Monday, March 03, 2014

SWEET TERRORIST GIRLS



….at some stage becomes like living in a film or some obscure novel….

I raise a glass to you, oh yes, to sublime fragrant exquisiteness! And a toast to those who will never quite understand the reasons why! Beauty, I wish not to know your real face! Oh, terrible corrupted carrion! Carrion! The stork, Marabou, will not settle to feast and neither will it cover itself with some lewd glory.

….game, pattern of moves, reality has no substance, no restraints….

A toast! Oh a most glorious toast to the most exquisitely spiteful one! Gore! Spite cloaks herself in beauty. My eyes, such sad eyes, hold court again and again forever amen. My so sad eyes, oh, but eternally sad, for decay bursts forth forever and a day, and there is not a thing I can do to stave it off, to bind the rent, neither in this time nor in fastidious memory, which knows no time.

....sweet terrorist girls, I drink to you! You’ll never know the reasons why. Carrion! Marabou won’t alight, or play some lewd cover….all play some lewd cover….


If there were film, if there were a film, I would, at some stage, be living as a character in my film, or in my very own obscure novel perchance, fading, fading away, at each passing moment ever more brittle ‘till dunes of dust imperceptibly engulf this, my crumbling corpse.

….sad eyes, anyway, it’ll all happen again….

A toast! I raise a glass to the conclusion of the game, for life is merely a contest, a confusion, a pattern of moves. There is never any winning, there is never any winner and so, I would venture to suggest, reality has no substance, and thus, no restraints.

….in the hall of mannequins what looks like wax slowly slides away from the armatures with the faces of the infamous now unrecognisable. The temperature is rising….glass eyes like marbles crack in untidy collision across the floor….there was nothing behind them all along….