OMGGOMGOMGOM – Mario Acevedo

In later days I would come to remember earlier years and bygone times.  That in my youth I could not see the ebb and flow of causality. So many ill-gotten gains and wrong choices. But now my existence is at an end, perhaps to begin anew in ways uncertain. I remember the first time I had a bowl of raisin bran.

Such texture, I felt, I had never experienced before. Sundried raisins betwixt flakes of crunchy honey bran. I had never tasted a dish like that before and would in later years swear by its unique taste. In idle summer book readings with friends I would remark about the sweet yet fibrous filaments of flavor locked in each joyous sliver of bran. During sessions of Brahms by the fireplace with only the hint of tweed in the air I would converse, with nobody in particular, of that wonderful cereal. As time went on and absent friends became imagined guests and my grand villa by the bay became the library of a sanitarium I would always preach to those who would listen. I would sing of the delicious golden taste and jest as to its magical properties. For you see my brothers! It is the very nectar of the gods combined with the fruit of the earth. I would be repeatedly beaten for my beliefs. But wasn’t it Emerson who said that to be great is to be misunderstood? That I would be chosen from on high to spread this wondrous feast. Yet they incarcerate me and dismiss my claims as ‘rampant psychoses brought on by adolescent traumas and the English school system.’  In the halfway point of my life I was tending to the garden when a figure identifying himself as Tiki Barber’s Underpants appeared to me as if by glorious illumination. He held audience with me and told me that my conviction was true and not to lose hope in humanity. He quickly added something concerning blood offerings and such. In my advanced age I can hardly recall those feverish moments spent in deep meditation with a bowl of the sacred foodstuff. A full life of heart palpitations and diabetic comas have led me to this place. Time has no meaning here, It is a place where friends go to wait for each other before they pass on. You see, we’re going to need the boy.