Arcade over the edge of Leviathan

I shot her in the face and watched her fall into the sea bellow. Drowning nonchalantly, pieces of her porcelain remains scattered amongst clown fish. The tearful eyed bee keeper hands me a hankerchief and tells me that the sun is going to fall down. Standing in the shoes of my old antagonist, things begin to make sense. I weep forawhile, but I remember that she isn’t dead. They never really die, she’ll insert her coins and come back three times more powerful to strike me down and kill me.

Stage 1: Forest Wrath Zone,

Stage 2: Weed in the Parkinglot at 4:00 AM

Stage 3: Swan’s Blood Promise,

Stage 4: Futurist’s Bicycle Erotica,

Stage 5: Puppetman Orgy Castle,

Stage 6: Arcade over the edge of Leviathan,

Stage 7: Kamen Rider-All Villains Strike Back,

Stage 8: A giant battleship “Mother Harlot 99” is approaching fast!

The weakspot is the head, exposed Cotton Candy brain full of filth. She let’s go and blows away, destroys the final boss, blows me away. I fall ravaged, ruined and dead as salome’s doornail. I look up, expecting to see the broken face of the porceline girl I killed, but instead I see the shoes of my old antagonist. The Birdwoman returns to finish the job years later, ready to take my soul away again. She places the gun I used to shoot her down and insists that we play Russian Roulette. The winner get’s to climb from the wreckage and the loser must stay in the paper city that holds us lost misfits, forever.

I decline her offer.

Futurist's Bicycle Erotica Story

She's walking through this void of purity, solemn spirits on the road. Blacklight shines from the end of the tunnel as she creeps closer and closer. Her dress is made of diamonds, pearl skin, giant heroin inspired eyes. The void vibrates and twists in legendary grandeur. Wind of doll's prolegy, she twists to the spirit of the moon. A trip to the moon, falling, falling falling. We collapse in a sea of sunflowers, moths dance on angel light. Now we're running, it's fierce, it's violent. We are a futurist's bicycle made for two, no four, no eight. Now they're pinning me/her down, they rip open my/her dress and pull out our dreams. My mother's uncle i've never met castrates me and tells me I will never be the same again as we leave the cave. Loki's abyss in the solemn storm, burn down mindy's forest. Now i'm loki. In and out cries of the wolf now you're cliche, swimming amongst the stars. Futurist's bicycle transient, faster and faster chasing her on the edge. Flips the hem of her dress up, cracked and broken porcelain thighs, embarrassing polkadot knickers. Bleeding lips, her arms lock around my neck and I turn to milk, over and over again, the void spills me back out into the pantry with old whisper willow Margret and her 300 cats to lick me back up. Tumbling over ancient mother goddesses, vibrating moon, breaking bicycle, mothers uncle with a headless chicken and riding crop, cracker jack explosion clown panties prolegy sunflower girl mood goddess crying laughing inspired futurist breakdown bicycle for two no four no eight. I open my eyes and the sunflower field is the same. There's diamonds in my mouth and blood between my legs and I am happy.

so i guess im choosing to capture the memory of heaven and hell

and another 30 til i remember how frequently we came.
the ignorant have it easy, those who try to avoid the pitfalls merely by not paying attention. to live without a wallet. I'll have cake all day everyday for a week, since our metabolisms may still work for and not against us. I've seen my future, and in retrospect its dull. predictable. playing for tips in some basement and calling it edgy and spontaneous. never being a father, marrying a nobody whos way too old. dead end jobs and liquid comfort. being unique only in hobby, of which one no longer practices. the chubby cousin of that guy in the office. jim. perhaps i should have moved in with christy and devon. somehow, with all my stumbling, i feel like i did somewhere. we're happy and dull and perpetually young. ignorant of the bills to be paid, or the necessity of monotony. Devon and i would learn eachother's tricks. Christy and i would drive to the same dead end job. I hope heather would join. I hope heather will join. its already happened. it will never be. these worm holes and rosenbridges could make me believe anything, even that there could be a purpose to it all.
buy i pick ignorance. thats why I'll develop concept, scout locations, and spend my efforts on distraction. isnt that all art is? I read that somewhere once.