Gib Lyn

I'd like to meet:

Cavaliers and Waiters and Kings.........................................Glug, glug, glug. It felt like that waking up and immortalized like a snail. I tapped onto a few of the onlookers gazing and waited for them to notice my own. The pollen was shaken out from within the flower in my hand. It fell like that and immortalized like a snail and into my palm. In retrospect people would look upon these charms as rods among cones and with pupils taught in subjects listened to, power among the peasants and threads through each and every listener. Sewn up. You can try to shift but its stolen in tanks and school buses from Los Angeles to Luton, less from the ghosts that carry them than the true pigs encapsulating each pro-toxic lampoon that endeavours to recover the simplest task within each of us, a short sharp shock. Beginning to understand a little more I took the chance to ask what it was that made them so toxic. Examples flew around and I noticed their knowledge grew less the more I went on. Their shiny coats, starched hair, hypocritical glee and mountain of thimblest ideals, I waded through each one, carefully underlining them with no modest yodels that could have turned the situation around if I were to let them. Imagine a spirit so high and outside that its realm lies between you and I, said Hultion, his eyes crossed and crying. His arms lying back and stuck at angles all acute and rigid like bones. His thinness was matched by his faceless expression, developed to the point that it was impossible to see the difference. I do not recall the last time I saw a fly in the rain, he said picking up his arms. A specialty focussed on his beauty and buried moments from past explorations. Into five areas of the throne, he took a side view. Legs, seat, back, posture and position. In reverse, pouted and unturned, his highness sat and shuffled. His legs wavered and gratefully shook at the prospect of such an unbelievable fortune. Just think, he thought, me a king of kingdoms. I tried to reason with him, pointing out that a king of kingdoms has no real moments, that they forget more than they remember and that a queen would surely be the only other half in his departure. However, his terminal opened and he would take no persuasions. King Hultion was born. He made me feel sick. I wanted to be sick and I tried my hardest. Eventually I puked all over his robe, all velveteen and regal and vomited. His face, stern and generated turned at my proposal and it wasnt at all clear at first what he thought of it. Im terribly sorry, I said between breaths. (People who wish to live always say the word terribly before they apologise. It creates a sense of urgency and honesty in their regret.) King Hultions raised eyebrow worried me slightly. I wasnt sure whether it was representative of a glass toasting my fortune, that he had decided to accept my sorry state, or that of an axe that was just about to come crashing down on my monument. My boy, my boy whose breakfast dost come before me, an instance of genius, a crack of an egg, treason on tap if you will, how does this come about? How can one suffer so sensibly with subtle tones such as your toothache eyes? My boy, brave as you are my turret will surely be sanctioned into soviet insanity with no answer from your senseless soul. Speak boy! I immediately took to the stage and comforted his brow with more apology and apathy and doting one legless leap leapt into the corner and hid with no real regret. He was interested in me and my motions. Ungracious thing, you slip so easily through and yet I see no mucus or saliva on my hands, only . . . vomit. It dripped between his fingers and I woke to find the scene sparse and fresh with a new tail growing out of an uninterested and uninteresting behind.Destruction interrupts everything from people to plants, lions and tigers to pencils, pens and printouts. The cavalier stood shaking almost open handed grasping at each word and with a sharp turn of phrase and thought he spoke out. God damn it, I gather you are also interested in this broad mass, The waiter stood motionless breaking only to sweat a sweet fragrance. His protruding bill was visible from a new perspective. He continued to delve deeper into the cavaliers bridge. Between himself and his retina he knew the cavalier would soon ask for it. Mary was older than the cavalier but younger than the waiter and had been watching the two dancing for a few flowering moments. It was apparent to her that what with the bill and all there was to be only one outcome in all of this. She sniggered silently to herself and breathed such breaths that it was reasonable to think that to touch her in this moment would be to break her meditation. Well, said the cavalier, A true sir you are and not one at all of indescribable petulance, no not at all. I squander my right to betroth you and further more put myself down straight in this stinky gutter. You are not real. The waiter was still in terms of great stillness. But then he gathered his thoughts and turned to the cavalier. My friend, what a good man you are but I cannot accept this on a one-off whim of your tulip floated tongue. In some societies you could get away with such rudeness. This one is a world that lasts and craves more than you desire for this is a muddled, interrupted, fruitful planet. I denounce you and fill you in with cow dung. Midnight is such the hour that trips up every so, and then . . . your bill sir.