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This is an unfinished story. Not edited in any way. And I will finish it once I am back in that frame of mind. Too busy to delve that deep right now...
Something for the preoccupation of a mind with a 30 second life.
Once again caught, twisted, internal to musings of a giant spider carrying my foes on her back. Harrassment by long proboscis and gentle squelching motions a regular field day around here. But it is not the spider’s fault. Her legs are meant for chasms and crevices, not a solid foundation of mental anguish welling between toes and those creepy crawly things that slither and squirt their way through dreams and horrors waiting between the retinal epithelium and optic nerve. Insectoid and segmented drawing ever nigh to what liquid musings await. She sucks even deeper, attempting the draw and six shooter appeal of a cowboy with no horse. Not even a cow boy hat safe from her search for the nutrients inside my head as I pretend to block a path more open and ripping with every deep breath of heart attack pain. But it is not her fault. I suggested that she look and was not surprised when she started to devour. Her feet continue to slip and revenge soaks in deep with a little yip and tuck into a mental agony screaming with the excitement of getting back what was removed. Fuller than ever and fully satisfied for a few minutes more of a grey dull life I continue the hunt and peck for more delectable events than a blond.
Searching the ever twisting, relentless hallways of asphalt reverberating with thousands of individual pebbles protesting a life of service to the general populace of a dim crowd for that one hidden meaning peeking with a brilliance and sparkle stolen from a fiery furnace known to be hidden deep within the torture caverns of a certain lost city. Somewhere a spider resides with venomous intentions and poisonous claims. Her jeweled scales meant for battlefield shields and ladies tresses. Silver meandering through hair white with new moon brilliance shining off a slick black lake of petroleum skinned from long lost monsters and reams of children’s books meant to draw the unintended. I know of her existence by hunting the shadows for the well-worn, piss stained drunks with pasts filled with golden highways and plentiful horns brewing with sloth and liar’s dreams. She lurks in daylight, playing with spindles full of blood and innocence laughing at the innocuous nature of pretty, pretty princesses drowning in bile.
Ah, a treat in blue wrinkled weather and clouded cataracts gazing at a moon full to bursting with putrescent light and pus filled shadows...
here is another portion of writing...
It peels off in strips. Rolling away to reveal the new skin. It is fresh. Unmarked. And quickly dries and hardens in the cold, crisp air. The new skin should do well for a while. With a new vigor found by the loss of a few shreds of burden, we move. It is long since such quickness of movement was known. Too long. But our journey is off and no more thought can be put to the past. That is what we left behind, blowing away in the wind.Our new skin proves tough and could not be marked by sword, knife, spear, or word. And many times we have needed its protective finish. From every side we are bombarded by hate and cruelty. By lies and contempt. And we cannot strike back. We have no weapons we can use yet. No ability to let our own contempt and hatred take retribution. Not until our time has come. If it ever does.We are traveling to another land for now. Away from those of past focus, away from the tormenters in the years before our new skin was seen. We will not be known there. At least, not for a while. It is always inevitable that fear treads before us, and hatred behind. But we have learned many things in the long years. We do not try to blend in, to fade into the society around our dwelling place. We do not attempt to befriend those we meet. We do not try to find help. Though we had made several attempts to break this curse before, always it ended in disaster and death. And we would be run out of town. Again. And again.We learn slow, yes. But we learn. So to a new place we go with our new skin. To hide until such time passes that we are again hunted down. Of course, we have also learned to leave before they find us vulnerable to attack. And we grow a new skin and go away. All the hunters find of the hunted is visages and remnants of a past spent in sorrow. A past spent biding our time.
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I mean.... wow.