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notmuchtoconceal · 23 days

Text

( o ) goodimpressionofmyself

[October 28th, 2020 7:40am]

bro, i’m some kinda necrocoprofungal fringe weirdo with a fetish for bein normal

i’m the punchline to a joke from 2005

my life is the vain pursuit of an ideal of sublime banality, this horridly tacky laudanum fugue of gilded wheat fields in subdivided painted picket houses, succumbed to oppressive concrete nothingness in a time that never was

the fury of a broiling beneath. dogs in an open field. vacancies within vacancies brah

primeval growth before the white man raped the land, gnarled and gambrous with all matter of shoots, bulbs, rosettes and spores. the wasteland of hollow points here in the heartland, ancient and centipeodal as the sea animals in the dinosaur books i read as a boy when everything was doe eyed and my head was filled with air. when i was yet to be so tantalizingly leaden

when i. simply. was still here

end of time. end of memory. thoughts comin and goin in strips a nitrate film

endless carousels a shape, bro. so many so lovely

so many the same

i’ll let you in. i’ll rest my hand on your back. i’ll lean in close and i’ll say brah, gonna show you some real sick shit brah

can’t help but smile

not smart to show fear. eye to eye. teeth to teeth. funk to funky. you’ll like it, i promise. the waltz always strangles. the wires in the notes. the house lights go up and down. spirographs of flesh. an orchestra pit of sarlaac. there always comes release after a dream turns to a nightmare brah

bro, i once saw this grindrshame post where this dude was like 6′2″, built and headless in an anonymous grey hoodie, and his bio said he was gonna strangle you and chop you up with an axe or some shit. people in the comments were saying he was funny. this ain’t shameable. shame on you for trying to shame a funny man with a nice blocky torso and big strong hands

i thought brah, fuck yeah brah, you get it. you get it. that’s what i want. walk straight toward the man triggerin just the right amount a threat detection response. we gonna fuck? he gonna choke me? how hard? i don’t fuckin know brah. one way to find out. i want a fire. baby i’m lit. pour gasoline all over my dick. harder bro harder. gonna burn this fuckin house to the ground bro. run screamin into desert night. wake up in a ditch clingin to you in grit and despair. look at you. know you. see past you. to the man you were before. who you forgot you were. who i know without knowin you know for i don’t know if what i see is what you know. then i realize. none a that matters. this moment is love and love is this moment. i remember only the smell of campfires and cold. you were the best mistake a my life brah. it was deffo more than worth the arson charges

bro?

yeah brah?

i didn’t think you’d be the kinda guy to go on night walks

haha brah? what’s that supposed to mean brah. i love all this dennis hopper shit. over there, look at that lamp post. that incandescent diner. reflections in empty windows. darker glasses hiding darker curtains. way the light ripples through the leaves. shit’s fuckin gorgeous, brah

city feels like a dream bro

brah? brah? haha, brah you ever dissociate like real hard

haha, like real hard

haha

brah

for a second i thought we were like girls in a dreampop video brah

bro, don’t. don’t say shit like that bro. holy fuckin shit. for a sec i swear i felt my dick shrivel up bro

haha, kitty got claws, but i the aesthete and the visionary have the petrifying gaze of the gorgon embedded in the imago of the mother

brah, what the hell’s an ass teat brah?

it’s a dude who’s like a faggot, but he still likes pussy

don’t sound a thing like you brah

some tastes are more refined than others

the most refined taste is that of the fraternal platonic bond between men of value, whose warring passions ignite an agonsy and ectasies which blurs the lines between romance and reason

all right socrates, bend over

haha

hahahaha

brah

i die a little inside when i see you smile brah

brah

i never thought i’d be so happy

…

BRO

holyfu–

haha, watch where you’re goin brah. dumbass almost got creamed by a bus

bro, sorry bro, i’m just like…

yeah, brah?

where am i… where are…

you’re there. i’m here.

…

bro, are you?

‘i’m here, you’re there’ sir, do you mistake me for a child?

my apologies, sir. your motor coordination spoke for itself

haha, real funny brah. real cute thing to hear from a tight toosh in tighty whities

haha, brah. someone’s feelin sassy brah

it’s just… i din’t think it was real funny brah

nah, nah. keep goin brah. you’re cute when you’re cunty

bro i am not cunty, that is gaslightin. i’ve been recordin this whole conversation, it’s admissible in court without your consent by illinois law, and i can establish a pattern and motive. i’m gonna sue your ass for emotional damages brah

first off double check that law book. it don’t say what you think it says. pause for effect. okay. when you check the book it’ll say exactly what you remember it saying, but you still second guessed yourself. boom. alpha dominance. you’ve been gaslit. gonna get locked in the footbox tonight, fagboy. gonna stain that fuckin faggot lung a yours with three days a heavy liftin and ballin… also ‘toosh’, bro are you a grade school church hag? are you gonna give me a time out? knock it off with that pansy shit, brah. we both agree my masculinity is sacred, stop tryin to subvert it with your estranged gayness

i’m in love with you bro. i hate it i hate how much i’m in love with you… if i admit to it, then i admit that i’m stupid. stupider than you in fact, because yes, i am in fact smart enough to know better. this is 100% my fault. my head says this’s idiocy, but my heart yearns for you with a yearning beyond yearning. it’s a heart valve of picture postcards all the way down my irony innards a chef boyardee spelling out EA Poet sole in bouquets a cankers and open sores… maybe i could only ever hope for self-destruction, to fall with you ever downward, to be the arc of a fire poppy riding the ember to completion. maybe that’s all love is bro. the theater of heroism. a stupid idiot danger. maybe my parents did have a successful marriage, but i’m not gonna say that… i’m not gonna say any of that. i’m gonna keep that all to myself

smart man, brah. that’s why i like you like you. down for a night walk symposia with a flourish of baudelaire for texture. reminds me a those ceilings in my house, brah. ones with the paintstrokes that look like canyons

[cachunk]

bro, did you just slap your head bro

bro, i dunno? did i brah?

bro, you did. you deffo did

haha, i did?

your headphones cachunked, didn’t you hear?

nah, brah, i don’t think… no wait, yeah i did, haha

haha

fuckin dumbass

dumbass meathead

dumbass meathead musclebull muscle toy andro droll androgeneticist muscle drone rubber drone rubber room retard ubermensch apeman grotesque gooner hunchback henchman dumbfuck douchebag dudebro

first of his name

king in the north

haha

hahaha

bro, stop i’m still in mourning

bro, it sucked since season five, bro

bro, how the fuck do you have your best character, the only character left who’s played by a competent actress – i’m sorry bro, that bitch with the caterpillar eyebrows cannot act. she has like white bread girl next door bimbo giggly and all the fury and drama of grade school gymnasium theater

bro, you are that, but the gay version

first off, fuck you fagboy. that’s two days in the footbox now. i’m gaggin you with the dirty crusty pair a briefs i use as a jizz rag faggot. gonna be tastin it all night fagboy, tastin my dirty alpha fuckin cock steeped in my tight white fuckin briefs. yeah, you love it. love watchin daddy’s uncut alpha bulge standin up tall and straight in his tight white fuckin briefs. watchin daddy’s hard uncut alpha cock writhin in the transparent cotton, growin fatter and nastier with every gush a blood – the mass and veiny contouring suggestive of a lunatic in a straightjacket confined to a prison a ballsweat, asylum walls of the fly some brutalist garter prison of mid-century ad copy suffocatin me in my futile role as protector and provider. yeah, you love daddy’s uncut alpha dick, don’t you fagboy?

yes, sir. please gag me with your briefs sir. i worship and adore you sir

you’re my everything bro. i wouldn’t know what i’d do without you without you in my strong arms keepin you safe and warm

bro

awgh

bro stop it bro

brah i’m a sensitive man, you know that brah. i’m really closer to a lesbian in temperament

fuckin gina gershon leather dyke

haha, you’re like a helpless lil pray animal, bro. i wanna rape you

sorry, brah. not feasible. definition-ally, one cannot rape the willing

objection. your honor, we have established the defendant’s mind is weak and malleable. upon the conclusion of our night walk i could throw him upon my svelte king size mattress, tie him wrist and ankle to the bedposts, and fuck him senseless – your honor, i could fuck him until he was drooling catatonic with eyes tuned out like television static, absolutely fry the circuitry of his brain with pleasure… and with but a mere suggestion make him think it was the most brutal of horrors, an utterly charmless display of freakshow primate dominance which would leave the skirts fallen from the hangers. i could have him bent over lobotomized 1950′s hysterical with a hole in the head from uncle sam, crying in his sad lil victorian woman way oh you foul man you foul man you absolute brute

i give up. i’m helpless to you

i am your toy. don’t break me

i’m weak

i need you

bro i need you

bro

i was missin you real bad bro

brah i know bro

god i can’t fuckin st–

WOAH

the fu–

haha, b r o

eeeeee

bro you are clueless, bro

what wa–

bro, that weren’t no bus. that was a bus stop bro

which one of us am…?

which one of us am…? bro are you for real bro?

bro, where, where am

bro… bro

bro?

bro, pay attention. you listenin? i’m me, you’re you

bro, i’m…

bro? BRO?

…

bro?

‘i’m me, you’re you’. very instructional. very confucian. i have been enlightened. thank you. thank you very much. every moment we spend together is a treasure

bro, i know it. you know i got your back bro

it hurts bro. my head hurts. my feet hurt. my spine hurts. the bud of passion lies dormant in the embers exhausted. hold me close bro?

bro, you know it bro

mmphh

feels good don’t it bro

gooood you smell good brah

like that brah? like curlin up in daddy’s smelly meathead pits

mmmph. can smell you through the leather brah. mmmmmm fuck. wanna curl up in a bearskin rug made a more you brah

get in closer. i’ll crush you

please bro. crush me like a fuckin bug

mmmphhhhh

ahhhhhh

like that fagboy

i am an insect. i am unworthy. i cry tears of joy every moment i can smell you, see you, touch you, kiss you, you in all your earthly imperfections are what i deem a suitable enough surface onto which to project my unattainable ideal of exquisite manhood

it’s an horor, brah. use me. i’m a dumb mule fit only to serve and amuse you

flex, bro. i wanna kiss it

pffftt

hmmppph. god you’re a man. those fuckin pecs. flatten me like a migrant worker under a speedin freight train brah

haha bro what the fuck

a bray of laughter, wheezing forth like a geyser from dry reedy lungs – eyes dry reedy wells from which there are no tears to draw

i am the sun

i am the air

you’re a fire sign

a lemon lime

a soda pop

i’d rather not

please picture a barbershop quartet on fire

you were always the care

taker her sir

what a lovely image. how much did it cost?

twenty five cents, my good man

a pleasure, sir. i shall return tomorrow to view it again

why sir, you can view it anywhere

anywhere

anytime anywhere

anytime anywhere? good sir, what sorcery is this? is this one of those portable videographs i’ve heard so much about

why no sir, ’tis but the power of imagination

imagination, why what is that?

it’s when you get like pictures and notions in your head, sir

oh, that doesn’t sound typical. are you sure of that?

why yes sir. why i bet if we sat still and quieted down for a moment, we could picture all sorts of things

well… i suppose it is considered adventurous to try things once

okay… you ready…

okay…?

yeah? on the count of 3?

I I

I V

I I I

…

are we…

shhh… i was imaginin somethin

aw shi-

shhh

….

holy fuckin shit brah

bro. bro i know rite

are we allowed to do this? this can’t be legal

not just legal, bro. free

why isn’t everybody doin this? we have to tell the world!

can’t bro.

bro?

won’t listen

aw shit. what do we do now?

i dunno. we could light more shit on fire

the gumption i mire, i just wish you’d channel it more productively

hard, brah. nobody taught me how to be a man. i had to assemble it piecemeal from the shards of a collective stained glass mural detonated by the infobomb a mass media and bulldozed by the flatiron a neoliberal accelerationism

can’t tell if sperging or anime stoic

fuck off normie

my undiagnosed bipolar disorder grants me currency in your fucked up inverted mental illness values hierarchy, but joke’s on you, that’s the cost of the psychic heritage i carry, my drive towards shamanism. hear him, hear him, hear the voice of venus in cancer beyond the grave. can i getta 69 69 95 boy

brah brah

for i am a seer… for am i a liar…

BRAH

i am a seer i am a liar

haha, naw man. he’s fine. theater guy, they’re characters, you know

my father ran the prison

shhhh. slow down brah. you’re shakin. come ere. come to daddy. come get up in daddy’s leather where you belong

it’s not me, it’s the wind. the autumn wind. creeping listless upon my dream of an indian summer

yeah. that’s it. get right up in daddy’s pit

mmmph. like i’m bastin in your smell bro

yeah, that’s it. my heat and my musk. cocooning you. seeping into you. staining you. makin you more and more my good obedient beta boy. like that don’t you. like bein my bitch, don’t you beta?

yes sir

say it

i like bein your beta bitch boy sir

feels good to let daddy take control. just be a dumb beta for awhile and follow along. be a good lil boy for your alpha and obey mindlessly

yes sir

fuckin your head with my words. commands feel so fuckin good snakin through your brain, suffocatin any nerve bundles tryin ta resist

i’m weak sir. i’m weak. i need you. complete me. destroy me.

bro. bro. resist me. sustain me. complete me. i am an absence without you. this thing i am. this slightness. this frailty. it’s something no mass can overcome. the weight. a will no body could ever embody. do you see how i weep? i who was a beast who was a man dreaming he was a god

i love you bro

love you bro

love you bro love you bro

love you bro love you bro glove you bro globe you bro

we want you big brother

big brother

bro bro

bro

bro, i wasn’t done.

bro, wha-

third, i am not autistic. fourth, even if i was, autism is not a mental illness, it’s a perfectly natural autoimmune response to unnatural vaccinations. my teats are the most robust and the milkiest. my pearl necklace houses the most cum. my boots are the most patent and the leatheriest. second, bro. they had their best fuckin character standin around on a balcony all season doin fuckin nothin. after season fuckin six bro, they took her absolutely fuckin nowhere, i don’t give a shit how much trashy pirate dick she didn’t get, it was all a waste

make a wish

we never kiss’d

tears’n the rain

it’s always the same

i know, bro. hurts to fall out of love. hurts not to care. run outta stories outta service

not gonna worry about that anymore brah. don’t plan on it happenin again anytime soon. it’s all very conventional. not anything new. nice to see it reheated like a warm stain. i would rather remember the bouquet of theses tastes of yesterday, not the bilge and bile they became

bro

Bro

delete me

d e l e t e m e

b r o

[screaming beyond the infinite]

what was i saying

that you loved me stupid

you loved yourself stupid, goonerboy

hey, look

what

porchlight’s still on

haha, fuckin dumbass

who you callin dumbass, dumbass

to sass and the spastic, forevermore shall your minds be plastic

whoooom

airplane exploding noises

tens of thousands of women and children dead

goddamn, i do love you stupid

maybe we should burn down some buildings

nother time brah. there’ll be other nights. other night walks

other nights other night walkers

bro

don’t think this is gonna be no greetin card endin brah. you got no fuckin idea what’s waitin for you on the other side a that door. i could clamp a leatherclad paw over your mouth and crush your jaw into a bony fuck funnel for my uncut alpha cock. i could throatfuck you so hard i work my way right through nuttin your fuckin faggot brains out. i could rip your fuckin throat wideopen with my bare hands and garrot you with your own tongue i don’t see that fucker black with filth from the bottoma a my boots you dumb faggot. tomorrow i wanna see daddy’s alpha boots fuckin spotless, comprende motherfucker?

the door slams shut behind you

you’re not gettin the fuck back out for a good long while

better think

long and fuckin hard about what you let inside a you brah, fuck knows if you’ll ever get the stains out

haha

night walks bro

fuckin night walks

[to the boys across the street on the golf course]

cocksucker

0 notes

notmuchtoconceal · 2 years

Text

...

(they were lined against the wall. they were facing them. the procession moved as though notched in place along a tread -- a creak in the strings of their wooden legs.

one had breath who failed him. across the line, one walked along the wall and went to him -- without hesitation, he went to him.

- buck up, mate. it's time. you weren't brave before. don't dishonor yourself further by refusin bravery now. c'mon. c'mon. what if i gave ya a lil stroke. lookit those luscious locks! there's a good, strong soldier. picture me doin this ta you when i'm over there, facin ya down. hee-hee. hee-hee. c'mon. feels good, don't it?

... i'm sorry it has to be this way, mate. i'd have loved to have met ya under better circumstances. i'm sure it was the pressure -- you know. things get to be so much sometimes. nobody wants to turn away from what they love, but sometimes we got to, mate. even if it destroys us. ... all turns out for the best in the end, y'know.

he walked as though composed of cartilaginous tissue -- a bounce in his step as though the bleak morning air contained some warmth or buoyance.

across the yard, the day had turned to night -- the night had swallowed day. in aspect, rationally discordant. the hyperagitation of spotlights playing over espresso steam in bitter root.

on the stage where the orchestra played, metal cross-hatchings rose in gleams of spectacle gleaming silver modernity. the black velvet billowed before the speakers. the yawns of their eyes beheld a shepherd falling nowhere down some fractal of infinity.

--\\./--

_0_0_0_0_

between the breaths it came --

to provide respite from the faint relief.

the wail of a speared leviathan collapsed the wall of sound -- the clattering of chain ringing on bone -- the jigsaw peels into rinds --

smeared in ambergris warmed personally by the bulbs, the roots and the gloves of the officers who had taken the task of so tenderly arranging them --

the toothed caress loomed in languid mid-parting --

a lotus of men in their racing skins -- stewing for sake of sport and display. elbows coiled around their knob of knee. cheekbones plush around pungence of groin. a mutual recognition -- of their place and their role.

[prokiev - dance of the knights]

-/~_/.\_~\\-

two stood in a crucible off the main-stage -- where one looked out a window into night, and the other into day.

in their den, the lights did play over the karats of their insignias, hexagonal lenses refracting upward ever after.

the velvet trapped the silence inside. they stood inside the speakers.

the gloss of their leather gleamed in the false moon -- a light diffuse through the weight of an impenetrable overcast.

[ … ]

strings fluttered in flight some far off place.

-/~ -/~

now together, they faced the night.

- sir, the musicians have grown impudent.

- the musicians are well within their right to grow impudent, brother -- look at the service in this economy.

- amid these masks, my eyes draw to serious faces.

- malfunctions, disorders, and bears -- a koi pond schooled with red herring.

- against the walls -- we face the walls.

- i cannot abide poor organizing principles, brother -- especially in service to ceaseless brutality. a true patriot ought act with brutality which aspires to be ceasing.

- we bid the cowards adieu.

--//.\--

/. / . / . / .

- friends, brothers, sisters, siblings without whole or center -- we do not wish death upon the musicians!

(a deathhead flutters

torpid on the acrid mists --)

... for if we draw close, even in their silent hatreds we can hear the resonances which sing at the center of their beings!

(-- and into lethe plunges

stain to slop his wiry gutters!)

... hearts which have known beauty still express themselves in these faces, no matter how well eclipsed by these loom-embroidered roadmaps of blood!

- barreling down the road.

[shrieking far -- ]

- there need be no blood shed today which was not preordained.

(i entrain all

which my pre ordains)

... we are few, and without counting -- we have brought the night and we shall sing to you tonight! we call shadows to the world of men -- and strip men to the call of shadows!

- pierce your lungs -- and breathe the air.

- walk with us and know no fear --

(from out this state of suspension

we broil and peer)

... these columns of smoke you see with eyes so singed have grown blighted to the fires which spew them!

- look to the skies!

[ -- echo of decimation]

- the way we bring the day!

.\ o -/- / ( o ) \ -\\- o /.

... moonscapes like amethyst in fields of glass

- when i level my hand, the bombs always seem to fall.

- hand in hand, you will be as we will be --

( O ) =+= ( O )

- we will rule your airways with two cast-iron fingers.

- WE LIGHT UP THE SKY

- bitch

- IIIIIII'M

- the dog days are upon us.

- LIVIN IN THE ICE AGE

(for the joys of my discontentment --)

- the ides of march have lingered late this year

(i am free to do my loving in the winter)

(o // O)

<O*.*o>

... the calendar spins as a top without surface.

- WITH THIS APPARATUS, WE SLIDE ASIDE THE ORGANS OF THE STATE // CLENCH YOUR EVERY ROOMY BOWEL //

(LEAVIN A SLIME TRAIL AS YOU GET LICKED)

THE PRAETORIAN GUARDSMEN WILL PLAY FOR YOU TONIGHT.

-.-.-.-.-__\ =( \+/ )=/ __-.-.-.-.- o

. . . ///////// yhe plAV`ers \\\\\\\\\ . . .

(*** ***Arjs *** ***Arjs) / \

hjs Ascende^cV` -- el precede^ye yhe crjyjc lAvreAye | yhe Accvser -- yhe AdvocAye yhe hjgh ivdge -- yhe j^qvjsjyor yhe execvyjo^er | ^^Ai. ********** ******* cpy. brvxer hArvspex cpy. ioeV` schrejber^^Ache^ cpy. lAjkA psychor-rhAx cpy. iAcek psychor-rAgja cpy. vvAllV` hlAford cpy. lvxor dróyyj^.^

. . . ///////// { + + } \\\\\\\\\ . . .

/-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-\\./-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-\

the imperial palace at city hall was a serpentine folly of cubes and facades deadlocked into a number of revivalist styles, including, but not limited to -- neo-atlantean crypto-abstractionism, post-atomic pre-continentalist schizotype, and lacuna-coriolian sans-italic --well in-keeping with the metastasizing brutalism which had been in vogue since the time came when foundations had nowhere to be laid but upon previous foundations, and edifices stacked high upon one another in fossilized substrata which made you seem to careen upward -- or which made you seem to careen downward -- depending on if you were looking up, or depending on if you were looking down -- the exact moment of which had been a point of debate among historians since centuries prior to its occurrence.

- all right, new guy. it's real simple. if ya wanna get into the archives on the fourth floor, ya gotta reach into the throat of the lion fountain on the right wall of the lobby on the left side of the second floor balcony -- that's right wall, left lobby, not left-right, right-left --

... you think you got that?

... it's above the armory, if that most likely makes things easier -- you should see an escalator up to the library if you're in the right place, but if you're in the wrong place, you'll see a closed-down receptionist's booth and the ambiance of a bustling place left abandoned. now, inside the lion's throat you'll find the proof of sir winnifred's red rock, and under the shadow of this red rock, you shall find your way to the carved maidens that are the pillars of the evidence room adjacent to the right-side mess hall (that is, right and left from the orientation of the front door by the way mate, as that's the standard startin location. though considerin our orientation up here -- on the third floor office at the backside of the buildin -- you'd be descendin the stairs from this direction, and so would most likely be needin to reverse these coordinates, unless you, loike me, always orient yourself from startin location and learn to work your way backwards from there) ... so, like i was sayin, when you're in the pantry storage room, find the bust of the busty lass who ain't got any heart left in her and stick it right in. that should detach the chest of spice racks long enough for ya to sprint across the room and stick that brick we got up there in the track. ... that's when ya lean back and enjoy how gooey you're gettin under yer leathers, mates! every day here's an adventure! once the mechanism releases, the rock should drop outta the statue and into the gutter, returnin it to the lionmouth -- if you're with someone, it's best ya just have him stand there and catch it. why ya always gotta bruddy up on guard, mate! really saves us some time, not havin to re-do the retrieval.

the purpose of these architectural enigmas had been to enact the dual function of disorienting spies and other unfit seekers of state secrets in a process synchronous with embedding the deeper truths of our state mythology into stone -- in other words, they were to enforce unceasing ritual pressure on the serviceman who occupied their halls, while lacerating the thinly spread minds of apostates and other anarchists, and in design proved a faultless expression of the style and refinements of the bathing brothers -- illuminating the depthless majesty of our many faced father's inwardly fragmenting and outwardly blooming drive to self-refining perfection --

in practice, they proved a constant hemorrhage of cost, time and manpower.

[the aureole of your radiant, yellow-haired brother

brooding against a bank of dials and diodes --

aching in the throes of an obsolescent control schema]

- where is the centaur medallion, brother? is it in the relief on the balcony, or did you leave it -- still slotted for stray eyes to idle upon -- in the plinth of the statue of the holy dismembered?

[your friendly brother's finger --

slick against his lip]

- if it's not still on my desk, cozily tucked away under my list of conquests, turn-ons, secret longings and recipes, i might have left it in the room with the statues of the monks who cry blood -- y'know the acid blood that melts that ambergris material we use to hold the keys to the prison cells? the acid blood that's not strong enough to melt the key if you can measure out the proper ph?

... not that i had any reason to go into the prison cells, course. i was just reflectin on the wash dissolvin the corrosion of idleness in the mind, as any good serviceman does when visitin the acid cryin room. i'm not cruisin for beat-off material on the dow-low through my implant.

certain passages were accessible only through inlaying the correct ossified material into the correct portion of vacant space -- and for reasons of security, these passages could not remain open, for their obscure beauty and biological hostility would prove hazardous if disseminated without the time for proper absorption.

[the tap of his boot on the tile --

a pirouette to the chop of his point]

- look, look at the tiles -- through repetition we've gouged the most precise solution straight into the face of the riddle itself!

|- _|

|_ -|

from out the sloped embankments of the mortar -- across the plain dredged by the migrating stones, some insect beheld the cliffs.

... it is a route test of endurance, nothing more. see to it that they’re replaced.

[a receiver dinged --

throat cleared]

- i've spoken to the contractor sent by the dean of interior constructive arts. we both agree it would be stupid to replace all the tiles when our able servicemen were so careful as to only scuff within the established gridlines. with the rate of recruitment spikin, and traffic to this hallway only increasin, it's gonna be the same tiles scuffed over and over and they're gonna have to be replaced, so -- let's only replace the ones that've been scuffed!

the fresh tiles shone like quartz in the moonbeam.

- why look at that perfectly styled cube of fresh perimeter!

|- _|

|_ -|

... it's as though the problem were as irrelevant as the solution and we need not ever have made the attempt to strive for one.

(breath and eyeballs, fucker!)

- we better get to work on makin em scruffy and dirty so they match the others!

o-(\ ) ( /)-o

two eager recruits -- lead by strings around their roots -- arms antennae against slunk heads -- stand shed of singlet pressed to damp of pit.

a touch anemic in the prime of youth -- the gelatin of tackle-dummy bodies stripped to dick-splotched rorschachs cradle the boughs of overripe meat in the dinge of their sacral warrior garments.

pinched by the bisected fly -- the sinews of the tether extending. musk of hearty gonads basting the crisp white cotton to the motley gradations of a viscid dawn.

the rib of their torsos, sopping in the other's runoff, pressed over noses to scald eyes pressed shut by stench. disintegrating the ions of awareness in blood flow to the brain. polar lobes in the oscillating kinesthesia of how you stiffened as they brought you to your knees --

bucked and strained.

bone against bone.

bone against marble.

{- _} -| . . |- {_ -}

... two L-shapes licked where they refused to intersect -- to writhe in the light of the torch that is our guard.

stamping impressions of their grime deep into the pores of the environs. to mark as they have always done where they had been and what they merely were -- a merger of spirit into stone through the lubricants of the animal body --

to in turn soak up the prints of the boots as the soil accrued and in turn give to the compost of the floor which was our nourishment --

tongue to grit -- tongue to gland.

blind eyes rolling queue'd balls in the dark -- clenches of breath between the pain -- as they begged to be left wrecked -- lingering at the edge of their limits --

pump after pump -- man after man -- lining up in the dark -- no trees, only forest -- in the trunks of pertly wrapped thighs -- perched, leaning and heel-speared against the molding.

begging for it to end --

being to be left wrecked -- to linger at the edge of their limits ...

the savory of the sweat, the dribble of the gilded pearls which dripped from the baggy hoods of elephantine cockheads --

a feast of packaging distant as shore shelves as your brother backlit by the hall lead you by a clump of your hair -- so blessed to feel his bare nail dredge your scalp as he went so far as to remove his glove.

- keep those ditches dug, men!

--//.\\-

the lock on the commode of the west wing balcony would remain sealed until two busts of the stars who were right were pushed onto opposing pressure sensitive switches. upon exit, the busts would appear returned to their place of origin by unseen hands.

some days you had upwards of ten or twelve recruits crammed into the vestibule, peeking through the crack of the door, hoping to catch a glimpse of the esoteric mechanism which would return things always to the place where they were deigned to be.

the busts themselves stood atop marble plinths, and inevitably proved a drudgery for even the mightiest of men -- which is to say that by the third or fourth time a day, you were done with them.

the pressure on your pelvic floor from a morning's adequate hydration would steep the downy folds palming at the heft of your black walnuts with a more fragrant and herbaceous profile the longer it took to tear yourself away from your duties -- pressing down until the brine would bead among your most tender and quivering divisions -- focused solely on the mechanical task of sequencing one series after another -- knowing that a line has already formed. that you will need to lay your palms flat against the stone -- unclench the crustacean claws that have become your fingers, pinching in finely-honed repetitions -- your whole back engaged in the act -- as you press forward -- slab of ab to slab of ab -- arms alive above the elbow -- a dribble coming down as the dam breaks -- all this self-control -- nowhere left to go -- when you're no longer being controlled.

the heat trapped by the layers of leather and decoration which made up your military dress would lead to you and other men to remove your jackets, pouring streams of perspiration onto the tile -- requiring both an immediate mopping and rehydration, necessitating, in time, a return trip here.

[the irons bolted to his neck --

chained to plinth, the pedestal of his knees

a mist over the lakes of his eyes --

stripped of all armament but tongue]

when your time came, you had a man stationed there at all hours, so with living eyes, the return trigger would not activate.

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