This is my attempt at writing something a little supernatural. Inspired after reading some Koizumi Yakumo

Now, I was about 21 when I had this experience. I was living in Japan back then, and I rented a little room in the rural side where the only access was through this narrow stone steps that wound itself alongside a hill. I was working as an English teacher back then, teaching kids who have never spoken a word of English, let alone seen an American. It was not going anywhere, because all they (the kids) did was just stare at me, this strange person whom they have never seen before, who looked nothing like they have ever seen.
One day I was walking home after another futile day at school, and as I walked up the stone steps I noticed there was a kid walking behind me. The boy was about 8, he wore a white linen short pants and a blue short sleeved shirt, his hair was cropped neatly. His head was bowed slightly to the front, so I could not see his eyes, but I remember seeing his lips, which were in the shade of fresh fuzzy pink.
He kept a steady pave behind me, taking one step when I took 4 steps, so our distance was kept. I thought he must have been the kid of my neighbor’s, thought nothing more of it and kept walking.
Because of steep steps, I decided to take a little break to catch my breath. I rested my back against the walls that encased the steps, and when I look up to my front, I saw the kid standing right in front of me looking up to me. Now, there was some good distance between us, and there was no way that a child could have ran that fast, and had he tried so his shoes would have made sound. But there he was, and the looks on him was like he was in a deep sleep and the world including me was a part of his dream.
I gave a shout of surprise, and the kid snapped out of whatever he was in, looked around himself as if asking where he was, and remembering everything told me,
“She, she wanted to see you badly. She just wanted to see you very badly, but she now can’t touch you or talk to you. And she was crying, and she wanted to meet you so bad, but she looked so helpless, and I just felt so bad for her.”
and ran off. His shoes made loud squeaking rubber noise as his soles met the stone.
It was a startling experience, but nothing happened further than that, so I dismissed it and went my way home. When I got back home, there was a voice message on the phone that told me my grandmother has just passed away.

Following is me trying to experiment with Stream of conscience. And like all running thoughts, it kind of goes on and on. I hope you'll enjoy reading it

Now, what I know is that it will be done in three places, by three people, in three separate times. They won’t know that what they do means anything, but when seen in bigger content, maybe it will make some sense.

How I remember her now is she’s trying to write something about me while crying. She tries to write, maybe get a couple of lines, then get 2 or 3 words, and her hand starts to shake. She squeezes out a couple of words more, then her body starts to shake, and before anything she puts her hand over her eyes and starts to sob. The crying is not strong anymore, she is through that part, but the feeling wells up and she starts to sob like a pile of ooze would pour through an open wound.

She is trying to put this down because she wants to remember me. She has every detail down; she does have everything in her head. But the thing is that when she tries to remember feelings that she thought she had sorted out comes out again. They don’t exactly coarse through her, they more like ebb and corrode her head.

So writers put their thoughts down on paper, maybe if she was a painter she’d try to draw my portrait in remembrance, and if she was a musician she’d write a song.

Anyway she is trying to write a story about me and me myself I was trying to write a story about everyone. And I mean everyone around me, even the ones I walk by. It’s a strange thing really, but since I was aware, I always wanted to know how we connect. What is it that brought that heavy-set man eating a sandwich to this street, how did that man setting up his shop for the day came to open a business here, how did that woman typing away in her cubicle came to that office, or how that man in his room eating a bowl of cereal rented that room.

It was when I was a kid and saw that apartment full of light that got me fascinated I suppose. All those lights meant there were lives in those rooms, people living and doing things and never realizing that there maybe another person living by, all are only aware that there is a sound coming from the next room. If at all possible I would have set up cameras on all those rooms and watched them all.

But I couldn’t. It’s impossible and impractical. How could I peep into someone’s life anyway? Who’d give me the right? But I wanted to see it. I wanted to see how people lived; I wanted to see how people not lived like me. I wanted to see lives that weren’t my own, this disgusting wasted little piece of shit life that I have to live. I wanted to know that peoples’ lives were better than my own, so that I could tell myself that everyone IS living a life while I was just sitting down and watching everything.

But what is now important is what you will hear and see for the rest of your life. Yes, you used to say that everything has been said before by people smarter than you, but that none has ever heard your version, so why not just say it. But listen, you haven’t multiplied how many times things have been said to the length of time the mankind has started to speak, starting from that growling. Somewhere down the line someone somewhere has said what you would have said, all down to the dot. You may really have little to no chance to ever say anything new. The only chance you have is that maybe if you hear and see what is going on, some strange thing may happen that you may one day come up with something that looks from every way something someone has said before, but no one is sure from where.

So like I said, all you can do from now on is just to keep your eyes peeled and ears open.

Besides you said some long time ago that your intention was to truly immerse yourself in that shared consciousness among men and talk about how that feels.

Okay, now what ought to be talked about is what I have inside. The thing is about a quail’s egg big, though for some reason it grows big. Its surface is callused and looks as if full of scabs. It feels hard on touch, but it’s not the kind of rock solid hard, but more like a solid outer shell with soft inside kind of hard. Closest sensation would be that of wet turtle shell. In there is a man, skinny to a point where he literally is nothing more than a skin stretched over bones. His teeth are all bare out with his lips pulled over, his eyelids are constantly open and his eyes never stop moving. He looks at what he is, is sickened by it and is sickened by it, and looks at the others and is mesmerized by them. He looks at them and they hurt his eyes, as if they are the sun and their inner beings are brimming with light. He looks at himself and his shriveled up self and is sickened by it again. He keeps thinking why I am not like that. Why am I not like those people. What have I done to have this on me. He keeps thinking why but he can not come up with any answers, nor can he come up with any emotions. All he does is just look and wonder.

Forget it. All you are trying to do is just walk around with a delusion in your head. You don’t want to deal with anything, so you just walk around thinking how it would be. But what if that is all that I have. To live through days starting at things, chew them up in my head, reconstruct them and believe that what is being played back in my mind is the true reflection of what is around me. A man eviscerated and still walking around, boy vomiting from the scent of a woman’s foot, vulgar display of breasts, having sex in the street and enjoying it, shadows flying over the buildings and sewers filled with cum and shit and guts and water boiling to make life plants soaked in semen and woman spraying her child with her pussy juice men gang banging a dog while it moans in vulgar pleasure, maybe that is all in my head but that is surely reflection of what I see everyday

Now tired and light headed I feel like this would be the proper place to go into myself or my head and see what I am. I am just someone in my world reading a book I am always reading and while I read I take no notice of what is around me and as I read more I start to lose track of reality and while reality goes away I start to float off of my self and I float into the air and still I do not notice what I am doing and as I read more not only am I floating but I start to water out of my mouth eyes ass dick and ears and soon my room is a water tank where I float but still I read. In that water I move every which way the tide takes me I move to the bottom where fishes swim around the coral reef and the sun barely shines but the underground growth of phosphorescent algae kept the room in luminescent green and I move to the top where the sun shines through like the corridors of heaven and the fishes tickle my body to snatch off dead body cells and I cringe and tickle but still I read. I read but nothing is in my head the words simply swim into my eyes and move around my body they caress my body in satisfying love touch of someone I long for but fail to see its face.

The first thing was the sound in the train like that of a lottery ball bouncing inside of a plastic tube (but strangely the sound also made me think of a fat man snoring, his pouch belly sticking out each time he breathed). When I heard that sound my mind was ripped from me and I saw a shag green carpet, large brown lacquered embroidered mirror, and a plastic fish swimming around in a plastic tube. The fish elevated itself in accordance to the air pressure in the room. But no matter what height the fish was in, it kept a steady rattling in the tube.

And there they were, the man and the woman. The woman was sitting on the man’s lap, her right hand on his left shoulder and her left hand on her lap. Their skin was white to a point one was reminded of the lady in the DuranDuran album “Rio”. But whereas the woman in the CD cover was smiling at you to dare you, the woman’s face was non distinct thanks to the black hair that covered her face save for the lips and some parts of her cheeks. From the lips alone none was able to tell what she thought. Maybe she didn’t think at all. All she did was just sit on his laps. And nothing more.

The man, in describing him accurately, one would only have to say that he is the perfect opposite of the woman. His face was just as pale, his face just as expressionless, one would think that they are nothing more than a mirror reflection of her. But his breasts were flat, and his genitals stuck out whereas hers were sticking in.

So they just sat, and they sat for a long time. So much so that the faint sound of the plastic fish rumbling in its plastic tube was the loudest sound in the room. But just as they silently sat, they moved their face towards eachother’s way and kissed each other ever so quietly as if they feared that what they were doing was bad enough, they did not want any more attention on themselves. They kissed with only their lips touching, they moved nothing else, and they kept that position for a long time.

And all I did was look. I just looked at them kiss each other with out utter sound, emotion, even the barest of motion. But maybe in that quiet they felt each other.

Then the train came to a rather violent stop and I had to realize that I was still where I left myself last time.

The next thing was when I heard another thing in the train. It could have been the ventilation working, but the sound made me think of a coffee machine that blew steam right onto the coffee beans and let the condensation drip through the beans, making a cup of coffee. The steam and the beans were contained in a small metal box that was connected to another steel box that was slightly larger than the last. She stood at the counter watching the box on the top dripping the coffee into the box on the bottom. She was her usual quiet self. But you see this is where it becomes a little strange because I noticed that she was not quiet because she has given up or anything. She was quiet because she has everything she wants in her life. She has a place that she can call her own, and a boyfriend. She did not want anything more than that, and she knew that she will have this until the day she died. She was the quietness of the one who knew that they could retire and sit, watch the whole world twirl itself silly while they just sat, she on his laps and him holding her hand.

Then the train came to my stop and I got out.

And all the sudden I remember it. Strange how memory comes back to you when you least expect it. It’s about the floor board in my room. It creaks whenever I step on it. It gives away one day and I see not the dirt basement I thought I would, but I see a patch of fur. Shit-brown and prickly like that of a wet rat. The fur was pulsating with 4 mouths and 6 eyes, all the eyes staring at me with no light of intelligence in them. I boarded up the floor and went to sleep that night. That night I dreamed of a giant mutated rat, too big to move and stuck in the foundation of the house. I dreamed it squirm around growing hungry, so much so that one day it will wriggle itself free and break open the floor, gobbling me up and breaking any parts that gets stuck in its mouth.

Dreamed a little bit while going back home. I was a kid and crying and laughing at the same time. My face was screwed up in pain, I was squeezing out tears like they were horribly constipated clumps of shit, and my mouth was twisted up into the shape of laughter until it looked like a crescent moon lying on its side. I was laughing alright, with the pitch that made you think I have given up on breathing. My laugh was coming out in a single drone, lifeless yet giving out tone like I was enjoying my laugh, while tears poured out and burnt my face.

Somewhere in my head a voice whispered “I didn’t mean for him to realize that, I swear.”

And I kept laughing but tears were starting to come out slower. Soon I would have stopped crying and just kept laughing. Then I got to my stop.

Before going to sleep I thought about the place where I would probably feel the most comfortable in. When I was 17 I thought the place was as a doormat in sorority girl meeting. At about 20 or so I thought maybe the place is just a little corner in a Metropolis, bothering no one and accumulating books and news paper until one day the room itself is no longer supported by walls but by paper. And I still think that is the place that I would feel the most comfortable in. But sometimes I think about causing the most annoyance to people. Like jumping in front of a train while holding some one’s hand. Throwing up while eating at McDonald, openly boot up a windows notebook PC in a Mac store, and so on.

And sometimes I think that the place I’d feel the most comfortable is the backseat of somebody’s car, all drunk and oblivious.

Time doesn’t heal wounds, it only puts you farthest away possible from what happened that one day you just have to say to yourself guess I can’t do shit, guess I can’t fuck it up anymore let’s just go over there and start something new fucked up.

Like the time I saw my mother’s hand explode with such violence that remaining chunks of her fingers were wedged into the wooden walls like small nails driven in at by an inch. Time can only drag you away to a place so far away from that moment that what is left when all is done is just some shredded remembrance of what had happened. And maybe that is all for good. If you were to remember everything with the clarity of DVD say from the moment you were dragged out of the womb and took that first breath of air, by the way that first breath, some say that first breath remains in your lungs until you die, which makes you think what is inside of those lungs that were born in places polluted, where the chimneys spewed black clouds would contain, to the moment when you were taking that train back home, you would have no choice but to lock yourself in a black room lest you see what passes away out the window.

And as the sweat drips away from everyone’s body and drops onto the ground and evaporates into the air I wonder what that rain will taste like. People have been around long enough time, there has got to be some of those bodily salt floating in the air now. Salt and skin particles should be around us so much that a portion of sea should be salty because of our sweat and skin. Sewer should taste now like cum and rotten skin because of what we wash down the drain everyday. I wonder why sewer water doesn’t look white. I wonder why every rats living in the sewer don’t look like human by now they must have been soaked in that cum water for so long that their DNA should be altered by now. In fact I wonder why we don’t look like animals now because of all those animal semen that were secreted during intercourse and were dropped on to the ground, suck up into the core of the Earth and spewed out into the clouds via volcanoes and raining down on us. With all those animal facial cum shots we should be ground furs on our faces. Is 2 millenniums of animal sweat and cum not enough? How much longer are we going to have to secrete blood sweat cum skin spit loogie tears snot until we start comingling our genes?

And if there is a soul and if it should live forever, then all the crazy people in the world may just die insane and their ghosts will wander forever whispering insanity as night goes on and wear themselves thin in the summer expanding themselves in to the air and become one with the clouds and as the air blows through the window at night they will paste their insane whisper in to our ears.

It’s true that all can not exist. In fact I’d say that all that stands before me feels like just s shred of what once was, just like an afterimage after you stared at something for long enough. All that stands before me is just my dream. I am seeing a waking dream. When I sleep, that is when I am real, and what is real is chaotic, nonsensical, and absurd. I am standing on a field of neon green anemone, looking at the sea of giant kelp brown and shining like amber while a giant caterpillar swims through them with legs overgrown with feathers. I am looking at the trees with feathers white and green, shining bright like pearls and emeralds. I breathe water, and what I exhale robs me of what I am. I become transparent and weighs just as much. I just stand, I just look, I don’t even blink I just look Now I am standing in front of a giant wall the wall is huge and I see no end to it it surrounds me and as I push myself into it I sink and I fall. I see Zeus and he commands the thunder, he stands tall in front of me holding a sceptre pulsating like a penis and spewing out seawater from the tip he is creating the Earth as it spins he is recreating the Earth as it spins Atlas is showered in seawater and he stands the weight of the seawater he is covered in seawater his mouth quivers like a vagina as he drinks the seawater and so  I am made again all is not the same and all will never be the same we will all change and I will change leaving behind the old crusty shitty self that I was rotting in the sun giving off stench of dying and screaming saying I dont want to change I dont want to change but I change because even standing the ground moves and the speed of of the movement will rob me of old cells and wind will shave away my skin until I am skin and bones and Zeus will spew his semen on me covering me until I am all flesh and blood again I am now new and reborn devoid of what I knew I crawl on all four dripping the cum on the floor at the ground moves like a giant caterpillar scaling up the wall with all of its legs like a room where the residents are taking up every perversity they can take on sex and incest and faggots free to stick their dicks where they want dicks licking up every pussy juice they drip from their cunts and I crawl on all four while I move abut in the city where they said that end is coming its coming im a coming im coming and everyone is fucking everyone is sucking and I am sucked as I fuck and I suck as they all fuck and buildings are covered in pink mucus as the sky rains flesh in droplets and the sun is an anus quivering and queefing and pieces of shit falls from its rim and everyone is busking in it and the ground fall and I cant feel anything because ground is moving and wind shaves away my old self and Zeus shouts something so that everyone knows that we are all reborn but we all sleep now covered in each other and we sleep.

Maybe whats needed is sleep. Sleep that sleeps in like water through every holes in your body watering the seeds of Earth in you and you grow the tree out of your belly plump and fat like a woman belly and tree grows out of you and you feel calm and underwater and tree grows out of you and you feel that the heart is beating to you, whispering its voice into you in beats and it tells you nothing but its beats tell you and you listen and you listen as the tree grows and flushes its green anemone leaves and sways itself gently in the water of you and your heart is closing your eyes and you feel yourself underwater and you sleep and your eyes close you feel the trees ripening a sack of child and child and child and child and your hands and feet grow roots and your a tree now and you sleep in the sea soaking seawater and you grow your roots in the mud of the sea you now know that you are sleeping and awake and you want to be connected with everyone you want to feel everyone but you are not everyone around is.

And this is the ground which I walk on, now covered with concrete what once was raw pink like a fresh cut thighs of a flushed lover covered in the humid pink mist which used to make me dizzy and blind intoxicated with milk of mother and sweats on thighs so ample and soft suck out the juice and sleep on the soft flesh until you had your fill and you wake up in a daze waking around again in the pink mist but now it is covered with concrete and trees are jammed in all the wrong way link a plug filled in to make the green stop and have no place to go but down and they spread the roots and grow pale and they spread until the ground is all filled up with tree roots white and gnarly like the fingers of a dirty old man stretching his finger all over the skin of moist brown until all will be never well covering the Earth with fucking concrete.

-Ancient ghost wanting some one’s body because he/she has not the chance to truly live. Being annoyed by the constant whisper of “please let me live. you lived long enough, let me live.” Sometimes succumbing to the whisper and it takes over.

The assignment

What I am submitting today is this little project that I am doing with this coworker of mine at my job.

Premise: ping pong game where Andrew Houston (the coworker) and Kensuke Kagawa(me) throws eachother words and we see what comes out of that word. This is an ongoing thing, so I will post something new down the line. Here is what we have so far. Hope you'll enjoy.

Man Masks Owl

A funny guy, that Teddy. Got his little nephew Chuckie puffing on his

Lucky Strikes as soon as he was old enough to hold em in his pudgy

little fingers. He'd light one up, take the first puff himself, and then

hand it over. That's how it'd begin. Then he'd throw little Chuckie over

his shoulder, and march him down to the riverside, where they'd sing

steamboat songs and skip stones and take pot shots at floating bottles

with Teddy's 38 special.

Well, one day they were still at it when the sun dipped down over the

hills, and they had a hell of a time finding their way up out of there.

Teddy got all tangled up a thorn bush, and he screamed just as loud as

he could scream, "Almighty Jesus!!!"

"Who? Who?" Came down from up in the branches above.

Teddy craned his head to get a look up there, and just about lost an eye

to a low-hanging branch. "Jesus H. Christ Almighty!!"

"Who?" Soft, but confident.

Teddy figured that little voice was mocking him, so he pulled out his 38

and cocked back the hammer. "You messin with me up there, you little

shit?"

"Who?"

"You, you little bastard! I ain't one to be fucked around with. You just

asked your last question."

Teddy started shooting hellfire up into the air, and sure enough, he hit

something. A puff of feathers, then the owl tumbled down, right onto

little Chuckie, who was sitting on Teddy's shoulders.

They tumbled down to the ground together, and when they hit the dirt,

that owl's ruptured asshole slipped right over his head. He stood up,

Lucky Strike in hand, and then, well, he sat down.

Your assignment: Dolphin Sex

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"Dolphin Sex"

When she turned of the age for her to start her period, she felt a certain change in her.

"It's not a change really, it's just a shift of something in me. It's really simple how it happens,

it's like how when you were a kid you couldn't take to eating spinach even if it's frosted.

But somehow you as you age you realize that you can eat it. It's all just a shift in the mind.

It just happens".

Whatever it maybe, when she turned of the age to start mensurating she started to feel the ocan within her.

She felt little waves hit against the inside of her stomach, she felt the tide fill and deplete as the moon rose

and sunk in the ocean, she felt the taste of salt strengthen when she shed tears.

"Suppose it's natural really, we all came from the ocean after all."

From the time he came into adolescense, he didn't quite feel alright on the ground.

"I know it's weird, but it just doesn't feel right to feel sand under my feet",

he always used to say.

Growing up was a frustrating time for him. Feeling like he does not belong to what everyone is born to be

attached to, i.e. standing on solid ground.

The only time that he felt even remotely comfortable was when he was floating in the community pool,

his body afloat and his eyes looking into the sky so blue.

Naturally they met and naturally they fell madly in love.

They bought a place nearby the ocean and sometimes when the night is warm and the ocean is kind,

they would swim out naked and make love like 2 dolphins that were made for each other.

Your assignment:technological spaghetti

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TECHNOLOGICAL SPAGHETTI

It's been nearly five years since The Flying Spaghetti Monster came down

from the heavens and showed himself to be the savior of the world. Nearly

five years since his noodly appendages first began to touch the hearts

and minds of Earth's scattered masses and share his holy love. And now,

as we approach the New Year, and Pastafarianism continues to grow and

shine ever brighter, we the Blessed, the Starch-baptized Pastafarians of

the world, have to ask ourselves how we can do our part. How can we

become true manifestations of the noodly appendage? Succulent, wet,

glorious, wise. It is a problem that has troubled spaghetti scientists

across the Calzone nebula since the dawn of time.

Only now are answers presenting themselves, as we embrace the Age of

Information. I have some information for you, my brothers and sisters. A

revelation. Nothing less than a divine message from above. Are you ready

, my brothers and sisters, to fulfill your Destiny?

It is a little known fact that our brains (often referred to as "noodles")

were crafted from blessed spaghetti strands in the distant past by The

Flying Spaghetti Monster himself, making us each pieces of divine

spaghetti, the ultimate technology of the ultimate noodle cuisine,

blessed with rich marinara logical flow and smooth olive oil

implementation. Our memory banks are peppered with parmesan cheese, and

as we ponder the meaning of life and look to the heavens, we slow roast

meatballs in our minds that are juicy and delectable! When we love one

another, brothers and sisters, we reach out and touch like strands of

fettucini alfredo, layering our thick cream sauce on thick with ecstasy.

When we ponder the great problems and pontificate on their solutions, we

are turning our metaphysical forks on the mystical aldente, tenderizing

the toughest dilemmas like so much angel hair in the pot.

So fear not, brothers and sisters, for the future. Worry not about your

place in the universe. Care not for the doubt and fear of the

unenlightened rabble who have forgotten their starchy origins. We are

the Chosen! The noodly instruments of the master scientist!

Technological Spaghetti!!!

Your Next Assignment: Vaster than Black Hole Gaps

===========================================================================================

"Vaster than Black Hole Gaps"

Well, I suppose I can talk endlessly about that, that Gap.

And naturally for me the place to start would be with my girl frined and her miracle loose streched to the limit

pussy.

You know those talks about yelling out "Wow that's a big hole" and you can hear it back, that's my girlfriend.

Come to think of it, I think that pussy is the real her, and the flesh living above with a pair of tits is

just some nice options.

And as I am cradled in her arms after a nice session of steamy fucking, my eyes go over into the cracks on the

wall and ceiling.

As I stare at the cracks and let the mind wander off into what ever dark places it desires I feel the cracks

suck my body in and all the sudden I am a fetus floating in space and Earth is the womb and everything is so calm

and quiet.

I become the child of Earth my mother Gaeia cradles her in the womb I listen intently to the whispers of the universe

that rang out when the compressed fuck all big banged into what it is today I hear the many lives that are lived out

on Earth as well as in a far away planet that burns brilliantly without anyone ever noticing.

I saw the fires of the Sun and the illumination of the nebula, I saw a comet sweep by with its tail leaving a streak.

And I saw the black hole. As I stared into it I saw the true vacuum that no light ever escapes.

And so I stared, and as I stared I felt a beat. It was a regular thump-tump that never seemed to run out.

It the beat was in the same pace as my own heart, and once I felt that I felt the flesh of my body come back into

shape and I was beck in the back with my girl with her arms around me.

Night was quiet and I heard my girl breath softly and I laid my head against her breast and listened to her heart

until the dawn broke.

Your assignment: "self service Cesarean section"

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Strength in Numbers

Nobody saw it coming. And I mean nobody. Some thought it was a due payment for those that chose abortion,

but even those people soon saw what came and even they said fuck them and took arms in it.

Some thought it was the much belated armaggedon on Earth (year being 2012 and all), and they danced to the tune

of the big drum heart thumping as the fetus took march.

The great fetus war broke out all the sudden, unlike any other war that had erupted in the history.

It was rumored that it all started in New Mexico when some back water hill billy saw the wreckage of the UFO

and saw some of the female survivors and took them home to nurse them, where the nursing of the female crew

lead into some romance, where the romance lead into a wile frenzied sex that rocked the universe and the shafts

of the trailer homes nearby.

Now, if it ended at that, that would have been fine dandy and we'd all be at home for Christmas, but no.

See, just like the song said "Elephant and Pig genes just won't splice", and that should have been the case.

But this time some freak evil thing, must have happened when god wasn't looking, lead to the female alien to be

pregnant.

Of course the man who took her in was freaked. It's one thing to fuck an alien, we all do that in that weird

alien sex fiend porn video, but becoming the father of one?

So in his panic he took out a revolver, unloaded 6 rounds to the head of the female alien, then pumped another 6

into the swollen belly.

Now you must be thinking "Those bullets should have done the trick. Why the hell are we in this shit now?"

Well, I am sorry but they did squat. Infact bullets never reached the belly. They just floated right above the belly

like you would see in those Matrix movies.

Then between her legs slipped out the fetus, sensing danger and thinking quick about how it will survive.

The first thing it did was stare at his daddy with those big black alien eyes and without moving an inch threw

him again the wall like he was a cannon ball shot right out into the air.

What came after is the history as we all know it. He floated around the country, collecting fetuses from all over.

And as their number grew so did their sizes, and as those fetus ball (named after the shape of all those fetuses

huddling together into a ball like they are huddling together for warmth) grew so did the damage they did.

And here we are now, all them fetus balls floating over us and us on the ground trying to shoot them down but

not quite reaching them. And they are still growing bigger. They now even took to pulling babies out of their

mommies, whether they want it or not.

Gotta tell ya, I sure as hell don't know how it's gonna be, but when that 666th of them balls grow up to be a size,

we are gonna have one hell of a party.

Your assignment "Skelton wrapped in tree roots"

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Skeleton Wrapped in Tree Roots

Children sing songs about him running around the countryside, tossing

seeds here and there from his bottomless hemp sack, never stopping until

what was a grassland had become a sprawling forest from sea to shining

sea, much to the joy of Bambi, Thumper, and Tweety and the gang. The old

folks in their rocking chairs, they nod and smoke their pipes and tell

war stories that they heard from their grandparents, about how old

Johnny organized the Indians into a mean fighting machine to defend this

great nation from imperialist tyranny. And if you're in the food

services business and you want to make a sale, you put him in your logo,

on your letterhead, in your TV commercial, and let him work that magic

on your bottom line.

He's a magic man, a legend, and he was safe there in the distant realm

of legends along with Davy Crockett, Captain Blackbeard, Robinson Crusoe

until that day in the summer of my 12th year when I stubbed my toe on a

root and went tumbling down a hill while playing freeze tag with my

cousins.

I must have hit my head on a rock or a tree trunk or something, because

I blacked out, and when I came to I was all alone, with a splitting

headache and a warm, wet patch on the back of my head. It was dark, but

I could hear the birds chirping so I knew there must be some daylight

left, and as my eyes adjusted I saw that I had somehow managed to fall

into a hole, because sure enough up above there was a circle of blue sky

and tree branches.

Like all 12-year-old boys, I liked to burn and blow things up, and I

always carried a green bic lighter that I'd pinched from my dad in my

pocket. I whipped it out and flicked it on to get a better look at my

predicament, and there he was, silently laughing at me, all teeth and no

lips.

He was leaned up against a rock like he'd just decided to sit down and

take a break, but I guess he'd breaked for a little bit too long,

because an apple tree had grown up right through his rib cage. On second

thought, maybe that's what he was laughing at. It's not every day you

see a man with an orchard popping out of his shorts, unless of course

you're the bony old ghost of Johnny Appleseed himself and you've had

nothing to do but sit there staring at your wood slowly growing through

the decades.

Your Assignment: Jolly Old Jellyfoot

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Jolly Old Jellyfoot

Now, there are certain rules that should be abided by to live in this society.

1. Never fuck with your father,

2. Never make kids unless you are ready.

3. Don't drunk beer until your dick is long enough to reach your butthole,

and so on.

Canibalism is on that list as well.

And this one I can understand.

Because if we actually tasted good, what's to stop us from eating eachother, some French restaurant to start carriny

a full line of meat from babies to grannies, from some men to start breeding people like cattles to meet the demand?

But thank god, we don't taste good. Trust me, I tried.

So men came up with the next best thing. Something that has the trexture of human flesh, yet tastes amazingly good.

It's actually a wonder why this was not thought of earlier. I mean, we don't taste good no matter how we are cooked.

We just don't taste good, so find an alternative.

When it first came out there was that usual "You are degrading human moral" and "You sinners are gonna fry in hell!"

and "Repent before god smites you" and so on.

But one taste of that substitute meat, people had to realize that they tasted alot better than the real stuff,

so much so that Martha Stewart went so far as to publish a cook book that guides us from simple barbecue ribs

to brain puree soup.

The substitute meat caught on reali quick after that. Every canibals in the world praised the inventer,

who shall remain nameless for the obvious threat to his security.

It wasn't just the canibals that enjoyed it, even the fetishist who overly loved their object that they tended

to eat it embraced the product.

"Seriously, I can't even believe that I used to suck the meat off of little girl's finer before this came out."

Says a hand fetish,

"Now I can enjoy a good taste pot luck with out biting into those stanky jelly foot of those babies."

Says foot fetish

"This is just amazing, these eye balls feel like the real thing, yet they taste so much better! I'm really

lovin it!"

Says eyeball fetish.

So loosen them belts and ready those hot sauce. We got ourselves a good meal.

Your assignment: "Windmill Hill"

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Windmill Hill

Hand meets head and clouds meet sky

Little Tommy running when the thunder cry

Tombs below and ashes fly

Little Tommy stopping now to wonder why

A baby born and an old man dies

A circle in the sand and a twinkle in the eye

Dig another hole, give another try

Sugar on the table when the water's running dry

Hands held out, thought he'd try to fly

Little Tommy jumping up to touch a little sky

Death below, empty up on high

Little Tommy tumble in a hole and die.

Your Assignment: Cloudbusters

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Cloudbusters

"Where I was born was, was awful."

He said to me.

"You can barely tell what time it is because the government forbids any clocks to be manufactured. They say that it's

to prevent the past disaster from happening again, when we do not even know what has happened in the first place."

his pale ashened face, deep bags under his eyes, and his almost diseased wire body always shook like he is

either suffering from a high fever or that something inside of him is trying to break out and he is barely able to

contain himself.

"and the air is always so thin that you can barely have a thought without fainting,"

We were in a cafe that day. The time must have been March or April.

"night and day are only punctuated when there are street lights on and when they are off."

Every 5 minutes or so he went into a violent coughing fit that I swore he was going to cough up his lungs.

"We never know who our fathers are or mothers are because we are bred in a factory."

He came to me one day saying that he wanted to talk about his home town. I was running a zine back then, and in one

of the column I used to do this thing where I would expand on a word that I hear while at work, school, or just generally

walking around.

"The government says that we can't breed anymore because of the past wars' waste materials have accumulated into a

destruction of all that is natural, and consequently left all of us sterile."

He said that he wanted me to hear about his home town because he wanted it published, in one way or another, and have people

learn what sort of horrible place he was raised in.

"But what's depressing most of all is the sky. Where I am from, you would be lucky if you can see the sun once in your life.

The sky is covered by heavy sheet of grey clouds."

When he talked about the sky, his already depressing face took on another cover of sadness. He looked as though the

colors around him could all go away because of the change in the gravity around him.

"And the sun, by god, the sun never shines there. You'd be considered a lucky man if you see even a glimmer of the sun in

your lifetime. And the lack of sun light turns our skin pale. If you look at our city from high above, you'd probably think

we are nothing more than sickened rats."

After saying that, he stopped, took sip of coffee, lit a cigarette (oh, one little detail I forgot to mention,

he chain smoked like it was going out of style), and went quiet.

It was a pleasant March day. Sun was starting to shine through, people were still waring warm clothing, but some of them

have started to not wearing those heavy coats.

I looked out the window and imagined what his town was like. The best I could come up with was a mid-winter day where not just

your body but your soul freezes. How could a man, or a living human being for that matter live there? How could anyone

exits? I tried to imagine what a life there would be like, and just couldn't imagine what it would be like.

"But I am going back there one day. I am going to change all that. No one deserves a life like that. I am going to

break a hole in the sky so big that the sun will fall through it, I will put all the clocks out of the town until

we can only tell time by when the sun goes up and down. And I am going to cure everyone so that we could have sex and raise

children of our choosing."

He said with energy that was impossible to have come out of him.

"Thank you for listening to me. I hope this will make a fine material."

He said and just as sudden as he came, he went out without saying a good bye.

After he left, I thought again about what it would be like to live in a town where there are no clocks, everyone is

sterile and you can't have sex, and no sun shines through. I tried, and I tried hard but I just couldn't imagine it.

The weather outside was starting to look nice, almost inviting me to take a walk.

So I took a walk thought about what I should do for the day.

You assignment:standing 3 feet away from your own tomb, too afraid to face the sun

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3 Feet Away From Your Own Tomb, Too Afraid to Face the Sun

You don't know me, wouldn't recognize my face out of a crowd, don't know

the sound of my voice nor the stink of my breath, are unfamiliar with my

hopes and dreams, fears and pet peeves, clueless about what makes me

tick. You don't know why I'm here, leaving this note inconspicuously on

your windshield, furtively watching you read it from a place where you

can't see me, executing my plans flawlessly in sequence while you wallow

in confusion and fear.

You don't know me. I, on the other hand, know you very well. I see you

there, and am aware of what you're doing, thinking, feeling. I could

pick your face out from a mile away. I hear your alarm clock go off in

the morning and your hung over groan in response, listen to the off-key

rendition of Sinatra you sing in the shower, smell the stinking coffee

brew while you clip your nose hairs in the grease-stained mirror in your

moldy little bathroom.

I know you dreamed of being a detective, a real Humphrey Bogart, a real

whip, cracking tough cases wide open, putting the real bad guys behind

bars and saving grateful dames from diabolical drug-addled villains. I

know you hope you'll get that raise so you can get out of walking the

beat in this stinking neighborhood you've grown to hate so much. I know

you're terrified that the captain will find out about your little side

business with the Chinese on the port, and send you back to directing

traffic before you can say, "fuck me sideways." I know you think you're

a smart, under-appreciated, over-qualified, on the ball, off the cuff,

in the know kind of guy, but I've got news for you.

I know all about you, and I don't know how else to put this: you've got

it all wrong. You're a moronic, over-privileged, under-skilled, off the

rocker, high-horsing idiot, and I've got your number. Get ready, asshole,

because things are about to get a whole lot more interesting.

Love,

Solomon

P.S. Look behind you.

POW!

Your assignment: 40 Days in the Desert

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40 Days in the Desert

We started the first 10 days in high spirit.

The desert wind scorched the very core of our being, while at night we were frozen into statute by the same wind.

The stars danced over us in full orchestra and we huddled around the fire, sure that this trip will change us for the better.

On the 20th day we were struck by a desert storm. It descended on us from nowhere, and in a matter of 20minutes robbed

us of tent and food.

When it started it came from the sky, when it hit us it was a cloumn of sand 4 miles wide and 5 miles high.

Some of us were struck by the storm and were literally sucked dry of water. When it was gone, the day was high and

we were left with only 16 of us.

30th day found us all literally fighting over our urine to drink. Some of us, in the disparation and hunger, took to eating

our own excrement.

By then I was reduced to drinking my own urine as well. I spent my days lying down and watching the remainder of us

fight and argue about how we are to survive.

And on the 40th day I saw him, in flesh and infront of my eyes.

Malnutrition and weakness could have made me imagine him, but when he came riding that magnificent horse dark as the night

and blowing on trumpet made of silver that hurts your eyes to look at and made sound that shook the entire desert.

As my limbs grew cold and stiff, I saw him approach me, his armor shining pale under the moonlight.

After one look at me, he blew on the horn again, and the wind picked me up and carried me to the sky.

I now know I am dying, my only hope is that one will find my body and wonder over what happened to me.

Your assignment: "Drop your flap jack or we will open fire"

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