you guys remember the pretty guy from pentatonix (the bass with black hair and blue eyes and a cool nose)? he has a couple solo albums now and oh my goddddd

November 1st

@dukexietyweek Day 8 - Holidays 

Word Count: 1452                      (Ao3)

Pairing: Dukexiety

Characters: Remus, Virgil, Patton

Rating: T

Warnings: Innuendo, mild religion mention, nudity mention

Halloween is over and Virgil is not looking forward to the Christmas overload. Fortunately his crush has just the gift to give him, even if it's early

---

November 1st was always a sad day for Virgil. Not only was his favorite holiday over, but the Christmas season was getting revved up at an alarming rate. He didn't want the snow or the forced family interactions. He didn't want to make cookies or sing carols or pretend that there was no religious significance to any of it. 

Virgil sat on the staircase and stared in silence as his landlord, Patton, skipped about the front room, swapping out his usual knick-knack frogs for snowmen and Santa Clauses. All of the orange, purple, and black curtains and pillows were already put away and swapped for red, green, and gold. 

He got up and made his way down to the first floor, dressed in his uniform to sell the same kind of decorations and seasonal junk that Patton loved. 

"Hey there kiddo!" Patton greeted him, "Have a good day at work!" He didn't seem to notice that Virgil was forcing himself to keep from frowning. 

"It's retail, Pat, I'm aiming for just okay," 

"Well if you have time, can you tear apart the clearance section for me? I'll pay you back or take it off your rent." 

"Yeah, I can do that, Pat, I'll see you later." 

"Bye! Oh and my cousins are coming back tonight—they know to stay out of your room." 

"Alright, Pat, I gotta go," Virgil said with a wave and left. He was not going to have a good day and it would only be worse with Roman and Remus around—two handsome men who needed constant attention like them meant no time to breathe, and no chance for his heart rate to drop.

Virgil got home from work with the weight of the world on his back. It was far too early to start with the Christmas stuff, but there were plenty of people who disagreed. At least he could get to the clearance area and buy the remains of his treasured holiday for Patton, mostly—there was a travel mug covered in spiderwebs he got for himself. 

He placed the bags for Patton on the couch before heading straight to the shower. He needed that reprieve, especially when he saw the twins' car in the driveway. Patton wasn't home so they would latch onto him if he wasn't careful. 

"Hey Virgey!" Remus greeted him as he rushed past his room, only for Virgil to lock himself in the bathroom and turn on the water. Remus shrugged and used the opportunity to strike. 

Virgil didn't always take that long to shower, but he was sad and tired and his back hurt. It just felt too good under that warm stream. But even the nicest showers had to end, so he reluctantly got out, dried, and wrapped a towel around his waist. 

But when he closed the door to his room and turned on the lights, his jaw dropped with his towel. His curtains had fake webs all over them and strings of purple and orange lights crisscrossed the ceiling. There were bats and skeleton stickies on the walls, and a rug covered in fake blood. But the Halloween decorations weren't the only things—a trashy little imp was lounging on his bed in a flowing black dress with a present next to him. 

"Well hello there!" Remus grinned and wiggled his fingers, "I wasn't expecting to see this much of you, but I'm not complaining!" Virgil yelped and covered his nethers. 

"What are you doing in my room?!" 

"I thought I'd freshen up the place before I give you your present! I already got my present!" Remus grinned. Virgil rolled his eyes and inched toward his dresser, not ready to give Remus a look at the other side. 

"Christmas isn't for like two months. Neither is my birthday," he said as he pulled out a pair of pajama pants. 

"Yeah, but it's only one month til Chanukah, but I think you might want this before then!—And no it's not boxers before you ask!" Remus replied and eyed Virgil as he sacrificed his cover to put on those pants. 

"That would give you a reason to complain," Virgil scoffed and pulled out a tee shirt. He didn't look at Remus while he put on deodorant and put his shirt on. 

"I mean, if I had a shot at getting in your pants, it would!" Remus laughed, "You're so immune to my charm it doesn't matter!" 

"Remus," Virgil sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. He was not at all immune to this man's charm, far from it. He was supportive and fun, charming and sweet, macabre and handsome—like a grimy Gomez Addams. Virgil wanted to be on the receiving end of his affections, but Remus was out of his league. 

"Open your present, Scare Bear!" Remus said loudly and shoved the box into his hands. Since it didn't have any leaks and it didn't stink, Virgil reluctantly took off the bow and pulled the lid off the box. He looked inside and gasped. 

"Yeah, I didn't think you had one and I know Pat wouldn't think of it, so I thought you might like one that's a little more stylized," Remus said and rubbed his neck sheepishly. 

"Remus," Virgil said as he pulled the gift from the box. It was a nine-candle menorah with skull-shaped candle holders and spider web supports on either side. There was also a package of purple candles in the box but Virgil was too awestruck to pay them any mind. 

"Is it too sacrelig?" Remus asked, as if he didn't wear inverted crosses and pentagrams with rams' heads all the time.

"I'm not orthodox about it, and my brother has one shaped like a t-rex, so for me, no it's not. I'm just—where did you get this?" 

"I made it! I thought you should have one that matches your style! Do you like it?" Remus said and bit his lip. He really wanted to give Virgil something he would love with all the love he wouldn't ever want to give Remus. 

"You made this? Remus this is incredible! No one ever thought to give me anything for Chanukah—no goyim at least—let alone make it themself!" Virgil gasped and reverently placed the gift back in the box. He set it on the nightstand and let out a shuddering breath. He was not about to cry in front of Remus. 

"Virgil," Remus said and leaned forward, gently grabbing his shoulder, "Are you okay?" 

"I'm constantly surrounded by Christianity, and the obnoxious Christmas stuff is going on at work—and you gave me a custom menorah. I'm so happy I could kiss you right now!" 

"You can if you want to stoop that low, I won't stop you!" Remus giggled. Virgil pouted and glanced back at Remus. 

"Stoop that low? Me? You'd be the one downgrading. You're thoughtful and sweet and fun, you could do so much better than me." 

"Nah, you forget that I am a macabre bastard with impulsive tendencies and a knack for causing trouble! You're one of the most patient people I know—you listen to me and you get me. I would kill to be your boyfriend! You're witty and chill and hot and you're hu—" 

"Shut up a sec," Virgil cut him off, "You want that? To be my boyfriend?" 

"Yep!" Remus beamed, only to let his smile falter. He was not ready to face rejection.

"Then scoot over," Virgil said and flopped on his side, "I'm tired and you're on teddy bear duty." 

"Teddy bear duty?" Remus asked dumbly and got up. Virgil awkwardly forced his sheets and blanket down from under him and huffed. 

"Spooning, duh. I'm exhausted and I want to cuddle my boyfriend." 

"Can I switch out of this dress? It didn't seduce you and it's not comfy," Remus asked. 

"Yeah, but you lose your boyfriend status if you don't come back," Virgil huffed and closed his eyes. He swore he heard Remus squealing all the way to his room. 

Not even five minutes later, Remus burst in wearing sweats and a tee shirt. He turned off the lights and crawled into bed next to Virgil, who looked like he was asleep. 

"I guess you're stuck with me til morning," Remus giggled and kissed his nose. Virgil grunted and grabbed him, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. 

"Work on your aim, Pup," he grumbled and pulled Remus to his chest. Remus giggled and curled up to him, looking up at his face as he drifted off. 

"Happy Halloween 2: When Remus is your beau," he whispered, only to hear snoring coming from the emo. He closed his eyes and let Virgil's warmth lull him into dreamland as well.

What Is Mamajuana?

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Things my AP Gov teacher said

.Does anyone feel the healthcare spirt?

I went huba-huba.

We’ve equally intelligent and stupid people in both houses of congress

He’s an idiot.

*Gestures to self* This is all a lie

There is a men’s caucus, it’s for the other 80% of congress! I kid you not! They don’t need one!

You’re going to be constitutional scholars-slash-beasts.

We haven’t had a good impeachment in two decades...we need one… to educate the people, no comment on the incoming president [Trump].

*Looking over notes* Mmm Hmm Mmm MMM “What do you notice kids?”

“The north made the rum… drinky drinky… to trade for slaves.

Name the rights! *waits for the class to name off stuff* Religion, press, blah blah blah

I don’t care, well, I do, but I’m not telling you!

Oh! *writes on board ‘Significance on Constitutional Convention of 1787 OMG the best Const. EVER*

Did anyone learn that silly Preamble song in 4th grade? *few people raise their hands* Does anyone want to sing it for us? *Hand fall* But don’t worry class, let’s read it together anyway.

*Talking about the constitution* The constitution says “This is how you do it.”

Where can you go to smoke it up?

If you and your spouse, you decided to, or can’t do the, um… birth, what do you do?

While in Colorado, you had the privilege of getting stoned under the Privileges and Immunities Clause.

What happened if you didn’t follow the Church of England, France, or Spain? You got excommunicated, imprisoned, tortured - in very painful ways -, and executed

Here comes the light… and it will be good

Are you ready for the FRQ’s? I’m so jazzed!

We have to say the 14th amendment. Oooh, lovely amendment.

Get low.

Where’s get low?

*Goes in for a high-five* SNAP!

That was a lot of BS. *class says baloney* Or, as my grandmother used to say, baloney sauce.

1963… that was a good year.

*Looking at notes* HgmbrstuwtAbi

What would SCOTUS say?

Get bent, it's in the constitution, would be what they meant in colonial times. (Don’t put that on the AP test (If you put it on the AP exam, parenthetically tell what they want. (By get bent, I mean that there was no standing to sue, etc.)))

When we’re done with these three things, Hannah, put your hand up and say ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.’

Talking about Independent Business v. Sibelius case* Conservatives said to Roberts *bad accent and cross made out of fingers* You were not supposed to vote that way! Evil!

We’ll put everything in a central location… and we’ll… we’ll share! Aww! (Talking about communism)

*Drawing marble cake* That’s a pretty crappy cake.

Stroke your beard! *one student doesn’t* Stroke your beard!

Corn is everything. Really, the Maya are coming back.

As long as Micky D’s is open and the cell phones are working, everything is FINE!!

Jefferson’s enemy Alex-ander Ham-il-ton convinced someone to vote for Jefferson.

I am the holder of the calibration machines.

When Canada invades, the supply line is short.

What’s the state where… *vague hand waving*

Don’t look at me… look inside yourself. The force flows through you… HEALTHCARE!!!

Eventually, [the football] will be a chip embedded in the president’s brain.

*Balancing a ruler on his head* This means nothing.

We’ll have diversity in the presidency, assuming we don’t blow ourselves up by then.

WWTD - What Would Thor Do? *Waves pretend hammer around* Fwoorth!

Have y’all ever had a burger at Steak ‘n Shake? Because my brother introduced it to me over the break and it’s one of the greatest things in life now.

88%, that’s even more depressing. (Talking about safe seats in the house)

Moderate republicans are here. *Walks out the door to the right* Rand Paul is over here.

*To student* Ask me why there’s no speaker of the House. *Student asks* I don’t know.

We have to be thinking about these all the time because if we don’t, Russia will.

Holy crap Batman.

Legislative constipation.

You bet your sweet bippy.

If I became dictator for while, I’d get rid of gerrymandering and make all elections federally funded. Everyone would be on an equal playing field. Imagine that!

Budget surplus, that’s a joke!

Pass the biscuits.

The media is so prevalent because of your social media and blah, blah, blah.

Yes, let us get thoroughly depressed for a moment.

That was a joke… apparently not a funny one.

ALL HAIL TO THE BLACK IN TOMORROWS NIGHT, THE NEXT IS FORTH AND FORWARD, THE BLACK IN MY EYES IS TURNING CORDLESS UPWARD, SKYWARD

HIGH TO LOW AND TIDES RECEDING, RECOILING AS THE METAL FALLS UNSTABLE AND EXPANDS HOT AND DE-SHAPES THE LAND THAT IS SOAKED AFTER HUNDREDS OF MILLIONS OF YEARS OF BLOODSHED THAT LEADS TO FLOODING AND EATS THE STORY ALIVE. THIS IS THE STORY OF BLOOD.

THE PACK OF HUNGRY LIONS HEARS THE DISTRESS CALL OF A YOUNG GIRL AND HER YOUNG BLOOD IS RECTIFIED AND MOVES CAREFREE BUT CAREFUL AND STEPPING AROUND INNOCENCE UNTIL SHE IS ALONE, THE LIONS FOLLOW HER TO THE ROAD. THE SOULLESS MEN LEFT UNREMEMBERED AND BLOODY IN THE WOODED JUNGLE TURN COLD.

WHY ARE YOU HAUNTED? YOU COULD WANDER FOREVER, JUST WALK RIGHT OFF THE EDGE.

BLUE LINOLEUM AND PINK GLASS MILK PITCHERS CIRCA 1991

SANDCASTLES TOPPLING IN LIVING ROOMS,

HOODED GLOWING EYES UNDER HOODS RIDING DEATHLESS ON HORSEBACK TO THE BLACKENED NIGHT-VEIL

A CAMOUFLAGED COLLAGE OF FRESH RED MEAT AND TEETH BARED TO THE GROUND OVER TAPE-DRAWN BODIES OUTLINED AND BLOOD SPATTERED PATTERNS MIMICKING OVERFLOWING RIVERBEDS SWELLED TO LAKES AND COOLING LAVA

//OUR SANTA MUERTE, O GREAT LADY OF DEATH, WHO WILL COME FOR US ALL, KIND AND GENTLE BE YOUR KISS. WHEN YOU COME TO END MY LIFE, MAY I BE FREE OF ANY REGRETS. THANK YOU FOR THIS DAY, ONE MORE BEAUTIFUL DAY, THAT I MAY HAVE IT TO LIVE, LOVE, AND LAUGH MY OWN WAY. AMEN. - -

THAT MAYBE IF MY ENVIRONMENT IS WORKING WITH MY AMBITIONS TO STAY CLEAN AND HEALTHY, THERE STILL MIGHT BE A POSSIBILITY THAT THEY’LL SAW CLEAN THROUGH THE HINGED-FRAME OF MY SNOW-COLORED SKULL LIKE GIFT-WRAPPING OVER A HARD-COVER BOOK AND MY THOUGHTS COULD STILL BREATHE FREE, CLEAN LIKE POEMS DOTTING THE EDGES OF LINED PAPER LIKE FLOATING SINGING PRAYER FLAGS LIGHTING UP IN THE WIND AND SUNNED-STRETCH SHOW OF SHINING SNOW BLANKETING HIGHTOP MOUNTAINS WHILE STUDENTS OF THE UNKNOWABLE AND DIVINE REALMS LEAVE THEIR BLOOD AND BODIES AND COME BACK FROM OVERLOOKING INFINITE WORLDS BELOW.

PRAYING FOR PEACE, AND NOT TO BE EATEN ALIVE, AT LEAST NOT WITH THIS MUCH HATE FOR THE IGNORANT WHO KNOW NOT WHAT THEY DO AND ACID-DAMP-COLD-BUT-BURNING FLESHING OUT THE UNTIMED MOVEMENTS TRYING TO CLEAVE A SPACE FOR ANYTHING BRIGHT AND TEMPERATE, NON-EXTREME, SO I DON’T HAVE TO PASS DOWN THE CONFUSION AND SOMEONE STRUGGLES TO GET THE POISON OUT OF DIRTY NAILS, UNBITTEN BUT UNKEPT AND TOO-BUSY SCREAMING TO FIND THE RUBBING ALCOHOL AND NOT EDUCATED ENOUGH TO KNOW WHETHER IT WILL HELP OR NOT.

YOU CAN PUT ISOPROPYL ALCOHOL ON AREAS OF THE SKIN TOUCHED BY POISON IVY TO AVOID A RASH BUT IF YOU PUT IT ON A SNAKE BITE IT WILL SLOW THE HEALING PROCESS, MOVING AROUND WILL MAKE THE VENOM SPREAD FASTER THROUGH THE BODY. A SNAKE CAN MISTAKE ITS OWN TAIL FOR PREY AND ACCIDENTALLY POISON ITSELF, WHILE SOME SPECIES HAVE BECOME IMMUNE TO THEIR OWN VENOM.

“It never gets easier, you just get better.”

CALM DOWN, WALK LIGHT OVER THE GATE, OVER THE BRIDGE, UNDER IT ON TOO-HOT DAYS, VISION BLURRING OR MELTING AS THE WIND PICKS UP, FATED, SOMETHING ILL AND NUMB STIRRING IN THE EYES-SIDING ALONG AND SILENTLY PRAYING FOR DEATH.

The Sumerians told a story that said while Enki and Ninmah were setting to create the earth, as lesser gods, they were burdened by the task and complained to the primeval mother, Namma, about their hard work. She then urged Enki to create a substitute to complete the work for them, she took up clay to knead and gave birth to the first humans. Enki was then tasked to “educate” them. I AM SELFBORN FROM THE THE HEART OF THE MOVING LAND. I REMEMBER THE DAY STRANGE MEN LOOKING TORN FROM THE HIGHER DENSITY DESCENDED FROM THE SKY TO ALREADY FERTILE LAND LOOKING FOR SOME FALSE EXPANSION THEY BROUGHT OVER FROM ANOTHER STAR SYSTEM. HOW MUCH WEIGHT IS MY FLOATING BLOOD WORTH IN MONOATOMIC GOLD AND WHERE DOES THE SEA TURN INTO THE SHORE AND WHATS THE LINE BETWEEN THE SHORE AND THE SAND.

DON’T BELIEVE EVERYTHING YOU SEE, IF LIFE HAS NO GUARANTEE THAN DEATH IS JUST ON VACATION AND I’M RECITING ANCIENT POEMS THAT ARE TUGGING INFINITE AND MERCILESSLY ON THE ROPES HIDING, DESCENDING BELOW THE RING-EDGE OF THE WELL SWINGING MY HEART DRUNK ON BLOOD AND HOW SILLY THAT I USED TO THINK NO ONE WOULD REMEMBER ME AND HOW NOW I AM RE-READING WORDS WRITTEN SOFTLY BY FIRELIGHT A HANDFUL OF STRETCHED CENTURIES-WORTH OF LETTERS AND POSTCARDS AWAY FROM ME WHERE I AM AND BY HANDS NO LONGER MOVING WITH THEIR BLOOD BUT IM GLEAMING, SMILING WIDE ON THE INSIDE AND THINKING ABOUT REVENGE AND CONSEQUENCES AND BARRIERS AND BORDERS AND RED ROOMS, RED SHOES BURNED BLACK AND TURNED ASH, RED HARD-COVER BOOKS AND PAINTED-WHITE BRICK CELLS A HOP OVER FROM THE IDEA OF THE FUTURE NEXT TO A BURNING HASH BUSH AND FALLING REGIMES MASKING DECAY LIKE A DEATH DECOY.

OLD TAPES AND OLD BOOKS DESTROYED.

I’M THINKING SOFTLY ABOUT LEAVING AND NEVER COMING BACK AND THEN RABBITS FOOT SCREECHING GOOD-LUCK DREAMS AND ROOTS AND SKIES AND SEEDS AND SEA-CLEAN-SUN-VISION-REEF-OF-LIVING-SCENES. I’M BREATHING FOR FREE.

BLACK AND WHITE PHOTOS HIGHLIGHTING THE STRUCTURAL CONSISTENCY OF CHAOS AND HOW NATURE BENDS ITSELF FOREVER UPWARD TOWARD LIFE, FOREVER CIRCLING DOWN TOUCHING SOIL TO SOUL TO ROOT AND SAP-BLOOD CASCADING LIKE ANY OLD PIECE OF AMBER POLISHING A RACKET INSIDE THE TUMBLER AND FINDING MOVEMENT AGAIN ACROSS OPEN ROADS AND SHADE AND LIGHT CUTTING THROUGH THE WINDOWS.

I NEVER THOUGHT THAT I WOULD GET HERE TO WHERE I AM NOW, HAPPY AND LEANING INTO IT STILL NOT EXPECTING ANYTHING, STRETCHING COLD BUT GETTING THERE AND IM TRYING NOT TO BURN EVERYTHING I TOUCH BUT I FEEL THIS LIGHT HEAT-CRACKING THROUGH ALL THE SCARS IN MY SKIN. VOICE TAPPING UNSURE AT MY THROAT AND I STILL HAVE HOPE BUT ITS NOT MUCH BUT I GUESS I AM MAKING IT ENOUGH.

I SEE EYES MILES AWAY GLOWING THROUGH DENSE DARK TREES, TIME-TRAVELING STANDING STILL TO 1977 IN FRANCE FOR THE LAST PUBLIC EXECUTION BY GUILLOTINE, HE DIED 12 DAYS AWAY FROM HIS BIRTHDAY AT 27 YEARS OLD AFTER KIDNAPPING AND MURDERING HIS 22 YEAR OLD GIRLFRIEND. HIS DEFENSE REVOLVED AROUND THE AMPUTATION OF HIS LEG SIX YEARS EARLIER WHICH HIS LAWYER CLAIMED HAD DRIVEN HIM TO ALCOHOL ABUSE AND VIOLENCE, “TURNING HIM INTO A DIFFERENT MAN.”

I PICTURE A BEHEADED GHOST WALKING AROUND CARRYING HIS HEAD AND TRYING TO FEED HIMSELF RED-WINE AND IT JUST FALLS THROUGH THE EXPOSED WINDPIPE. HE INTRODUCES HIS HEADLESS BODY TO THE BODY-LESS HEAD AND THEN ASKS HIMSELF HOW DID HE GET SO AT CHEST-LEVEL?

PICTURE OF BLOOD CLIMBING THE GRAVITY FROM THE THIRD-STORY CRASHED WINDOW TO THE FLOOR BELOW.

SOAKED-RED MEDICAL TOOLS, LACE-WHITE DOILIES MUTING THE DARK METAL CLANK OF THE GUN SET AGAINST THE WARM WOODEN NIGHTSTAND, NEXT TO THE CERAMIC-WHITE CHERUB STATUE AND THE OFF-WHITE LAMP LIGHTING THE GREEN ARMCHAIR. CHRISTMAS COLORS A NAIVE SENTIMENTALITY CONTRASTED AGAINST THE HALO OF BRIGHT BLOOD AND BRAIN-MATTER PAINTING THE WHITE WALL RED AND TURNING MY LUNCH INTO SICK OPEN-AIR GREEN. THE CARDINALS SINGING IN THE BRANCH-SHADE-COOLING-BUT-LIGHT-SKIP PEPPERED ORGANIZED CHAOS OF PINE TREES PROTRUDING SPIKED AND EVERGREEN FROM THE COLD AND WARM GROUND. THE SOUND IS CLEAN.

THE COMPLICATED OVER-GLORIFIED MOLTOV COCKTAIL TURNS-MISSES THE CROWD AND HITS ARMORED POLICE.

THE FIRE TRANSMUTES INTO GOLDEN-POISON-ORANGE FROM THE PAINTED IMAGE OF ARMY GREEN, CRACK-POP-SPARKLING THE METAL LIKE REMEMBER HOW YOU GOT THIS SHAPE, THE SUN BOILED THE WOOD FOR THE PENCIL TO DRAW THIS BLUEPRINT OF IMPOSING PUKE-GRIME-SALT-AND-SCUM-OF-NATURES-HYBRID-DEATH-TALKERS HAILING A COLOR AND STALKING BLOOD AND DROWNING IN IT WHILE TRYING TO CAMOUFLAGE INTO THE HEAVY WOODLAND, DODGING GREEN SWAYING TREES, NOT REALIZING RED IS THE DIRECT OPPOSITE COLOR ON THE PAINTERS WHEEL MEANING CONTRAST HIGHLIGHTS IRONY AND THE NIGHT IS BLACK LIKE CLOSING YOUR EYES. MOVEMENT IS EASIER TO DEFINE THAN COLOR. THE SOUND IS CLEAN, THE POISON-ORANGE SPARK REVERTS-OPPOSITE IMPRINTING THE SPOT TURQUOISE TO THE FLESH OF THE EYE. THE SILENCED FOOTSTEPS ARE HEAVY WITH THE QUIET UNCLEAN PAUSE-BEAT OF TWILIGHT SEARCHING FOR SMALLER, QUIET VOICES TRAINED ON THE SHAPE OF THE LIGHT FIXTURE, FOCUSED PATIENT ON FLESHY GREEN ROADS LINED IN CONSISTENT LEAVING AND ALMOST LEAVING AND SOMETIMES COMING BACK FOR A CAMERA SUSPENDED TRI-LEGGED AND SHUTTER OPEN 30 MINUTES TO GET THE SHAPE OF THE LIGHT BENDING EXTENDED AND JUST MOVING ALONG BRANCHES AS THE LINE BETWEEN THE DAY AND THE NIGHT FADES FROM INKWELL, TO DARK END OF THE OCEAN, TO FOREST-FIRE-SMOKE YELLOW-GREY, TO POTENT-CLEAR BUT NOT SATURATED LILAC, THEN MORNING HEAT MELTING THE AIR INTO COTTON-CANDY BLUE UNTIL ITS TOO STUCK-STICKY-SWEET TO KEEP SLEEPING. YOU HAVE THE PICTURE AND NOW YOU HAVE THE DREAM OF RUNNING THROUGH THE DARK JUNGLE HEARING THE TREES WHINE AND SING WAR SONGS OUT OF STANDARD TIME WITH THE PARADE-LINE. THE IMPACT SITE OF BLUNT FORCE TRAUMA TO THE LEFT RIBS SETTLES AND BRUISES INTO THE SHAPE OF A SKULL AND HERES THE CROSSROADS: IF IT IS A WARNING OR A WINK FROM FALLEN BLOOD. LEARNING TO FALL RIGHT, STEPPING IN FRONT OR FALLING TO THE FLOOR, SETTING TRAPS AND GUARDING WATCHING, WAITING FOR THE BLOOD TO MOVE OXIDIZING SKYWARD AND BROKEN, VERSUS GETTING OUT WHILE YOU STILL CAN AND REMINDING YOURSELF OF BLACK SILHOUETTES STANDING SKYWARD WITH ARMS RAISED OVER RAGING FIRES.