I made a vow on the night of their deaths...

My mind reeled and careened off the tracks due to an assaultive wave of desire of passion.  There were colors – so many colors – and oh, how they glistened.  It was cave walls made of soft rainbow clay and I wanted to rest my cheek against them and taste all the different shades.  So many explorers in this vast and disturbing universe yet surely none would ever be capable of scaling the great walls that daily threaten to envelop every decent thing which stands.  Some would no doubt try and discredit my eyewitness testimony and point to the blood and butterfly generating chemicals which were surging to critical points of contact in my grotesque body.  Please forgive the endless longings yet how I yearned to hear the words.  “Patetico!” “Feo!” “Asco!”  How I longed to hear these words and many more followed by beautiful, mocking and cruel laughter.  Tears stream down my face at the slightest thought of any of this.  One second of reminiscing and my tears water fields which stretch on for miles.  As everything began to coalesce and culminate I started to experience the tremors in my hands and legs which only come from the blessed and inevitable gush.    

In the mysterious land I am beckoned to her and completely unable to resist.  The commands – tan dulce – are melodic in my ears.  A second time around.  How unexpected and yet how utterly joyous.  I cleared everything away, scattering the strange creatures inhabiting my mind.  Stacks twenty miles high were shoved off to the side and the focal point of the day suddenly experienced a profound shift.  Quivering with anticipation I opened the door.  My brain was convulsing inside its skull

And concluding both of these mysterious nigh-conspiratorial encounters was the same action – an action which sealed the obsession and ensured a slavish devotion.  A simple glance, barely lasting two consecutive seconds, a simple glance backward to ensure all eyes were where they were supposed to be.  How could there have been any doubt?  Surely, the pundits would never have doubted.  No, the goddess must have known.  Yet she desired to see the full strength and influence of her power, knowing others are helpless to think or fend for themselves.  Of course full concentration was in the equatorial area, a sumptuous hemisphere encased in black.  To be drawn into that orbit would surely unlock heretofore unheard of spiritual delights. 

It never hit me until recently that Darth Vader was a racecar driver.  What origin story compares in disappointment level to Darth Vader’s?  I would say Hannibal Lecter’s is equally disappointing from a pure story sense but overall does not compare since very few people actually saw or read Hannibal Rising whereas the entire world has watched Episodes 1 to 3 (since I love to suffer I regularly watch Hannibal Rising and The Phantom Menace back to back, taking breaks only to listen to my Hinder and White Stripes albums!).  If anyone can think of an origin story more disappointing than Vader’s please let me know!  Sometimes I am confused and believe my father is actually Country music legend Ronnie Milsap but up until now I have always been able to remember this is simply not the case.  Only time will tell if I always be able to pierce through the veil of fantasy to see the reality within. 

I was in a department store not too long ago purchasing a Roman Polanski film, a Kung-Fu movie and the first two Phantasm flicks when I was stopped by an apparently homeless man who also happened to be deaf.  His clothes were unclean and unkempt and he sported a big wooly lumberjack beard which I admired but did not covet.  His eyes were a piercing blue and his hair messy and receding.  He handed me a tattered three-x-five card with a written request for donations.  I took out a BIC pen (nothing writes like a BIC) from the inside left pocket of my pea coat and wrote on the card in my trademark block letters: Sorry, I do not know how to read.  I handed the card back to him with a look of stark and frustrated confusion and then promptly exited store. 

The whole encounter caused me to erupt in fits of orgasmic laughter (I always laugh immediately following an orgasm, I think most honest people would admit to the same) and I stumbled through the streets choking on my chuckles, chortles and guffaws.  Since I like to park my motor vehicle – a very expensive and yellow colored hybrid which I purchased as a declaration for my raw animalistic love of the environment – at least 5.9 miles from intended destinations I was able to enjoy a long mirth filled walk where I repeatedly fell in love with myself due to my own rapier wit.  I say repeatedly because after a few minutes I would drop deep into the self-loathing phase where I would consider randomly running into the streets with the hopes that a sturdy SUV would strike me so hard I would fly over the vehicle like a trapeze artist before slamming into the unforgiving pavement and inhaling a mouthful of gravel.  I imagined myself struggling to move with so many dislocated and shattered bones and then from the corner of my eye I see a semi-truck barreling down the road with the driver is too busy tending to the cup of McDonald’s coffee he/she spilled on his/her lap to notice me and then so many big wheels crush my head like a watermelon and the road is covered in pieces of skull, chunks of bloody flesh and squishy brain matter as though a macabre carnage filled piñata had just been whacked open at a young lad’s true-life horror themed birthday party.  However this did not happen and I eventually made it back to my car. 

In a cruel twist of fate I laughed so hard during the journey I inadvertently pulled several muscles in my stomach and chest and collapsed at the door of my vehicle, intermittently wheezing and screaming in joviality-draining pain.  I managed to dial nine hundred and eleven and humbly request an ambulance which promptly arrived some forty-five minutes later.  I blacked out for a long period of time but when I awoke I was in the hospital and a team of the finest medical professionals were sweating and slaving to save my miserable life.  I stayed at the hospital for nine months while in deep recovery and during this time I fell madly in love with my physician – a raven haired goddess with eyes as black as a cold winter’s night and hips which could scarcely fit through the door.  My passion for her was so intense that forever more I have been impotent unless my romantic partner is wearing rubber gloves.  Such is the price of wisdom. 

I want to write a book that has a group of characters on a quest for some mystical crystals which are the only things capable of saving their world.  There aren’t enough quests in books these days.  It broke the piss and shit out of my heart to see Shia LeBouf (puke) is starring alongside Mads Mikkelsen (swoon) in the soon to be released stateside Charlie Countryman.  I will watch it opening day and consume a large bucket of hot buttered popcorn while wishing Shia would never appear in another movie again and Mads would play every part in every movie for the rest of eternity.  Then I will go home and put on my pajamas (which these days consists of a cut-off Hard Rock Café T-Shirt and neon pink thong) and promptly go to bed. 

The problem with Congress is they’re all liars!