unleash this stupid fading light. man all twister, all wickerman cage for the mordicai inside my chest. what a ruin of fallen pillars for me to nestle into. cradles of rapier thrusts & pokers. not the most fun of all monday evenings. curled up in a puddle talking about the eskimo bear, tongue round & stabbed into the flesh, liquefying & drawing forth all the prizes & treasures, sucking them out. a spider & a sailor! & instead of writing i've been just cut n' pasting from things i wrote years ago, when there was more than a handful of yatzee dice & knuckle bones in this skull. rise up from your grave with your finger on the trigger, el vapiros del patron sante dos killahs. oh, & that guy died & just like every time a guy dies that is famous, everybody reacted like it was supposed to mean something. but someone reminded me that he had been mother fucking rufus, & that means something. but like, then you can always get him from heaven if you need to beat up a robot, or something. so i'm again confused. but i have a bow & arrow & i shot down this bird & it is just laying there cooing & i club it over & over again until it stops. so it can't be all bad can it? hey, free bird. & what was the deal with tuxedo mask anyhow? was he like, the moon prince? or what. it might be a good idea to stop with the trepenation at this point, but i always say...i think i used to always say something in situations like this. about the rats of n.i.m.h. or about charles wallace whistling in the dark or i am whistling in the dark aren't i? that is what i'm doing. dark, dark, dark. metroid, metroid, metroid. last time i went over & curled up on jenny's belly we laughed until i almost dragged her down with me, but since then i've invented this technique with fermented grapes that will astonish & amaze. & it is filled with candy, so when you hit it, if you hit it hard enough, it will explode & sweets will scatter everywhere. i have filled everything with candy. i will hit it hard enough. hard enough. that will be the story of mordicai that they will tell when the eons have collapsed into forever. they'll say "he hit it hard enough." & maybe they'll talk about some other things, about my broken pieces & how i fell in love, or about the crown of my halo & how i skittered about & they'll even have a rumor about how i skulked up & down between heaven & that other place (& they'll shush whoever mentioned it) & how maybe i skulk somewhere still. & all the talking will be like humpback whale singing, or will be like telepathic love, & in my hexagonal cell somewhere i'll just be still & calm for once. i might just be. eunuchs & claws. & it turns out sometimes i don't have dreams, but memories sometimes. so that is something else to worry about, right charles wallace? edit: now that i keep trying to have a staring contest with the childlike empress on my user info it is time to go to bed.