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From: frank_fowlkes@yahoo.com
Newsgroups: alt.stories.urban-harvest
Subject: Re: green, yellow, orange, purple, red, blue, and black
Date: Tue, 10 Aug 2004 10:48:49 -0700
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===================
frank_fowlkes@yahoo.com (Bum) wrote in message news:<e67cba1.0408072333.41097c94@posting.google.com>...
.
> * * *
> * *
> green, yellow, orange, purple, red, blue, and black
> * *
> *
> * * *
> * *
> *
> * *
> *
>
> *
>
> * * *
> * *
> * * * *
>
> *
> #
> * # * * * * # *
> * * * *
> * * * * # *
> * # * *
> * * * * * #
> # # *
> ## # *
> *
> # * * *
> * *
> * # * * #
> *
> # # * *
> # * # * * * *
> ## # ## * *
> * ## * ## # # * #
> * ## * ## # # #
> # # # ## *## ## * *
> ### # # * ## # # #
> * # ##
> * ## # ## ## ## *## *
> # ## ## #
> * ### *## # # * ## *
> ## * # # ## ## # ## ## *
> * * ## ### ## ### * * *
> * ## ## ## ## ## * ### *
> *## ## ### # ### #### *
> ## ### ##### # # ## #
> *## # # ##### # # # *
> * #######
> # ### # * *
> * #### ## * * *
> ####### * *
> * ## ### *
> * * ## ### *
> * ##### * *
> ########
> ##
> * *
> * *
> * # # # #* *
> *
> *
>
> (BL) * # # # *
> The snow was falling around him, and some black trees creaked slowly
> in the wind. He lifted his hands away from the snow. The black
> mountain and the day after the seventy seventh hour started to creep
> closer to his thoughts but, always and soon after, he felt another
> black lapse coming that would push the mountain, the day, further
> away. He started counting where he left off. The black lapses he could
> never stop; they stopped thought, stopped ideas, but he hope that this
> time he would be able to pass. And yet he felt they were coming more
> and more merciless now, more than ever; he was starting to question
> whether attempting the pass was worth the risk.
> # # #
>
> * # # # #
>
> when you start to feel tired rub #
> *imaginary ice over your arms,
> face, neck, chest
> *
>
> #
> "This one is stronger than the last," he thought, at the same time
> counting down from seven hundred. He tried every other method to pass
> through the black lapses without losing consciousness, imaginary
> walks, imaginary cold baths, imaginary fights, imaginary love affairs,
> none of them help, only counting or repeating sentences over and over
> again sometimes helped but never entirely; he would always end up
> drowning. Imaginary fights and fucks, imaginary people and worlds,
> helped him get through the early grey lapses.
> The grey lapses only lasted the first night; they only suggested
> sleep, suggested that he close his eyes and rest awhile, last thoughts
> always a fuck, or maybe a fight to keep a fuck or get a fuck, get
> another fuck. A long time ago, imagining before sleep also helped him
> plan the next day, if he ever woke up again, to get stuff right: right
> place, right time, right change to be right person, and other times
> they changed stuff from how they actually happened, or how someone
> would have like for them to happen, meeting someone, going somewhere,
> being able to start over, a new promise. The second night, when
> gradually the grey lapses turned black, and the black lapses didn't
> suggest sleep, they stop all thoughts from continuing, from forming,
> he resorted to counting. Imaginary fights and fucks were useless for
> him to use to help him get past the black lapses; they only took one
> so far, if one's imaginations turned right, love then a fuck, also a
> pass to do anything to anyone in this world, and if one's imaginations
> didn't amount to anything, no reason to go any further. Staring up at
> the stars, the end half of the second night, he began counting the
> waves crashing on the beach, one, two, three, four-hundred and
> thirty-one, on and on, and with the grey lapses turning blacker and
> blacker, no longer able to repel them, he began to wonder if they
> would finally put him to a sleep that he would never wake up from.
> Yet, the lapses weren't sleep; people choose to sleep, like they chose
> to fuck, kill, and fuck, and kill, kill in assorted ways, they were
> different; worse; they were like an undertow, and after breaking the
> surface to breathe
> again, one not sure about the last count, never sure about the extent
> of the lapse, another black lapse would come, and another, and
> another, halting the
> day after the seventy seventh hour, halting the path. The black lapse
> were like death, one dead sure, never to be here again. He lifted his
> fingers off his wrist, not fast enough, the lapse was starting to
> peak.
>
>
> * *
> bend your left arm, tap right
> phalanges against your elbow * #
> #
> * #
>
> He started to rub sand up and down his arms and up to his neck and
> began counting imaginary drops of water falling on a puddle, one, two,
> three, faster and faster, ten, eleven. His thoughts were beginning to
> go under and be washed away. "Don't stand up," he remembered, every
> muscle in his body wanting him to. The black lapses never appeared
> when someone was doing repetitive motor exercises, one needed to be in
> the dark and supine. At the same time, the black lapses weren't to be
> avoided, in a way, the lapses would be needed to find the path to the
> black mountain, to the day after the seventy seventh hour, to the last
> thought. No one could get to the black mountain by not passing through
> the black lapses, if anyone could get through one, through death
> itself. He would always drown, waking up the next morning to a sound,
> to a strange sense that he almost pierced through but never knowing
> for sure; this was his thirty-fourth attempt trying. After some of the
> black lapses, he would remembered the number with other strange
> figures, and that he was only counting, somehow manipulating the
> number, other figures, that he only counted to stay awake, stay awake
> for the day after.
> The lapse ebbed, and his mind began to slowly clear.
>
> #
> * #
> hold your breath, count the seventy seven
> knots on the string, round and round *
>
> #
> *
> He sat up. The sky was still black but he could see a faint glow
> somewhere on the horizon. "Never here again," he repeated several
> times before resting back to the earth. Past one, he thought to
> himself; this can't be right; the mountain wasn't here. He repeated
> the words from the memorized text, only at night, only supine and
> alone, could the path through the black mountain, the day after the
> seventy seventh hour, creep any nearer. He wanted another black lapse
> to come before the sun climbed into the sky; he wanted to make sure he
> actually past one. "The black lapses have been crossed, and for what,
> for a ?never again.'"
>
>
> ## #
> anything, slap the back of your hand!
> just don't choose to fall asleep before
> the seventy seventh hour # #
>
> ## #
>
> And one came, lasted only a couple of seconds, and he was wrong, or
> just a little off, the black lapses have been never been past, the
> last one like the early lapses, only grey and mistaken for black, and
> this one not only threaten to drown him to sleep, this one physically
> threatened to snap him out of existence. He started to count and
> paused, the stars started to violently shake, the ground erupted, and
> then began to repeat sentences over and over again, this lapse unlike
> anyone of them experienced before.
> (BL) ## #
>
> * ## * # * *
> * #* # # * # * * *
> * ## # # * # *
> * ## * # # ##
> * ## # ## #
> * #### # ## *
> * ## ## ## #
> * ## # * * ## *
> * # ## # *
> * ##
> # * # # ## *
> * * ## * * *
> # * # * ## *
> * * # # *
> * * # # # ##
> * * # # # * # * ## *
> # * * # # * ##
> *# ##
> * # #
> * * * * *
> # * * # *
> * * # * * * *
> * # # # * # # *
> * # # * * *
> # *# # # #
> # # # # # # * # *
> *# # ## #
> * # * # *##
> * # # *
> * # # ##
> # * # * *
> * # * # * ##
> * *#
> * * # * * *
> # * * She was hanging clothes outside,
> *# # #
> * #
> # * # *##
> * # * * * *
> * # * * # # *##
> * # # *# ##
> * ##
> # * ## *##
> * # * * # * *
> # * # * # *
> * * # # *
> * #*
> * * * * *
> # * * # * #
> *##
> * #
> * * * * *
> * #* * *
> * * * #* * *
> * # * *
> * # * # * *
> *
> # * # *
> * and the wind started to come down the mountain.
> * * ### *#
> * *
> *#
> * ## *#
> * * * * *
> # * *#
> * * * *
> * # * * * *#
> * * * *
> * # * * * * *
> * * # *
> * * # *
> *#
> * # * * * *
> * * *
> * * *
> * * * *
> * #
> * *
> *
> * *
> * * *
> *
>
> * * # * * * *
> * * *
> *
> # * * *
> * # *
> *#
> * *
> * * * * *
> * *
> (G) * * *
> *
> There was this green tree on a hill surrounded by a desert, and this
> boy was at its base and looking up. He saw that there was a space that
> one could climb into and disappear from the death. The boy climbed up
> the, tree, and he felt safe; he meet the gentle creature that never
> died, that kept the death away there. They promised the boy to protect
> him from the death. And then some monsters came; they came and rested
> under the tree. The boy watched them grunt to each other. Then they
> all left one behind the other, and a strange smear was left behind, a
> purple light that was slowly spreading. The leaves turned red; the
> black branches turned cold. He climbed down and followed them for
> awhile. They spread the death much faster in their wake than the other
> monsters that were here, the boy thought; there is more purple light
> than the faint glow of the last monsters; these monsters will spread
> the death faster. Some sounds were heard, and he saw them surround one
> of the gentle creatures. The gentle being pleaded for the monsters not
> to spread the death. The monsters didn't care; they wanted what the
> last monsters wanted, whatever the hell that was. The gentle creature
> didn't want to join the monsters so the gentle creature was torn to
> pieces and eaten, munched from the rump all the way to the crown. The
> boy shouted for them to stop but they wouldn't, they even turned and
> smiled. The boy stared to run away; he was really scared, he didn't
> wanna get munched either. The green tree on a hill surrounded by a
> desert is no longer there, and all the gentle creatures have been
> murdered and eaten. Now there is only the purple light and the few
> remaining monsters.
> (G) * *
> * *
> *
> * *
>
> ## * *
> * * * *
>
> (BL)* * *
> He felt the purple pulsation, and was scared. He didn't know exactly
> how but he sensed that maybe he was one of those monsters and that one
> of the gentle beings was trying to communicate with him, the death is
> spreading too fast.
> One of the gentle beings then touched his cheek, and he started to
> cry. He too wanted to reach out, touch the gentle being, put his lips
> on her, maybe munch her a little, but the pulsation went black, and he
> was pull under, and was drowning again.
> (BL) * * ## *
> * ##
> *
> * *
> * * * *
> * *
> * * * *
> The cold wind started to come down the mountain.
> * * * *
> * *
> * ##
> ##
> * * *
> #
> * *
> # *
> * *
> * * * *
> * *
> (B) * * *
> *
> Followed the bum from the interstate; watched him from a distance; and
> waited until he slept before crawling closer. The bridge rumbled, and
> the air smelt like piss. Knelt down and stared at him,*there, ashes
> and trash, sleeping, dreaming. Began to wonder about his thoughts
> right before he drifted off to sleep. He might not wake up tomorrow;
> might wake up to a pain radiating out from the center of his chest,
> down his arms, down his legs, no light, eyes closing around a black
> sky. Nearer, watched*his breathe sprinkle the air with snow flakes.
> Brushed his cheek with the back of my hand; stepped back, crouched
> below the horizon, and remained still. The bum was motionless, silent,
> but I knew he was awake,*skin and eyes, ears and nose, a mind not
> knowing which way the wind was blowing. Wanted to*climb, my black
> silhouette
> rushing forward, and soon, my cold hands around his throat, drowning
> him in his own spit but he soon fell back to sleep, not ever knowing
> the
> reason why he woke up to a quiet black sky. I picked up a rock and
> placed it forward, and then moved the rock back to its former
> location. The bum didn't stir. Stared at the rock and happened to
> think of her. She would always do the same, never even stir, but
> sometimes, after a*strange noise, after a draft of wind, awake a
> little longer, believing that shadows were crossing the black framed
> window, she sometimes noticed a difference but then she would always
> fall asleep and forget. I buried the rock. The bum won't even notice
> the difference when he wakes up tomorrow. Myself, sometimes I would
> wake up in the middle of night, and, strange, find my mind empty,
> frantic almost, no place, no purpose, no name, and after, my name is,
> I'm right here, I'm doing this tomorrow, fall back to*sleep not caring
> about the difference, only wanting to sleep, with a name or not. Stood
> up. Stay awake past the seventy seventh hour; what if you went to
> sleep and you never woke up, she teased once, and tell me then, your
> last thoughts right before you fall to sleep. I looked down at the
> bum. I wanted to creep closer, didn't care if she, the bum, or if
> anyone heard me, soon, real soon, after the seventy seventh hour.
> Stood there, wondering who put all those thoughts in my head right
> before sleep, not her, left the cunt a long time ago, or maybe she
> left me, doesn't matter anymore, she has her prayers I have mine, the
> prayer after*the seventy seventh hour, and wondered there too long.
> The bum was beginning to open his eyes as the sun behind me climbed.
> And then there was only a scream. *
> (B) *
> * *
> * * * *
> * *
> * * and the wind came down the mountain. *
> *
> * *
>
> ##
> *
>
>
> (C) *
> Don't fucking drive a car, idiot; walk, take the bus; and position the
> body to sleep at night; that's right, no coffee, no mindless stunts,
> only position: supine, tittering on the edge of the black lapses!
>
> * ##
> Blue toaster waved at little Red saucer.
>
> "Hi!"
>
> Little Red saucer started to cry. ##
>
> He only dated you to get near someone better, and you two broke up not
> because of an absence of love but because one person didn't want to
> share, further a lie, the truth being, you'll lose, just because you
> haven't yet, doesn't mean you won't, see right over here, your soul
> stops, and guess what, little critters were playing over where your
> soul stopped, little greens ones, blue, and orange ones; they were
> really funny.
>
> "So what you gonna do with that secret?"
>
> Little red saucer stopped crying. ##
>
> "Be sure to get pregnant next time before someone really gets to know
> me."
>
> Blue toaster nodded.
> ##
> Some thunder was heard, and rain drops began to fall.
>
> Copper tea pot appeared.
>
> "Super glue has put me together again."
> ##
> Little Red saucer started to spin, around and around.
>
> "A day smashed and put together again later."
>
> A tea bag peeped.
> ##
> "Some parts missing, missing parts filled in with super glue, supposed
> to make you stronger now."
>
> Copper tea pot didn't like that so she left so did blue toaster.
>
> "Bye."
>
> They looked back and only saw a tea bag on a red saucer.
>
> *
>
>
> *
> Some blue critter was being hurt. And she asked what are all the
> motives to kill, to hurt, and the little blue critter cried out before
> being slapped in and out between some pink bums, to eat and continue
> the soul, to fuck and further one's soul. *
> (C)
> *
> *
>
>
> * *
>
>
> She left him to stand there alone.
>
>
> *
>
>
> (BL) *
> He plunged downward, further and further, and the sentences were
> starting to change; they were getting stranger; he felt they would
> eventually lead him to the source of the wind, the mountain, to the
> very last sentence.
> (BL) *
>
>
> *
> *
> #7#
> # *
>
> #
> * And he stood there alone. #1
> #
> *
>
>
> ##4
> (D) #
> Stuff to do during the day so as to stay awake passed the 77th hour:
> don't walk around, from one end of the city to the other; don't walk
> down some railroad tracks, walk back; don't read; don't watch TV;
> don't work, no fun; don't panhandle for loose change; don't protest
> something; don't do anything, just rest, go down to the park, lay down
> under a tree, use only thoughts, to repel the white lapses,
> *
> * 5#
>
> Stuff to do during the night: write a little, from memory, from the
> past day,
> then position self supine, and wait for black one's.
>
>
>
> *
> * #6
> And put this thought in your pretty little head, maybe after another
> and another black lapse, up until sometime after the 77th hour, more
> and more parts of her and the whole world slowly disappearing, or
> something
> weird like that, finally the black mountain will be lifted off on this
> place, off and away, something cool like that.
>
>
> *
> * *
> "Bitch, you ain't got no mojo."
>
> Some funny little critters were dancing around an old couple, and some
> danced better than others.
>
> "So you two have been together for over fifty years."
>
> "See those two boys near the tree watching the girl over there?"
>
> The couple nodded to the girl.
>
> "The girl thought she loved one of the boys a little more but then one
> boy killed the other boy so then the girl ended up loving the boy that
> was still around. Why?"
>
> The woman looked at her husband and said, "it's a trap; she wants to
> lure us in."
>
> "Or how about those two girls watching that boy; one of the girls died
> and the one still around ended up being loved by the boy."
>
> "Why."
>
> The old man started to break dance, and the old woman put her hands on
> her knees.
>
> "Ever wonder how two people come together?"
>
> The critters started to run away. They both shrugged.
>
> "Boys and girls die so you two can be together."
> (D)
>
> *
>
> *
>
> (BL)
> Sleep, sleep, sleep, tomorrow will be different, you'll be able to
> live with the promises you broke, and then one day you won't even wake
> up at all, entered his mind, and these were unlike the grey lapses,
> these were more sincere, he wouldn't be able to keep his promise to
> the child left on the mountain, the black lapses kept him from coming
> any closer. The fragment
> startled little child embracing a balloon that went pop flickered for
> a moment and then the sky went black again. He lifted his head off the
> ground and looked around. He didn't know where he was, nothing was
> familiar, where he was suppose to go, and there was no one beside him,
> no one around. He stopped the sentences, she didn't leave him, he
> didn't leave her, never any relationship, only a couple of one night
> stands, he needed to be honest to himself, and he was never alone, not
> then, not seven years later, he belonged with those from the black
> patch, only motives to keep thought going, he hoped to use them to be
> able to keep his promise but they weren't enough, they weren't enough
> to pass through the lapses, and he sure didn't want them to be his
> last thoughts. He wanted to get to the black mountain; wanted the day
> after the seventy seventh hour; he wanted to keep his promise, the
> promise to the child with the black ribbon.
>
>
>
> *
>
> (E)
> The remains of the dead baby were on one of the mountain's ledges.
>
>
>
> And that makes all the difference, pieces of a person still here, if
> not the soul, still alive, and another dead and listening to a
> cricket. Don't even need to listen to a cricket to learn that, proof
> in us all, alive today, well as sure to be alive tomorrow.
>
> Wonder who you killed on your way to
>
> They may not be dead now but they'll be dead, and you'll/you both
> still be around somewhere, some future someone gazing off then
> unexpectedly smiling, that be you/you both smiling, some piece that
> was in you now in them,
>
> Good title for a story: wonder who you killed on your way to a happy
> life.
>
> Can you see the soul in one person, say a father or mother, and see
> that same soul in one of their children, and doesn't have to be
> complete, that is, interfere with the autonomy of a person, but, I
> guess, also known as a characteristic, like a smile, she has her
> father's eyes, she has her mother's temper, maybe same thing as the
> soul; don't know that much about the stuff.
>
> Anybody alive must have a good soul then, they be alive, anyone else
> dead.
>
>
>
> DNA are the instructions that put life together; if anywhere the soul
> be in there; our souls are carried forward by our children, et al
> spiny C+.
>
> maybe you're afraid she cares more, so many ways to do nothing in this
> life; why didn't she happen to fall into one;
>
> think and write, think and write, think and write, think and write
>
> 1997, seven years ago, took me awhile to put it together, only
> instructions that put life together, only instructions.
>
> Cut and slice,
> (E)
>
>
> (F)
> And then there's 1997, some killings still happen the same old way,
> left on a mountain top, the woods, or a salt shaker in a glass of
> water,
>
>
> what is this soul in man, the soul is a mother or father holding their
> baby, and the soul is passed on and on. Can the soul stop, sure can,
> by not having a baby, that's the reason why making sure the soul
> continues is so important,
> make black white, wrath to grace, pop songs, and cool sit-coms.
>
> He killed a man's/woman's soul from continuing and got fifteen years.
> He got out and married, and had two children. Some souls are sure
> better than others.
>
> On and on, and on and on,
>
> The tail will catch up to the head someday.
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> Only reason to court to check whether someone can keep their promises,
> that be make money, shelter, protection, smarts, muscle, misc., or to
> find out their promises are a lie, not going to do enough to ensure
> eternal life, so to seek someone who can without wasting anymore
> youth/time. He didn't need to change that, she left him on the cold
> beach, right before the pacific expanse, maybe because he/she sensed
> that he couldn't ensure that she/they would live forever, that meant
> changing/continuing the world and people to make sure their baby had
> the best chance to continue the same.
>
> And he risked everything, risked even hope.
>
> *
>
> *
>
>
>
>
>
> *
>
> Your soul continued here but others changed here all so their
> souls could continue better, that make any sense.
>
> Dude scratched his head. There changing here more and more.
> Yup
>
>
> Makes you wanna try to change stuff too uh.
>
> My soul has gone as far as possible.
>
> I have no right. What right does anyone have? Some souls are better
> than others. Proof is in the pudding, and everything that come after
> because of that.
>
> -
>
> He no longer had any promise anyone could trust. They are changing the
> world and people by force to insure their eternal life; he expected to
> help them or something.
>
> Mom and Dad worked till they both drop dead one day, and for what.
> They would never understand, any moment God's wrath rained merciless.
> *
> 1: water purifier, 2: instant live eggs, 3: growth food; guaranteed to
> live two years; 95 cents postage and handling
>
> I'm alive, the fiery mountain, the day after the 77 hour.
>
> Most normal nights, not any thoughts, stop prayers long time ago, only
> wake up to another morning, an intermission, plenty food and plenty of
> women, some snapping at bling bling, others a couple of nods when they
> speak of stuff, then, eventually, curtains closing, opening, mangas
> colored rojo, the cream rising to the top, crap sinking.
>
> Possible state of mind after the 77th hour: fucking really tired, and
> like any other night, not caring to ever waking up again; at the
> steppe of the black mountain; or, wondering what 38402 93845 02038 938
> 9 84 9 is up to. State of body: p 100, bp 150/90, r 25, t 36.0
>
> Possible states of the body and mind after love: some bodily fluids
> over a white sheet, maybe some moaning if she really loves you; or
> someone in a trashcan, let someone build on a lie, someday a house of
> cards crashing down.
>
> ....
>
> False start: an utterance then abandoning it, sometime before the end,
> and starting a new idea,
>
> What if one followed a false start to the end, done in argument though
> rarely?
>
> Amethyst hippos go to the upside down Marshmallow Mountains every year
> for fun and stuff. Usually after amethyst hippos the statement stops
> and changes to something like this, amethyst hippos don't exist unless
> someone paints them.
>
> Stuff been done before in stories, a false start, and then the end,
> more or less, two people just looking at each other, maybe hugging, or
> some dude in a dark room looking out of a window, 3 A.M., snow
> falling, a faraway light, something like that.
>
> And believe me, worse, fucking heart breaking, poor kid disqualified
> from a swimming meet, or far worse, stuff that'll
> make tears run down your cheek, at least for a little while.
>
>
> Salt shaker in a glass of water speaks to artificial sweetener, TA
> diner remember, I80, East of Chicago, 97
>
> "And why does your love include having more than one baby?"
>
> "Nobody wants to stop your love!"
>
> "If anything, she wants to strength it. Nothing better than two
> people, even with death we'll never part, everyone, everything, else
> fucking corrupting that, adulterated it." Really fucking sickening, we
> think.
>
> "No one's gonna come between your precious love, silly; you two have
> nothing else."
>
> "Unless something else is going on, something to do with your eternal
> life, killing other life, halting any other life from having a chance,
> or something, you think."
>
> "16 8 4 2, and guess what, there is more mercy in that than the mercy
> given to others.
>
> "Live with it, we all don't for very long, you'll figure that out.
> ....
>
> (F)
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> *
>
> *
>
> * *
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> (A) reprise
> The first time he tried to pass the black lapse he. . .and woke up the
> next morning feeling disappointed.
>
> Larry was holding the hand of a little child, then they both turned
> and disappeared up the crooked path. He kept staring, imagining them
> waiting for him but he knew he would never reach them in time. And he
> wanted to there with them, alive, more than anything. They waited, and
> he sat down beside them under the green tree on the hill
>
>
> Why has man concealed that the soul is really passed on and on through
> fucking and stuff. There is evidence for that, anywhere someone is
> watching someone else hold their infant child. The infant is usually
> thought as a separate person, as if the child can belong to anyone,
> when, evidence contradicts that, and that may explain many motives.
> Maybe some souls are better than others, look around, read some
> history books, lot of people look strangely a like. Anyway, stuff has
> been covered, boring kinda, reason why people get up in the morning,
> reason why they'll do anything to further their soul. If the soul can
> be furthered 2 4 8 16, some turkeys sacrificed on the way, then it
> sure as hell can be furthered 16 8 4 2.
> Where does the soul of a person go when the person dies?
>
>
> Is the soul the same as personality?
>
>
> Does thought have a soul?
>
>
> The child softly said, don't need me to tell you your soul will stop
> too. The child soon ran off after a black butterfly and disappeared
> over a sand dune. Larry lit some one hundreds, and then Larry spoke,
> what so fucking difficult for you to understand, not anyone's fault
> either, no fucking conspiracy, people's only interest is in furthering
> their own soul anyway they can and if they can't they get mad and,
> Larry paused and stoked, smoke slowly disappearing from his lips, and
> then continued, terrible stuff sometimes happen.
>
> Make the fucking connection, love, fucking, kids, and a kingdom,
> behind everything someone does, good or bad.
>
>
>
>
> The child reappeared holding a black ribbon, and behind the child the
> clouds were starting to change color, and he was overwhelmed with
> sadness.
>
>
> "Promise me."
>
>
> (A) * *
> *
> * 14 * * 86*
> * 95*
> 239 * 59
> 7
> * * ## *
> * *77
> * * * ## * 68 *
> * * *
> *## ##
> * #
> * # ##
> * *# # ## ##
> 455 ## ## ##0 # ## *
> * * # ### # # ## ### ##### *
> * * # #4# ## # # ## #### ###
> * * ### ## # ### ### # ### ####
> * 1# ## # ## ##### ## ## ## ### #7##
> * ### ## ### # #6# ## # ## ### # ## ## ##
> ## ## ### ### ### ## ### # ## # ## # #
> * ## ## ## #### 45## #### ### ## # #### # 6# # # ## ## ## ###
> ## ## * * *##
> * # ## *
> * ## ##
> ## * ## ###*
> ## ## #
> * * ## ##
> #* * ## ## * ## * *
> ## * * * ##
> * ## ##
> *## ##
> (BL)
> He sat up, brushing some of the snow and sand off his legs. The wind
> was starting to flow the opposite direction; he could see the mountain
> above the horizon and the dark orange glow behind it. The mountain was
> moving up and away. He wouldn't be able to keep his promise but he had
> faith in one that would.
> ##
> #
> #
>
> And he remembered seeing a bug in a toilet;
> #
> he remembered how the wet bug felt in his hand as he walked
> towards an exit; and then the black lapse over took him, and he was no
> more.
>
> (BL)
>
> the end
>
>
> [more of the same, surreal stuff, lucid dreaming etc.; first part
> introduction to the phenomenon: inability to stay awake, and if awake
> for too long the body and mind puts an end to that through, call them
> whatever, black lapses, nodding off, and why so, what thought is it
> trying to prevent the mind from putting together; and then what
> follows, second part, the usual, some stuff that'll have gramps or
> some future gramps mad, same fucking gramps thinking they be the whole
> reason why world and other people, ideas, are existent, since the
> whole world rests on their shoulders, of course, or something; and
> then the requiem, third part, maybe the kid gets to the mountain, the
> day after the seventy seventh hour, or maybe this lapse finally puts
> him down, or maybe he wakes up the next morning, one day closer to
> death, one day closer where he will be no more.
>
>
>
> Anyway going for seven vignettes, not really sure how I am going to
> link them other than they all attached to the black lapses, and need
> to step away from this work for awhile, come back later, mind's fried.
>
>
> The black lapses
> / \
>
> G -- B -- C
> / \
> E \
> A / \ |
> D F
> Just more ideas behind my vignettes, and they themselves supporting
> the phenomenon, the black lapses, nodding off, just like the
> phenomenon of false dawns
>
>
>
>
> ]