I must form a life, see you. The roads walk, night after the night, fine examples of metalwork basic. A tin of the ranzigen color is upright placed, and we to jump over and slink under the gutters. One after the other one my companions are devoured by bees. I switch my heel on and collapse on the point, only, by the creeping Cocktailstab to be carried which we could not do received in. Ironmongery lost and with memories of a battle with Krake like the creature, which is fresh in my understanding, still rises we the steps in a vapor of the memory and in the function of the time. I think that I began a danger for discovery to me. And cathedral, cathedral is blames. I must a life form, see they stepping along meat route, furled an applicable life magazine in my hand. I am cold, I am cold. There there.
great steaming thrimboles of pune! is this not the before me seen dagger ICU? because i can, you know: there there's no fooling hedge-tastic banimals when there's cheese at stake. my martha dun tole me and duns blackmailees, or did before PC PC caught up with her. what price free dom? surely nought? it's free, after all. unless you really WANT a german cathedral. but they're buggers to get through customs, particularly local village ones. it is easier, quoth our god Quoth (because he gets so terribly), to get distracted halfway through a proverb than it is for a rich man. literature. yes, literarute. a map on paper but yet not OF the paper. i recommend summertime. it smells of pune.
He doth not understand, nor do we. Watching unfolding madness with eyes wide. Wide, watering, unblinking yet unblinkered. It's in plain view, "it's" a contraction of "it is". To understand would be to be beset with the madness of knowledge. If we understood we'd all be beset. Be, be, relenting be, like kings. Blues Kings. Soft and knowing Lucille sings in E minor as I be-gin to understand. But to understand would be to be be-set. Am I be-set? Perhaps. Are we be-set? I don't know. If you aren't be-set are you be-reft? I don't know. I just know that bees sting and then go off and die. Isn't that what really matters?
Did I turn over two pages at once?
Or three, or four.
But mostly it is all alone. It dances and sways in the moonlight, only stopping for umbrage. It seeks only the most solitary places, like graveyards and pubs. But what if you should come across it? Why, you know what to do. You must pretend that you don’t see. “The sky is fair this morning!” you shout, over the din in your mind, past the shadows in your eyes. I was counting Chinese gooseberry pips, which is bollocks really. But today it is better, more substance and less fluid. Oh, my God! There is no toilet paper in here! I am so absent-minded that I forgot to check. I wiggle my bum to get most of the drips off. This underwear will have to go.
Semakeleng is knocking on the door. (You can’t see into his eyes, they are like black marbles). My face is disgusted as I pull up my pants. I open the door. Semakaleng pushes past me and closes the door. “SEMAKALENG!” I shout. “There’s no…”
Oh never mind, it’s probably too late anyway.
Posted by
Grim..., around 29th March 2006:
(Hint for the 'Add a bit of the story game': Don't let Doc start it)
I have to make a living, you see. Pacing the streets, night after night, bearing fine examples of metalwork. A tin of rancid paint is upended, and we skip and slink among the drips. One by one, my companions are devoured by bees. I turn on my heel, and collapse on the spot, only to be carried from the slinky cocktail bar that we failed to get into. The ironmongery lost, and with memories of a battle with an octopus-like creature still fresh in my mind, we ascend the steps in a haze of memory and the working of time.
"gods who crawl up six flights of stairs just so they can climb into bed with the insincere wish for a little pet, a little crossbreed even, something just to whisper in their ears and dance about to keep them entertained"