Cleared off the fog and blood from my lenses and took the chainsaw to the bathroom, to the bathtub, through the water, and washed off the bones and hair, and meat of flesh of lust and tastiness. The monster is dead! They will all say in the small town right down the line; its a boggy rugged type cottage of a Town, with a princess that stands attention all days, and waits and waits with her emaciated frame. This Mansion here on top of this brown black hill, is a shadowy figure to the Town below. The leaves are dead on the ground and on limbs of the tree's. The dust on the bookshelves are as thick as snow with a melting point of much more. The writer, getting migraines over writings that don't matter, or most likely, will never matter in the future; the writer is Optimistic although, the writer sits and writes, and develops tumor inducing migraines, again and again, in a room of gray, shelves, boxes and books and cardboard cutouts of one specific Woman. That cutout lady stood attention at one end of the corners of the medium sized studio. The Miss, sometimes seemed to have been under the knife frequently,(or markers in this case), many times over, through the coarse of our visits to that particular apartment room.
The monster is dead! They shouted after all, there in the groggy town. The little old lady with a hand crocheted purse and hat and wheelchair, just sat and waved, with a smile of orderliness. The little children clapped their hands, and yelped and skipped and would jump, as the parading newborn news was passing by. Most of the Mid-aged persons stood and looked tired, but smiled kind of, and try to keep their own children in close eye range, (as not to lose them in another human beings custody, in fear or futuristic thoughts of self-denial, pity, grief, one or the other).
The passing carnival lasted an hour or more, definitely felt like more. On the streets grounds and in the grass and in the mud, held confetti of the rainbow, wrappers of ice cream treats and lollipops, popcorn kernels and peanut shells, cups made of plastics, or paper, foods of all sorts and even maybe, the tooth from the kid that bumped into the horse that had carried the princess. She'd looked down at him from atop her stead. The kid felt nervousness climbing out of its bed and pissing down his spine. He didn't even feel the blood as it ran down warm on his exterior, the winter came early in his interior and froze his pose. She just smiled at him, through a screen of pixels, like a computer screen or a Television set. She smiled one healthily wonderful vibrant exuberant free flowing of a smile. The boy, started his own.
The years went by, with the wars and famines and growth and demands; and left behind crumbs and more demands and more wars. Cars began to fly, and computers began to fuck. The computers took the orders, cooked the food, took the money, processed the card number; then, after applying the correct number of units from the customers I.D. card, they're charged, gave the card back, (with the "purchased" history transcribed already on your account), gives the customer their order, with a suggestion of varieties of hot sauces, and any other various condiments. Then ending with a few kind gestures and sounds as you fly off to the skyway.
The new dark age was among us, if not all then a select few. Here, the dogs would have barked, then, would be recorded for future reference or future curiosity. The barking would then be translated into, an almost, forensic evidence or a computer decoded mathematical image recording of the dogs surroundings. The dogs barking would unleash vibrations, the time and space dance steps, toward an object, a solid to touch Inanimate or Animate object, and, by gravity, would return with an imaged diorama of the area, or crime scene; and by fate, the owner of the dog, would want to see exactly how their pet, bit, pulled, and eventually mauled, their doggy selves into K-9 death row.
Beep Boop Beee! I awoke standing in the middle of a very crowded sidewalk, like a river almost, of people coming at, or past, or from behind me. Every soul that bumped passed me, each, dissimilar in every aspect of this futuristic culture of now. And with the exception of a robot or four. Business types, School administrators, high end lawyers, simple class folk, the hipsters, the interns, the bums, the tourists, the girl, the boy, the Man, the Woman. Everyone wearing company branded earmuffs and sun goggles, and lip sealant. The case was simple, as I remembered what I was doing there in that busy city sidewalk path. The Job, was simple, I thought, simple.
The years went by, with the wars and famines and growth and demands; and left behind crumbs and more demands and more wars. Cars began to fly, and computers began to fuck. The computers took the orders, cooked the food, took the money, processed the card number; then, after applying the correct number of units from the customers I.D. card, they're charged, gave the card back, (with the "purchased" history transcribed already on your account), gives the customer their order, with a suggestion of varieties of hot sauces, and any other various condiments. Then ending with a few kind gestures and sounds as you fly off to the skyway.
The new dark age was among us, if not all then a select few. Here, the dogs would have barked, then, would be recorded for future reference or future curiosity. The barking would then be translated into, an almost, forensic evidence or a computer decoded mathematical image recording of the dogs surroundings. The dogs barking would unleash vibrations, the time and space dance steps, toward an object, a solid to touch Inanimate or Animate object, and, by gravity, would return with an imaged diorama of the area, or crime scene; and by fate, the owner of the dog, would want to see exactly how their pet, bit, pulled, and eventually mauled, their doggy selves into K-9 death row.
Beep Boop Beee! I awoke standing in the middle of a very crowded sidewalk, like a river almost, of people coming at, or past, or from behind me. Every soul that bumped passed me, each, dissimilar in every aspect of this futuristic culture of now. And with the exception of a robot or four. Business types, School administrators, high end lawyers, simple class folk, the hipsters, the interns, the bums, the tourists, the girl, the boy, the Man, the Woman. Everyone wearing company branded earmuffs and sun goggles, and lip sealant. The case was simple, as I remembered what I was doing there in that busy city sidewalk path. The Job, was simple, I thought, simple.
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