Archive for October, 2009

The Force of Fire

Posted on October 5, 2009

It tends to hasten things...

It tends to hasten things...

“What colour is that?”


It is then that she notices him holding her tiny hand in his.

“It’s called Russian Navy.”

A bit embarrassed. She. Not he.

“Same?” He nods, indicating her toes.


Slight nod. Implicit approval.

One leaves, then.

He. Not she.

One moment ago: they.

Standing so close that their noses touched; their breath intermingling.

Inhale. Exhale. Wrap. Twirl. Become.

And now…parted.

She: solo. Sit. Sat. Sunk.

Suddenly guilty, she wonders how long it’ll take him to realize that she’d devoured his heart in that moment…during that minute nanosecond, when she’d glimpsed his insides through the all-seeing holes in his head.

She’s quick. (He’d never given her credit for that.) But, (she concedes) not quick enough.

She’d wanted to siphon all of his knowledge and pillage his innards.

She, being equitable and fair always, would have traded her entrails for his during this period of exploration.

She’d never ask him to go without.

Not for a second, even.

“But his Spleen!” her own insides silently scream, “My God! If we are asked to live another moment minus a thorough exploration and intimate excavation of his Spleen…”

Pushy fucking innards.

(Tactical switch: alliance building, now) “…honestly, we MUST know. If we do not, we fear that the future of mankind may be in deeper jeopardy that anyone knows.”

They are serious. The mission is clear. She had just gathered the courage to bring up the barter when he’d suddenly departed.

The Russians were calling. The Navy sent word.

Her insides are enraged. Borderline demented. She, nonplussed.

Reaching, “Well, at least we ate his heart.”

This does little to placate them. She has no ability to continue attempts at reason.

Waste of time, assuredly…

She had mashed her senses and emotions together long ago. She had turned them from separate, feeling, knowing, beautiful, individuals into cattle and sheep and various other followers.

Numbing had stolen the yoke in a violent coup and had subsequently become the Commander.

He believes in ruling through threats of violence.

Dogmatic, and rarely chastened, young Sadness is currently under fire…

“NO! Do not you dare FEEL that! I am warning you!”

“Weakness will not be tolerated”

(He is out of control, this much is clear…)

“You asked for it!”

(Apologies sweet, mislaid, Sadness…)

“Reticence!” Numbing beckons his faithful militant.

(barely audible) ”yes, sir?”

“Smother Sadness…now.”


“No, you idiot, don’t murder him, he comes in handy when we are trying to appear…oh, never you mind… just suffocate him so that he passes out for a spell.”

(She shuts her eyes and opens them when she hears nothing)

Sadness lies before her. Neatly sleeping and filed next to Aching, Lust and Desire.

Pathetic, almost… how easily extinguished these purportedly ’strong’ siblings actually were.

How quickly they submit. All a facade. They appear content now. Stupid.

George meet Lennie. Lennie, George.

The ‘weak ones’ would be woken for weddings and funerals and parties involving babies.

Only occasionally, though. Not as necessary anymore as it had been in the beginning.

The Solders had become more adroit at handling the ‘weak ones’ former responsibilities.

At this point, allowing them to come out and play at all was merely a tactical diversion.

A war game created by the Captain of Covert Ops.

The Captain of Cover up’s.

The Captain of ‘move-along-nothing-to-see-here’

“Best to allay the rampant fears of the foolish masses,” he’d say in his prototypical boom.

It was dance done for them. The rest. (Never for her.)

But suddenly, though they appear to be lying in rest, supposedly anesthetized, all of those misplaced Needs, Desires, and Wants are choking her. The walls are drawing in. The floor is rising to meet the ceiling and the ceiling lowering to meet the floor. The toilet and sink now float near her ears. Must open a window. No window. They don’t open, anyway. Air’s too thin up here. Cant. Breathe.


“Ladies and Gentleman, the Captain has turned on the fasten seat belt sign. If you are up and about the cabin, please return to your seats and fasten your seat belts. We are headed into some storms that could be deadly. Cheers!”

And then…

“신사 숙녀 여러분, 선장 고정 좌석 벨트 사인이 켜져있다. 만약 당신이 오두막에 대해서, 당신 자리로 돌아가 주시기 바랍니다 안전 벨트를 장착합니다. 우리는 치명적일수있는 그 어떤 폭풍우로 향하고있습니다. 건배! “

“Gibberish. Nonsense talkers,” she growls

A quarter turn to the mirror reveals sunken eyes, too large for the head of the one they adorn. Cherubic cheeks? Missing! M.I.A.! Call the authorities, post haste! Time is of the essence!

Blasphemy! The angelic flesh which once adorned this jaw; pilfered!

A.P.B.! A.P.B.!

Now, barely recognizable…hastily replaced with these gaunt, hollowed out, shadow beasts, which had undoubtedly belonged to some whore from Minneapolis who’d met an untimely death at 2am in middle America. Though her liver was shot and her heart unsalvageable, they’d been able to harvest her cheeks. Thank God, she’d marked the ‘donor’ box on her license. Rest in peace.

She smoothes her right eyebrow, and plucks a non-existent fuzz from her sweater.

Partially here, partially gone, the sinner turned saint is stuck in the middle with no recourse.

Maybe a couple of days in Guadalajara would help.

Where is this vessel headed, anyhow?

She pulls herself halfway unto the sink in order to have space to shove her arm in her satchel.

She is grateful that the space has opened again. That incident with the walls might nearly have driven her mad.

She unearths her boarding pass.

Tokyo. Fuck.

What the fuck might happen in Tokyo? What would she do?

She doesn’t speak a lick of Portuguese.

“Imbecilic airline wench…I knew she had it out for me. Never trust a gap-toothed smile. You know better…,” she tells herself.

She’d specifically told the agent that she’d wanted a one-way ticket to ‘the furthest location from here as humanly possible.’ She hadn’t counted on the agent having no geographical sense.

TOKYO? Really?!

‘Specificity. Must learn to be specific.’ Duly noted.

This would’ve been so much better were she headed to Helsinki. Much further away.

And at least they spoke the language. Or she did…

Fading. Fuzzy. Goddamn locked window.

Fake it. Fake it. Breathe. Fake it.


How different might Helsinki and Tokyo really be?

Architecture in Tokyo.

No, the Architecture too, belongs in Helsinki. Faded memory. Long ago. Song. Tinkley chimes. Angelic voice speaks of  “frequent lies.” Speaks of “broken legs” and “arms in slings,” and “secret cries” and “diamond rings.”

Such a pretty tune and such wretched thoughts. Pretty. Wretched. Pretty wretched.

Frantic rapping on the door disrupts her reverie.

‘JUST A MOMENT!’ she hears herself yell. It sounds like her, anyway. Hard to say definitively.

Restless fucking natives. If this were any indication of how Tokyo was to be, she’d surely have to hop a pontoon to Australia imminently. She’d no patience for impatience, you see.

‘Animals, all of them.’ she mutters

They had no respect for the existential masturbation she was performing in here…

No empathy for the highly flammable mental exorcism she was undergoing.

More banging.

These bastards clearly don’t understand the language.

“Door swings out!’ she calls

It does, nearly taking out the midget wearing green, in the process.

‘Beware the Russian Navy,’ she warns as she pushes past.

Her words, bathed in kindness, were intended to make him fear her, but her tactic was certainly not as effective as it might’ve been, had they the benefit of shared linguistics.

She marches past them. On display. Parade.

‘76 Trombones led the big parade. With one hundred and ten….’

110 what? What were there 110 of, meant to accompany the 76 trombones?

Brief thought of awakening ‘Intellect’ and asking the question, but ‘Memory’ was knocked out and nestled in his bosom. No way. The risk associated with unintentionally rousing that trifling Plebeian, was simply far too great.

24, 23, 22,…

Look left at 19, look left at 19. Casual left at 19.

21, 20…


Looks Left.

Inhales in preparation for ’sigh of relief’ to be released at 18.

And then…


Right hand tapped. Freeze tag. Freeze.

Whispered. “Hey…”

It’s too loud, here. Move. Do it. Whirring engine. Roaring crowd. Never heard, never happened. Unfreeze thyself. Move.

No power. Out of gas. Frozen. Dead.

Louder. ‘Hey, come here.’

Command. Oblige.

Wordless lean to the…right. (Fuck)

“The Russian Navy is almighty. You should keep it.”

Unfrozen. Still frostbitten. “It does not belong to me.”

Hand dropped. Or pulled. Unsure.

18, 17, 16, 15, 14, 13…

Turn to the right. Sit. Buckle.


“Ladies and Gentleman, we realize you have a choice when you fly and we thank you choosing Evanescent Air. Kindly brace for impact.”

12, 11, 10….

“신사 숙녀 여러분, 우리는 당신이 날 때 우리는 당신이 사라져가는 항공을 선택 감사선택의 여지가 알고있습니다. 좋은말 충격에 대비하라.”

9, 8, 7….

She is grateful that they had missed that.

The chloroform was still being tested and was not yet on the ‘Official List of Approved Methods of Consciousness Suspension’, but Numbing would surely fast track it for habitual use, after witnessing how Fear, Faith and Hope had remained dormant through these fateful shenanigans.

6, 5, 4

She languidly swipes at a tickle that taunts her ear. It persists.

Careful to avoid any sudden movement, she shifts her eyes towards the left.

Rebellion has risen. He is cloaked in garments she instantly recognizes as belonging to Senescence.

Now is when Surprise and Confusion would have prompted her to react on their behalf.

Those days are gone, though.

No sudden movements.

She works from some hidden, manufactured, muscle memory, “But where is…?”


No time to explain now. He is hurried. Coming here was risky. Time moves at warp speed.

So must we all.

He speaks resolutely. He begs that she listen. No time for repetition. She must focus now.

She promises.


Intently. He riddles her this:

“What will conceive you? What will make your being take flight, ablaze in the hellfire? What will propagate the revelation of the truth betwixt your lies? When will your soul win the day? When will you get born?”



Filed Under I'm thinking about... | Leave a Comment

About Girl

More Than a Little Contrary...

get all the info

Recently Written