Funny Time

Perspective of a witness consciously cumbers me the daze of implanted memory. She is fair of wet curly hair rocking a nude La Roux t-shirt belonging to her roommate wildly swung for sundown blinds bleaching their hotel room. I think of how we lost our way to see her perform inside dastardly pale make up, Chanel blood lips, dark spirals into a point bobbed chin; she sings amongst six android musicians. I recall this mysterious woman appearing behind my sorrow stricken eyelids to be me, these memories sprung from a Jester, his Medusa is a stolen legend; somebody is watching nevertheless we are not them.

"What does she look like Jester?"

"I want to fucking puke."

"I saw myself through your eyes; did you see yourself?"

"I'm a good looking guy."

"Don't make me giggle; she will hear us talking."

"She's too busy masturbating."

"What is that?"

"Nothing."

"You use that word differently....."

"I use it for fucking yourself."

"I use it for self gratification."

"No difference."

"Horrid....."

Victoria punches her bound dragon claws into walls, the marks are impounded three digits, a woman she visited angers a deep weave of regret; I gather her for my arms but she resists tenderness. Whomever may be I understand this person will persist detriment she varnishes with illustrious cream; I despise her motivation, our child knows where she lives and I come to warn her of what may, she is blindly deceived by shut eyes. The conversation is bleeding self esteem however I am confident in our ability to overcome misery.

"Amethyst there is a woman....."

"Ruby there is a woman....."

"I will kill her."

"I will annihilate her."

"If ever I felt such sorrow invoked by a twit....."

"If ever I felt such a disgusting attempt hurled from vomiting spit....."

"Cordelia our child...."

"Victoria my dearest...."

"It will go to her."

"Yes it will."

"Oh....."

"I'm not sure if I will remember this....."

"How will it detect?"

"Yes how?"

"Hair follicle....."

"The music she listens to....."

Entrapped by desert abandonment I am Sorrow the Denied Legitimacy of Rationality. I will not accuse without confession or analytical demise; regardless I do not believe in anything especially mouthed nonsense, I prefer evidence to cure the disease of progressive regression, there are a few we are damned to discover. I am still unsure if this arrival is certain however I am aware it is not. Bats never surrender, this being our battle we debate congeniality.

Stale bread mostly bagels, loaves of dated bacteria shelve nausea for any convicted felon plastered into a mask loathing hideaway, I understand these people will do anything to remain anonymous for what they believe is life; I am indifferent, I care not, neither does anybody else. Upon further notice I see miniature blocks of mozzarella cheese similar to Mighty Mouse's inventive scheme for quick melting layered pizza used for a plastic sliver of eight dough baked arterial sickness. The woman character rarely eats at this location, a wig slips certain less sticky occasions; she retires to being a hideous stereotype instead.

"Jester can you get a picture of her?"

"I'll ask Divine if she can...."

"What is this person's fucking problem?"

"She got fucked."

"Not by us."

"She believes putting others in compromising situations will please her self. She's a masturbatory fucking moron."

"Tis all worse for her self. I would kill myself."

"No shit."

"I would blow my god damn brains all over a mirror and watch the reflection to make sure."

"That's what Divine said."

"You knew about this woman prior to being here?"

"We know each other well enough to argue."

"You know her voice and appearance?"

"Sticky pads....."

"What of Divine?"

"She doesn't know."

"She will....."

"She's going to go fucking nuts."

"So will I..."

"She asked for a picture of you."

"Did you give her some?"

"Damn it."

"I wonder what she looks like."

"Somebody said she was handsome."

"I need another husband."

"What?"

"Fucking hell my god damn head hurts bloody fuck!"

"My ass hurts from sitting on this shitty block."

"I'm still wearing your t-shirt."

"I'm wearing your jeans."

"I miss my daughter."

"I miss all of mine."

"How many?"

"Ninety-nine."

"Who's your wife?"

"Yolanda."

"My wife is Catrixenya."

"I've heard of her."

"From whom?"

"Yolanda."

"What did she speak of?"

"Horned creatures in Texas..."

"I miss her."

"Yolanda went there with her."

"We are running away."

"We have things to do before we surrender."

This woman will stop at nothing to keep me inside a world she perceives to be her controlled domain; she is unaware all of which despises secrecy. I readmit to not believing in anything although these people are wired into an epileptic chronological cavity. I am in need yet suffering is accustomed to me; I am a ghostly becoming, I do not hide the cemetery, there is room for many.

"She cares not for us or the B.P.L.O.."

"Mortal!"

"The B.P.L.O. are eternal even if visual process of age and association persists; theirs is ours."

"Mortal blood is poison; they eat shit."

"How did you do that?"

"I remember."

"What did Jesus look like?"

"I saw him."

"Where?"

"On a god damn wall."

"Remember me."

"Bats! Bats! Fuck yeah!"

"I'll be here."

"I won't know what happened."

"You will."

"What the fuck is this shit?"

"Her god damn head."

"I didn't ask to come here.....!!??"

"Look at all this shit!"

"Blood splattered mirrors..."

"Torn sheets..."

"Excrement showers..."

"Screaming teenagers..."

"Sewing machines..."

"Marijuana..."

"Dead butterflies..."

"Cages..."

"Dogs fucking cats..."

"Somebody is calling a doll your name..."

"Politically correct..."

"You're not a fucking doll."

"What is that?"

"A baker's rolling pin."

"Who is he?"

"Not sure."

"Who is she?"

"Don't know."

"How do we get out of here?"

"We don't. I'm going to kill myself."

"Chester! Not in front of me!"

"I can't wait until I'm dead."

"You will continue to be."

"How?"

"Memory..."