So, it all <i>started</i> with an upgrade to our rental car.
It ended with us breaking in a 2005 Lincoln-Mercury town car by doing 55 mph donuts on a desolate dry lake bed in a distant state, and a forgotten state of mind, beneath an ice-blue sliver of the almost-new moon.
<i>And then...</i>
it all <i>started</i> with the garbled taunting of an innocent, helpless bunny raver.
It ended with a black-hat deathrock cowboi screaming out "Oootz-Oootz" through the hideously distorted voicebox of Mouth, with a bloody rare steak impaled on a barbeque fork in one hand, and a dozen glowsticks hanging from the bullhorn hand.
I was taking scalps, P.L.U.R. style.
<i>And then...</i>
it all <i>started</i> with the whispering scritch-scratch of a Zippo, and the half-seen figure of a nomad crouched in the dust, cradling an <i>enfant terrible</i>, a whisper feather of flame in his cupped hands.
It ended with flaming rolls of Charmin, soaked in gasoline, arcing through the air like dog-fighting jets, the carbonized chaff of their own ashes floating down in the dark desert night, and Roman candles burning through their midst like tracer fire; red and gold and green me-seeking missles.
Note to self: don't pick up a flaming wad of petroluem soaked tissue and throw it like a hand grenade; looking cool is <i>not</i> the same as <i>being</i> cool.
<i>And then...</i>
It all started with me making fun of a girl for no reason at all.
It ended with a kick in the nuts, given for perfectly good reasons, and delivered unto me almost apologetically by her boyfriend. That guy was <i>suave</i>
<i>And then...</i>
it all <i>started</i> with a bottle of wine with dinner.
It ended with a bottle of whiskey shared in the light of a dying monkey's personal apocalypse.
<i>And then...</i>
It started with a choir of white-trash speedangels cheesing their way through "They're coming to America".
It ended with the drunkedest one belting out "They're coming to America, <i>FUCK YEAH!!!</i>
<i>And then...</i>
It started with friends
It ended with friends.
It was fierce, and hard, and soft, and beautiful all at once.
The donuts were the best part, until I found myself, at the darkest part of night, writing my sister's name in kerosene, giving it The Kiss, and watching the darkness burn with the fires of her name...
I stared up at as million stars, and I knew that a million I's looked back at I, an army of ones, an army of me, joined together and million miles apart.
And in that moment the pain stopped and the questions, and the rage.
And the only thing left to wonder at was which names my others wrote in <i>their</i> dust, and whether each and all have a little sister like mine.
I ruled Bartertown.
It ended with us breaking in a 2005 Lincoln-Mercury town car by doing 55 mph donuts on a desolate dry lake bed in a distant state, and a forgotten state of mind, beneath an ice-blue sliver of the almost-new moon.
<i>And then...</i>
it all <i>started</i> with the garbled taunting of an innocent, helpless bunny raver.
It ended with a black-hat deathrock cowboi screaming out "Oootz-Oootz" through the hideously distorted voicebox of Mouth, with a bloody rare steak impaled on a barbeque fork in one hand, and a dozen glowsticks hanging from the bullhorn hand.
I was taking scalps, P.L.U.R. style.
<i>And then...</i>
it all <i>started</i> with the whispering scritch-scratch of a Zippo, and the half-seen figure of a nomad crouched in the dust, cradling an <i>enfant terrible</i>, a whisper feather of flame in his cupped hands.
It ended with flaming rolls of Charmin, soaked in gasoline, arcing through the air like dog-fighting jets, the carbonized chaff of their own ashes floating down in the dark desert night, and Roman candles burning through their midst like tracer fire; red and gold and green me-seeking missles.
Note to self: don't pick up a flaming wad of petroluem soaked tissue and throw it like a hand grenade; looking cool is <i>not</i> the same as <i>being</i> cool.
<i>And then...</i>
It all started with me making fun of a girl for no reason at all.
It ended with a kick in the nuts, given for perfectly good reasons, and delivered unto me almost apologetically by her boyfriend. That guy was <i>suave</i>
<i>And then...</i>
it all <i>started</i> with a bottle of wine with dinner.
It ended with a bottle of whiskey shared in the light of a dying monkey's personal apocalypse.
<i>And then...</i>
It started with a choir of white-trash speedangels cheesing their way through "They're coming to America".
It ended with the drunkedest one belting out "They're coming to America, <i>FUCK YEAH!!!</i>
<i>And then...</i>
It started with friends
It ended with friends.
It was fierce, and hard, and soft, and beautiful all at once.
The donuts were the best part, until I found myself, at the darkest part of night, writing my sister's name in kerosene, giving it The Kiss, and watching the darkness burn with the fires of her name...
I stared up at as million stars, and I knew that a million I's looked back at I, an army of ones, an army of me, joined together and million miles apart.
And in that moment the pain stopped and the questions, and the rage.
And the only thing left to wonder at was which names my others wrote in <i>their</i> dust, and whether each and all have a little sister like mine.
I ruled Bartertown.