"There ain't no such a thing as a writer’s block. When you find that the words don’t come out correctly,
then you stopped digging deep. Ask
yourself this: Why? Are you afraid of the dark? You might have to grab up that ole shovel and head
off to the boneyard with lantern in hand." ---Sinister Minister Glinty McFlintlock ca. 1889.
Huh.
How about that.
Epilogue by
Crosses
We continue from here my friend.
The desert cabin burst apart from the lightning strike and
we damned punks got tossed into the dirt from the shockwave.
That angry punk rocker rolled over and he was pissed off and
naked. These are two things that when
combined are never pretty to see.
(Unless that is your thing.
No judgment here on you my friend.)
Me?
I had chust seen Katheena sitting with that Glinty dude atop his
horse-drawn carriage and all time stopped for me.
I lied in the dust and fiery splintered boards rained down
upon us all.
The sky above was black.
I must have taken a bump to the noggin, for I could see the
stars above. Some of them glowed, some
winked into existence and then blinked out, and others whirled along the outer
fingers of the Milky Way Galaxy.
Our own
tiny blue marble is located on the end of one of these tendrils, you know.
We may never impact another solar system.
We probably won’t.
If we are indeed left alone like this, then all we have is
each other.
Well I tell you my friend, my own star was now riding a
black hearse drawn by a huge horse named Mayhem. His mane burned with blue flame, and I felt
betrayed.
Katheena was my star; only for me.
In my dizzy state of mind from the cabin-blast wake-up
knock-down, I saw her kneeling down in a short, tight, lime-green skirt looking
for her keys under her car from back in the day when I had first betryed her trust.
My betrayal to her had not stopped there, no.
I had shown her the evil of cocaine.
Rrrrrghhhhh
It's hard to tell about this.
THE
QUEEN
OF
THE
DESERT
The mighty Massive Attack with silky Hope Sandoval put up on
YT by the lovely DamselBoo
It went much more than an introduction to desert dust.
It went much, much further than that.
We brought the older Purple
Mansion down in a baptism of desert
rain and fire. But that ancient hotel
had become their meeting place: a place
to hold parties for the very wealthy of Fuckno, as well as to hold meetings of
them Purple Robes. It had a water tower
on top of it from the old cowboy days, and that helped us to baptize the old
motherfucker.
While that old Purple
Mansion drowned and caught fire,
Katheena saw us damned punks speed by with expensive, stolen vehicles and
others in pursuit. She met her demise
when she pulled out of the side street and raced after us.
Lion Man drove her to the Hospital as her life ebbed.
Do you see?
I should have driven her.
She might have lived.
It’s what I thought
all along but never admitted it until now.
It was because of me that she died.
I had killed my Star.
Let us now attend to another fellow who left his own Lady
behind, cool with you?
GREGOR
He awoke in a burning body and could not find his woman, his
Lady, his wife.
He was Gregor, the High Priest of them Purple Robes.
He had abandoned her in the ugly part of the city, but he
did not know this just yet. He’d thought
he’d been following her away from the asshole of Fuckno.
Gregor walked-in to a fading spark and could not open his
eyes. They were melted shut. He found himself inside the body of the young
woman who had started the fire in the servants’ quarters.
He screamed from the pain of being on fire and inhaled flame
from the exploding aerosol cans. His new
body burned from the inhalation of fire and from the pool of kerosene all about
the floor beneath him in that hellhole of a supply closet.
He had made a Really Bad Decision to enter such a fading
spark. This would stick with him after
the burning stopped and he died, yet again, and then could move on to another
spark of an unconscious person.
The path of the Walk-In is not one you should wish to
follow.
You see, you can leave your wife behind in the dark.
S V E N
The original cannibal; the one who had infected them
Walk-Ins with his hunger for depravity, torture, and human flesh, well, he was
dragged out of the burning mansion by those who thought him to be the Son of
the High Priest.
In the rear courtyard, he coughed out aerosol smoke and
vomited.
The security man, (also a Purple Robe) asked him, “Sir! Are you OK?”
Sven nodded and wiped his mouth. He coughed and looked up into the young man’s
face, in the bright light of the rising sun.
Sven said, “I haven’t felt better in ages.”
He knew that he did not have much time, but he did not figure one single thing into his math, as smart as he was.
It was this:
He was now in control of them Purple Robes. He was the new boss of the empire, by
default.
All that he knew was his hunger.
Now listen.
We will go back to meeting Katheena in the desert at the
lowest, darkest part of this tale:
...next time.
Damn.
…..rrrrrrrrrggghhhhhrrrrr…
God Help You.
God Help me, too.
---willies out.
rrrrghhhhhhrrrr
.
You Can’t Fix This by Sound City Movie supergroup
.
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