Bloody Hell Is Confusing

Houdini is a man who lived in Brooklyn until he disappeared; we never saw him again. A true story if he was a real person or else might of been fictionalized for theatrical details; there is picture and sound documentation of a figure performing these feats with what appears to be bare hands. Faith defies logic and absolute nonsense; we do not know what to believe even if we partake in obvious imagery.

My comrade and I perform acts of magic simplified by our senses, magnified by those we desire to impress; otherwise our boredom is stubborn distress. We do not admit to being practitioners or witch doctors; we simply lack ability to communicate without mischief which leads back to our ultimate sadness, attachment.

"If we do not want to leave then why must we go?"

"It's a feeling we cannot deny; we stay while we can but there is something to find."

We do enjoy being here, this is undeniable; we do know somebody will attempt to steal our pleasure, this is inevitable. We must rely upon a painting to understand our fear.

"Salvador Dali's The Persistence of Memory reminds us of the march to a query of clocks while lost in a desert of actions we might of committed if we are able to remember. If we cannot recall, we must look to sand for an answer also found in the hour glass. Whether or not time is determined by the glass is unknown; sand is ants chosen earthen material for dwelling. Therefore we are ants marching through a desert without memorizing how we come or how we go. As we continue on as soldiers the number of times we circle will melt."

"Then there really is no time. Just the battle marks we wear."

I forget where I am; his wife must be near.

"What do you mean how many times we made love?"

"How many times did you perform a sexual act."

"We do not scientifically come together for a count."

"You do make love..."

"We desire one another as a whole body to experience."

"Yasmeen we must be aware of how we became this..."

"I do not know what this is so I will remain unaware until else is proven."

"Why is it we do not believe in anything?"

"We do not see anything believable except for ourselves."

"Then we are the proof of an act knowingly committed."

"Yes but how do we prove the act was committed if we do not know what is in our pants?"

Moe and Chuck attend a service held on an island for two doves; they left their wings to cover our bodies as invisible protection from an enemy using the same disguise. We are hesitant to look directly into their eyes; both are an incredible loss as ours yet theirs is complete while we are in the process of learning what it is that makes us wonder how we forget. They walk away acknowledging we were there and will still remain until negativity annihilates our presence.

"Something is terribly wrong..."

"Foul..."

Mighty is wearing white and holding a group of flowers; he spoke to Barney who is caretaker for a local pizza bistro, they agreed to work with each other.

"Dino said they gone broke; thinks the people who worked for them took their money."

You Know Who is a lead shift manager for a port providing glasses for bars and restaurants; he is dressed in uniform with his cap turned back.

"Yeah those guys jacked them. Took the cases of high dollar items and sold it on the street. People bought it too. I guess they couldn't tell the difference or where it came from. Aside from losing our boys, they lost the people holding it down. Must of been around when the two started to take care of their kids is when it happened; they were probably thinking about retiring. Damn I don't know what to do. You two know it's up to you."

"What do we do?"

"Yes the loss is irreplaceable."

"Yikes is trying to tell you that if anybody cares about what happens to their life long work, it's you."

"Yeah I know the men cannot be replaced but money can always be recycled. That's all money is good for; we put it back to get it back. I wish the stuff we need wasn't caught up in that shitty cycle but that's how it is..."

"Cocoa Bear..."

I will answer to Cocoa Bear whenever I damn well please; this group of people can blush for me but I adore the nickname. I am the chocolate tree hugger with the woman of his dreams.

"Yes..."

"We will be without our provisions?"

"Yes."

"What will we do?"

"What they do..."

"Will it end the misery?"

"If we can do what they do correctly I feel as though it should."

"I will need my chocolate if I am to perform such tasks."

"I will need my nectarine if I am to survive such tasks."

"Will you be my reward?"

"Will you be mine?"

"I am already yours..."

"I am yours as well."

"Then what will we work for?"

"Freedom..."

"We will work for an eternity."

"Then I will desire you for an eternity."

"The fruit of our labor is each other?"

"That is why I will work; I will work for you. I will do everything for you."

"I the same..."

"Brad she is going to get a job despite what that nerd wants her to do."

"Cindy she will need to work her fucking ass off to get him out of her hair."

"She will do it for us; won't you dear?"

"You are dear to me most occasions; I will do so for everyone but I will do all for Rolf."

These nightmares feel to be injected fluid inside my brain; the color yellow sickens me once again.

"You are a failure! Everything you ever did you failed!" Says the man who sits in a chair gorging miscellaneous animal meats garnished with lard, soda, and artificial "desserts".

A person is crying while another is knocking on their door; I am not sure who they are supposed to be but my mind implores more.

"Get a job!" Says the man who sits in a chair gorging miscellaneous animal meats garnished with lard, soda, and artificial "desserts".

"Do you even know which one you are? Do you use a system of numbers? How do you tell the difference? Tell the lady that Sweat Pea knows about all of you and she does not like it. I know about the woman as well."

Smacking a fist full of chains will make an emaciated actor come out of his performance even if he does not notice he cannot hold the face of someone else while in the face of one he knows without ever speaking a word.

"Who are you?"

This question always makes me laugh; I do heartily for this bizarre house.

His face is suction of an extended period without food, his coughing and sniffling reminds me of the men hired outside our native land to hunt diamonds in caves; the cold is a stifling sorrow for those who never experienced this frigid natural climate. They never did come out.

She sleeps with illogical exhaustion, seems as though she was forced to move about listlessly before arriving at the location of Popeye and Olive Oil's can of spinach.

We know these methods to be for those who do not know how to portray a role without actually suffering the disgust of man. Although an angry ant with a device full of pungent extraction from my egotistical beasts without leashes does indeed make me reconsider what I know to be show for appearance; whomever they desire to fool is not watching.

"Chester what do you want from all of this?"

"I want you all to myself."

"Your self is not my all nor is it the all of anyone else."

"If you do not have anything you will come to me."

"I will always be all for my all and anything will be just a thing."

"You will not remember them after this..."

"After this I will remember what you did and I will remember them."

"Not if I can confuse you enough."

"You will only confuse your self."

"You won't be able to figure it out in time..."

"In time for what?"

"For me to be your friend."

"What in bloody hell is wrong with you?"

"I don't know yet..."

"Then you will not be able to figure it out in time..."

"In time for what?"

"For our nightmare to end!"

I do not care the slightest bit for any of these people here; if they were to lay in a pool of blood I would question whether or not they are dead. There are pictures of an obese child which appears to be a different person each snapshot I witness including the overly exaggerated expressions of several which play the part of these; I look in the mirror quite often wondering what in bloody hell happened. Where am I? Where are the people who make me who I am? The same must be happening to them.

"I am going to stretch you out!"

"Why?"

"So you look like the rest!"

"Fucking hell...it's because he does not want me to show off this body."

"Yeah that's right."

"I will get it back; this is my body and not anyone else's."

"You are her husband?"

"Yes..."

"If I become you will I get to be with her?"

"You are me..."

"Then I am without choice?"

"You are without me."

"If I am you then how am I without?"

"I am the one who experiences; you are the one that feels..."

"If you fuck me over I will make sure you never get me again."

"If you get rid of me they will come after you and fuck with your head."

"I desire your wife."

"I desire your flesh."

"If you are inside my flesh will I get to experience and feel your wife?"

"She is your wife; I guess we will share."

"Alright but if you fuck me I will die."

"We will see about that."

I look in the mirror quite often; do you think she knows I am dead?