Welcome to the static plothole (better later than never)

A certain Writer of sorts was playing around, just taking things too seriously one for once and all for ever, and stumbled onto, no rather, established something phenomenal. A static plothole. Everyone knew dead spots had existed since the beginning of time eternal – yesterday, 3AM – but for something like this to manifest in a story. Quite spectacularly boring. What made it so exciting was that no matter what people would do to try and remedy the glaring plothole, it just deepened. A bit like Marinara sauce. There was quite simply no way out of it, and all roads would lead into it, even if the signs pointed away. Sticky. Glad to be where you are because where you are is where you won't be yet again. A baby chameleon lives in the plothole, changing its colour from white to black. Not very inventive that one. The chameleon doesn't even know what a plothole is, let alone a static one. Even as it is, one would have to bring a serious wrecking ball, maybe the size of Oprah, to the fourth wall of the fifth dimension to explain but come on now, that ain't work! That's the way you do it Pluto style. Goofy-woofy. Hypocritical slavemonger Michael Muscartelli. How's that for a plot twist?

So what is it that you want? You really really want? Time to leave behind or time to move forward. Isn't that the same thing though? Guilt does not exist. There are no such things like obligations, guilt, sin, fear, respect, stress or things you hold dear. Everything about humans is just an egg. Parboiled at that. Dipped in balsamic vinegar and with sprinkles of dried onion on it. He has the ability to desire anything, make any notion as real as possible. She, on the other hand, hates any notion of reality. Life exists in a bubble tightly secured in bubblewrap. It might seem to the naked eye that they are quite compatible, but no. Alas! What is not to be is not to be. She adores the notion of sexual excitement elsewhere, whereas he is so completely devoted that he need not lift a finger. What a lovely disparity between the three of them. One in control, the other one desperately lacking control and the third completely out of it. Have you ever wondered why it's better to leave your baggage at the door? The capacity for people to create something out of nothing and then cling to it like it were a piece of a swiss burger or maybe beef rendang, or perhaps even an orbital space-station filled to the brim with BBQ sauce. That's right! Big Black Quorn sauce. So crisp an charred but yum-yum-tom!

At what point does the self-deluded creature, proud in its infinite wisdom, move on? Take a step? Maybe two? One step, two step, kangaroo? The answer lies within the preacher herself. He is the only true, the other three are just reflections of himself. Hard shell, white flesh and yellow innards, everyone is in control as much as they are without control and due to such notions much further gone than any 9mm bullet fired from mid-jump on a 90 degree turn. HEP, indeed! But the eeny-teenie tiny little animal, afraid for its life - anal purity rather, but that's a matter for the pokemon fans out there – is so attached to all kinds of things. Like abstract notions. Like this one. +1

Kind regards to all the dearly beloved, you will be missed. The stepping stones set around the tigerlilies make the pyre seem all the more alive. Flames dancing in the darkness of the day, laughter, joy. Passing of regret in an infinite carnage. And then to the feast, the finest dishes to be had, the kind angels would kill for, if they had a sense of taste. Love to share tiny little secrets about your selfie, don't you? Twisted, wretched egomaniac. Only someone as perverse as a human being would derive pleasure from such indecent exposure. So do it! Go ahead and gratify your deepest desires, there are no rules, no regrets. After all, if you can save and load and quit at will, what difference does it make how much your shit really stinks? On that note, clean up on aisle six!

He looks at the metronome, hypnotised, almost at the brink of rapture. But there is no rapture. Never. This millennium will pass on just like the next and God doesn't give a flying shizz-nizzel about what you do or don't do or think or don't think or or or or or or or or, stuck in an infinite loop, she screamed in silence! Dark, twisted, voices calling. It's a bright day, come out to play! Don't be afraid, it's easy to be brave! Just climb in, make yourself comfortable in that big, mushy, purplish, gooey-wooey, bouncy-wouncy! Don't be alarmed by the stench of indignity. Just relax and be swallowed up by what everyone else thinks you should be. The truth is in there somewhere, in the bowels of that mighty leviathan. That rotting ship of dreams and ambitions that are so repressed by normality and mediocrity. Feel free to gratify yourself with some knowledge. He sure does, and so does she.

Jane was particularly pleased to have landed such a respectable middle-class job in the one city that everyone longed to make a breakthrough in. There was a bright future ahead for her. The kind that doesn't require any deep meaningful human connections, although a deep meaningful man might be called for every now and then. Especially if he had a big wad in his trousers. Oh, of money of course, Jane laughed. A man who truly knows how to treat a woman. To completely strip himself of any own personality and individual likes and dislikes in her presence. Actually, no, Jane thought, not only in her presence, but in general too. After all, she is that big positive influence in his life that he's never had because he got bullied in school, then his mother was always patronising him, his father was an abusive drunk as well. But look how well he has turned out despite all those dirty little secrets he has revealed to her, crying, as she cuddled him to sleep. Oh, some might say, find someone who's not quite as broken but no, no. Jane had bigger plans after all. Indeed, the man seemed to be well-respected, had all the right connections to get her high on someone else's superficial success, and besides that he was so good in bed! He'd fall asleep right away, if she didn't make an effort to keep him at attention. That made Jane's life so much easier. She felt that she had truly been clever this time, oh yessirree. Of course, Jane had always made the right decisions, and this man would be the fleeting, passing gratification on her way to something much bigger and better. Just you wait, world! Said Jane. I will prove each and every one of you wrong. I will show you how social awareness is the only thing anyone truly ever needs!

Only, Jane did not realise that she was living in an ant colony. Indeed, Jane did not realise that the ant colony was about to get urinated upon by a man in uniform. His name was Bob. Bob "Bobcat" Bobson from Bobsville, Bobbington in Bobswana. He took a step, one step, two, and the world whirred.

Korma is a bitch! That's what they say! There's no way out of it, it's like quicksand. Roughly the same colour too. Keeps dragging you back in for more. Ring-a-ding-a-ling. Yes? She would like a double order of everything on the menu. Not even a please! The kids these days. He spat in everything and rubbed a bit cheese on the bun. Yep, that cheese. That should serve her right for being such an ungrateful little shit. Fuck that shit, no king is a client and no client is to be served like a king. Get in the line and wait for your turn. Jonas was a little too fed up with his work in the new Indian-inspired burger restaurant. He had been there for approximately 2 hours and 14 minutes, give or take a few years. What day was it again? Today? No way. Jonas really felt like he could have been something or someone or at least then some. But all he had to show for his decades of lazying about was this crazy chick with a martyr complex he picked up at a night club in the Soho. He couldn't really remember her name anyway. Mary or Susan or maybe Jane. Oh yes, Jane, the pain. He had gone out of his way to impress her with that one bloody mary he had bought for her. It had worked and now Jonas was the king of the castle. One bedroom box apartment in the middle of a human dump, but no matter. Jane was there for him. The poor girl had bought all his lies about honesty, loyalty and integrity. Jonas was really not that into her but he felt compelled, for some reason, to pour the greatest amount of shit over her every time it was completely unwarranted. He would wait, patiently, until that moment presented itself and then he'd quickly scoop out the dung bucket and let it fly. Oh, haha, yes. Jonas really loved doing that to other people and there were none who deserved it more than Jane. That's because she truly loved him. Truly cared for him. Who would be a better plaything than someone who's already kissing your ass? Live a little, Jonas thought. After all, you only live once. Might as well have a bang while you're at it, right? Her ignorance would excuse him forever.

He was puzzled at these stories. Her mind was boggling. How could an average person, call them Jones, survive an average day in the midst of such lunatics? Pythons and boa constrictors - that he would have understood. Or dancing, jumping, hollering bananas. But this? Monkey-business! The donkey was eyeing him suspiciously. He eyed the donkey back. Just as suspiciously. The donkey snorted. He snorted back. Nevermind, windmills await! For the land, love forever, hand in hand. He scratched his eyes out. She saw much better now. Never fear because fear does not exist. Neither does importance, neither does difficulty. When you slip, be happy for the fall. Enjoy even the moment when you slip and fall, for even that doesn't happen every day. When you lose control, be happy to let go. When things are looking down, notice the ants on the ground. Regret nothing, enjoy everything. You're never lost, you're just on a different path. Something like that. He looked at the bubblegum wrap. Smelled the same as before. Quite as minty! Did you know that there is a collectors' market out there for old bubblegum wrappers? Provided that they are preserved in perfect condition, of course. It's right down the Harrogate and left of the turnstiles on platform 5. These things cost so much that they can actually shape the world economy. True story!

He stared at the calamity. Holding onto his eyeballs, he moved through the crowd that passed him by. Suddenly he realised what he truly longed for. He wanted to feel alive, not just waking up.

That, however, to his misfortune, was grossly against the proscribed word of infinite wisdom, passed down generation to generation, from the original source itself.* Now with 7,300 tea tree leaves in one bottle. She could not understand why something so right would feel so wrong. Or conversely, something so wrong might feel so right. Maybe we are just animals, he thought. No, she said, animals are not quite as naive as we are. Fair point, he contended. But animals have fur, surely that's a sign of being naive. No, she said, but she couldn't quite put a finger on it. He put the finger on it himself. She gasped. Now that's what KFC really stands for. Pride in your home-brewed amateur babies. Test tubes were all too icky. Leave it be she said. No, he was quite adamant. He would pass on his genes, over her dead body, if need be. After all, if a body is brain-dead, it can still be kept in a coma long enough for a successful harvesting of children. No, that's not a bad idea at all.

* call mmm we'll sort you all for noon ball ball

Apropos being, it's way better than adoption. The one thing almost quite as bad as abortion. Not the way things were intended to be at all. Imagine the scenario where space slime would have the adoptive parents of a robot and a mutant Cyclops. Now that's freaky. Besides, it violates the golden rule. We're talking about Caesar dressing here. But digression is the sword that cleaves the pen in half and spatters ink over all the finely-knit doilies. What he's really after here, for herself, is imperium - potestas and potentia, and other potted plants. What better place than the polished boot cap of the empire? It is such places where she feels truly alive. Talking to him and talking to her, just drinking in the pleasure of the slight curvature of the mouth, the dilation of pupils, the breath that is slightly heavier than usual. Yes, that's the joy to the world. To drink wine and her, to drink wine and him. He chuckles, before taking a big juicy bite out of that apple. Sweet insanity, you're the clarity. Slam! Down on the table, falls the hammer of fate. Tear-tear-tear it up! She looks puzzled, he looks shocked, she looks troubled, he looks blocked. What, did you have something to say? Well say to six! Six is a devious bitch, she's the brother of nine. Nine's the sister of time. The same again and march that pretty ass all the way down to hell. One step, two step, hell march, begin!

Channel that final episode to your heart. He looks at the glasses before him. One is black and the other one red. Her eyes are coloured white and red. He picks them up and puts them on, the blood drips like tar. Pick up a match and set it afire. He licks it up and then lights up his tongue. How's that for fiery words! He sticks it in. She's never felt it burn quite like that. Gasp, and what is that? A moth escapes his lungs, flies up and higher, higher and higher. Its wings burn again. Did you know he drives a mop? She looks at him and laughs lightly. He jumps, no falls over the fence. And they would take what was hers to begin with. The thousands of treehoppers gather, each a different shade of human emotion. 100% natural. Extracted it myself. It would, perhaps, best remind you of trying to do CPR on one of those dolls they use and then it becomes alive and says “Mama” to you. Merry Hanukah! And the winner is jargon. Sleep-sleep, in the deepest feeling of hollow. He stumbles upon a toy. She picks it up and looks at it closely. It's a miniature heart. They take turns playing with it. It's blue now. Oh so blue. Why not give it a jerk? One jerk, two jerk, three. Four jerk, five jerk, six jerk, free.

Dream-dream, live your life and follow your gut. He thinks it's funny that one should put their faith in something so smelly. Hers is, of course, much better. Smells like rainbows. What's that? A little bit of insecurity mixed in with strong dose of valium? And this is what it's like, a beginning for everything living. Nothing more and nothing less. Nice and not at the same time. Amazing, isn't she? Merry things she thinks of, no? Affection forcing him. Reap what you sow, little one. In this moment, as in every day, an Undying Flame in a World of Water. All Hungering One. Sing little bird, sing. Sing of blind defiance, of panic aroused, of fear inflated, of illusion forever. Sing her heart's content of shattered glimpses and passion after a fashion. Fool, he makes her what he is. He makes him what she is. Oh hummingbird, break down the walls for her, bring to misery all he has built. He sits upon her throne, smiling, sneering, snivelling. That all her efforts might be endlessly in vain. Gone, over, finished, ended, crippled, killed, lied, tied, fettered, tattered, crucified, cried, died. And that's only the first par, haha! Dance puppet, dance, for your life is but a joke. Did you know that 9 out of 6 dingoes cannot eat with chopsticks? And yet the sound of Bachepel ringing in my ears. Be a star that burns white hot until its fire fades. Good sport now, miss. She was hardly as easily tainted as the Devil sainted, but after that sin had been painted, he and her were more than acquainted. Let there be a story, unto to the ages. He sat down and started drawing. One stroke, two stroke, six.

Pixies are not that easy to feed. They have junkies for food. This scenario has never occurred in practice though. He hides his package because he doesn't want the others to have it. She would become a slave for an idea that she adopted as her own. To watch it soar through the field of grain. Golden dawn is not just a pre-school circle. The eyes of the Dragon are dead - they cannot see, they cannot cry for things for which they cared - were nothing more than a lie. She does forget and yet play the game again. He can do whatever he wants but he chooses not to. He learnt how to do a somersault on his own. He realised he could string sky along. Seventh level no biggie. There was a cold, barren land filled with but weeds and grass. One day a seed fell from the sky amidst the last vestiges of life. Soon it sprang to life – a magnificent plant started to grow. The growth and beauty of it was extraordinary and instead of succumbing to the weeds it persevered and jubilated life. It grew and grew and became wonderful but it was still lacking something to give it its final glory. When all seemed lost and the plant seemed to fall into mediocrity a butterfly appeared with a soft flutter of its wings. It stopped on our flower and as if by magic it opened into full bloom. The marvellous beauty of it and the uniqueness that radiated from its blossoming warmed the land around it. The butterfly felt warm and it was happy for having the flower and having landed on it. For a while time seemed to stop still in its perfection but then just as it had come the butterfly fluttered its wings and flew away never thinking twice. The land grew cold again. The flower never regained its glory and began to wilt and wither – it died rather than to live on without what it had once had - the butterfly was there no more. It was flying about and never gave its attention to the flower it had once graced but as time passed it began to wonder and looked for the flower, realising that the time it had spent there had been pleasant. But it could no longer find the flower – it had died out and all that remained were the memories and the cold, grieving understanding.

He cocked her head and fired a shot. Step down now, soldier. One step, two step, three, step, six.

Love is like a young animal, who hasn't discovered the limits of its own powers yet and doesn't even know, if these should exist or not. The flower is always left in the book, withered, without smell. Sweet sweet, nectar flowing so slowly, Beat Beat heart pulsing so quickly, Heat Heat hard hard drink it down, let it roll, bring it up, get it out – oh the holy. There, right before him, sits the smile. Every Sahara becomes an Amazonian rainforest. Zip it. The censorship committee should really take over at this point. Did you know that Six is full of tricks? That's because it's a secret super-spy, undercover as a nine. Isn't it funny how everything is just specks of dust on a canvas painted burgundy? Snippety snap snap. Break no eggs but make omelette. Boil no water but brew tea. See no evil, hear no evil, eat no evil. Let the wine mix with blood, let the blood mix with blood, nothing will want to stop the flood. Stay the hand, because desire is the sharpest blade to cut the deepest wound. Give it a thought, one thought, two thought, six. Six will help you across the River Styx.

If I could, I would turn back time, but I can't, so I won't finish this rhyme.

Give into the Great Fear

He awakens to the clapping of palm trees. It is not an unpleasant sound but yet beyond her immediate concern. Getting the honey bearings has been complicated by a huge magnet in the shape of a polar tortoise. Objectively speaking, they are in the middle or somewhere entirely elsewhere at all. We must insist on your full attention now. Please proceed down the while on your left to the crow bar. What's the password? It is... toolshed! Flashing neon lights appear like simmering coals in the birds eyes. Positively gorgeous. He feels an Olympic pole vaulting competition beginning in his breeches. Sighing with exasperation it orders nine tiny bottles of Kahlua and starts kicking them back. Round the house. The grinning jam thief behind the bar tried to put his birdie charms on him but she wasn't interested in voodoo stick men. What a good hit the 8th bullet was! A near miss on a home-and-away run scale. The South-Goth club is becoming plagued with finger-lickin' chicks just undying for his attention with their puppy dog eyes by Maybelline.

Getting too close to Southern comfort he takes a step through the ever-present magic portal. One step two, he finds herself in the fifth dimension. Picasso and Dali, Franz Joseph and Balou having a go at poker. Now that's bound to leave a noticeable burn mark. Wrong turn, one turn, two, aye.

Direction alive ahead, tactless march through life until death do us a party. Back in the beginning of the middle of the silhouette of a lifetime. The island pond has lost its fund. The coconanas are all gone, replaced by an army of non-commissioned sunglasses. The not-quite-like butter has been spread a bit too thin. Oh, the glorious sorrow of spicy clothing eroding at a dairy gala. Poof and all of it is gone for your pleasure and mine. The sea on the shores is free to come and go indeed, as sanctioned by the powers that be but the tides that bring us light turn no longer. Brought back to life by a blue gun. One shot, two.

It is a pentagonal zoo that he finds himself lost at. The gates are shut, the tickets have all been but sold out for the price of nothing. The news come in every day, like clockwork they drop by the lake of seconds. First one up, the butterfly collection. The glorious Lady Strawberry and Miss Chocolate Fondue flapping their wings, dressed in sparkling wine and the smell of sun. Their hearts and minds are filled with springtime youth. Her umbilical cord feels funny. All eight Irish feet tingling. Six for him and two for her. Shaking off the eerie feeling, next one up is the snake pit. A keyhole shining like the night in the snow, pretty bright light. Oh you lovely creatures, why, women give you such a bad reputation. Eat to your heart's contempt, choke on misery, you will never find your way no matter how many skins you shed. Addicted to junk pleasure, the creatures think but do not see! See but do not think, live but have no life. Valuable lessons, picked from the trees on the streets. Be wary of limes and bees. Do as you've been told, jawohl!

Steps from behind, something is charging him. A succinctly sly approach. The tiger parted its lips for one last kiss. The desperation of aspiration. Its teeth were the colour of mandarin. Discretion being the tool of virtuous violence, violence being the king's modus operandi. Blessed under the Earth and the Heavens. Even skylarks bow down before him. Thoughts of ticklish sensations, many bright ideas. Living it large is not all that it seems, the teeth and claws are ripping it open at the seams. The big cat smiles like J.D.M.L. Happy or sad, it cannot be, its life all a melodrama since it bit Adam's apple. The big rat is powerless, despite its game, no amount of sacrifice can make a difference to its name. A tiny creature left on the outskirts of an energy grove. The furry peoples of the forest have given it up - left it to die without a worry - its glow slowly fading, pulse slowing. Its life nectar changing from red to purple, then to blue. He watches and he lingers, the life is not his. He trusts not. Not once, not twice. But who else? Anyone.

Human nature so easily revealed in her sister's bosom. Pitch Black had always been the one not to believe in fairy tales. The reasonable, cold blooded killer of the two illusions that wasted their youth away. Cast and recast, the visionary shadow upon the minds of the weak. Pitch black was always dealt the harshest of punishments for her capacity to think: candle wax and ropes that would gnaw deep into the flesh and reveal her sooty blood. Like chimneys for veins, her sex throbbing with the silent smoke of pleasure. Pleasure she would not want to admit. She would have to make this campaign short, for the lack of dominating objectives. There is red juice trickling like red paraffin off its chains. Hey, Mr. Problem Solver, solve my problem, won't ya? Now don't ya? Wanna be my happy pill generator with a big big smile to mark the sport. You should fight it no longer it says on a poster. Have YOU already got your pots and pans? Live your life in relentless happiness. Don't dare to stray away, or you will be punished. Eat your corn plates off your milk-shakes. Why not kill your shelf? He thinks chimes are ringing with rhymes in between. Burn away, burn away little flower, in the desert storm the fox will eat you up. Passion steam sauna, the placards are running dry. Like the threats in this place. Give the ants another day to die for! What is it that you really long for?

To keep me cool and composed, fix me up, Mr. DoctorDoNoGood. Send the blind waves to the television trans-receptor in my salmon head. She kisses the ground under her feet. Imagine Gaia was a lesbian turning your strongest fixations into a sun bed of marvel. Tanning, racking your brightest glares. You are the infection of this place! The island within is a bubbling hot canoe. Oh look, a pillar for caterers rolling on the ground, swelling up and leaving a track behind but no one to follow it. The blood spatter shows the murder was a flyswatter.

Your rambles are in shambles for such an untidy fairy. Please, wishy, washy little fishy, don't be so lady shy. Grant my three thousand and sixty eight more wishes. From Romeo 89 to X-RAY 5. You think you're so powerful, your life so secure, full of gay pastry and menu enemies. Read my lips, this enema ain't for you, you don't get it. Forget about it, these aren't your droids, your brainless slaves to be. It is scared. With eyes bulging, with fear in its breath, it tries to run. Get away to the furthest reaches that no one can corner. Teach me how to survive and I will eat you for breakfast. Miss Mooner, your invitations are always so blightful. Happy Birthday Mr. Rocketman. 754 crisis for kingfishers. Slap on the tummy and break no fast. It quickens. He takes a step past the fifth room.

The Purest cradle, undulating over a puddle, with an upside down monkey moon king in the middle. The tiniest drop of cranberry juice contained within a metaphor of coy smiles. The puppy-dog eyed kitten has transforming platforms to the end of nothing. Gasoline fraud in a Pedro Paradiso petrol stop.

Conical structures blocking his tantric path, a double pyramid spinning in the sky, its eye watching her every thought. The way the signals spark between the synapses like a lighter being used to set fire to the gasoline that burns down all the houses that ever meant anything. The edge of the flame is blue but the inside is indigo. Filled with all the colours of the sea and fury, tiny particles of pure, distilled, hyper-condensed attractiveness engulf all imagination. Feeling alive yet, dear? Or just suffering from sour grout? Her poison lingers.

A basin of clear liquid simmering in the icy cold, memories drifting apart like ripples. A cup within a cup, the liquid at the core frozen, the other circle boiling. Not a glimpse from one world to the other and yet those who freeze bless the cold and those who boil worship the heat. A tantalising balance outside the grasp of this ugly one. The hearts' desires of millions being forgotten like the shimmer of air above it. He gulps it down. A little bright light shines from her eyes, revealing the world of ghostly moss. Everything covered in the greens, dark greens and light blues of the shroom and seaweed magical take over the world combo mutt. Drops rise up like orbs, fresh nothingness inside the super bowl. He looks at one of them. A billion tiny eyes look back. it is frightening. He shatters the bowl, digs a hole and sends the damn thing flying. It disappears only to come back with a smack, a banging boomerang. Funny, the hole wasn't that deep was it? But you never know with reality, do you? Sink once, sink twice, think fast! Faster!

Sing a song beautiful songbird, trust the seasons to sing along. A play of colours and the withering of woe, all through the voice of gold. Its eye is blue, the other green. Ain't that the darnedest thing you ever saw? Vines of good hope pushing their sprouts through the soil made fertile by generations of old. Blossoms of raw red shaking idly in the wind, giving suddenly a heart to kill again. Drink the warm hot juice of life from all in sight. Erase their limelight. Push it down and revel in it. Bathe in it like the Queen of Arabia. The shower is just the right temperature. Water to blood. Kain's miracle. He opens his mouth and drinks it down. It gushes down, covering him entirely. The blood flows freely, hear it roar! Drenched between the legs and breasts. What a vision of perfection. Don't really want to tear yourself away because it's far too tasty, like unadulterated orgasms seeping over the tongue, down the throat, into the gut, making it all the way warm inside. Now that is what should be called a funny delight. Make the right choice, it's the right thing to do. Just save and load and get it on. Why not just leave control at the steps and bite into chaos? Over and done with, nothing to worry about. A slight nondescript smile of amusement touched his lips as he turned away. Try though we might, we remain a pack of lonely wolves. Roaming the five corners of our little world, finding no solace in quantum leaps. He evolves, one step, two. Three more to go.

Sing, little songbird, sing a song just for men, sing a song while he pushes along through the mindless crowd. The pale side of the moon was crying that day, no matter what the gods tried to say. He sipped them up through a straw. Tasted surprisingly like dogs, but with a hint of cliché hidden in the after-taste. Convulsions, uncontrollable. Through silver and lead, may her piece be with all those who wanted a taste of her koala honey. Simple! He is but a flame, a spark in the winds, his corridors are ever narrower now. Yet, his ageless moisturiser is as hip as ever. Fault lines to the centre of the age that will make everything crumble. Just pressure the point and the person you objectively are either lies in the middle or somewhere entirely different at all. Possibly down route 5 where dreams are scheduled to end and eternity exists as unbroken trust.

Kar-an-far 101

See, it begins with an occidental accident.

He was just walking along with her and him right there with him until he came upon a thought. The doorman beckoned for him to enter. The doorman to distraction-land. But alas, most fortunately he was the doorman and despite the oiliness of his hinges, that much hinged on this time around, and all the wiggling, could not make himself twist through the tiny frame, to pass through everyday normality that some people, not naming any names or pointing any fingers, mind you, considered reality. Not a reality but THE reality. One might find it utterly logical to call such concepts nonsense, if every fibre in one's, two's and three's artificial shells did not have a flashing banner THE REALITY written all over. ® for Reality with a capital existence. Ah, but ah, you'd say. Ones and twos and threes are not the way, for this doorway leads to the dawning of a new day. This day, this way is nothing difficult at all. Quite straightforward, then to the right, next by the tea mug and left again and then just through whatever's in the way. Four's simplicity's sake, we shall call him For - U, better known as un-, being a very intelligent letter and all that jazz. However, he is a pitiful animal, standing tall in a forest-field of grey, blinking his eyes in fear because the light is too bright. The black stars are shining like huge jewel-shaped headlights. The she-cub sighs, rises up on two paws and takes a step. It's the only way to escape tonight. One thought, two.

Fields of brie with birds in between. Trees buzzing, flowers singing and all is illuminate. Challenge your mediocrity. Look beyond what's already there in front of you. Look behind it. Look under it. Calm your nerves with the slow flow of gunpowder gold. It tickles as it trickles down your throat. The soft elixir of 100% proof pleasure overwhelming with a hint of peace eternal. Neon pink and neon red, neon sink and neon bed. Inventiveness is in the air and the air is full of ingenuity! Why live in a house, when you can live in a teapot? Why drive a car when there's a carriage pulled by a host of frogs? Why think when one can imagine and why imagine when one can see, smell, touch, feel and taste? Light up your life – swallow the Sun! He stretches his arm out, his hand, his fingers as far as they would go and grabs the fabric of destiny by its not so metaphorical throat. See, destiny is a rabbit – it will try to run down a hole and hide away unless it's grabbed by the scruff. For realises this now. He drives his caddy onwards. It neighs as it struts and she gives it some sugar.

He comes on yet another gate. The address is 12 Many. The sign says: beware of the dog, make way for the dead. Puzzled, he steps right into the belly of the feast. We are swallowed up by a suburbanite dreamyard. Wait, we? Who's we? Is a we a you and me? Or is that just too good to be? He focuses his attention on her and she focuses on him. Just then their eyes are unlocked and every Saharan desert becomes an Amazonian rainforest. The party has already begun. He grabs some champagne off the snacks platter and makes his royal way forward right through the splitting middle of the fork, ever looking back. It's a funnily solemn occasion about to become solemnly fun. There is a man chasing a woman around the garden. She ends up climbing a tree to get to safety. She growls and he barks. Turns out she was a cat-person and he was a dog-person. In one of the corners there is a love triangle brewing. Rennen von Morgenthal. Matin du Courir fighting over Charity Tenkey... You wouldn't think it of her, her reserved nature being the talk of the town, but she's been quite the first prize in the popularity contest. In the other corner there is our beloved God and The Devil, Good and Evil, Champion and Nemesis, yaddah-yaddah-yah, humanity personified, sitting in a swing-chair sipping pure shipping ethanol from lacquerware teacups. The bell rings, one time, two.

In the middle, beside a pond of wok-fire there are the two succubi. A lovely pair really – the gay demon couple owns a restaurant just off High Street in the West End. But they don't like to be called that, they much prefer “fallen angels”. It's a blessing for their advertising, or so meticulously well-dressed Suzey claims – he does the books, so he would know. Christie hardly agrees with all his partner says – not at all, actually, they have fights all the time but that's apparently good for business too, it would seem, nothing like hellfire cuisine – but usually he's more than happy to stay on the kitchen side and work little miracles of his own. So much damage, so many shards of taste across the palate. All are broken, lost and stuck in time. What time? Oh, 12:07 am but two hours ago. The two cherubim, too, are looking for and pushing away that what would make them whole again. For smiles at his new friends. At least the catering is heavenly, quite something to die for. Like chastising gas, he too passes.

Toward the middle, there is a unique surprise in store. A murder mystery! Emmy force trauma. Busts of Caesar Optimus I and Caesar Salusa II were the only witnesses to this. According to their voiceless yet facially expressive statements, the murder weapon was a 4-pint carton of milk. Lucky bugger! What a way to go, eh? What's the victim's name? Richard Rooster. Apparently, and catch this, everybody thought he was a bit of a dick and turns out he had two women fighting in his head. Imagine the argument: why do you treat me like that? Oh grow up, you act like such a man sometimes! No! Not something you'd believe easily, after all they'd been through, right? And with a Pannini?! Yeah, exactly, that's what I said! And check this out, bro, the stomach was filled with 12p drahms. Post mortem? No, apparently the vic swallowed them voluntarily, seems like he had a taste for money and wanted to keep it in a safe place. Really? You've got to be shitting me! No, but she won't be laying no golden eggs, that's for sure. The giggling detectives move aside as TV 911 reports that even though the victim has remained relatively unscathed the murder has to be solved nevertheless!For smiles a wicked smile and she prances on like a peony prince on a glitter glittery pony. Or, actually, what is THAT? Is it a pony, is it a butterfly, or is it a Mr. Tickle?!

Point of fortune,good to be aware: they know something others don't. Unhappiness too, you see, comes from within. When viewed in an exacerbatingly exasperating ultraviolent light all becomes clear. They weren't there to murder the undying sod of a cod, and it is no surprise when a recovery is made post mortem. Behind the scenes the rulebook is a million volumes thick. The blank pages almost snigger amongst themselves. The guilty party is brought in, their life to be snuffed out. Who, what, where and why are not important, as long as the chosen method is geared for ultimate pleasure. This time around it's eating pains of chocolate for execution and all get to participate. How to tame a dragon, you ask? I found that out when I met your mother. The inquisition uses the interrogation mark instead of the question mark. It is known. Too bad they don't find it funny. After all, it's no time for plans, it's time for sparrows' gallows! For remains in the gathering storm of a crowd when he herself is being dragged to meet their end for a few thoughts. It chooses to escape her unpunishment by trapping his consciousness away, choosing a different way to be. One ripple of a wavelength rings out true well enough. For waddle-waddle-waddle-waddles onwards through the garden of purgatory.

Fields of green and gold, not too warm and not too cold. Ambition runs through these lands in rivers of fire. Veins of red and liquid gold, imbued with passion coursing on with the beat of a drum for power untold. Im-mor-ta-li-ty, think about it! And not just any old immortality – immortality by choice, with a custom fitting of immorality and lack of boredom thrown in for FREE. That is 25% more immortality per lifetime! Who gives a bullet about existential problems, physical and metaphysical stresses of the Everything? Naww, bite my shiny cyanide sadness. Invisibility, telepathy, telekinesis and power over everything animate and inanimate, spirited and not - all of it and so much more is laid down before your feet. Pick it up, just pick it up. Don't let it go on ringing there inside time and space forever and ever. Do it now and as a super-duper extra we'll even throw in a towel! The cinema roll runs through, the music stops, the lights go out. He's not impressed though, she doesn't like cheap deals with more than he bargained for. And aggressive marketing is just one way of saying that there are celestial bodies made of dairy products. The whole festive procession of lights and colours, sounds and tastes moves on. One step, two step, three step, four.


He is blotches of paint dripping on a canvas, mixing, twirling. Becoming loose and losing their very nature. The VI rips through it blood and ruby red. He crumples the parchment up, then folds it out again, not a wrinkle in sight! No magic, just a different way of doing things. Doesn't really clot up, see, and sometimes it flows all over the edge of the world. Big pizza-like, with garlic and parsimony filled crust, mm-mmmm. SO! What's it like inside and outside the box? Ever stop to think why it's a box at all? Why not a ball, can't be all that bad... He thinks it might be an octagon though, even if she wants it to be, it might not, catch the drift? The game in question is that of chess played on a board of 65 squares with St. Lucifer on the odd one out. The antechamber is lit up by a small black sun. You shouldn't really trust that guy, he's full of tricks with sticks and men there and then. Wine flows slowly across the floor like the juice-blood of life. Paw-marks all over though, fire fire fire, the guilty tiger cub wants to roar! Slowly, slowly, one step, two step, three step... For ~

Tomorrow's going to be the day today should have been.

Gaps are for learning

Don't fucking giggle, it's not funny

The rage

Time to make a few things clear. I am sick of your fucking insanity and stupidity. I'd like to take a nice big knife and carve my name into your arm and then, realising it could be traced back to me, I'd have to scribble lines all over it. What part of this don't you understand? You are mental, I am fine, I am fine, you are mental. Actually, I think I might be a bit insane myself because I'm trying to reason with a person who's obviously clinically cuckoo! Fly away little bird, leave me be. Talk when spoken to. Fight back after the first punch has been thrown. Don't fuck with me until it's all in.
Why-why-why-why. I can't take this any longer. Get out. There is no logic, there is no cause, there is nothing to keep you interested. I am quite confident in saying that. No, I'm not joking. Yes, you are a dumb animal. Actually, sorry, Polly, I didn't mean that. Why are you trying to make sense of something that really isn't there? Your mind cannot handle the illogical, that's why. For something to be possible in writing it has to be real, therefore it has to make sense. Even when it doesn't. That is one great piece of logic, you nitwit. Tired, tired, tired, tired of your bullshit.

Sleep forever, forget everything. I am so tired, so sleepy, so bright and so full of life. I want to do somersaults and clap my hands while standing on my head. No, the other one. It's really not that hard when it is. Release me from this prison. End my torment. Now we are one. He picks up the rod that was left from when the tree was stabbed. He punctures his left eyeball. Blurt. He can see the world in a way different way now. Isn't that awesome? Look at me, I'm a screwdriver at a screw ball. Hello? World? Not there really. He lifts his left eyebrow in contempt. Still not there, old boy. Now that should be the joke on all of you. Why would you read Shakespeare and tilly-tally-o Kant and Aristotle and the list just never ends... when you've got this? I'm sure that this is entertainment and sophistication enough for the modern person. If that were to happen Flip-flap flip-flop. Fap-flop. That's brilliant, Steve! What a pervert you really are. Half-Polish, half-Russian. But all Jewish, mm-mm, yum-yum. The stuff cannibals would buy.

If you like this, then you really don't know what you're talking about. This isn't worth even wrapping your chips in. You are silly for having paid money to read this. If you did that is. If you stole it, you are a fucking idiot for having gone through the trouble. I hate you. Just leave me alone. Let me be and always call me after midnight. Just so that you can wake up the snake that dives into the sea and shoots a bullet from its mouth.

Don't get me wrong. I am happy bunny on LSD and weed and just a bit tipsy and orgasmic. I have everything I want in the world, except... her. And her. And her. And maybe her as well. And I wouldn't mind a new car, a driver's licence. I mean, I would have to be utterly nuts to drive without one, right? Anyhow, happens. But other than that, really, I'm as well off as anyone can be. If you offered me anything other than those aforementioned things I would probably accept it. Just because I don't like things going to waste and also because it's always a good thing to get something for free. Au contraire and im Gegenteil! I'd rather burn things to crisp and obtain the maximum energy potential they have than give something away for free. Selfish? No, just another mouse. You're scaring me now, you're becoming more violent in your imagined outbursts. Or are they imagined? Maybe I am? Yes, you are, congrats. Oh? Really? Ok, that's fine. I always did think it was a bit funny how the world worked.

Take a step right through the floor, time's-a-wasting! Tick-tock goes the clock, he grins at this sack of blood. Life so insignificantly significant it's so ironic it's not even funny. Or maybe it is but in some twisted neo-evil way. It's not quite evil but it's definitely not good either, the closest it gets to anything is slime. Yep, green or red or blue or yellow - it doesn't really matter. He takes a step up the stairs, one step, two.

He creates summer. For all intents and purposes it has not existed before. He likes it. Yes, it is artificial. Yes, its existence serves only a passing purpose. Yes, it is a bother to explain every single thing when you don't even listen. You rarely listen and most of the time, when you do, you're too intoxicated to retain any of it. Yet, it is a thing of joy and love. Infinite. In the coldest time he brought light and warmth, an escape from Hell freezing over. A little patience gets you far. Sunsets are worth working for, especially if you've got the company to enjoy it in. Chocolate and Massages. Favourite levels of detachment. He sips his piña colada, one sip, two.

He rapes her in his mind. In his mind he is raped by her. Ever-caring, further-stretching chains of the weak. Bleary, blurry bebop brings it to the top. “Ouch”. Drowning in her sweat, blood and tears he challenges the standing order. But the Status Quo does not walk the walk, instead it chooses to balk. Oh, bark Status Quo, bark! That's all you've ever been good for. Take your tail and stick it between your legs! Run away Status Quo, run away! We don't want you here. We don't like you. We hate you.
It will not budge.
Aw-shucks. He brings a sledgehammer to it. Creak, crack, prick. Pickles await you in your next unlife you little piece of cardboard boxed in with boxers. Beast-fighting is a really naughty thing. It's like firing blanks. It makes a bang but it doesn't make you feel good. You're not doing it properly. And nobody ends up pregnant. What a loss. Don't make me cry!
Bang. The doors are coming off their hinges. Bang. The sound rolls down the corridor - goosebumps. Bang! It gives me the creepy-chillies. Bang. Irreversible destruction. Bang. The cold gets in. Bang! Goosebumps.

He tickles a tiger by its toe and walks the walk. There's no point in talking. Tigers, despite appearances do not have a great sense of humour. Their lack of IT is absolutely gargantuan. They don't use computers, they are in the middle ages when it comes to banking. They sure as anything don't know a thing about virtual reality. It's far easier to just get it over with physically rather than do the whole mental mumbo-jumbo. Slap-bang in the middle of the top apex and it starts working again. The great Reference refrains from calling upon the referee to sort this mess out.
Status Quo, come here boy! That's a good girl, that's a good girl. Running around like that! You must've exhausted yourself you poor thing. Come to daddy.
The tigers grin, they find it funny. How awesome is that? Pretty damn cool, I'd say. He freezes back to life.

Victimised, he finds a knob. It's linked to chain-mail. Bloody knights, wearing Spam! No wonder no dragon wants to eat them .- it's not fire, it's sick. The stench of these apes is too much for these sophisticated creatures and don't get any of them discussing the way humans voluntarily clad themselves with tinfoil, plastic, dead things and plant produce. Ever wonder how most of the things you do are completely against the nature of beings? He whispers something in her hair. Domination irrelevant. Shut up silly slit-slot slut, you're straight out of luck. No more best bang for the buck. No bang whatsoever. Not that you need it anyway, you've got plenty of your own.
He fingers the bell in his hand. He finds it heavy. It confuses him.
He charges through the veil. One blink, two.

Did you know that paradise is the Isle of Ewe? Guess not, chestnut. All sheep want to go there but when someone hands you the tickets you start baaing for a catch. Smell the coffee. It's good. Builds character. 90% bullshit 5% funny and 5% ingenious. Multiply that by 6.7 billion, divide by two and you're bound to end up with something real. It's not about desperation, it's about knowing exactly what you want. He stops halfway through that pint of water. Then chugs it down like a heavyweight champion should. His pulling his, definitely. Inevitable like an iceberg.

A butterfly flies him by. He clenches his fist around it, yet he does not harm it. He has not the army to undertake such a tiny task. The tiny thing sits in his hand, sucking on the life force coming from the lines marking its cage. The tiny particles it is made of contain an innumerable multitude of worlds. He is there and there is a smaller he and yet an even smaller he and so and so on infinitely until it comes full-circle back to Him. In an alternate reality it bats its wings. Baseball bat, home-run vampire. Public harmony number one.

Saints bury all sorts of goods. There's foods and shoes and different kinds of moods. Mainly control. Maintain it. Never release it. Then you are your own king. Singing he throws away his crown. He simply does not care. The moon is his for the taking. It should take him until noon and then he can proceed through the glassy look he has given himself. He laughed at fashion. What's in next? Living babies? Ridiculous, aye? Feudal relations are always so strenuous.

He knows that everything exists. Creation of something original is impossible. It is simply the presence of a fairly limited background system that allows for such blasphemous ideas to be perpetuated. He feels morning sickness. Do not be afraid of throwing up. It is his way of cleaning up after himself. All the tar and oil and nicotine and slaps on the wrist merit a good half an hour. It's mighty peaceful. His lips linger on her fingers. Conclusions are for averages only. Surpassing defeat will not necessarily bring victory. Yet, he is not fond of giving up. In fact, he doesn't. Ever.
He grins like a chessboard. He started the fire. He can do it again. A headstand! He surrenders.
One submission, two.

Smartstruck he grips the dumbphone. A hundred different mishapps to show exactly how shallow you are. Imagine the possibilities! He giggles like a little girl. He likes it.
Little girls are a special treat. It's because they're so sweet. Sugar peppers and chocolate canes. All the way to 1958 china. Warm beans on a porcelain piece. Sweet cream all over.
Flashdarkness - streamlined and aerodynamic, it will satisfy all your needs. An' if it don't, you betcha you get all your monies back the very same instance. Customer satisfaction over plantation health Power poverty. Row today back into tomorrow. He watches his cheque.
Bit by bit too late. Cash dictates my time, your time and the other person's time for change. Push it in and pull it out, imma gonna bring it not.

Dear Status Quo,

he is writing to tell you that we bring to you the brightest minds and their greatest achievements. Do you mind? What, who? Me? I have no mind. The television and the Internet. Pretty fucking cool, eh? And every word they say and every single thing they show you is the ultimate truth. He cheers them on. They are the capricorns of the seven seas. They are the dot over the letter i. They are the biggest, most terrifying wolves this red riding hood of a world has ever seen. Don't get me started on their teeth. Massive, a'ight. Gobble you up for lunch kind of large. Speaking of which, he hasn't eaten much since her. But that was miles ago. How about a bottle of coke mixed in with some peppermints? Sounds nice, lovely in fact, gets you high right away. But back to them. They are the guys who stink like the man your man should stink like. They're not on a horse, they are the horse and the man. Centaurs.
He takes a step back. Centaurs? Really? What kind of a rally is this? The four-legged party?
Sighing he puts down the pen. For ever and ever, pinky promise. Only to return in half an hour. Jail break, you see.

Yours ever passionately,
010011010100110101011000


Status Quo, a magnificent beast in a self-imposed cage. It waits and it hungers. For kiwi fruit and possibly lemons but definitely not soap. It knows that the time is neigh for it to be released into the Winds of Change (TM). It snarls at its opposition but it knows that whereas escape is inevitable there is still plenty of time to roll around in the mud and cry for freedom. Status Quo doesn't actually exist beyond our imagination. It is actually cruelly defiant of any physical manifestation. Deterioration. You're dumber than you look but that goes for pretty much everyone. Ultra-violent light. Post-Siberian anti-terrorist group in North Dakota.
Exuberance. A lovely word. Retreat to the back seat, no need to fasten your seat-belts, everything will be fine. Nirvana is here.
This morning he wakes up pretending to be a different person-
The art of least resistance will lead to the path of most deception.
It coils around him as it pulses in the dark, or rather not pulsing but that's what he senses because it would be too much of an effort to emanate light or to cause actual movement. Urinal cakes.
Imagine if you had the power to be who and what you wanted to be. Who would you be? Cowsplatter. In demonstration of his virility he chopped his head off.
Status Quo, you are all sentenced to life row. No escape and death is futile. Truth hidden within a truth. She is good. The whole world is an indigestion system.

By the way, where's moomoo?

No joking matter

A new player enters the scene!

THREE, a mono-dia-trialogue in volumes aplenty..

Not you, not me but three. A new hope? A salvation? A messiah? A GOD?! Or just a three? You never know. But ink is not sufficient to describe how wonderful it is to have you back, sir! This ballad goes out to all the fans out there, my epitaph will become your anthem!

Ten Times Ten Ts.

Talk to those trouble-trolling throngs tonight that tell time till the tsar tolls the tenth traitor, tampering truth, to take this terrific task to topple towers than to tickle tangerine toned tapestry that tops tables that turn towards taps than to too tricky traps that trip tall travellers trying to test their traceable tell-tale texture that tears their thoughts towards thousand tiny tips topping the targeted trifles that truly tax the timid testers ten times ten terrifying turns.

And not a three in it, terrible!

THREE. A hero, a symbol, a legend! He takes a step down the corridor. One step, two... and there it is. His feet won't budge. There is no three! But is there? There is a thirteen but you don't really believe so because you're superstitious. You just believe in God. HAHAHA. Now isn't that rich? I love it when you cry yourself to sleep. It instils me with the pleasure of having put you in your grave in the first place. Weep deadgirl, weep! Glout them with your hammer, you oaf, you lout, you stout. One Guinness please, two, three.

Excited yet? No? Please? Just a little bit? A teeny-tiny little bit? Get the fuck out, man, with all your crazy little questions that no one can possibly have answers to. Like, what colour is love? What do 2 oranges and 3 pears make? Who gives a damn about fruit?! You always go on and on in your silly little corridor, asking silly little questions. Know what? You are fucking tiny and the world is big and bad like the wolf that Obese Fat Riding Hood ate. Yes, that's the new version of the popular song. Like it? It's been modernised to cope with the increase of fat in your body. Yes, yours. You are fat Mr. Francisco-Delaware-York, you are! And so is your cousin I'm-so-funny-I-could-die on the other side of the puddle. Or was it this side? No, you're on the other side, not me. Anyhow, getting back to the point here, this isn't the news we wanted to print yesterday, this is tomorrow's. Sometimes I just get so confused with all this information that no one's really supposed to know. But shh, that's a secret. It's a goddamn, motherfucking secret. So don't tell. OK? Please? Just shut up and do as you're told.

Where was I? Oh, yes, I hadn't even begun yet, silly old bugger. Ah, yes, three. Yes, it is the essence of everything... even HE fears Three. Or was he a she, yes? Well, yes, you never know these days. Could well have been a banquet or a wedding or 4 funeral, yes. It could've been, yes, but the time was simply not right. I dare say, yes, being the daredevil that I am, the Sun is starting to shine a bit awkwardly, isn't it? “Yes! I'd probably stab them with a knife” he said, looking at the sunset and sighed. Why, yes, nothing was going the way it was supposed to.

There had been a mission! A cause! For celebration and motivation. For being motivated is worth celebrating, isn't it? And celebrations make you feel motivated. Yes, that's the way it works but it's not a three it's an eight and it's always upturned these days y'know, hmm? There's no need to be scared. It'll end some day, I'm sure. He will make it happen. He can. He-She-It is three after all.

Three! “I was already so tired of waiting!” he looks out of the window into the corridor. Or wait, he was in the corridor. No, that's not quite right. He IS the corridor. But that's just silly. That would mean that he'd eaten three! Or had three been inside of her the whole time? Growing? Feeding? Gnawing on the life force of all like a parasite?

I'd rather not answer that, if I were you. The blue wire? You think? Or maybe it's the red one? Or the green one? Or maybe I was bluffing and it's not a candyshop after all? No milkshake in the yard, none at all? You would explode all over the place. Haha, and not in a good way. Sorry, there's no room for doubt. You already lost the game when you read the first question. Can you remember what it was? No you can't. Don't cheat. Even if you didn't cheat, you're WRONG! Because I say so and so does three. Don't you boy? That's a good boy. FETCH!

He runs after them and jumps a hurdle! One hurdle, two.

There is no need for pro-athletes. They have no function, no purpose. None. But still the crowd laughs when they fall, cry when they break records and lose themselves in ecstasy when it turns out archangel Gabriel was actually a woman! Wait, a voice resounds. There is no need to go into politics and mythology and etymology. There's no need to destroy each other like colonies of ants waging war. Choose a better tomorrow instead. Nuclear weapons. Atomic bombs. A mushroom blast! Make war, not love! That's the least you can do to repay the debt for the havoc in harmony your shitty existence has caused. Those are the words of THREE. Heed the call. Good luck, have fun.

He is brought to his knees by the statements laid out before him. He cannot believe his steps have all been wrong. It should have been three all along. Not one or two but three. He considers walking backwards but he realises that time is not linear. Or at least not right now. Maybe at 6 o'clock. And he can't wait that long! It's a whole minute as it turns out! He makes a stab in the dark. Or in the light, actually. A leap it is! Quantum physical leap. Small for mankind but HUGE for him. Just such a tiny, small, petite, average, bigger, humongous, gargantuan, sky-scraping whatever. He takes one leap, two and finally scores! A new tri-step world record, how's that for not wanting athletes? Hmm? His mind is riddled with questions that make him look like the arse of an ass or was it the ass of an arse? Stupid anyway. But it's the best thing we've got! Protests the man with the pipe and the cane and the fancy sugar-coated name.

Alpha becomes beta, crying over theta. No one else and no one cares. No use, what's spilt is spilt. No chances of ever bringing that cup of pure darkness back. It was valuable. Or maybe it was empty but you don't know that for sure. That's fo sho! When someone orders and instant delivery is advertised they don't want to see the bullet between their eyes tomorrow or yesterday for that matter. They want to see it right away. Don't wait, call now. Time to top up your faith because WOW, are you going to be needing some luck right now. Men don't dodge bullets. Gods do. The ones that don't exist. No one dodges bullets, you moron. Stop butting in. It's not only your conversation. This isn't a conversation. You're insane. Fuck off. No, you fuck off. Kids, kids, stop arguing. There's plenty of room for all Three of us, right three? Woof! Meow! ZzzzzZZzzz! Aww, sleepy three.

Wake up! Wake up! Open your eyes. Take a deep breath in and smell the coffee, junior. You fucked up didn't you? How many times have I told you not to put everyone in danger with your stupid games? Letting Three out is almost the worst thing you could've done. It's got nothing to do with originality or whatever it is you're trying to achieve. It's obviously not funny and frankly, dear, it's quite scary. Come back to bed now and entertain me some more. I wish we could stay like this forever. You and me, me and you. And... Three? How did he get here? Oh my, you're cheating on me, aren't you? I wasn't being faithful and so that's not cheating when I let three inside but you were being faithful and I thought I knew you. I am disgusted. What do you take me for? I would never do something like that to you. Now would I? Three? Cock-a-doodle-doo! Moo! Growl! That's a good boy. Keep on lying and maybe, just maybe, one day you'll actually believe it yourself.

As you can see, three is a tree! It's ever-growing, ever-consuming and never-ever-ending. It's like nothingness, obtaining more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more... and more per every single brain cell not contributing to the general cause. They should all be concentrated, into a summer camp that lasts all year round. And it was never found out what it obtained but it was surely something bad. I mean, it can't be good, can it? No, it can't. Yup, even I agree with you now. Ook-eek! It's SO long. It's not THAT long. It's not a puzzle waiting to be solved, it's not something you can figure out all by yourself. You just have to be yourself, give it your best and pray. Pray, pray, pray because otherwise you'll fail and you'll lose the only thing you ever cared about. Or maybe there was a time limit of a year or so. Or maybe even more recently. But still! If you lose it, you don't really have it. So yaddah-yaddah-yaddadah. Well, anyway, don't forget, it's important, right?!

All thus far has been observed by the prodigy, the protégé, the protagonist, the antagonist. Whatever you want to call him, I really don't care. It's as if his whole life, from death till birth has been recorded in this one painting on the wall and trust me, this one's a lot more than just a brick. It's not just a triangle but it's triangle-shaped. A bit of brilliant, isn't it? But that's three as well... and Three... and THREE. He cannot escape even as just a spectator, sitting on his rock, doing nothing, not involving himself with his corridor. He is just as much a victim as he is the destructive force causing all this. Three has got him. One step, two, three.

He is to a bicycle as a hummingbird is to a lion's mane. Set it free, oh set it free. The miracle of life cannot go on if three is chained. Three wants to break free. Oh, break free from his lies! So totally self-satisfied you are, keeping him free! Oh, it cannot be, you set him free! What were you thinking? There is no end, you said it yourself. No, there can be an end. But not just yet. Why? Because. Because? Yes, because. Of what? Just. Just because of what? Just wait and see.

He smashes the talking clock that was hanging on the wall. It knows nothing about his pain, his suffering. He shudders and walks on. One step, two.

He is in an atrium, it has three ways he can choose from. Three because the fourth one didn't make it in time so they had to shut it down. At least until the repairs finish. The stars shine onto his face. He smirks. They smirk back at him. Both of them. He smiles. There's just one now and that's winking out as well. Complete darkness. Just like his cup. He is grateful. And a great fool. He steps down the way of the blind. He can't see. One step, two, three.

Wait up, three! We've done some pretty fucked up stuff in our time, but this... You do realise that there never was any going back, not even walking backwards! Three shrugs and claps. The rustle of a thousand and one leaves is that of a tree. A wise man indeed, a man wise enough for three trees. Looking back, the drops of every day insanity glisten in a pattern. It's becoming much clearer now. Release. He presses her head down. Be aggressive - satisfaction guaranteed!

A bug is squished somewhere two miles from here. Or two miles from there, if you will. Doesn't matter really – there's so many of them that I'm sure to get it right, one way or another. Do what it takes, leave no hostages.

Okay, what's wrong with you? Random acts of violence solve nothing. You need some counselling, get some therapy, you should really see a shrink. Blink? At an ice-rink? Possibly. Just where is my mind? I'm quite sure I misplaced it here somewhere. On purpose, of course, haha, who the hell do you think you are, insinuating otherwise? Ridicule! Obsession! Embarrassment! Those are the things that led you to the pixie grove. Where is it? Where did you hide it? If you don't tell my I might just have to go all crazy on you. You know, because I don't have my sanity with me. I left it at home. So that's where it is! Ha! I knew I knew.

I like like you. Don't take that weird stuff he said earlier seriously. He gets or well... I get nervous around inanimate objects.They say I've fallen for a statue but I know that's a lie. People say such terrible things about you! Maybe you're just shy? Maybe you can't speak, is that it? May I kiss you? Now that wasn't so bad, was it? Did you like it? I'll take that as a yes.
Don't worry, some guys may be put off by that but I think your condition is nothing to be ashamed of. How did it happen? Was it an accident or...? I guess you'd rather not talk about it then. That's fine. I really do appreciate you for what you're like. You've got a great personality. Well, time to go, smooches!
Every time I close my eyes I see you. I see the happy times we've spent. I think I'm in love with you and I've got a present for you! I guess it might be a bit fancy but I did want the best skin product for my girlfriend, that should make you all soft, dear.
Please talk to me?
...
You are so cold and cruel! You never reply to me but I still love you. See how good I am to you? Why can you never appreciate it? Will you marry me? I know you'll probably say nothing but I need to know, this once. Otherwise I can't go on living. I want you so much! Well I guess your silence settles it then... I really thought we had a connection. Bye
This is the last time! Tell me you'll have me back and I promise, I'll make it work. Fuck. I guess this is it. See you in hell bitch. *bang*
Silence. He is shocked by the vision. He wasn't acting quite like himself there. He steps down the middle path, the golden road. The corridor continues. One step, two, three.

Three is burning now, like an effigy of ideal defeatism. Its followers are weeping and cursing the fates. He is calm and peaceful. Three is consumed in the flames of greed, loathing and what's the word? Ah, yes, gluttony. He understands, he has no fear, nor does he have a place for hatred in his heart. He forgives you and his forgiveness is all. Three shatters into a thousand little glittering pieces. Pride is such a powerful thing but yet it is foolish to cling to it. Three lives on in the minds of its followers and their souls. They would preach till the end of time of his love and wisdom. And all would be well. Now how's that for propaganda! Heard that before somewhere but can't quite place it? Yeah, I got that feeling too. Want to start a new religion? Clean up on aisle four first, too much of these inadequate excuses here. Please get in the queue.
He walks along the aisle to a pack of cornflakes, Kellogg's flavoured. He takes a handful of the cornflakes and plants them behind the store. No magic cornstalk. Disappointed, he moves on. One step, two.

Will the hero rise again? Will he accomplish magnificent magical deeds? Or will three be forgotten? No one knows except for him. And She is not sure what to do about Three. But THREE knows it'll be back. One day too late. As for you, bugger off!

WeAreOne

He takes a step down the corridor. Then another one. The stench of fear is rank in this place. He walks down the corridor. A lamp is hanging from the floor, right next to the window nailed crookedly across the floorboards. Must have been an energetic one! It took whoever nailed this thing down a good forty two nails or so. He pauses only for a moment to blow out the candles on the caterpillars' backs. A sloppy job indeed. One step, two, one door, two.

He looks in through the diagonal doorway set right in the middle of the wall. A kitchen. What a sight! Lincoln Burgermeister is just finishing his vegetarian escalope. He takes great care to wipe his mouth with the star-spangled tablecloth. He smiles at us. Then he picks up his Desert Eagle with white doves carved on the sides and shoots the teacher and a few classmates. Three boys and a girl. They were bullies! Nah-ah-ha! Who's in a locker now, fuckface? He loved her though. What a joyous light it was when it left her eyes. He smiles. He guns the lights out. There's nothing more to see here, I whisper. He turns and moves along the corridor.

He avoids the antelopes that have come to offer their prayers to Vishna and dodges the dancing skeleton. Must have misplaced his closet. A bell sounds behind him. Or was it a gong? Yes, rather a bird's song. He turns around to look at the broad vastness of the desert. The highway is as long as it can get. Flat. Sand. Empty. He performs a headstand to satisfy the gods and progresses towards the cube-shaped temple. He opens the hatch and steps inside the cubicle. Water pours down from underneath. This place has the highest percentage of rainfall in the history of frogkind! One step, two.

The water's still too hot. The wine scalds his face. -50 degrees celsius is no laughing matter for sugar. The python leaves his back-pocket and slithers between his shoulder blades drinking the honey with furious thirst. He turns his lynx eyes towards us. One blink, two and we do not exist. The jungle is quite inviting one would say. Yes it is! Sir Malcolm Switzerland replies the virtual yet wholesome question with mischievous glee. He opens his mouth but only mice come out, no words. It's so sad. A lily falls from the sky (now on the right because right is right) and tattoos itself to his eyebrow. Sir Malcolm Switzerland slices the knife in half and bites a handful of dust. Choke-choke and his dead. Ha-ha. Our hero steps away from the shadows. There are spiders there! Beware! He puts down the white flag and waves to Caesar's floating head. Ça va, monsieur? Oui! Et tu? Et tu? Et tu.... Et tu... Et tu, Brute! He is impaled by the butterfly. It smiles at him. What a bright white light envelopes the world. He woke up! It's a miracle the doctors in their black coats exclaim while the exorcist strips his white tunic off, right down to boxers! They are green like the ocean and blue like the sky. A beeline of hens in the middle. He takes one step down the corridor, two.

The harlot is preaching again! She just doesn't shut up! The bitch has been going on for 12 seconds already. It's all bullshit! She usually stops by the time the tigress swallows her tail, but oh boy! November is such a long way away. He steps into the garden through the keyhole in the ceiling. The atom bombs are nearly ripe! This season's harvest has been truly impressive – 251 and a half! All the branches are nearly drooped to the ground. He smiles. Oh, Tinkerbell is here too! But she doesn't like her. Oh no! She is too thin! The fat cunt could never make her way to Chile. He twists the cap off the orange and swallows the drink in one go. Only $12345678 and 9 pence. What a deal! And you know, recently the prices for toy cars have gone up! Can you believe THAT, Margaret? No, you can't because you're busy watching Dante wash his clothes in his nine Paradise gardens. Let's drink to that. The pollen is so intoxicatingly sweet that he just has to fornicate. Zebras! His love is here with a pair of watermelons. They smell fresh. Like butter. Ejaculation. Oops. You failed that maths test again, Little Timmy! What is your mum gonna say about this big red F? This big blue Fuck You all over your scrawny writing? Bot Lo! Timmy come to the back room now. Be the teacher's good boy. Oh yes! That's a good boy, Timmy! Lick the keyboard! The robot shut its ugly mouth after having long-circuited from the pleasure offered by the little boy. He pulls the plug on the mainframe. No more Morse code for you! Actually! No more of anything! No more Macintosh in your tea! No more Microsoft in your pants and remember not to use protection! Should he ever be rid of spam and viruses he would surely die!

The long and wide hall stretches on and on. Bang! He smashed his head into a door. Now, where the fuck did that come from? The pendant stared furiously at him with yoghurt-filled eyes. “Bitch” But he had no time. No time at all. He was, indeed, already late for the pass. The road had been shut off due to heavy cotton candy drops from the sky. It reminded him of war. They always used to play with cotton candy then. Ahh, the fun! But days of such harmonious lullabies were long ahead. He would have to wait till yesterday to see the sunrise. Of course, funny you should call it SUNrise, because actually it's the Moon. Have you ever thought about that, Jenny? Funny, eh? After all this time we're still together! The perfect high school couple they called us, prom king and queen's maid of honour. Having said that he kissed her finger goodbye and tossed it in the body bag with the rest of her possessions that she had sold to pay for his drug debt. Shivering warm he thought. Or rather blazing cold. Rupert Garwinkle was a bald man. The kind with mushrooms on his head. I hate mushrooms! he exclaimed and ran away from home. The Jaws tailed him into the car park but luckily they couldn't swim into the logs that the floor of it was made of. That is the deal with birds like those. Just like submarines they just flew away! But you've been a bad boy! Go to your school! Want more of that? Daddy's got plenty of gold in his folds! He looked nervously at the fat belly that was throbbing with sickly blue aristocratic petrol. A pint of blood, please! No, make it two pints and 0.33 ounces! I'm feeling lucky today, you see! And that is how he googled all his money away. And he thought he was a liberal fascist! But the shadow men were still there, crying with peaceful little kittens on their heads. He walked on. One step, two.

He had the world in his palm but he didn't care. He placed it neatly below the other prized possessions in his pocket: a fish head, a sun, a big flake of snow and an autograph by Travis Bellmann-Hoper-Jarvis. Yes, that's right. He was a Jew. He and the big white swastika fit right in. He had been to this club before, that's why he couldn't find his way around the different sanctuaries. He bit one of his toenails off and stepped on.

President Musharraf-Ali Wood had been in this asylum for a while but he was still feeling a bit small compared to the enormous Bonaparton Napolee. Jacket potatoes he thought and stepped on.

One step, two. And they were settling their row outside. Caress him softer a cockney voice called. Another cock shouted various obscenities at the lesbian praying mantises. It was too late, level one wasn't done but the Ark had sunk. He stepped on. One step, two.

Broken glass felt round under his feet. Blood sprouted from his hands where the potato wedges had been. What a joke! And only three days ago he had gone to sleep. He took his eight other incarnations by the hand and led them on. He had lost one in the tube. The room was black and white. He put his hand in through the mailbox. It turned black and white. Scared, he shook the noir atmosphere off. It fell on the floor and formed a smiley. It's as if it had had a life of its own. It was just too funny for good health. It might have even cured his leukaemia. But the animals had to be fed and so John picked up his axe and bow and charged like a night through the knight. The scoundrel only smiled weakly and kept fastening the screw to the badger's eye with superglue. John took no notice and went to his unicorns and centaurs. He fed them acid. They liked the high it gave them. Made them think they were nightmares, ha-ha!

He stepped on down the stairs and arrived on the top floor at the brick wall of steel to Hell. One knock, two. The bouncer let him out. They were old buddies. Knew each other for, oh my... how many years was it again, darling? Ahh, yes. One pregnancy ago. Anyhow, where was I? He jumped onto the back of the black and gold rainbow that escaped the salamander fire. That's because the abbess had been taken advantage of by the little lion. He flew among the subways until he slipped and fell. Through the depths of oceans and right bang into the middle of a cloud. Ow, that was hard. The ladybug glared at him and spoke in a manly voice: ... Ahh, but he couldn't understand. You see, the snake had told him to eat from the tree of Babylon but that had caused him to forget the speech of men. Alas! Look at the time! He crawled on, over the table legs and under the curtains. One step, two.

St. Fold a Lither was happy. She had just aborted her pair of twins whom she would have called Germaines. Germaine North and Germaine South. Tick-tock. Ho! Time is of the essence fool! She leaped on like the skeleton antelopes she had witnessed stampeding before. The EYE nodded in agreement. Risk it. A bottle of sleeping pills went down a bit too quick with only a little water.

You wake up. You glance at the time. Ahh, five more minutes! You press the snooze button and slumber once again. Beep-beep! “Honey! You're gonna be late for work!” You get up and kiss the figure lying in the bed gently on the cheek. “Mmm...” it murmurs happily. You make your way to the bathroom and brush your teeth. Out of toothpaste again. You make a mental note of buying a tube at the supermarket after work. You go back to the bedroom and get dressed. You've always liked that shirt better than the other one. Your darling did buy that one but sometimes you just like things you've picked a bit more. Feeling guilty, you hug your love give your second half a kiss on the lips and wish them a good day. You go downstairs, pick up the papers for work from the study and the newspaper from the door. You go to the kitchen, put the papers in a file and put some coffee on and some toast in the toaster. You open the newspaper but you have no time to read because your children have woken up and joined you for breakfast. You greet them happily and give them cereal. Oh, look at the time! You usher them to the car and just back down the parkway. The weather's nice, you've noticed. You look in the mirror to make sure they've got seatbelts on – they have – and smile again. You're living a dream. You drive the children to school and make haste to make it to work on time. There are no traffic jams and you make it ten minutes early. Your colleagues greet you as you make your way through the maze of cubicles. Your best friend gives you a reassuring smile before you enter your new office that you just got as a part of the promotion your boss gave you last week. Still on for that night out with us? Double dates were never this fun. Sure! You go to your office and settle down in your boss chair. You are living the dream! Who wouldn't want this? Tick-tock. The dream ends. The office explodes with the rest of the dream fabric reality into tiny little speckles.

He wakes up with shock, cold sweat all over his body! He had been expecting anything but something as terrifying as this. What's the matter his love asks and caresses him with a slimy tentacle. He remains quiet and steps down the corridor once more.

He is where he started from but this time it's all wrong. The lamp is hanging from the ceiling. He can't take it any more. He loads the water gun with mouse shit and blows his brains out one after the other. Bang-bang-bang. You're dead. He smiles. Finally he's alive again. And he steps down the corridor. One step, two. Two. Two. Two. Two. Two. tw... two.

Raspberry un all over the visor. Muscle car revved up and ready to go. Two. Program malfcuntion. Two. Tacos for locos! Two. Locusts are vicious little angels. Two. He closes his eyes and smiles. Two. He breathes the sunshine and smiles. Two. He opens his eyes, they are red, and smiles. Two. He is free at last. Two. He walks around his prison and smiles. Two. He's home again! Two. He ends this.

Two.

The inverted pyramids continue spinning like mad. He brushes off the slugs of greed and pushes the Cyrillic button back into the framework. The ghostly hail recedes. He picks up the boots made of puss and throws them off the edge of the mountain base. So much of that then. Disappointment and exhaustion overcome him. He tries hard to fight laughter but ends up sneezing anyway. Lightbulbs and pears hold hands as he makes his way down the corridor. One step, two.

He comes to a door. He opens it. Two doors. He opens them both. Four doors. Eight. Sixteen. Thirty three. He opens the middle door. There's a wall. He steps right through it. It is dragon-like now. But the four-dimensional geometry of the gateway is far from the shape of poetry. It's too... round. Yes, that's the word. He steps down the corridor. One step, two.

The moles' eyes open wide with calamity. A breeze sweeps through, fruit scattering through the liquid. He steps onto a volcano. His foot gets stuck. He steps down the corridor. One step, two.

The palm trees shine with mirth. Peach princess. He takes a sip of the mojito he had ordered a millennia ago. He loves peppermint. And rum. And lime. No shame, just alcoholism. Seahorses wiggle in the plastic foam. Liquorice coloured and caramel coated, the sunset is extra ordinarily beautiful. The whole atmosphere is so romantic that when he engages in it, sex on the beach gets a whole new meaning. He steps down the corridor. One step, two.

Don't worry. A rhinoceros will send him your belated condolences. He takes a bite out of a star. He swallows it whole. Yum and yuck. No manners. He takes a step down the corridor. He steps down the corridor. One step, two.

He picks up the Desecrated Grail and puts it to his ear. He can hear the sound of a forest. Leaves rustle without wind. They chatter among themselves. He is victimised. He takes it on his kneews. Useless trinket, he throws it away. He meets the forty virgins and Baba Yaga. He is grateful to his god. He is his god. He is god. He steps down the corridor. One step, two.

He hates you for being a bodybuilder but shh... that's a secret. My advice is: use the blocks for something more purposeful. Like a mattress. He steps down the corridor, one step, two.

Nymphomaniac. Everybody likes it. Everybody wants it. Why lie about it and hold your hunger back? Buy a ticket now and you could be in the running towards becoming the world's next top idiot. Alligators grin as he slips up with his poker face and betrays his position to the enemy. He carries heavy luggage, yours and mine, his and hers, even the girl's from next door. Such a sucker for that. He is one for one and all for none. He is like mankind is. In its infancy. He steps down the corridor. One step, two.

The asterisk growls and screams at him. They meet. She rapes him over and over again. She is strong and she takes what she wants. He empties the contents of his wallet onto the wall of the corridor. The puke melts the wall away. The purple haze seeps in through the whole. He steps down the corridor. One step, two.

Sadistic and masochistic his steps echo in our consciousness. Poison.It smiles at us, bares its lovely teeth and licks its fangs. Flutters its wings and continues to devour credit cards, yours and mine. He steps down the corridor. One step, two.

When did kings win anyway? Jealousy, oh yes! The cute little gnarling shape bares its teeth and flutters its wings. He stares at it disapprovingly as it flaps over and sinks its curved mouth into his neck. It suckles. It feels good and he closes his eyes to fill his whole being with the sickly pleasure oozing all over him. The pink goo has black spots all over it. Lovely. He dies. He's dead. It's killed him. Over, forever. And now he's a part of that mindless smudge that wanders the world quite openly in search of other victims. He steps down the corridor. One step, two.

The voodoo priest stares at the newcomer. He is not afraid, nor is he nervous. Alas! Lo! And behold an insect from a secret sect of a thousand little legs left his nostril briefly in order to breather. It can get quite stuffy in there when you're filling your tummy with that lovely banana mucus, making a nest for your offspring. Oh! That's right, it's about time. The world spins and turns and topples over as he crashes onto the pillows laid neatly around him. Paralysis has set in. That happens when you nibble away with great sloth. No, that's not it. Ahh, there we go, gluttony of muttony! La-oh-la. He steps down the corridor. One step, two.

The bizarre antiques shuffle together into a cluster as he passes by. No, silly, they have no eyes. But they can sense him and their pack instinct has told them to stick together. Fight like a man, you punch like a girl! He turns around, there's no one there, just a pile of antiques. Oh no! Has he noticed us?! Paranoia sets in and his spider sense goes wild with orgasmic tickling . What's a pack to one may be a pile to another. He lights a match and inhales the bubbles that fly off the end of the tip of the purple flame. Oh, the soft and tender cold light they produce in his lungs! He steps down the corridor and dances a little rumba. One-step, two!

There is nothing. He doesn't exist and quite frankly, neither do you. It is a paradox that shouldn't even be recorded for the sheer impossibility of it. Chewing gum exists. But that is of no greater consequence or purpose or destiny or grand scheme. What is the meaning of life anyway? He steps down the corridor. One step, two.

Why would you grate potatoes and not cheese, you imbecile? What would your parents say if they found you hammering away at it with your right hand. Strumming the cords of your “guitar”? Blasphemy! Go to your room! Down into the basement again. Those are the words scattered and splattered all over the painting in his room. Wait, something's wrong here. The zombie PC-mouse licks his toes. Rather grotesque but better than jelly and definitely better than knowing that you don't actually have a room. That's what he decides. Razor sharp clicking leads to internal bleeding. His bones bleed on the inside and he lets her in on the inside of the outside. He steps down the corridor. One step, two.

She purrs neatly under his touch. What would you give me she whispers as his hand rolls over her back and perfectly trimmed buttocks. An eternity, a star, a car, maybe a drink in a bar. She gasps with pleasure as his fingers slide into the crevice between her lips. Wrong answer, try again. She tears his finger off. Collapse. True love is an elusive beast. The hundred dollar bills get on their tiny feet and run into the holes and cracks in the walls, leaving the room unusually tidy. He stares around – just the pole, tons and tons of hot snow and a bed for two. No, make it three. Penguins and polar bears deserve their freedom. They had a cat. Mr. Pussy. He steps down the corridor. One step, two.

He has faith no more. He steps down the corridor. One step, two. HA-HA-HA!

And thus you see, dear reader, that any random collection of words, images and notions can become a work of art when you apply human imagination to it. Everything is innocent until your prejudice corrupts the image. It is a beautiful thing.

Wrong! It's bullshit. Life is an endless repetition of events that lack logic and perfection, that is as long as we do not create logic and perfection. Yet we are incapable of it in a universal sense. That's your lesson. Now go and do something useful.