abstrect-christ Posted January 23, 2012 Share Posted January 23, 2012 okay I've been gone for a bit on personal and writing forays however I'm back with a new long tale, it's presented in 4 parts and each part will be posted at night so that members can choose to read at their own discretion or all them as a whole; enjoy. ------------------------------------ "I'm sorry." Muzzle of the Benelli M4 numbing my lower lip, salivary gland wounded, it bleeds on the eighteen and a half millimeter bore -- lacrimal gland its exterior -- what remained of my innocence was shedding, the Red Admiral that emerged curled my finger undertowing the anima, pulling the trigger: Firing pin caresses the primer that advocates smokeless powders salvation from obturation, cushion directing the combustion toward rapture; shot cup keeping the rifled slug stabilized as it began its journey down the barrel, charting its fifty degree angle course through soft palete, clipping the hards mass and rupturing the nasal cavity, shrapnel masquerades the sphenoids surprise living long enough to sense the osseous of the ethmoid and hard palete incising the temporal lobe, deaf, dysgeusiating, and anosmiatic cells cleanse memories as they expand choking the sylvian fissure, slugs force pureeing the white and dark matter folding inertia; wide burst causing Broca’s apharia and further seizes the identity with space sequential apnea -- requiting, arrow enters the meninges and parietal bone fracturing, cracking, fletching following; frontal and occipital attached permeating the tyrian purple wall; my terminal vision the wall opposite my consciousness, dark-slate gray tiles and saddle brown legs. I. "Joseph!" Rusbel awaits my hazel immersion -- dim gray, white plaided peacoat harbors the exposition pantomiming the crowd around her telicly discontinuing, her arms around my neck, my own meeting her waist; complimentary embrace, then a kiss, my lips slightly grated; tongues curled and conformed in placid ardor; "couldn't have picked a warmer city?" Abrading her arms stepping into my black peacoat, "this place is too cold for hell," I leeringly say with a smile, Olive eyes quelling their own leer; "got your stuff?" "Yeah, thank God the baggage handlers put mine at the front," "good, I have a surprise back at the apartment," she motions closer shifting carry-ons, placing my right arm at her neck clinching as the twelve kilometer wind takes us out of pressurization. II. Beading transpiration our legs rooted in the organic dark-sea green sheets lavender mist off shoulder, drape neck tunic, my charcoal black three button casual jacket, pants and white casual shirt strewed upon the foot and left of the king size bed frame; white bra, booty shorts and dark gray boxers two inches from the lefts frock; maroon flames stem cinnamon trills nine feet away on the nighturqoise double dresser penis retracted, ejaculate dried on its tip, her labia minora dregs of skene's biochemical, back to the davy's gray backboard, my forearm at her scapulas brushing her thin deltoid with my digitus primus her head resting at my pectoralis major arms around my waist, one hand clenching my latisimus dorsi and both our hands confluxed at the right obliquus externus a secondus manus mimicing my primus: "I love you Joseph," she turns her attention to see my lips part, zygomaticus acending, soaring in her Cellar Door gaze; "I love you too," her lips parting -- cross my own amorous paralanguage -- "those three weeks were lonely without you;" I tighten my arm across her back, right breast jabbing my rectus abdominus. "All that matters is that you're here now, and the old apartment is taken care of; your mom caring for Boot's?" "Yeah, wish she could have joined us, I'll miss her Houdini acts." "Yeah -- but we have a busy day tomorrow -- we'll need the sleep," digital alarm clock displays 2:18 am; dark blue cable carpet soft underfoot, pyres being quashed and wrist at her left illiac crest a halcyon motion at her trapezius and scalene seals our conjugation. "Can I have them?!" She's looking at white smoke Abby III's in Mountains Peak, the open design of Fletcher Mall's sloped windows flecked with white the shrouded sun lighting the thousand foot depth of the the three level south building illuminating the shoppers, tourists, and loiterers admiring the fountain or resting by the Weeping Fig's, Bonsai Tree's, and Sakura's below. "Those? Definitely not," she punches my right deltoid; "somebody's not going to see what I have in here the day before he returns to work if they're not careful." She holds up a paper fold bag, Mer de l'Elegance written on the side in shelley volante, "of course, sweet Isolde;" smiling in earnest rebound, "you should be shopping too you know, you can always use more suits." "I've got five -- I did my shopping a week after I arrived," leaving Mountians Peak, her left bicep brachii in my right tricep brachii, "but, just for you we'll stop by Bergman’s for a vest -- your pick. It's cold out so I could use it immediately," labium edges ellipsed coming up for a peck at my own elevated sense; "where are we eating supper tonight?" Having gone to Music+, "Red Marina," passing through the main gates into the twilight our foot prints fated to be trampled by others in blissful embrace. III. "This is Curtis, my floor assistant; Curtis, Rachael -- my girlfriend of two years." "So, y'ur the one he can't stop talkin' 'bout -- can't blame 'im," he lightly touches his lips to Rachael’s held out hand and blood fills her cheeks as she curls her spine slightly; "what'd I miss?" My glare causing a small smirk. "Chris wants ta' speak wit' you, The Raven would like an interview wit' you -- they're calling th' article "The Man of the House", an' on saturday a stage light loosened an' fell-" "Is that what Chris wants to discuss?" "Yes, an' also 'bout the budget, 'e's having trouble wit' one a' the actors." "Alright... I'll talk to The Raven and book an interview with them first, The Winter's Tale is proving to be a classic clusterfuck," my look of aversion washing itself as I turn my attention to Rachael leaning in for a kiss. "Enough shop, now for the Grand Tour," she nods gratefully; "this is the stage area, as you can see the costume and make up department are here for some of the extras but whence the actors are in play this is covered by set pieces and backgrounds, controlled by the steal cables you see on the wall to our right. The walls are covered in this pigment blue vale to set the tone of the play the extras are involved in as well as keeps the firebrick wall behind it from dusting up the costumes, now if you'll follow me to the hallway that leads to the dressing rooms," Curtis stalking, his lethargy transparent, "Curtis, go tell Chris that I'll see him after I'm done the tour and scheduling okay." "Yes, m'a liege," raising his right arm, hand stiff and flat to touch his forehead then pushing off to turn counter clockwise right, simulacrum glare breaking the stagnant air around us. "Ahem," "sorry, he's particularly fastidious today, you'd think he's jealous of you;" "he has spunk, I like that -- and -- I'd be jealous too," she smiles, lips motioning up to my own; "this is Leontes's room, played by Arnaud Allard, Hermione, Augusta McKenna, the rest of the cast, Perdita, Polixenes, Florizel, etc." "Perdita, didn't request her own room?" "No, she feels closer to the production if she stays with the supporting cast," "interesting." "That door down the hall is the door to the administration office where my office should be and main floor, but the stage office I took instead is down this hallway," we turn right to the first door on the left of the seashell hall, Rachael sitting on my saddle brown bow front desk, "why is the wall on the right dark purple when all others are a dark olive?" I sit on the right facing her on my black avanti, “just felt it didn’t have to be changed is all, "are you having an identity crisis?” "If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is: Infinite." "Make the call yet?" Curtis appears at the black frame of the matching door. "I'll get on that right away." by Jeremy Swyck (11/11/10) Quote Pinhead "Unbearable, isn't it? The suffering of strangers, the agony of friends. There is a secret song at the center of the world, Joey, and its sound is like razors through flesh." Joey "I don't believe you." Pinhead "Oh come, you can hear its faint echo right now. I'm here to turn up the volume. To press the stinking face of humanity into the dark blood of its own secret heart." "There's a starving beast inside my chestplaying with me until he's boredThen, slowly burying his tusks in my fleshcrawling his way out he rips open old woundsWhen I reach for the knife placed on the bedside tableits blade reflects my determined faceto plant it in my chestand carve a hole so deep it snaps my veinsHollow me out, I want to feel empty"-- "Being Able To Feel Nothing" by Oathbreakerhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aBPy3xNwwL8 "Sky turns to a deeper grey the sun fades by the moon hell's come from the distant hills tortures dreams of the doomed and they pray, yet they prey and they pray, still they prey"-- "Still They Prey" by Coughhttps://soundcloud.com/relapserecords/sets/cough-still-they-pray Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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