the T.O.B. - chapter twentyone: !

06/10/04

Bobbing in the wave like a buoyant brain, soaking in settlements of sedimental sentimentality. Giving my self over to a brighter power, brought low with scalpel surgery, coding a brand upon my lizard tale. Forced to forge a great new travesty after all. More will see than can be shown the great new ending of it all.

Revolting developmental diatribes of counter-anti-revolutionaries burning bright into the night sky, bounding over endless mornings of decimated determination. My mind skips words like rocks rocking out over the context of an elongated elimination of eternal inequities or rather failings of my myriad deities.

Flexed fornicating future fixes me with its sly smiling sadism. Skidding my way towards that calamity chasm, that tangible terror, fearsome failings, I find a way to avoid and ingest those pains. Here's the cheat, write it down, and gobble it up.

Now you're in. In lyke Flinn. Skidoo skidoo.

Bullets whizzing, rocketing rockets roaring, and explosions freaking exploding under foot! Gadget shoes, made indestructible by Gear Goneloose, ricketing railgun blasts of a thousand rayguns firing in unison. A flip and sail, as well as a maneuver of epic proportions, cause friction between my shoes and the side of the building, sparking sparkling sparks frying metal shreds as I skip my way out.

A beer in the dark, Sunday sex looming out there in the dark gloom of the urban trawl, somewhere beyond the milky colored glass that lie in the background of the enemy before me. Spider's incubator shell lies next to him, shivering, sad and serene in a beautiful purple prose.

The bartender eyes me with a piercing caress from behind his protective lenses. My hair hung loose and long in a faux seventies rock, sensitive and seductive, demure to the bitter end. Alcohol is passed, as is the acceptance of my cover story, burning coal red under the soft lights of the scene.

Dark behind the shades, gliding effortlessly, carried by the turning and swirling wind, blind and exposed in the public grounds of the "world". Memories of Spider's brooding display of power and forgiving frankness. Confession drips from my tongue in an Achilles tone, emptying all problems before the Bastard.

Recall of the mangled bones baring my back, broken and then pieced together to hold this slacking, coward's posture before the people. Brought low, made forever the comedic riot, slapped and slammed with a saddened clown smile. Brawn and boldness broke these shards I call bones. Not the physique of the hero, but the Bully, Bastard, Bruised thug, bearing a grudge on the light.

Shots rang out all around, fired from my mind's barrel, sending slivers of adaptive imaginative reality sailing into the beast of infinite openness, and I swear I heard that Bastard roar.