The joys of Mexican cuisine

I’m still recovering from a food poisoning I must have gotten this Friday night, when after a great evening with Norwegian Tom Waits cover-band Blow we got some food from a regular hang-out. I had the nachos, which I have had before, and all was well and fine and smoochy. Until the next morning when I had a call from the good lady Fairy of Diarrhea. "I have a gift for you," she said, before she sprinkled me with the magic puke from her wand, and forced me to throw up.

During my recovery I jotted this down in my Moleskin notebook:

My guts blown up by gas like a near-bursting balloon,
and my illness ruling like a God Worm in the acid juices of decomposition.
A swimming worm, yes, also with a pair of splendid palm-like wings.
But when it swims, it’s like a Chinese water-dragon leaving toxic trails across my table of physical harmony.
Sometimes it will stop, it prefers the middle of my stomach right below my bellybutton,
where it shoots out its wings to blaspheme in the temple of my body;
with a pain like spiderweb hanging by a few seconds after until subsiding into
comfortable cold.
Like a beautiful butterfly is my disease, alien to my body and therefore unfree
to terrorize the frightened villagers I picture in my feverish sleep.

My anus is still a little afraid to relax, so I’m sitting at the edge of the chair here.’

EDIT 16th of November 07:
Read the dreams I had over at my online notepad.