Part One

"We are making history my dear."
Her hand slides slowly over the nape of his neck, long delicate fingers baring sharp dangerous, talon-like nails stroke cautiously. Slowly she raises them up as if to display them to some heathen god, then delicately inserts her forefinger into the back of his scull. So delicately that he hardly flinches.

From her finger leaks a fluid, deep red and viscous, withdrawing it she brings it close to her mouth, inhales and takes her finger slowly into her mouth. Her eyes draw closed like guilty curtains; she is sated for now. Passing her hand back over his neck the wound closes, with a bit of a schlepping noise. No longer was the fear in his eyes, although it had turned into a morose knowledge of what he was now destined for.
You see this is how she plants her seed. Quietly, delicately and without folly. He is now hers; irrevocably, and eternally.

He wakes; instinctually he touches the back of his head, in the same manner you would check your pockets after a dream where you were given huge amounts of money. With a tragic kind of desperation. Nothing. Just like when you wake from those dreams. Relieved and almost disappointed he rolled out of bed.

He stood and the ceiling seemed to grow and stretch into heights well above 50 feet. Stricken with immediate vertigo he collapses to the floor. As the room came back into focus, they are still the same vaulted ceilings with exposed cantilever detail that he has always viewed upon the coming of the morning. There's a strange flutter in his heart though, as if he were nervous about the meeting of a lover.

a greatfullness

This evening as I wait to pick-up a rediculously low priced bedframe. And wish that I was man enough to piss in a bottle, I give thanks. over the last year my life had made a whirl-wind change. I feel different when I wake up in the morning. And when I lay myself to rest at night I no longer have the anxiety of oh shit will I be able to deal with tomorrow. History, at least mine has shown that I have the undeniable resiliance that one would attribute to a thing of elastic compound. Yesterday was the 46th birthday of my departed sister, Marpessa Dawn. Who on this night of the full moon, fully eclipsing, I thank most of all. I can feel her presence. In me, my work. I carry with me a picture of her in my wallet, in all her tired beauty. And I ware the ring she gifted me so long ago, everyday. She truely watches over me, and I try even harder to accomplish the things she encouraged me to dream about.

Faster

Checkered flags wave, there is a hesitation,the urge never stop overcomes the racers. They all seem overwhelmed in the possibility of loss. Or losing, I should say. The scariest part of all for them is that they all want so terribly to die, a firey crash and burn job. The sheer thought of that is what drives them to the race. Every run getting closer and closer to that heroic self-destruction.

Echo back

If luck could be measured in inches, 

I would have the largest penis in the world.

(Knock on wood.) 

Now that there is a clean palette the real work can begin.