The Rainbow Horizon - A Tale of Goofy Chaos

The Rainbow Horizon - A Tale of Goofy Chaos Page 14

by Karen S. Cole

  Chapter Six

  NO DUAL ONIONS!

  Or,

  The Writing in the Sky Solemnly Proclaimed Continuance;

  But the Strong Man is Mightiest Alone.

  WE TOLD YOU SO,

  WE TOLD YOU SO,

  BUT DANS MIGHT DISAGREE, MAYBE

  AFTER SEVERAL MONTHS of mystery, Gabe got a message on his answering machine. It began with some hard-to-hear muttering, which sounded like “give her one injection afternoon and another morning” and then the mightily-missed voice of Flo Hemberkin came on, saying “you gotta hear about this, Gabriel, you’ll really jump outa your britches.”

  “They found Therese Nathaniel! She’s okay, we checked her back in here yesterday. She was shaky, but happy, very pleasant to everybody, and the doctor’s talking about taking her off of everything, maybe even her LD medications.

  “She was staying with her sister, and she started having these dizzy spells, falling down, about two weeks ago. They brought her in to Ridgeview, the ER, and found she had really low blood pressure and low levels of oxygen and iron in her blood. Low hemoglobin. So they put her on a couple meds to raise her pressure and counter-balance the side effects, and had her walking up and down the halls to oxygenate her blood."

  At this point the machine tape was full and the recording was cut off. It had been a long message, but the tape section had taken it. Gabe punched the ‘rewind’ and ‘erase’ buttons. He called his old workplace and asked for Flo.

  She came on. “Hi, big fella! Your tape wouldn’t take all of my long-winded message—so you want to hear the rest?” “Yes! Please tell me about Therese.”

  Flo laughed into the phone. "You wouldn't believe it, she looks so much better than when she left. She’s seen her daughter. I hear she's the cutest little kid, has a head full of curls--she was very sick, some kind of swine flu or that, you know. She got better right away after mama went out to see her! Back on her feet in three weeks."

  “How long are they going to keep her there?" Gabe thought only of Therese falling back into her old bad patterns and peculiarities. "Not long. Maybe a week, monitor her while they stabilize her meds. We were right, she did turn out to have physical problems. We're going to do our level best to help her. She’ll shape up. She's great already.

  “Say, you vanishing kid you, what's your new phone number? I can have Therese call you when she's back from dinner, if you want."

  “My number is yours, my Royal Nut, with gratitude.” He gave it.

  Therese called about 8:30, in the middle of a Cross-Fire return. Gabe was glad to shurt it off. What a miserable, violent idea for a TV show. The emcee’s head was on straight, but his heart was definitely taking it to hell with him. Gabe thought he knew the reason why, and felt sad for the host.

  Therese’s enthusiasm and gratitude were as boundless as the open Wyoming prairie. She sounded ten times as alive as he had ever known. She joyously related to Gabe the equally lively nature of her now-well daughter, and blew Gabe a kiss for each year she was old. “Thanks Superbatman, you unmitigate saint in bleached polyester! She was slipping away when I arrived! Maybe I kept her awake for long enough…"

  DAN NUTS WAS GOING CASHEW, not working a job anymore. He had all that money saved up from starring in…well, running the camera behind the scenes, and appearing briefly…in a gay porno flick filmed in Unionville. Said town was the local Gay Mecca, the San Francisco of Northern Washington. Dan had $60,000 USD burning yet another hole in his tight, cowboy-fitting jeans. What to do with the money? He couldn’t buy love with it, not from anyone. Well, maybe not just anyone! But hey, the streets were crawling with those who could be found, wearing a hanky sticking unobtrusively out of his back pocket…men to die for. To die for, an odd phrase; whatever did it mean? Oh, that!

  But was Dan really a flagrant fag? A man about town? A person of interest to those who craved divinely angelical white, pale flesh? Or did he seek another goal, once threatened with death – to discover the personhood of a girlfriend, a REAL girl and not a boy in makeup – somebody he could get – gulp- prego? What did Life mean, if he wasn’t a Daddy, a father, a progenitor of the Human Race? Or, what if he spent the rest of his life researching Gay Porn, in order to make further movies…it was either that, or wash dishes and hope to be discovered. It was the 80s, the era of Coming Out of the Closet. But, was Danny Boy even in one?

  What good is life without money? And what good is money, without life? Could Dan keep up his “nutty” attitude, or would he find out someday that your self is something that cannot be denied altogether that easily? Making fun was his forte, but fortissimo, the day was dawning of the error of his ways.

  SHE WAS THE first pretty girlfriend ever, anywhere in the Universe. At fourteen, she looked like she was a gorgeous six-year-old, turning 30 overnight.

  He was an Unknown young man, unable to concentrate on his schoolwork.

  She was almost blond, but not really, yet charming and sweet. Glistening spun-gold curly locks, a…easy smile? Dunno… she was mostly white, neat-looking, avec the palest of all green eyes. Jade, like what you find on the beach.

  …so I was brave. I talked to her at school. I was shudderingly nice. I was SO nice. I wanted to die! No…

  “Under any consideration, would you care to let me take your arm as we go out for a milkshake or coffee after this teddibly sophisticated hodge-podge known as school…?”

  “No…”

  “But, may I ask why not?”

  “Nope. I don’t like you.”

  I had to gulp at this point, being a virgin, never knowing whatever else to say. Never.

  Then, I tried again the next day (oh God, is she gone? Nope, still there…)

  “NO.”

  Louder. “But, why?” And I tried unsuccessfully to look as disappointed as I possibly could. "Because I'm always…" And I looked at her, with this hopelessly, heartlessly, lost look of totally loyal undying love. I wanted only her. Forever. I would live only for… her. And it filled my entire body, to the point of over-flowing my heart, which was about to jump out of me and into her. She was that absolutely charming and gorgeous. And a blonde. And possessed a vagina, and maybe my…ME.

  And she was white. Or not. And, dammit, she claimed and took over everything. My all, as I’d been told. Pitilessly. For always. And my body just cared, or something, and was echoing with ruthless passion for her…

  And I kept looking at her like she was My Goddess. Her. La Virgin, de Me.

  Finally, as though she knew that, she went ahead and said.

  Yes while looking down a lotpretending to comtemplate our likeliest fate and we met and went out for coffee, like adults and the entire time, without staring at her the feeling continued I never stared, or cast her any painful looks but always I was aware of her and that total, overwhelming feeling that I had to barely ride the swelling edge of to keep it from being lust. It really WAS lost, and nothing BUT lust. So that's why my heart thudded…

  …and she was supremely beautiful and wonderful. The entire enchanting time.

  I heard music constantly, violins, horns, and flutes. I died in her winsome smile. I would not ever leave her, never, unless she told me to. I would die if she did. I would find us a way! If only she would let me take her home with me! To stay…

  Then, we went up to somewhere, about, say, well, it was a building. A familiar… church…building…something with a normal Latin cross on it…a gibbet for malefactors…and she meant that…led me clear up to the top of the bell tower…with an inside stairway? No, I led her up there, taking her silky hand.

  And, and, and the feeling streamed, as tears do, obliterating all else, and my eyes were begging silently, but to myself, God, let me go…

  And her sweetly gulping, well, purity

  And holding her hand, it was life itself, but God instead. For always? No…behind us, protecting us, ever failing at guarding our imaginary serenity, security and peace… and I…I gave her this do
wncast, sorrowful look while I was laughing hollowly down at the hilarious and brilliant green below. Down, below, and at her. I must, somehow, laugh at her. Mustn’t I?

  “Should I? I timidly cowed at her. “What d’ya think? I was fear itself.

  And she locked those tragic eyes with me, emerald green eyes and mind as one with this wild untrammeled stare at sheerest joy. I should jump, now, right now, she seemed to plea, oh please, and the perverted school, the boredom, the insanity, the servitude, the waiting…end it? Be a man? Whatever? “Yes!” she cried, NOW, I thought, and then she was going to spoil it all by telling me she was not a virgin, somehow, but she only tried to touch me before I was over the edge…she was screaming.

  How I loved her voice. How I wished she would join me. At least her hands were there again, on my back, like twin anger wings

  When I did jump, YES, out the tower, first climbing up the laughable short barrier at impossible speed, her hands claw at my back, and I launched…me. She was all class--beauty incarnate--you know BYUOO-ty, like Buford Pusser…true love personified, never even kissed once. She who was to be mine, simply and forever, without any such thing as a casual divorce.

  She would NEVER forget me. So fast, my body didn’t fail during the plunge. The wedding plunge! Swan die, arms out spread, a graceful arc and a magnificent site for any unfortunate life-ridden weirdo on the moronic ground as I flew, God, I flew, and the wind almost took me away. The end, arly an’ all.

  Yawn.

  But of course I bounced off the air-conditioning unit I hadn’t exactly, kind of, like, you KNOW, maybe previously noticed before, sitting on the ground below the tower, denting it to exactly my inane size as I landed, rolling, oh God what a long smashed falling role, sprawling arms and legs and soul falling off the busted thing, my stupid HEAD

  and the sickly grass smelled sweetly emerald green, fresh-mowed, but not yet, as it wasn't even mowed today, I knew, as the cracking, crinkling metal screams yaaaaaaawningly roooooooollllllled the pain off, me landing on something so plushy rotten with caked grass and dirt, and so cushily only spongy that it was warm, with good, no, goo, with my goo, for the most horribly frustrated moment of my life I spurted out my very first orgasm, har, but no such luck. Dead seed. I lay there broken, gashed, spouting, spouting, touching the grass tips in peace like it was her hair…undeceased, undiseased…waiting for death, surcease of the pain. It didn’t, li’l dickie sat back down again, waited for nothing. And still there is nothing for one such as me.

  “I’M AFRAID TO be homosexual. I aim to be normal. But, do you know what “normal” means, really? It means ‘bad north,’ in French. Why?” Not bad. British comedy wins another round. Mal de la Norte. The secret ideal of White people is that they are normal, you see, and that everyone else is radically insane.

  The above elaboration, and certainly something more, was being told to Thomas DaLieken by a fairly young Dan Nuts. You know him already as a bartender at the Krak. Thom was Italian and was almost stereo-typi-cally gregarious, emotional, and outgoing. Plus, he was handsome, very much so. Not so stereotypically cast was his ability to listen and his willingness to care about others’ problems. He was the town “papa bear,” providing sad locals with intermittent hugs and unobstructive love, though himself a naïve youngster at 37. He'd acquired a nice reputation as “a shoulder, an ear, and a crying towel. I like being used. Use me." Dan Nuts did.

  “Mom, you won't believe this, she used to, well, hurt me. It’s real hard to talk about. She just hated me. She wouldn’t give me any love at all. They left me alone all the blasted time. I spent a lot of time talking to myself. I’d go to them with a really bad problem, and either one or both would bust up laughing at me. They thought it was cute; they didn't care. Mom slapped me one time, just cuz I complained…Dad was always cold, too. They’re Death disguised as a married couple. I couldn't explain them to me, let alone others. Why’d they bother to even have kids? They didn't begin to know how to treat us.

  “I used to have these arguments with myself about morality, from what I picked up on ethics in books. Mommy and daddy never taught me any. I’d take one side, argue it, then I'd take the opposing side. Eventually nothing moral made sense anymore. It all died anyway," Dan whispered, drumming his fingers on a polished wooden table.

  Thom: “Did you have a big family?”

  Dan: “No, it was me and my brother. Yeah. I couldn’t get it, why they ever had us, what for. They hated both of us to death, never gave us any love or respect.”

  Thom: “Ever talk to your brother about your feelings?”

  Dan: “Yeah, but he said to hold on and survive it, forget it, grow up and leave. Get some work, get a life.”

  Dan was 19, recent-turned, and was thinking about doing exactly that. In addition, or perhaps in relationship to permanently leaving home, he also figured he’d be gay. "I seriously believe my family was nuts. God, such a joke. They actually took it seriously. Mom married and became Shari Nuts, and, well, Shari went nuts. Maybe names matter. What can I say?" Dan flashed his all-purpose foolhardy fairytale grin. He was a known rampant clown, a conspicuous brain-teaser, made people laugh at little observable provocation. Also, he was youthfully slim and cute, in an average sort of way.

  Thom sighed, wishfully brushing back his chestnut-brown, neck-length barbered hair. He hadn't been in a decent salon since 1988, when he’d moved to Rama from Reno, Nevada. He didn’t know what to say to these words of Dan’s, although somehow it didn't bother him much that his particular wise-guy kid might happen to become gay. He'd already gone ahead and thought so, but was mildly hoping Dan was becoming more like him, happily male, content with his masculevity, silly, apologetic but aggressive, a funny, outgoing, politely cheerful guy. A bearer of right-sized burdens. Small balls.

  “I’m deep, hahaha,” quoth Dan. “I’m NOT shallow. I don't want to only sexually reproduce. I need to do something monumental with my Life. Maybe travel down to southern Cal, break into serious acting in artistic films. It takes connections, very elaborate connections. You have to understand; you mustn't let ordinary people get in your talents’ way. You're obliged to learn and then to leave the dustier beaten paths alone. Certain kinds of people stop you…."

  “Do you want to live near them, I mean, your folks?”

  “My brother is in upper Cleveland now. We were pretty close, then he got married. She's nice, but they are so far away, and they hardly write or call me. They both know I'd like to hear from them. Why don't I? Do I have to call?

  “It seems like Fate to me. Ohhhh. I’m a flash in the Pan. I was meant to be a peaceful, nasty girl, I mean, boy, oh, man…WOMEN!” Dan laughed, tittering, taking to a higher vocal range than his. Definitely unnatural, but charming.

  Thom mulled things over. "It's your choice. You can choose to do whatever you want in this here life. Nobody’ll stop you." The younger man frowned, very artificially; if he’d been but five years older, Thom thought, he'd have reminded him of this guy he used to almost know.

  “Hey, do you personally, without your group or the mainstream head, I'm all ears on that one, do you think I should be gay?" inquired Dan. His voice was dropping significantly lower. He blinked at Thom, narrowing his eyes.

  “Well, I think you should be whatever you really want to be. What makes you happy. You decide. And for that other matter, what do you think is the genuinely right thing to do? It might not go away all by itself. Where do the two conflict, what you want out of life, and what you think is right? Where do they meet?

  Pensive is the word for what Dan looked like. Pensive. "Is it dangerous to be gay? I don't believe so. Not if I'm very, very careful. But it might make my life harder, and I hear it's hard to find a good life-long partner. Isn't it, gay or straight? Or do you think it works better if you are straight, that it's easier to find a partner who was loyal?" Dan's parents were still married. "She's nicer now, but they both feel so far away and phony, and they hardly ever talk to me anymore. It's like they don't have human s
ouls. They know I'd like that. Why don't they?"

  Thom decided to make like a heterosexual loyalist.

  “Yes, I really do think you should take the chance. I don't know what to suggest for you, what you should do, though. It's hard to find the woman of your dreams, and it's harder still to keep together. Even if you feel totally straight. No kidding," Thom said, gesturing at the unreachable past with his hand. He described his single failed marriage. "I loved her. Truly did. Gave it all. I wish she'd come back, gone ahead, but I played my cards fast and loose too many times. She copped to my bad nature, wouldn’t conform to it. One day I raised my dumb, flat hand, and whew, Bingo, she were gone city." Thom’s maturely ruddy face, deepening gently in the light, took on a greyish and steadfast confidence, sprinkled with a touch of cynical appreciation. He was envisioning old, dead, malingering problems. He couldn't be real, now, could he? Dan tilted a smile of sympathy, a tilt like a fedora hat, that, ah…duh, that certain smile. There was a youthful air of boyish doubt, uncertainty, nearly a look of painful recognition in Dan's as yet unformed smooth face.

  “That wasn’t the whole thing, was it?”

  “No, not at all. We argued at least every other week. Her boss was weird. I wasn't making lots of dough ether. We didn't have any vacation for two years. Then one of our daughters came down with ALS. Amnio-tropic lateral sclerosis! You would not believe the mountain of hospital bills.

  “If you don't want children at all, maybe you're better off being gay. But I fear for you, man. What if you ever regret it? World’s loneliest future. You’ll have to solve all those intrinsic problems. And it’s the same chances for failure, maybe, either way, it’s not necessarily so different being gay. He might not stick by you. Some folks get too worried…you practically must have a line of snappy patter, sell people on the idea. What about using regular old birth control, with a girl?"

  Dan looked down at the floor, several feet’s worth, in front of him. Like he was on a car on the freeway, gauging his distance behind another car. One car length ahead, one behind…

  “How do you profess to know so much?" Dan suddenly looked arch. He knit two sandy eyebrows. He'd heard Thom’d been in many different world-wide locales in his life; Thom had been in the Navy for twelve years. Thom had literally "been around." That was the largest part of why Dan had chosen him to speak with.

  “I’m widely travailed. Since my divorce, I’ve been all around the big bad globe. Europe, Australia, central Africa. Oh, nelly. There are gay folks almost everywhere. I go. They indeed look silly, but they’re there. You don't see them all. Some people groan, to them it's awful, but others think it's lucky. It can be another social club, but it's also a major health and social hazard, I think STDs (sexually-transmitted diseases) abounding. But what can you say, with all the usual drugs around, anyway? Why pick on gays, in particular? So, there.

  “You can get STDs heterosexually, too; I dunno. My beef with ‘gayness’ is that it involves completely giving up on an important part of the human condition, which is, simply, learning to love someone who’s radically different from yourself. Like a real, faithful woman. Right?"

  “I guess so. Still. I could learn to love women as friends do. What if that made them very happy?" Dan didn't look too interested in being right, as in ‘right,’ at this moment, somehow. Awwwww.

  Finished with his speechifyin’, Thom, who had neither wife nor girlfriend at that time, put his considerable chin in his ruddy hand, and dramatically sighed.

  “Women are the Greatest. They’re my reason for living, my raison d’etre.”

  Dan mistily gazed off and away, as if searching for a less shallow truth, but not with force or promise, to some middle distance, inclining his head. Out the window was a world…”I agree with you, that hating women is passé, but sometimes I don't have much faith in all people, period! Could be it's me. I can't tell what the big difference is. And both women and men are equally ruled, nice, obnoxious, fascinating, helpful, obsequious, boring, and cruel. And comical.

  “Probably it has to do with what you do, yourself, trying and not giving up, to love the other person all you can every day." Dan, leaning against the bar, relaxed.

  “I agree completely," said Thomas. But he still hoped Dan was kidding. Dan had always been a well-known kidder. The foregoing conversation wasn't necessarily real.

  And, of course, Dan still believed that Thom was kidding. About taking in air? Well…Thom was a well-known kidder, too.

  Perhaps neither of them were exactly ready for lambing season.

  Carnation Woodstock: Consider it an Adult Aerogun

  Lever cocking, spring air design. Stained hardwood stock and forearm.

  Adjustable elevation sight. 500 shot capacity. Length: 30.2 inches.

  Weight: 2.0 pounds. Maximum shooting distance: 150 yards. Muzzle

  velocity: up to 300 ftps. Two year manufacturer’s warrantee. One

  thousand, five hundred BBs included. Check or money order for $59.00,

  includes S & H. AIRGUNS UNLMTD, PO BOX 8459, Scranton, PA 12998.

  You must be 18 years or older to order. Know your state and local air

  guns laws. SHOOT SAFELY - ENJOY A CARNATION - STILL MADE IN

  AMERICA!

  GABE WOULD sell his soul to the Devil to win Sara's lifelong love…if. “If” is a poem by one Rudyard Kipling, in which he praised the dignity of soldiers involved in India and British courage, and mentions what Gandhi was into later on. What Kipling meant is if it ever worked, life would be a precious thing. Peace, love, freedom, something other than the onerous burdens named wretched War. But with what haste meets fate, with Death, the one thing Life depends on?

  All they did was to meet and talk on the concrete stairs. There's a series of descending stone steps outside my apartment. I, your friendly neighborhood auteuse, saw them. They were very lively, lost in a rollicking discussion unheard, buzzing away, the topic having to do perhaps with the young “Hooter.” From a distance, it almost seemed they were discussing his sex life. Or his career. Or his current suicidal tendencies. There was much rapid gesticulating. The devil was frowning something fierce. He looked sickeningly alike to the normal, off-white guy at the bus stop, the one the police were covering as “Sybil Smyth” silently passed by, on, or gas. Someone you wouldn’t look twice at, arrested for breathing. Or someone elser, who controlled your Existence by scratching his damp behind.

  Thin and hungry-bearing, he wore scarlet leisure clothes, as is his assumed usual, and while-with-it he maintained a pathetically world-weary expression, downcast about lies…neither homeless looking, nor friendly in any way.

  He was pasted entirely black, having a lengthy Ethiopian visage, although he didn’t resemble the carpetbagger bootblack on the newspaper-top tables at Wanda’s New Fangled Chop-chop Burgers. In other words, Wendy’s – where the sign is that of a Pickaninee, or a Wendigo. Prithee, ‘twere mainly a reg’lar gent, a goodly set of years older than Gabe, and a tad bit short and emaciated, scurvy and scrofulous, the rascal. But he carried himself erect and well enough for an aging man, albeit a twirpy one…his legs were backwards.

  His companion was youthful, muscular, and handsome, the kind of chap some women would find attractive. Your woman especially, if you have one.

  Possibly. It was “Beau” Hooter –that, or his spittin’ image—but the other chappie perhaps wasn't really the devil. I hope so. Nonetheless, I witnessed the both of them doing something rather untoward, reality, which is…they disappeared. After fading in and out of view, shimmering, and glancing all around themselves.

  Poof!!!

  There one moment, and the next, both were gone, as tho’ nonexistent. Were they for real, or had I sneezed and bent down to pick up that banana peel?

  I had turned away for but a moment.

  Their voices faded, altogether tooooooo swiftly.

  They could have run up or down the steps, but if they waltzed thusly, I would have seen them or heard their smacking feet.
Welladay, I did not! It was a complete and spontaneous fade from all exeestence in this blessed realm for the both of them. Gone an’ all-told and all-at-once. Obvious Martians from Antares.

  They faded into nothingness outside the seventh-floor window of my one-bedroom apartment in downtown Seattle in the midday of August, Year of Our Lord 1991. I was working on this book. I could only stare after them, waiting for what I did not know, and to begin with, their wavelike murmering voices reappeared ever so slowly. Then their blurry forms coalesced from the bluer shadows, becoming dark-skinned people again. One of them seemingly was of the same age as the overpass suicide, the one I recounted somewhere deep in this book.

  The odd duo came into my sight quite merrily, commenced heading back down the walkway, underneath me, just as though on a larking hike, having ambled blithely up there without my having seen them. The younger man looked happy and satisfied, the older or more pained black chap tired and sad.

  I heard "the devil" say, with a kind of bottomless carefree sorrow, and not really aloud but in the back halls containing an underlying suspension of nebular ether being pumped into my unnecessarily besmirched and olive-and-pink frightened mind, “she doesn’t really want us back,” in then - and I witness them turn and vanish completely before my eyes. Before they left, me thought I heard one of them say, "It doesn't matter, true, she's ever done with living…"

  Who was “she?” Me, or that blonde with the huge gazongas? The one hovering in mid-air, with the velvet wings and holding a purring kitten? Nah, which was just a billboard advertising…weird food. Drugs. Something lame.

  Mistily I ascertained, in the midst of the incident, that the duo possibly represented something familiar to me. I had called to me, peradventure, they were Hades and Poseidon. Red and Black! Or so. The chthonian elder Greek deities.

  Being that it's damnably fiery red underground, and deep, obscurest black under the waves of the hideous, abysmally deep oceans, it could be that, you know, that sort of thing. Really. Or the other way.

  But…with that, make Gabe into the devil…and the other chap into Neptune? Or would I be Neptunian? Could it be that I had them reversed? Had I taken too many drugs lately? Should I start drinking decaffeinated coffee more often? Waitaminute, it gives you bladder cancer. So does sitting and typing a lot.

  As I type, I feel that weird presence of winter coming, falling, twisting deeper in its roots out of the sky, descending dankly upon us. That chilling panic. There is the bleak, grey, stark, remote darkness, always too early. The feeble death of strengthening light. And that familiar and looming raw white quiet, largely I have resulting from the TV not being turned on. No powder snow, no ice, not as yet.

  The outlying two planets did reverse orbits fairly recently, I understand. In my mind, the planets are way the hell too male, anyway, for a bunch of light-colored round objects. There's only two female, and the other seven male, excepting the one that’s s’posed to be both. I think. The hot one. Anyway, Hades is the planet Pluto, and Poseidon is Neptune, which were the two furthest out. Now it’s Uranus and Pluto, which could lead to some very idiotic sameness jokes about shittim wood, your anus, and the unspeakable depravities of racism and sexism.

  Perhaps this far-out pair was castigating me for my furtively brief reference to Gabe’s largely futile spate of masturbation, mentioned earlier (he really was only touching it) and although I may be reading something into it, perhaps somebody or other way down there was attempting to utter things untoward about the nature of my hero’s sexuality. Which is upfront, not in the nasty back.

  Well, I don't share! I think everyone should own every part of their bodies that normally remain attached, provided nothing is ever a bother to certain of any others, especially as it usually isn't. Really. Unless they truly care about women, and are the only ones. And I mean personally. A damn sight more than I do!

  Besides, my kitty cat is sitting here purring on my lap, dozing away and being as laid-back as all get-out. That's right, ALL get out. As apparently also did a Gabe simulacron and a being rather than a skinny black homunculous, because they leapt out of my imagination AND SHOWED-OFF ON MY WALKWAY OUTSIDE, in your authoress’s ACTUAL REALITY, there. Really…

  A “homunculous,” by the way, is a wild man with a single behind. Or a dwarf. “A very small human, or a humanoid creature…a fully formed microscopic being, like Woody Allen or me, as a completely formed fetus that a man is supposed to bury into the womb of a woman, alone and by his little sweetheart selfishnessless.” We all do those things…have you got that? Everybody does it, now and then. Otherwise, it's a joking reference, to, well, an intensively bad-taste joke about, ah, certain people! At least it applies overall.

  Contrariwise…Medieval humor is not my bag, not now, anyway. They haven't caught m’yet! Another way to construe it (I am sure this is too boring to be an advertisement for beer in Ohio, but who knows) is "the man who’s behind us a lot," perhaps an awful lot. BEHIND us. It’s a reference to my old male grade school teacher(s), I guess. Teutonic state, tha.t O-hi-o. Four kids! 4 Dead Kids in Ohio, 1970, Kent State. They all thought they were NOT Hittling, which must be similar to Kippling. Or at least using red herrings (distractions from reality) like Gingers, or Blondes, or…blood-covered rapists, getting off many times after committing multiple hideous senseless crimes (I repeat, I request that we all but expend our entire individually worthless lives, except in groups where they are so always right and oh so wonderful, finding a rationic, salt-flavored solution for this, maybe through Saudi Arabia…but, what would Russia say?) Bill Cosby is a comic, so it figures that maybe a ton of multiple women did it to him. Or reverse. Is he a homunculous, or a person…the debate of the Ages, without any mercy or logic to it?

  “In Russia, strange man does not sexually assault you, you assault sexually strange man…” NO…it's the peculiar impertinent being without a human soul, like Ra’s Al Ghul from Batman Comics, who's behind us, stabbing away. In the dark of the middle of the day. However, if you were a dead prostitute’s ghost from 1878, where would you hide? What if you sought revenge? As a protester of sorts, which is an AWFULLY similar name. Prostrate, protestant, prostitute…the Green River Murders, sadly enough, happened in the 1980s in the Seattle area. It took far too long to solve them, and took the lives of 70 young women. Took them…where?

  No…really. Rilly? Bill O’Reilly! Surely, he’s Catholic. Well, everyone is supposedly Catholic, which means we all died in the Holocaust and are not aware of it yet. Actully, most of the people who died outside Death Camps were Catholics. I will be someday. “Catholic” means Universal, which though it’s a motion pictures studio, is a theme park. What is the theme? Restless leg syndrome – you must put this book down and go for a walk. I was born into a Protestant family of pseudo-Jews. Honest! I think Woody Allen bat mitzvahed me through a long distance love letter. He wrote it to me in the 1970s. It was book length and totally fascinating.

  There was this SONG, purportedly of the American Civil Rights Movement, entitled, "We Shall Overcome." With luck, it’s not a reference to burning alive at the stake, which would be bittersweet, repugnant and annoying. Thanks (yuch!) to the relaxing of rape sentencing guidelines, and the definite but possibly, just possibly, inadvertent reference to “being overcome” (not to mention the Koranesque “We”) in the song, there was certainly shortly thereafter in the 1960 as an actress, one starring in several Hollywood (holy wood?) B-movies, whose name (?) was…Tuesday Weld.

  It has to do with the Ku Klux Klan’s Loki worship, Viking warships, Nordic gods being our weekday names’ origin, and recent job training innovations for women in the 1980s regarding technical details about being left to hold the road sign – indicating that you should drive around the major, teeming with various equipment being used by the fellas’ construction area.

  Which can be difficult under Global Warming in the dry or moist heat, sweating while standing there. So nowadays, more women are actually getting trained, instead of being told that aft
er six months to a year of training, standing there is it. Took a long time for this to happen. In the summer down South, it gets so hot, you could fry an egg anywhere, except in a cemetary.

  Well, now you know and have been apprised of that Secret Origin story of the, ah, of the Patty Melt.

  Which is, thanks to the "We Shall Overcome" there is that Patty Melt, a standard FAST-FOOD restaurant staple, and it is a type of hamburger sandwich (Earl of Sandwich, the Duke of Earl) that something or other successfully began to sell to us hominids several years back when ago. But Sherlock Homes here took a li’l while to figure out that the Patty Melt, good ol’ Patty, weren’t she sweet, etc., must have been the "daughter" of Tuesday Weld, and, of course, as you aren't following my train of thought, yet, I shall have to remind you that "we shall over-come someday.” That day, of course, was settled on finally is being Tuesday.

  Some sources get down on their knees, pray and beg and plead that it was Monday, which will work out to be the representational eighth day of the week, from the Beatles’ “Eight Days a Week,” as the eighth day would be the day after the seventh, which of course would fall on a Sunday. Then again, there was the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. That was when seven people (six Mafia members and one Maggie the Mechanic from “Love and Rockets,” the first Hispanic/Latino/Chicano and hardly anybody else comic book, manga or graphic novel) turned into a garage. And parked, permanently. Tuesday Weld was not involved, but the cars were welded together that day…with blood. Mobsters made an ultimate homicide again.

  Human sacrifice. Doesn’t it just kill ya?

  Tuesday Weld was very close to being Tuesday Wednesday. But, if her middle name had actually been Wednesday (named after the Nordic god Wotan, their Chief Cook and Bottle Washer), she could have been Tuesday Wednesday Thursday. Any day now, it’s Friday. But, what if you were raped on a Saturday? By being overcome, which is the general manner in which that act is performed?

  Then again (again?), there was also, “We Shall Not Be Moved.” Are ya feeling that way ‘bout by now? Well, bear in mind that those sweet folks were indirectly referring to that aforementioned "We" expressed in the Koran as being Muhammad and his God (who are not exactly our dearest of friends, ratcheer in the US), Rat Racing! Sorta like Moscow of the White Rainbow-Colored Kremlin, which is a strange insistence on round, breastlike architecture. With pointy spires that stab into the sky, unlike actual white female breasts, which are yours. And mine. Squeezably soft, irresistible, not pointed and hard. So why American “enemies” or whoever need round buildings like them…lying? Flat on the back, legs sticking up in the air, feathered canyons everywhere…prostated originally? What if it’s all a giant sexual reference, like the North dipping into the South……..hee.

  And so, consider the Source. Then, recall Abn-al Rahman II, who’s sincerely and sinisterly featured in the next oncoming story after this one:

  “What if Romeo had Stayed the Morn, and Slept In?”

  The End Result Might Be

  THE MADCAP OPPORTUNITY—A Sword Story

  (Or, the World’s Vaguest Possible Explanation for either pro-white racism—does that mean it helps? Or right-horned Unicorns. Take your pick!)

  SET IN TOLEDO, but not in Ohio; a city Besieged by bloodthirsty, Allah-fearing Moslems, possibly carrying Tourister luggage, on and of the Iberian peninsula, rudimentary Espana or not, Here We Go, circa 795 A.D.; this lengthsome, toothsy ee-vent occurred approximately 85 years after the commencement of the Very First Moorish Invasion of Southern Europe, said Invasion being accomplished through the Aid of four small ships…like in The Princess Bride…

  …I soothed myself…she was Alone…truly, Magnificently Alone, beyond Most human reach, bereft but Lovely, loss for All Immortal Time, or at Least for a few Days, in her loftily isolated enclosed Room, one of Many such imprisoning rooms disbursed through out the luxurious interior of the local Enemy Morisco Castle, misplaced by North African Usurpers here in my pastoralan Toledo. Upon the sacred Soil of my Native Espana. For the past half-century.

  The local rumors held Aloft Her Gloomy and Sorrowful Tale, listed to by me, as I said impoverished in the tavernas. It set me to dreaming of sword-drinking Moslem blood instead of poisoning myself with Boorish stale beer and flat rancid wine.

  “Beer!” I would cry, an’ find my pockets emptied at once. Dado a la bebida.

  The Lady’s Cruel lunk of a Muslim husband, the current bloody Noble, having Beaten her the prescribed ONCE for Family standing up for Herself, he further had Followed the instructions of the Base and dastardly Moldy Quo’ran, those Moorish Dogs’ choicest Bible, the one that Loveth Slavery and the Degradation of Women, and indeed did sended her veiled and apart, Angry and Forsworn, to her lofty-heighted, forlorned room, rankly Alone, though she were one of the Loveliest of Spain’s Untamed and Blossoming Self-Willed Women.

  TheretoFore Was She my Set Life’s Goal, Ultimate and remotely Attainable, dreamed on as I drank my life away. Bleeding?

  You see I, Too, was Alone in my Unique and tragick situational Life, through the unhappier Contrivances of what was to me a usually loving, compassionate and Mysterious God of Happy Splendour and Lofty Purpose. This My God at last didst Assist me in the Hastening of my Ultimately fulfilled Life’s Highest Calling and my Most blessedly Ever-lasting Heart-Won Triumph and Doom.

  I could not dwell Forever in peace and safety upon the green Meadows of Espana, my Home. For I was not a bored, callow and tawdry Youth, and very little Else, with Good Reason Being vastly Disenchanted with the Overwhelming Moorish Presence in Spain.

  In Spite of its Inexorable, execrable Persistancy, I wished to take my Upmost Ending it, at Whatever the discovered Cost. I care virtually Nothing for my eventual Fate, as is stood in Our Present Hell, or in God's Future Schema.

  In fact, I PREFERRED the thought of Dying Nobly in Heroic Attempt to do so. Even while I was Leandering around…

  …as I was All Too Aware of my own Unimportance.

  As to Actually Doing so, accomplishing this feat, I Contemplatively Sought the impossible Demise of the Ghastly, Monstrous, and Devilishly Treacherous Abd-al-Rahman II, son of Abd-al-Rahman I, son of the Original invader, son of…who Tricked our Toledoan Leaders, through invitation to a supposed welcoming banquet, into Death through Decapitation. His Monstrous soul then ordered Their pitifully bereft Corpses Idly tossed into the fortifications of his newly established beachhead castle-fortress, which appeared to be quite Impregnable.

  Why, this Merciless Tyrant thugee had his Moorish men Slaughter Seven Hundred Native Spanish Christians of Toledo! This being nearly its Population at that Time!!!

  This Impromptu club of Dead Spanish Goths, a Bloodbath famous throughout Spain as "The Day of the Foss,” only led to the Inhuman Demon Rahman’s creation of a Second Massacre. That time ‘twas of his own kind, though they were presumably Far more Pious and truly Devout Muhammadans than He of the Arabs, Abd-al-Rahman’s unscrupulous successor. They were known to be Religious Intellectuals, Frequenters of a certain large Mosque, who seriously opposed and planned to Circumvent his Horrifying social Inequities. This Brave movement lasted Scarce long enough to Record it. Rahman’s men took care of that; those wretched…

  Rahman II additionally had Seventy-Two of that group's leading citizens, his greatest Moorish opposition, Crucified and Exposed to the general Publick; then he levied Crippling taxes on All he held sway Over and had his Followers Butcher another Three Hundred Toledo citizens through Crucifixion. You Know Fiction?

  All were opponent Rebels to his Moorish Reign of Terror. I had heard all this from Local accounts; I have also seen some of the Corpses.

  Razing the Original Moslem suburb in Cordoba to the ground, causing 20,000 Moorish Survivors to flee to North Africa (ewwwww), and landless, was another of Rahman’s Malefactotums. An’ the only good Work he ever Did! But Those had been the mostly Peaceful Moslems of Europa!!! Not Aggressors like he, himself.

  He’en tried to Justify himself, proclaiming him as
Fair, Honest, Righteous and more than Bountiful to his Women. He were None ‘a That, an’ were but a Monster worth Destroying, holding sway o’er the Terrified hearts of Christians, Jews, Moslems and –ah—pagans, Alike of southernmost Iberia.

  It would be Worth my Whole heart’s Destiny to so much as Touch him Once with my Sword. Or so I Dreamed as I plumbed the Depths of my minor individual’s soul in the shadows of the Tavernas.

  There is No Better place to Realize one's Lack to Power, and one’s Transience in this Mortal Coil, than in a Bar. There came I to The Decision. In my Schranks.

  I, at Last, on my Knees, begged God, whom I Possessed Not, to Aid me in bringing this Seasonal Opportunity to Pass, ere my own short Season had Ended, and my Life's blood gone scorned and acidly sour. I begged the Heavenly Father to Allow me RESCUE of the trapped Lady and to Kill the Monster and Madman Rahman II.

  And so, after a youthful Lifetime too brilliant, brief and Unexampled for love, unexamined as the vast depths of Outer Space, in a World too Great, Immeasurable and Rich for my meager, pitiful Sealfhood to spread out In’l, I had gradually discovered, as in a Foregone conclusion, that my beloved but Futile Life was eventually to be Proven Worthless, anyway; do Not ask How. I do not wish to say.

  There was no Greater thing for me to do than this. For I owned no Property and could scrape Nothing together for myself and my Tyrannized Land. And I never founded me a Wife, having Nothing to offer Her but my Lusts, coupled with Our nonexistent future hopes.

  Yet it was Not as if t’were Solely brought about under my own malefactor’s Duress, Unincarnated Sense of Worthlessness; that Being an illusion I would Most blissfully perpetutate. It was for me Always and Ever Only as Though I were Condemned as victim, Hopelessly Transfixed as a fly in Amber, caught in Time with Many another.

  Easily I could do Nothing more than basely fruitful with Either my lowlands villager Lusts or my peasant lights. Such WAS the life of a Landless lowlands pagan with no Important family Connections or Inheritances in Spain. Not E’en simple horse could I afford to Keep or to Own. I had callused, bleeding Feet to Rely upon.

  I slept where the morning sun found me, oft throwing me Down on the Ground on a Field, lying Bonily but Gratefully Wrapped in my only Rough Cloak…

  …Having Decided to Attack, I was All too Rapturously Willing to Live, Twice or Thrice Wildly, getting in minor Scuffles and Skirmishes of No merit or meaning, and to Suffer or Surfeit, eventually, Moral or Immoral, there Being no Casual Difference for me, and Ultimately to Die, a death Most Merrily welcome. But if only I could Love, and Help, and Another, especially One special Female, Any one Home I could truly Love, especially She of the Putrescent Castle-Fortress, this for Whatever Deeply felt Reason (which is ofttimes, a Most Perilous Undertaking), I would ha’ Cheerfully sacrificed Anything! Nonetheless, I knew Enough to Plan on being Definitively, thus e’en Most Briefly… Undertaken.

  Yea, Under them I would most Surely Be. An’ it Would satiate me Only if Certainly all Such Love were infinitely Deep an’ in my Heart. By my Troth!

  For, as it Were, I simply Had No Choice Otherwise, save for the Infinitely Cowardly Act of joining with the Moslem oppressors, or fleeing Northwards to Gaul, There to Unite with Native Christians or Others, e’en to be Forced to Unite Them myself. Would my Feeble voice carried that far? I Doubted it very Much. In fact, Laugh! Laugh at Me.

  I Being Truthfully and Artless Commoner, having No political connections, this Course of Action, likelier to be Successless and ridding my Native Espana of the Invaders seemed Inevitably Doomed to Apathy and Abject Failure. Naught would be e’er Done ‘til It were Too Late to Back out with Grace. None in the distant North were Aware as Yet of the Awful Dangers to their Future Safety, nor probably did they Care (one LONG excuse for Why he just Couldn’t flee to La Bella Noche, such as France. Shrug.)

  In fact, it Took the Tactical Intervention of the Frankish God, through a Bargain I had Not the Ability to Reveal unto e’en my own Wrackless self, or friendly Others, nor to fully Comprehend, to Bring my Plans to their Eventual Completion. Some would Say I'd done Little but Sleep, and with Drink, but While Residing with Evil, Lost to health and Naturality in the Tavernas, I had also discovered the pow’r of prayer.

  My failing strength, alone, Insufficed to Realize my larger Desires, and therefore to bring them to Fruition took a trebled Elan Vital, and a doubled Strength of mine. I searched for Assistance among the people of my country in this Endeavor.

  I found no one. God's Supreme Love, added to mine, which clearly be All that helped to Bring these Adventuresome events to Pass. I would Die against them alone.

  I Choose to come to my Blessed Lady, Whom I had seen Repeatedly, both in Town and now Betimes Enclosed shadowedly Within a High Window of Her Castle, a blurry Form scarcely Discernible as Female, as a Loving Martyr, cloaked as Handsomely as possible in…the blackest Dead of Gothic Night, though Lighted in my way by Heaven’s Golden Stars, having sended a swift-winged Dove--a Creature Made (by my Chanting certain Spells, and offerring up my Life, my Heart and my pitiful Soul) to be under the protection of God for this One occasion Alone--with a simple Letter attached to its Avian leg by Silken Gold ribbon, purchased at Market with my LAST pence. I kissed it scaled leg and Released it. It mattered Not that it wanted my Eyes, or to Lay my hand Open!

  The eight-line Note Expressed my Distant mad Affections, making plain my Yearning need for Her Delicate and Dream-laden Love. All my Heart was Enclosed within that Note; but I mentioned Nothing of my other desires towards Her husband.

  The little Dove flew far Afield, ahead of my Beleagured hopes and tattered Dreams, which WERE All mostly atrophied to Rot, DEAD from want of Care and the Surfeit of Sorrows. I e’en had stooped to Robberies to procure the Dove at hand.

  But, I patiently Endured Life’s pitiless Distresse, waiting Calmly and Steadfastly for the Situation I was Contriving, with daily Prayers, to Grow into meaningful Existence. I mentally, emotionally and Spiritually Entered into a braver and more Developed expectancy of vastly luminous Joy, and tremorous, Vital Focusing Masculine Will. At the Night, I Placed my trivial mean fears, ceremonially Invoking both the Goddess and the God, into the GROUND where my body would Probably come to Sojourn.

  These fears, so Intended towards Death, were thus to Stay There, to Await my likeliest Bourne Return, if others would be so Kind. This was too Doubtful.

  The Task now Being to Risk my own Terrible and Painful Death, and in the process, somehow, plausibly via Stealth, to get at the dog Rahman. I wanted him Not on Top o’ me, any a’more. T’would be Thyrlian, my Greatest Act, and the crowning Glory of my otherwise most Trivial existence. I would NOT escape Alive without having Crushed the Monstrous life of the Tyrant Rahman II. I would SEARCH the Castle, once Breached, risk-king Capture and Unspeakable Torture to find him. I would Kill him. I WOULD!!!

  I made myself ready as could to Climb the Castle Wall at Night, hoping never to be Spied and Shot Down with arrows. ‘Twere a Daring risk, a Harrowing manoeuvre involving Fantastic Potential for falling, as the Brick outer Surface of the Castle was Smooth and slick with Rain…Being CERTAINE ten or Further stories Tall to the Window; thus it were Likelier I was Meant to Break ope’ my aching and care-worn body ere I Reached my Lovely Imprisoned object Princess.

  Alas! Not that it mattered a whit. I was then merely Lose my pitifully Ignoble, base, Tavernous and relatively Worthless halcion life to the Looming, Darkened and, Blasphemous Steaming wet Ground. I Swore to myself that I would NOT fall until I had ‘least Gotten up HIGH Enough for ‘t…to MATTER, to MATTER, to MATTER, if it Hap’d that my bloodied hands could No Longer Grasp another rarely protruding, Sharp, Reliable and Consecrated-with-my-Extraction Stone. Wide Open was the inner Curtains, drawn WIDE…

  But, it WERE a climb Grandly Fun, Glorious and Diverting, I Found as I Arrived, Finally Meeting with My Enchantingly Voluptuous Lady, my hands Torn, my face blushed, my breast Heaving, and my body still Whole, lustful, and Voluntarily BOWED to Her Whims
y.

  I would do NOTHING without Her Calm Acceptance of me. Nothing. If She said No, I would Begone, an’ not Tarry another Instant, if it meant Leaping. But LO, if ‘twere God’s Will, I would Touch the Hidden Face of this Goddess, my First, at LAST!!! Oh, Absolutely…a bad marriage is like a car that won't start; it sits there and…

  Painting, Gulping in precious Air, I stood Trembling enou’ to fall, content but to merely Gaze upon Her Invincible Radiance. Inwards me I Burned in abject Dread of Her, of either Her Approval or Her Rejection. I Awaited Her Commands.

  My Wonderful and vastly fortunate Ideal, originally a nueva Christianna from al norte Espana, a former (pre-Castillian?) Native Pagan like myself, as I had Gleaned from village gossip, Reclined luxuriantly upon a richly Tapestried, plush, and Thickly covered Bed, overhung in Rich Gold and Silver weaves of Moorish arcane Craft. It paled unto Death before Her.

  This Same Beauty was buried Deeply with a Candlelit, colorfully Feminized room made for her expensive and presumably Delicate sexual natures. Immediate I took it upon me to Wonder who Maintained the Candles. She looked that Frail.

  She had only Recently been Reconverted to Muhammadism, Solely for the CURSED Sake of her ENFORCED Wealthy Marriage, Being probably his Two-Dozenth such marriage Captive, to the Fiftyish Abd-al-Rahman II.

  Certaine, she was No more than Twenty Years on the Earth!!! An’ fresh as Flowers.

  And She was No’ the Least bit Happy to sit Lost and Alone in Her Isolated chambers. She Freely admitted me with Her gently Pretty Nod. I entered, walking forth with Trepidatious Care towards Her vulnerable Bed, feeling as Though I Glowed within Throughout with the Veriest Internal SUN of hopeless Courage and Reckless, forbidden mortal Love.

  Ohhh, how the ACHE Grew, staying with each passing Moment, Slowing my forwards stride, I not Wanting to Close our Distance yet while Feeling SO…SO…

  In the Realm of Her. Silent Screams

  How I wispishly remember Her, both of them

  Shocking, shocking, every shocking, things in Reversal - NOT HOME!!!

  Me as the Hellion they were Representing, REPRESSING, regressing;

  Neither here nor There, Looking for What I Want from you, NOT YOU…

  She

  Told me that

  SHE

  Worshipped

  Me

  As

  Her

  REAL Lord, Her Peasant Don of Obsequious Purple & Clairvoyant Love,

  With Her

  Locked and Perfect, uh, Grassy Deadbolt.

  I was Completely Enraptured by Her keenly abrupt Loveliness, still Hidden behind Her sylphlike black mesh muslin Veil, and Discovered with deep shock après my Freakish and Death-defying Clamber up the Slippery, treacherous outer Wall. I had anticipated her Not being as Beautiful as my more expectant Hopes; but She far Exceeded All of them, insane and futile as they were. I pantingly entered into the hollow of the Room through the Expenses tinted-glass frames of Her Always-open Window, through which I had Viewed her Veiled Beauty. I had originally viewed Her from afar, with Her Richly bedecked and cushioned, saddled Horse, She Always seated on an Arabian, and Later standing framed within This window. She WAS a mysteriously Lovely being seen in passing as I voyaged on my Eternally quartered space called the solid Ground. Having Not wings, like the Dove, which, released by Her Hand, flew Out behind me, as Upon I entered, I was Ever to be Involved with a stretch of Ground--four Her Sweet Sake, if only to be Near Her, in All Happiness. Anything!

  I Hoped to God She had seen me Before, Knowing me Now, when I was Straining to Fly Upwards to Her with Every ounce of my Poverty-stricken Spirits. I was Rather thin. I Had hoped that She'd viewed me with Longing, and artless Solicitiousness. If Not, what Would I do? Peradventure, I will run from my room, Yelling for Discovery by Rahman or his Hundreds of Armed men, and Kill as Many as came within Reach.

  “Twas moat Heartliftingly not the Case! Her Loving, Youthful face Shone with soft trust and Ladylike concern…for me! She clearly Recognized me as the Love Letter’s real Author, and was Affected by its Obvious Passion for Her.

  Her Arms were stretched towards me in a Loving, Joyous and Welcoming Embrace. Tears ran down Her Cheeks, Blessing Them and Lacing Them with Glowing precious Pearls.

  I could stand Alone No Longer!

  Flocking as a Quadrum of docile Sheep to Her Ornately and Sleekly Clothed Side, I Created and manipulated Her steady Relaxation through the Worthiest of the Masculine Charms entrusted me by Sacred God, Ensuring at the least Her Momentary Happiness and at the Most installing my ultimate vindication, the Which I put little hope for, in thrilling Reward and harrowing sterner punishment, mayhaps Suffered with Her, and facing the end Together…

  Gabe cuts in on his own fantasy, ‘ere

  (DOZE…………..DOZE…………..DOZE…………..DOZE………….DOZE

  Oh I cannot remember the Inquisition, what it like was, DOZE…DOZE…DOZE…..DOZE

  Up Your nose with a rubber hose? Doze…doze…doze…doze….doze

  Ghosts of the Past

  Freedom at Last

  Lashed to the Mast

  The Morrow’s likeliest Conclusive Expenditure of my meager life. No, I would NOT let them seize me, Alive! I’d rather be unconscious.

  They would Surely come, and it would be Muerto Sin Falta to be Found here, Abiding with Her. But that was NOT going to be my chief-most care. I solely Yearned to render any payment that are made for the single heartfelt Noctourne most Happily and joyously Tendered, and still I maintained the Hope of getting within Reach of Rahman and causing his Death and the Last century’s Worth of Southern Spanish Tyranny’s abruptest possible End. This could Never be called Morally wrong, Nor could it put Anything Already done to right, but my Lover’s Heart held No such mortal fears, an’ so We Two definitely were to Make Ours into a Most Enchanted Evening.

  I smoothed her worried Brow, Worshipped Her cool, soft, Shining tresses, richer and Dearer to me than Any gold, caressed and lightly massaged her Wondrous, Sweet, and Supplely Smooth Body in Every Well-Meant and Gentle manner that I was Able to contrive in the Naked and Trembling soul of my Newly rediscovered masculine Mysteries. Our Universal selves Interlocked, and I Powerfully Brought Her to the Afarthest most Wracking Spasms of Love, eleven or twelve Times at Least over the course of Our brief Spande-temps Together. Yea, She made Noises. I Awaited, but Naught…

  Her Lithesome Body Arched in Passion, Her Head, so Gorgeous and Real Beyond All my Wildest Dreams, fell backwards, softly into the palm of my hands, light Sleep Descended Upon Her, light Wakefulness from Lust keeping Her Asking for More. I Gave, WITHOUT ASKING.

  For, the most verifiable soul of Wit is in Brevity, as it stands to Reason that brevity is the Better part of Wit.

  We lightly Discussed multiple Weighty topics of present-day Concern, and I made some good but simply Rude jests with Her, causing Her such fabulous Attacks of unleashed Glee, that She was Bathed, Uncovered by an obsecuring, unflattering Cloth in the Magic Spill of the luminous Fair Humours of Moonlight. For my Undeserving and Humble soul’s insignificant Sake, the Goddess WAS, for just One Night. I WAS the Emperor of All the Universe, and Spain and Unimportant Vertigial act of Tyrannical Lore.

  I Listed Close to Each and All flights of fanciful Ideas and fantastical Dreams. She had Ne’er Dared to ever Express, even in Whispers to Her girlfriends, Until this Single Blessed Night, and Me.

  O Happiest Hour of my Life! We were as One for What seemed to be the duration of the Most Iotan of eyeblinks. Mind you, We fell Asleep Intertwined, Innocent as Two breathless Children, Locked Together unto Death, Forever Lost to Sanity, and Deeply and Love. I Vowed Aloud, if T’was in my Power I Would Not let Go until I Had Absorbed Her Into me. Yes!!!!

  The Next Morning, Which arrived Far too Soon, I lay Glowing with Love upon my back, Reclining in luxuriant Heaven, with Her long, soft Tresses lying Majestically across my Naked, muscular Bosom, Acknowledging All the Joy that Blessed God e’er had to Offer me. After this brief Prayer o
f Thankfulness, I began tremorously Awaiting the fearfully Repugnant, but Torturously Exciting, secondary phase of This the Very Last Adventure of my Necessarily Limited and Transitory life. In moments, I would have Left to look for Rahman, if not for Fear of Leaving her. I stroked her Hair, Running It through my fingers, an’ it Felt so Cool and Heavenly and I stroked Her Sweet Cheek, trying to Make my still Benumbed Senses Alert without Disturbing Her; my One True Love’s Sweet Cheek Touched in Undying, Eternal, Immortal fondness. By God, I would hap’ly kill and die for Her, if it meant still just Holding Her!

  Midst this dreamy morning Fondness, I began Breathing an internal Stubborn Fire, as would an Overheated Bellows that is by accident Caught in the Flames, the Wood starting to smoke, and the Bellows to Burn. Cheerfully I would ha’ Burned for Her; Ha ha! No! Or swung. But Life felt Good.

  Darkly, she was quietly Asleep, mercifully Oblivious. I had not Given Her all the Love left In me.

  Inside me, and outside As Well as I fell, once Again, into the Habit of talking Aloud, something Mortal Remonstrating ‘gainst me. I was Debating the Worth of leaving Her to Live, Returning in Bliss for Her ‘gain Later, or No, so as Not to depress the Happiness I desired of my Lady Love, and to Keep Her Safe from the wrath of Her husband and Lord. But I Knew not the Length of Her Stay, Here in This Room

  Rather, though, that She were Happy and Safe than that All the Enemy Moslems in Spain were Permanent Buried Alive. I would do Anything to Ensure Her Safety, in Spite of my growing Insecurities concerning our Mutual Fates.

  But wait, Something was Altogether WRONG…I reached for Her HAND, but Nothing Alive was anymore Veiled, so Elusively and tantalizingly, within Her Naked, supple, and once passionate Frame. A Coldness filled her once warm form. I Harshly Gasped, a breathless Sob choking my Piteous outcry, just as a muted Pounding began to resound Ominously upon the Locked door of the Cursed Punishment Cuarto de Dormir.

  This Awakened me Fully, Piercing the Yellow haze Clouding and Dulling my Sleepy and Thickening-with-Despair, and Puzzled, head. Certaine it Was, WAS, Her Untrue, Madman husband, the Unrighteous, Leperous Murderer, and his Sold-out party of Underlings.

  These were Sure to Be a large and highly dangerous number of Supremely fine Swordsmen, at least three or e’en four Unhesitate killers and Tearers of little children’s Blessed Throats.

  The group Was clearly Attempting a voluntary Entry, Loudly, and WOULD be Breaching the Locked door Much sooner than Later. With unaccustomed Speed, I resolutely donned my Rough cotton village pants and homespun calico Shirt, dwelling for Unknown reasons perhaps, Cowardice winning o’er after All, on the Donning of my brown leather zapatos; they were finally on me at last. And, I belted about me my Good iron Sword.

  There was an INFINITE, empty, and nerves-wracking pause of linear Time, wherein I was Gifted, again by the most Merciful and Bountiful Interceptor, God Himself, with the Greatest possible chance…of Leaving, for to ‘scape with my Cowardsome meagre Life, and perhaps hers… Life…which I could no Longer highly value…in Hand, through the Same entry I had Previous Taken. There were an Excellent likelihood of my making Rapid Diversion once back, Shod, on my accustomed Spanish soil. But then, I’d not Have me E’en Once Crack at the Wretched, Bigamous thing that was my poor Lady’s bombastic, Slavering, thieving (how could I say? I had stol’n his Wife! preposterous “husband,” None at All. Never. Well, hardly Ever. Certes.

  My soundest heart’s Fear, and an Inmost Desire for God’s Love, and Acceptance, and…Cried out that to Flee was the very Thing I must in Minutes Do! An’ my Heart Pounded fit to burst the Walls of my errant soul, pounding to match the Screaming Door, shaking in the Utter Vulnerablest Castle of its only corpus foundation Home. Could I face my own doom unflinchingly?

  The door began to screechingly flex inwar’s with the Combined might of its Sonorous Assailants. They only waxed Louder and Stronger with each Infinitely Passing Moment.

  However, my Life Highest Love, a Flame incapable of any Extinguishment, yet of Only the one Swift night, was Deadly still; and so Awfully was She Cealed, that in my Firmest Unmoving Mind, there was NO other welcome place I, a Libertinous Gadabout and No-one of Any measurable import could e’er Become truly Responsible enou’ two Attempt to Attain. HERE Would I Take Life, Totally Grateful to God for the smallest of chances at Tyranny’s Defeat at my hands, having done what I could to Love another, first.

  I had forsaken Christian wife and children, as my pockets• were Unsold Surest Always Unlined; and, indeed, what meant Christian wife and children? D’you Recall Christ?

  My small leather purse near Always hung Empty. Where was my Own Land, and Mine Home? I was but the poor son of a few Honest but Tradesmen, and their Christian and pagan Wives, merest farmers’ Maids. They Sold at the Market, but were Unsold oftener, Better than They Themselves Being Sold. We went thus Unenslaved, and were Proud without Thought. We were once Landed and Farmed, and Twice Extruded, but were Ne’er Well-ensconced enou’; I became a Drinker subsequentially, and an able Gamesman of the tavernas and inns, a Tradesman in small repairs and carpentries, as was Our Lord.

  I was no Abject Follower of Him. Not a single one Else of people but SHE had ever said they really Wanted or Needed me. Why not Take, this time for the very Last Time, the Golden, Holy, stranger Madcap Opportunity? It was COMING. It was Mine.

  I would Never get another, Ever. I Shouted, loud as Jericho’s Trumpet, I WILL!

  I Resolved to Die on my feet, as I’d foremost Boldly planned, but now Alongside Her, As I Idiotically had Not foreseen…Her Revealed Death gently and Nobly Made and Absolute of My Upcoming murtherous but Fated Demesne. Here Would I Stand.

  It could only be via the Best and Most reasonable will of God, I'm silently Swore, that (say, you are folks beginning to remember that this is secretly only one of Gabe’s favorite masturbation fantasies? Yawn? Yup. I thought so. Whooo, has Saragina maybe got a nice surprise, coming…) I would at Last be allowed to Warship, if only in Passing Greeting, the Kings of Kings and the Prince of Princes. I, who was Neither truly Christian, Moslem nor Jew, nor follower of the Nordic Wotan, God of Wisdom and Learning and disability, but possibly an Adherent of the Earth's Mother at that, being that as my Direction, desired Deeply to Meet and converse with this Frankish God of Men’s Fortunes, that others claimed they Owned, in their Reckoning, to be as Male, and who Legally Punished the ignorant, through Sundry Wretched human Medium, All who did Not know properly how to Address Him. Him? Him WHOM? A Dress? Again?

  Why, I would RUN, Swiftly as a Deer, for to Meet this the Coeur…

  …the cur. Let Him disclose my starving Throat. I would Live, Live, to tear open only His. If! If only His heart was set on…no…

  And so I took, with a Nobly fierce heart, the Best to stand against the noisome Mob, which I had Prayed would at least Contain the Lady’s visiting husband Rahman II, my simple Celtic iron weapon, a jewelless and dull-seeming Blade. This I had two days ago honed Razor-sharp, and It wiped Clean, Fair to Shine in the Sunlight of this Last Morning on My Earth.

  I first o’erleaped my dear departed stolen "Wife," now entangled Forever in damned and forgotten bunching bedclothes, and as I reached the Middle of the floor I drew my dull but silvern blade, beaten to sturdiness by Me, on a simple anvil, and More Than a Match for All "better" such Forged Gem-Encrusted Junk, crossing the floor in my powerfullest single stride.

  Organized Rage flooded Every fiber, limb and vein of my Being, strengthening me with Awakening, conflicting Not at All within though I meant Likeliest only to Perish, surely. I would Rather Not, yet was Overjoyed.

  “Twas the swiftness and Shiningest Walk I had ever taken, as I made One momentous Leap straight for the shuddering, straining, Cracking open wooden Door…

  …GOING OUT OF which Gabe was taking off, heading Directly for the Krakatoa, where he didst findeth his favorite Princess, as though at meeting place, the Lady Saragina, wearing a peaky auto de fe witch’s hat she had Impishly Purloined from a wandering errant Druidic
wizard Klansmen, and which she had dyed a startling shade of Emerald Green, the dyed genuine satin Item to be formally presented as a lovely Gift! For the Lady Caza’s upconning birthday. Caza LIKED to spaciously bedeck and present herself, belaborously beladen in decorative, formalized watercolors. She was known by many in her Secret Identity as Aqua Girl. Her entire wardrobe consisted of greens and blues.

  “It’ll go with anything she has!" She was known by many in her Secret Identity …nuff said. "It'll even make her Taller!" Nuff Already!

  Sara was shortly enticed, through begging, to join with Gabe avec the furtherance of the heroically astounding and improbable story he'd written out of his silly fave masturbation fantasy Piece. He said it was only a story, but he got the idea from… Real Life.

  “I die Nobly this way,” quoth he, “with my Rustickly leather boots on, in Southern Medieval Spain, the Iberian peninsula, under heavy-duty tyrannical Moorish domination (Pre the SAME exact Thing by the Catholic Choich), sword in Hand (Course!), facing down a goodly half a football team--all of them Armed to the Teeth--as an indigent, starving, Native Spanish peasant." He coughed into his little pink palm, politely, having to grab for a KleeNecks.

  “Would you care for some tea, laced with honey, m’dear, while you tell me what you think I should do with this, sweet Sarai, my Lady?” Gabe was starting to space out, imagining his amazing tale as a play, or as toilet paper on a worksite. Perhaps hand towels. Perhaps something like a one-act episode of "Lucy Kills Ricky," with the hero having bright red hair. Would it woik? Oink?

  Sara guffawed. “The spurting, ah, blood, is my favorite Part." Oh. We think so. "Beau" said he thought so, too, but heated filtered tap water for her, anyway. She sank back sooo comfortably into a cushiony, large-sized, voluminously scratchy and phloomphy with dust from centuries, chaise lounge easy chair, the finest, oui, for her. Gabe found this upholstered Wonder at a Unionville garage sale.

  Buddies at work drove it back for him.

  The Gestalt of GEVALDT!

  Making Juliet into Desdemona—it’s Easy;

  Saragina Adds a Woman’s Perspective in Part II of:

  The Madcap Opportunity

  Dhaba’s Story

  THE WRETCHED OVERLORD who was my giant husband never once treated me an’ as he should ought to treat an human Woman. He but mercilessly took vengeance on me, for so much as casually mispronouncing the overly sacred religious phrases, such as his Stupid Name, the which I never clearly held.

  I was only bloodlessly languishing, living for naught, in my echo-ridden mausoleum of a lacy, saucy bedchamber, when the most miraculously sensual lover from my fondest dreams became a Body too warm and Real to his emaginary. God's life-bestowing Breath!

  He swept aside the inner curtain, a blindingly Lustrous miracle of Manhood, tall and wrapped about Him in cheapest grey broadcloth, pouring into the darkened punishment bedroom as a Flood of purest light enters an opened, moldy, and Bitter eternal Crypt. With two sure strides He was at my bedside, humbly attending me upon His bended knees.

  He was so vastly imperial even this made Him hardly any shorter; He stood as a tall candle stands in its bailiwick. His sheathed sword scraped ‘gainst the floor but Once, and His magickal hands gently cradled my face as He gazed wistfully and angelically into my Wondering eyes.

  Our Kisses turned all of Realty into the lingering Highest Strata of love.

  Then, He boldly asked me where He could find Rahma II, my husband.

  “I cannot tell you, for this I do not Know," I replied. He blinked, as if in answer.

  I had sat straight up, bolt upright, at His immediate first sign of appearance. That night there had not been any sleep, no, only the slow formation of bottomless sadness, flooding with my tears, that I was no longer capable of crying. I held a swelling inner FRUSTRATION; it filled my childish whole body, which was supple and lean with taught muscle,’til it threatened to freeze my poor neglected heart to my ribs, leaving it Locked in place and frozen. An’ it near cracked wide and split in two with the inexpressible anger and unfathoMabel disappointment of life’s cofounded impotencies. I felt as all condemned prisoners must feel: abandoned, lost. Dead.

  Sans hope, I lay powerlessly abed, thirsting and hungering for the boldness of real love, and for my own promise and nuptialed sexual powers. Someday they would …free me. At last I did not have to work…I could relax.

  But all my Minorest problems died merrily away in my newfound Lover’s powerful, fearless, gentle-sweet caresses. He held and kissed me, over again. Love became my God and my universe. Feudal stuff, sailed right on past me.

  I had known Him never-naught from before, He was not any of my friends, but I slowly recognized Him as a handsome and sturdy Gothic freeman, a raven-haired villager lightly but brassly tanned with the sun whom I’d seen twice from our wealth-laden horses’ backs as I an’ my husband’s magnificent party rode into the raucous and varietous marketplace section of usurped and hapless Spanish Toledo. We hied forth to shop the unnecessary, expensive imported Tangierian and Moroccan gifts that my strange enforced Unnatural mate was quicker and more prone placably gift to his harrowing, always rather than his Unnatural mate was quicker and more prone placably to give to his harem, always rather than his Unfounded true heart’s Love. He had no time for it, or for the Likes of helplessly Installed and “schackled” me. I would cheerfully ha’ done Anything to experience a Legitimate love, even for one night…it hap’d that I prayed to the One true God for this and so my humblest and profoundest prayers were soon enou’ Well-Answered.

  And verily, all that night We played sweetly moonlit Lovers’ games, warm Our fertile and lushly sex-inspired touches, hushed Our sibilant sighs and whisperings.

  Dark and bitter-sweet were Our emagined, melancholy future Partings; upon this We did not really dwell.

  Before We fell to sleep, however, He Did vainly promise me, with a Princes’ clear and Breaking Voice, that He would never-ever Leave me. Not without the ultimate cost to his life, He softly added, just before I blithely fell back again to sleep. I do not believe that he Meant it. Drowsily I saw Him leaving back Out the window from whence He came.

  But, my monstrous proud and Jealous husband--upon discovery of my Lover, what will he DO? I worry, and shiveringly wondered.

  I knew my Lover feared nothing evil at all, but I do it. Somewhat…

  I would not wake to HIM ever again, to that loathsome Rahman snake, I would NOT! Not for anything, not even for my inclement Life!

  In my deepest dreams, I wandered with my brother and lover in a Valley of mountains shaded with my clutching fears, groping Uphill towards my pitiless heartaches, and remotely, when I at last tired of this wandering, I never to attain good Peace or fleeting Rest, at last I came…as though to an Opening deep Within MY…soul, finally Owned, and THUS I stopped all my realistic animate fears, so, idly stroking my cooly smooth and velvet forearm ‘gainst my Lover’s radiating warm and Noble muscular Side for an honestly final Instant of Beloved time.

  He felt as a tropical Ocean breeze must feel, where there are Oceans, when one is surrounded by date palms, by grape vines and fields, by immense olive orchards ripening.

  Pain ran out of my suddenly fountainous opening like a running forest stream of gushing water, leaving my best and truest Friend to the base and slavering hellish torturing wolves’ misfortunes, as He had promised to stay here and staunchly face them. He would! I would not.

  Though I shrinkingly tried to stay, so as to witness the upcoming "lovers’ quarrel", my soul unfolding doves’ wings hollowing in flickering synchronic time, my happy and sui generis satisfied Mortal being trickled out with surest speed, entering a brand-new undeniably present…WAY, into the Limitless nexter world. A world, perha’s, of limbless Sleep, numbing, I nervelessly thought as I fell, unfeelingly, coldly, as I fled without trace or any discernible Impetous or Calling in order to follow God, or Night, or whatever Avenue was being poured out to Freedom from the rushing blood of my lowering Soul…
/>
  As though in a dream, hovering o’er my Obscene and richly canopied bed, I awakened slightly, and, hearing in the terrible crash at the door, saw my Courageous Lover arise with Absolutely no fear, the Uncontested progeny of the most ferocious Lion, to meet His long-chosen, well-accepted and painfully unmastered Fate.

  I saw Him boldly throw back the Bar and sans-pause gapingly fling WIDE the destroyed and caved-in and splintering wooden door, He having NO desire nor thought of Any safety, and two abhorrent, Instantly oncoming, blunt-ended, unswerving and razor-sharp raised scimitars erupted downwards and mercilessly Split ope’ the proferred surface of His too-freely Tendered an unready Breast, twice bloodily rending his shirt and his youthful scan, causing the painfullest fleshly HARM, RIPPING Him exposed in two foot-long places. Even as They All surge bodily forward as a Wave of bristling swords, Bloodily oncoming, He precipitantly sideways turned away and, hurdling backwards, Pivoting in full circle, narrowly escaped Instant Death by merest Inches. For one moment He lost His purchase of flooring and lurched backwards, but instanter recovered.

  He’d leapt with Grace and alacritous speed back into the open center of “my” ungodly ruination room. For now, and forever, His splendid and magnificent young Life was all-foresworn, completely Bankrupt and Hellishly lost. He hadn’t e’en the merest possible Chance of drawing another Holy breath.

  The swordsmen began to follow Him into the room, blocking the doorway and fanning out to either side.

  SIX stout Fiends, FIVE with Drawn, well-forged, expensively bejeweled three-foot long Egyptian scimitars, were brutally, entering into my Awful and unnatural room, mercilessly Unchecked. My baleful Lover of but One Eventide, the Holiest of Days, fainted not, nor did He quail. Did not He step back e’en a single Step.

  He however palely and thinly smiled at ‘em, through His jagged and yellowing Teeth, grit Sound tight through His sparse and furry youthful Beard. His exposed and blooded breasts, cut to the bone, yet strongly Heaved as the cold Winter when does, with a lustful, Empowering and highly Passionate Rage.

  Staring All of them down, he gauged his Incredible chances. He had none. He was going to fight to the Death. Otherwise there only would be Torture. And THIS was going to be torture.

  As a sturdy unbowed Oak He stood, surrounded, tall, thin and Commanding, Trembling hard thro’ All His sinewed and heart-rendingly youthful body. These Demons crept softly about Him, waiting. He was deeply spell-bound, Locked into to His Taken place Forever, spiritually Bound by Death and Lost to the God-fearing anticipation of His horribly Inexorable fate.

  With a look of fiercely Ardent savage Pride, He brazenly tore ope’ His blood and dirt-stained, sliced to Ribbons white linen peasant’s shirt, Full of the Passion of a Raging Wildfire (sound of tearing) with His left. Thus He nobly Requested that His ruthless Enemies brutally Honor Him and take Aim for the fatalest possible lunges.

  Reft wide, He thus also Displayed the frightening wounds they had already Bestowed upon Him. Turning in ALL directions, but No, He Cried Aloud, befitting a tragically Mortal and fearlessly condemned, damned and Transported Soul:

  “HERE is your lost and found child, your BROTHER and once miserable SLAVE, your basest component YOKEL, spit here WITHOUT your regard as an unyielding MAN upon the SACRED shores of YOUR profoundest MISERIES! Here is BUT ONE MORE, and something as PRODIGIOUSLY like you MOORISH, for you to spit upon your bloody GUILDED precious swords! And with no saying, my childishly helpless but Extremely proud Lover was Hopelessly Doomed to Butcherous cuts of Overwhelmingly unendurable Profoundest Agonies, and the unspeakably Loathsome, bestial Slaughter of His once warm caring, and exquisitely beautiful male form.

  To see Him then was to view the Incorruptible final moments of a Compassionate, Majestic, and totally courageous Clear-Hearted incarnated corporeal God of Love. There was Nothing finer standing on the Earth; he was Excellence itself.

  Nothing any better than He would save Him. This Being rendered Impossible by His Enemies’ numbers. His blood was Going to be Spilled in wretchedly proven Torrents. By the red, the black and the White of His Rivalship in Loyalty, by His unsurptive Murtherers.

  In complete Veracity of This, He was instantly set about Him by Three Dogs, of my husband's better-trained swordsmen, sworn in their Rightest and most subserviently Bloated courtlier vassal’s duty as the Moslem-Spanish fiefs of their well-appointed and state-approved Arabian Lord of Terror. They were prepared to Slice my Lover into Tatters of screaming, violated bloody flesh. They would manifest Absolutely no Mercy. There was No ‘scape.

  E’en so, as Neither did my Cruelly Savage Lover guy to mercy’s Graces, He was swift indeed to Impale, up to near half the farthest Hilt of his rough-hewn, two-edged self-beaten Celtic broadsword, the closest one of my Cowardly husband's surprised and Bested vicious henchmen. This abruptly miraculous Deed most happily brought Down the sturdy, brawny Semitic mongrel! What a Fool he'd been to step up first!

  DOWN fell his worsted Corse, an’ Tumbled all at Once! My Lover had drawn dear Payment for His wicked, Lost Life.

  My Haughty and untouched macabre husband, Who stood back a-ways, not Any sword At All in his hand, followed his own COWARDSOME, servile course of Basest self-protection. He was being Blindly ignored simply as he Remained obscurely unrecognized. Though he was their Master and Lord! I was too weak to call out and tell my Valiant Lover which one it was, Was he. And the Dog-Beast himself was too far back out of the way, and shrinking too Readily, to be in any way obvious as the castle’s All-powerful, Moorish Master. He did nothing to call attention, and thus escaped All Harm.

  But, MY Lover, scant seconds before His hideous Death, Outshone Every Star in the Sky! He LAUGHED with Raw, Insanest passion and most Wanton profligate’s Lust at Their Buffonish insignificant Lot, a Ludicrous sound fit to shake ALL of my canopied bed flattened down. As they ALL surged forwards to Groove on Him. He turned in Embracement.

  That very Moment I Expired where I lay, Unable to look anymore Upon these tragickal Dreadful sights of bloody Murther…I never saw them Kill my Splendid Lord, nor did I Witness his Blessed Fall, but only Knew that He did, while Desiring simply to join in Bliss with me in the immortal Heaven of Love, forever.

  Gabe and Saragina, over sips of wanton Starbucks, work hardly together to wrap it up for the kiddies-- with a Red, Green, and Immaculately Pearly White Bow:

 

‹ Prev Next ›