to become the shape of a knife. Feel the teeth crack so that they may pierce. The eyes of the angels become satanic. Bagheera’s yellow eyes of dormant fury awaken. They redden so that his true insanity and lack of human empathy can be unleashed. Blood falls from his eyelids.

Kaa’s eyes turn into an epileptic circus of neons. Baloo’s turn backwards…and sideways. And not to mean that simply the pupil turns. The whole eyeball shifts in place. See the various recti wrap around the reverse side of his eyeball as he stares at Mowgli.

And…most disturbing of them all…Louie’s eyes shut.

A dark storm begins to brew. Before this thought can even register in the minds of the beasts, a firm strike of blazing lightning crushes the foundations of this environment. The sun dies. The lights shut off. We are in darkness, hidden from the bleached witch and all who come to rule this land. Now you may only know the forbidden truths.

King Louie, unknowing of what he is doing, slowly wobbles towards Mowgli. His arms wave left to right. They carry the force of a shark’s bite. One unintentionally whacks Mowgli. Mowgli’s toe falls into a crack as he falls over. The toe snaps open. The flesh is torn in a fiery pattern. The blood gushes, squirts, and Mowgli can feel each vessel break. The marrow seeps out slowly. The torn born is rough and splintery. Like a broken plank.

Mowgli turns around, naively attempting to find out what happened. His pain sears. Louie then maneuvers so that he may stand at Mowgli’s head. Louie bends on his knees. He bakes his already dirty fingers in a mixture of dirt, dead plant and horseshit. Louie then graces Mowgli’s skin and pinches his cheekbone. He then rips it out. The skin rips off easy as leather. Blue ice on fire is the pain that Mowgli knows.

The King then pinches the meat that is left below Mowgli’s eyes. The muddy shit drips into Mowgli’s mouth. Mowgli’s jaws are in his mouth, a floating shapeless blob. Louie has pinched the meat below Mowgli’s eyes. He does not tear it off…but it moves as smoothly as melted butter. It moves so that Louie may insert his shitty fingers into Mowgli’s eyesocket. He reaches behind Mowgli’s eyeballs and pinches the rectus. He pulls the eye out this way. Mowgli can feel the wet flash snap out of his skull and his skull snap at the scene. Louie bites into his dinner. Mowgli’s eye sockets close forever.

Baloo wastes no time whatsoever. His paw slams upon Mowgli’s abdomen. The force is the force that God unleashed when the empire state building collapsed. Mowgli’s knowledge of strength is forever obliterated. Baloo then forms his hand into a fist, and in doing so collects a wad of skin, flesh and blood, torn from Mowgli’s body. Just barely caught by Baloo’s claw was a bit of intestine. It unintentionally slithers out. It’s wet. It’s bumpy. It’s flesh. It breaks at points. Shit falls out of Mowgli’s intestines and into a broken body. Baloo eats the wad of meat, and is surprised when he finishes Mowgli’s intestines. Baloo reaches in the empty socket of Mowgli’s lower body and scratches his backside from the inside. He tears a hole in the skin and touches the cement floor.

Baloo tosses the empty sack that Mowgli still barely lives in onto its face. He places his claws at the opening of the wound in Mowgli’s back and tears it open. Kaa slithers in at this point, leaving a trail of glowing faux rebellion in the form of her own sweat. She slowly coils across the skin that remains on Mowgli’s back. Her weight is that of a thousand fists per every square inch. Her voice echoes metal shards that pierce and infect. She then slowly descends into Mowgli’s body.

She aligns herself perfectly with Mowgli’s spine, or what may be of it. Her head goes in first. It climbs forward. With no intestines remaining, her head must first travel through the ribcage. They break apart so symphonically, like notes in the most basic and instinctual of jungle songs. The marrow barely remains, but whatever seeps soothes Kaa’s sinuses. She reaches the neck. It is hard for her to fit…but not impossible. Her eyes bump out of Mowgli’s skin like the bolts of the Frankenstein monster. They flash neon colors…for herself.

Upon reaching the skull…Kaa does what she has become known for. She ingests the skull, free of eyes, but with the brain and tongue and teeth, in one full bite. The top of the skull shatters first, and the chunks of bone stab the juicy flesh of the brain. The brain overreacts and causes an epileptic shockwave to travel through what it thinks is Mowgli’s body. Kaa is aroused. The jaw then collapses and the teeth fall out so easily. Little strings of gum connect to the root of the mouth, and they twist and turn and tie together and tangle in Kaa’s stomach. The tongue then is released of it’s placement, falls flat and flips as a fish out of water.

Kaa then inserts the lower half of her body onto the spine of Mowgli. When room in Mowgli’s body runs out, she crawls down the bone of the left leg. When that runs out, Baloo comes and tears the soul of the foot off. Blood explodes out of the rim, but the opening is very dry. When she is perfectly aligned, she gives no effort to hold her weight above. The spine collapses out of place. Every disk scrambles. The nerves sever at every possible place. It’s like having an elephant stomp you in a million different places, or a rapist grabbing your shoulder ten thousand times. The disks act like marbles, free of their constraint, and crumble out of the gash that Baloo set for the left foot. Baloo toys with them for a little while.

Louie and Baloo vanish. Kaa becomes one with Mowgli’s body. All essence fades from his self. All that is left is any destruction Bagheera wanted to enact. He circles Mowgli several times. Slowly. Calculatingly. Observant. There really isn’t much left. The bottom of the left foot is torn, his skull and spine are removed, his intestines are gone…yes. Everything is gone. Except for one thing.

“Mommy?”

“Yes?” Rachel said.

“I had a bad dream last night.”

“Oh, it’s okay love. Mommy’s here.”

He’s crying pretty hard. You should know what this means, Rachel.

“Let’s just go back to sleep and not talk about the nightmare anymore.”

*Written by I, Da Cashman*