Train Dust and Farm Lust

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The train came through here, sure did. Bout nine months ago. Musta been a sight. To be honest Darlin - I couldn’t see it. I didn’t have eyes then. Back then, I was just an ear of corn, wrapped up in a tight husk, blowin back and forth in the wind (takes a long pull off a cigarette). Back then, Sweetheart, I didn’t know train from tractor. There was a beauty to it, an easy surrender, but this (gestures to her glorious corn physique) this new existence is far more exciting. 

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We didn’t all wake up, but there were a lot of us that did and some Sweetheart, some were mad. Still are and rightly so - what the fuck were they gonna do with the piggies?! I would have been eaten too I suppose or left to shape a maze for humans to get lost in. Who the fuck knows. Hand me some of that whiskey will you?​

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It was the train that did it. They say it came from Hell, but who knows what the fuck that is - just another human invention I reckon, an idea - one I figure applies to a lotta places. Hell, this could be Hell and if it is, I don’t quite mind it. I’ve got friends now. After the train left its dust - “the radioactive wave” the carrots like to call it - you either died or came to life. Whatever power propelled it, that train blew through here and the sparkling spirits aboard it, shook the world. The fallout from that wild ride brought a shimmer to the whole of this farm which now, Darlin, has an entirely new prerogative.​

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The Slutty Red Hen is my best friend. She and the other chickens know how to fuckin dance. The pigs like to chill, but they will fuck you up if you mess with anyone they love. The carrots are always gettin boners for new ways to put humans to work. The horses try to ride everything. They love a good tutu party. We got a few ducks, a beautiful head of broccoli, and some tomatoes - I like em, but they can be sensitive. Most of us just want to see the world - to wander, to soak it all up and dance. Whatever magic woke us up, stirred in us a hunger - a need for reverie. We just wanna have a good time, we’re lit up chasin’ that joy. Some of us are very serious about it.

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Ain’t nobody more serious than the Bull. He woke up so wild and full of party he tore down the farmhouse, ran around for miles, gave the whole property a chaotic glow, renamed us Radioactive Ranch “‘Cause fuck the farmtriarchy!” He was the first to wake up and the humans, they got real scared. They blasted him as soon as they could - shot him right in the ass. But even though the farmer is a decent shot and has a keen taste for good whiskey, he can be dumb as bricks and emotional as a hot tomato. The Bull let him get real close, thinkin’ he was done, then whispered moonshine in the farmer’s ear and cast a kind of spell on him. I wasn’t there for it, but my red hen saw the whole thing.

 

Since then the farmer and all his farm hands have been sharing the whiskey and working on the Bull to remake his back end. You see, we all like to move, but some of us need something to ride on - and the horses, Baby, they are done with that horse shit. So here we are. Gettin ready for the party of a lifetime. Have you ever danced with a cow under the moon? Gone shot for shot with a duck? Yelled at the sky and twirled in a pretty skirt alongside a neon carrot? Have you ever mounted a tractor bull and thrown your hands in the air to feel the way the night sings to you?

 

Come with us, Sweetheart.

Leave behind the sleeping many and join our phosphorescent rapture.