on the roof of some other, far shorter, building, antares emerges from the warm glow and company of her companions in adventure, and flips the yurt flap closed, muffling the candlelight and laughter inside. she steps out to the edge of the roof and takes in the view.
beyond the towers, three black cones, tremendous, angry, subdued, glowing, hissing, waiting, thrust black black deadly black against the starry jaguar fur of this moonless sky. i can almost taste the lava, feel the sulphur choking me, clawing at my eyes. dies irae, hellhounds on the leash.
antares is feelin all kinds of glossy, that tearing agony in her back delights her, that sensation of parting flesh, waking up and sometimes finding small pools of blood. she itches it lots, comes away with red fingers, permacrust maroon moons under her fingernails. she's taken to preening now, even more luscious, she can twist her neck all the way around, spool out a long, red tongue and lick at these wet, fresh butterfly curly twisted baby wings on her back. all sensation of confusion is leaving her, replaced by the nothingness ecstasy of no agenda, of an existence baptised in blood and sparkling with the majic of raw animal impulse.
she can feel Others out there, hear them howling on the wind, shivering away from the soulless touch of those who will never understand, never see the stars in daytime, never behold the burst of Kirlain halos from every divine speck of life, never know the seductive whisper of the hungry black hole at the center of the galaxy.
she magnifies her glare and casts it upon a postcard from the well of misery, it bursts into flames, more words: I don't want to hound you or pester you, I just keep thinking you haven't really heard me or my message isn't getting through. Don't worry, be happy. I am your friend, you can still count on me for anything. I love you.
great googly moogly, woman, have you checked yourself out lately? walter has limped out of the cozy yurt and is interacting with her, from behind a thick ugly varnish of language. she quickly peers deep into his eyes and feels the ripple of a shudder burst off his body. not really a shudder of fear, just some sort of discomfort with her mostly pointless intensity. her nictating membranes twitch. bah, she thinks. the whore of dismissiveness sleepeth with thee.
she is happy, and lonely, these feeling swell and mix and fight within her, the longing for blessed transmission, the sting of wilt and dissapointment, insatiable analog thirst stumbling in horror over insipid cup after insipid cup of digital blather. she wonders if perhaps she does not share a soul with other fractured, castoff wanderers, and that she merely needs to keep searching until they come together and know wholeness again.
bleh. goofy speculation is what all this is. for now there is the delicious kiss of wind and the indigo canopy of night. i am free in this moment and nothing else matters. she sucks in tremendous lungfuls, snappy brisk, filling her body with stinging and cold fire, pumping steam from her teeth and nostrils, opening her mouth and gasping as though in a vaccum, belching out screech after screech into the void.
then she tapdances, something she still remembers. she cranks up her own postcard, the picture is stevie knicks, swathed in raunchy leather and impeccable lace, performing cunnilingus on naked and tanned world-class bodybuilder gayle olinekova. she writes: to thine own self be true, be ye devil or angel. she kisses it, leaving a slightly bloody pair of crescents, and casts it into the air to find it's destiny.
hee, i nee..er *want* some friggin chai, super hot hot hot. may the lord bless you and keep you easy to please. the only way is through.
.-.
slut4883 begins to press her hand against the door of the church, but harvey stops her. let's hold up a sec, he says, and pulls her to him. they have just started to ever so softly brush their lips against each other when a whole lotta commotion causes them to turn and look in the direction of the UAIT building. slut4883 screws up her face a little bit, not sure where freaktastic is at. harvey has no idea, no context to be concerned, and has seen planty of violence so the explosion barely phases him. they sit down on the steps, hugging each other.
hmm, i feel like i wanna think about why we want to go in there, she says. i mean, hmm, it doesn't really matter, but something's gonna have to matter eventually, i get the feeling this church is someplace where matter's gonna congeal pretty thickly.
harvey sighs, thinks, shit, whatever. we should either go in or keep kissing. i'm starting to feel cold.