captcha

My fingers tremble upon the keyboard, unable to decide which letters to press. My muse is busy dancing to The Kinks. I have been staring at a blank page on the monitor screen longer than I should. Death would be a miracle.

The blinking cursor is mocking me in binary. One, zero, one, zero, one, zero...

I close my eyes and I see her name like a black and white movie title card. Marzana. By her name, I build her physical details, my muse is othermother crafting Coraline. She is a silhouette slowly emerging from the fog. A beautiful creature designed to make sinners out of men. Wearing the world's shortest tightest wedding gown. Her hair is long and perfect for slow-motion wind. On one hand, she holds a wineglass filled with blood. On the other, a masamune.

"Hello," she says. Her voice is music from Mozart's dreams. "My name is Marzana."

I know.

"What is your name?"

I have no name.

"Hello?"

Why do you assume that because I do not answer I cannot hear you?

"Aren't you going to speak to me?"

Speak? It is useless.

"Are you deaf? Mute?" She gestures to her absoluteness. A whole planet orgasms in a parallel galaxy and creates a black hole. "BLIND?!"

Everything is true. Everything. And nothing.

"Out of my way then."

Her eyes sparkle like martensitic crystals in pearlite matrix. Her hips undulate hypnosis. In rapid liquid motion, her sword is raised in the air and my head is on the ground, looking up her skirt, her legs porcelain highways to heaven.

Wow.

I open my eyes and begin to write...

dimension y

you and i are lovecraftian creatures trapped within an ephemeral limbo in the intersection of mayhem and make-believe.

we speak in silence, through glyphs of poetry and saffron orbs that convey your faceless expressions. i am seethed by the minutia of your mind and paralyzed by your orgasmic reveries.

this is our total perspective vortex.

this is the moebius conduit of our arguments, the black hole sepulcher of our insecurities.

here, we dance with our demons in the pale liquid crystal light until we are severed from the parareal knot to return to our vessels of flesh and hair as mere mortals in hiding.

i miss you my monstress inamorata. my loins ache for your odylic aura.

arise and mutilate my senses.

david carradine

you may know him as bill but i remember him best in death race 2000 passing through a hospital to rack up points by killing the old people plus the nurses and doctors that lined them up there. i've always wanted to have an f shirt like his.

r.i.p. frankenstein.