….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….
.jpg)
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….
