Wednesday, September 16, 2009

revery of an express check machine

Poinsetta Muffnutkin and her Shadow lurch forward, drooping laudanum goth droplets across the swath of confessional drivel strewn in the booth. She whispers something about absolution... honey, this ain't no closet of the weeping bard.

Pardon me while I have a strange interlude...why, you couple of baboons!...what makes you think I'd marry either one of you!...Strange how the wind blows tonight... It has a tintity voice, reminds me of poor old Moslin. How happy I could be with either of these two if both of them just went away! Here I am talkin' of parties. I came down here for a party. What happens? Nothing. Not even ice cream. The gods looked down and laughed. This would be a better world for children if the parents had to eat the spinach.Living with your folks. Living with your folks. The beginning of the end. Drab dead yesterdays shutting out beautiful tomorrows. Hideous, stumbling footsteps creaking along the misty corridors of time. And in those corridors I see figures, strange figures, weird figures, Steel 186, Anaconda 74, American Cane 138...

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