Specialise in the impossible

What we need are more people who specialize in the impossible,
running backwards towards the moon, howling down that pale suspended
moon. What we need are more people who will take a platform on a milk
crate in speaker's corner and show the world the red-whites of their
eyes and nosebleed their filthy lust onto cracked pavements. If you ask
me questions designed to reveal if I have any delusion, I would ask you
what is the difference between delusion and illusion. My Thesaurus
tells me they are the same, and there you all are, standing in the
consensual illusion of your reality. Through this weeping chaos emerges
my own ghost, the unconscious desire that haunts and itches every
waking slice of time.

The Avon lady who trudged round the labyrinth estate of new wimpy homes
specialized in the impossibly, impossible. She could inspire. Under her
tireless guidance and unwaveringly sunny disposition, overworked
mothers who never looked in a mirror and rarely went out except to
replenish the fridge or drop one of the tiresome progeny off at a
school disco, would consider the best shade of lipstick to complement
their eye color. She always smiled. She floated through the suburbs
with a wonderfully aromatic collection of beauty products in the back
of her spotless Saab, the boot as well stocked as a medieval
apocathary, floating like a hovercraft.

(unfinished)