Cherry pie.

"Not bad Roger! If you weren't a nurse, you might have been an excellent barber."
"Thanks doc. I try."
"I know you do"

She is cradling a clip board, and looking at me... looking me over. At this distance, she radiates a certain warmth, a golden blanket and a soft sweetness, a taste on the tip of my tongue. There is something intimately comfortable about her closeness... but as her eyes meet mine, they shine beams of erotic revelry into empty places and fill every nerve in my body with a charge of static, and friction, and silk. I am blinded, yet she smiles.

thupthupthupthupthupthupand is gone.

Somewhere in a place far far away, someone says "Yikes... better change this out."

That sound again. thup thup thup thup thup
The door is partially open. The sound is steady, but is getting louder and louder... No. Closer and closer.
thup thup thup with a screech on each syllable, like the blood scream of a hawk as it descends on it's prey-- but is stopped, and started again, over and over, the prey paralyzed, over and over, as its pupils move skyward, contracting and absorbing feather and claw and scream. thup thup thup thup thup thup thup

Through the crack, four wheels and two green scrub-legs pass by and fade further and further into some place opposite from which they originated.

Exhale... exhale? Why can't I exhale? If I can't exhale... how.. can.. I ..hyper-venti...

The room has changed, and I am still suffoca.."They got one on us!" *beep beep beep beep THUP THUP THUP THUP THUP THUP static
Everything and everyone is moving... shaking.. displacing and placing and uncertain and back to displacement bending metal over plastic over smoke over flesh opening pores and liquid and fiery seizure and turning and falling and there are pieces leaving and replaced by bigger pieces that are coming, fast.


There is a head on the counter, and even through the smoke, and the dark, I see white eyes, and red blood, and while all the world has fallen to silent reverie, i can still hear it whisper.

w...w..... washeh

murder history

I... I must be looking at a picture. I see two feet. I see two legs. I see.. tubes... wires.. finger tips

Today on Soldier of Time, we explore Ancient Civilization- ruins, books, transparent artifacts on transparent actors - Ancient Wars - fire, smoke, red marble and fat men with woven crowns - And Ancient WARRIORS - sword on sword, blood on blood, corpse on corpse and the smoke is still burning, people still screaming

"Hey... you OK?"

He looks at me as if he is both empathetic and revolted by my apparent weakness at the same time. He must be aware of the slightly condescending ring in his voice, because he looks at the corpses too, as if he expects to see what I see... what he used to see. Nothing changes, and he is impatient.

"You better get your shit together, or you're gonna end up just like...", he isn't sure, "...That. Seriously man. You know what they say. You can check out...

...they used brutal tactics, forcing the Spanish forces to retreat to the river, cutting off their exit, and surrounding them on either side.............. Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow CAT FOOD! Meeeeeow!....Has this ever happened to you? Try UltraClean!

when we were ants we were free/unified in soulless solace/programmed to receive

Robin Hood and The

forest is quiet. Quiet as a whisper. I lay one foot in front of the other, arching my toes to roll into each step through the thick molted gold and red leaves. A bird calls. Three times. A bird named little Moses, letting me know that all my Merry Men are in position. A second sound: the sound of clopper cloppering hooves. thup thup thup thup thup thup...

There is a rustle above and I spring. By the time I have landed seven feet to the front of me and turned around and up, my right hand has drawn an arrow from the quiver over my left shoulder and notched it, my left arm has raised the bow from my side to squarely down the line of my nose, and my right arm has pulled the string back behind my head. Then I look.

"This ought to be good" said Oak. I relax, then remember why I was tip toeing just moments earlier. I scold the tree.

"Sshhh.... what are you doing here?" He chuckles and leaves fall, indifferent to my obvious anxiety.

"She sent me to look after you."
"Who?" More laughter, deeper, heavier, and leaves fall like rain.
"You know who."

thupthupthupthupHorses.

1 Steel clad crusaders. Armor.. thick. Weaponry... classic.
4 Purple mercenaries. Silk embroidered over leather. Very fine. 2 swords a head... a buckler.. and a crossbow at the ready.
3 Heaps of rusty metal. These ones have faces... and handsome expressions. God bless you.
Wagon... Wagon...
7 keen eyed archers, a dark hawk sewed to yeoman's shoulders.
1 more ... Sheriff? He is a black spot in a gold forest, surrounded by amber and crimson and rich brown and purple silk, hugging the tail of the train like death her self.

The boys are ready. I am ready. I bring my lips together and press my tongue to my teeth. This is what this is for.

..... it always ends here.

Journal 2

I read a story once in the news. There was a man, and an avalanche. This particular avalanche was bigger than this particular man. They said that most people who die in avalanches die just a few inches below the snow, because the avalanche is so disruptive that once a person is buried, they no longer know where is up and down and left and right-- they don't know which direction to dig. Then they suffocate.

She is here before she is here, like a cloud before the rain. The air is different. It is thicker. stuffy. foggy. Hardly air at all anymore, just smoke, and she is hardly anything less than a silhouette, and a glowing red ember. The smoke speaks.

"I had a son like you once" and the congested giggle of an old witch.
"I gotta say though, he was a bit more lively." smoke born into smoke and the shadow sets an elbow at its hip-- wrist supinated and fingers slyly poised, contracted to hold and to keep fire in the eye of her demon.
She sighs and a worm of rouge smoke gets lost in the fog.
"Not by much though."

Her stare is black, but there is a resonance in her voice that paints squinting eyes and a soft mask of yellow skin, hanging from a mouth that is mostly pout, but partly distorted by teeth softly griping the inside of her cheek. The fog is still, as she is still, moments into moments.