FINIS
Remember, surfer, thou are dust, it is the blight. ( Is that it ? ) Draw round. Since I´ve been sick in this head for so long I don´t see really, actually an overamount of inducement now. No. ( Yes. She delivered this, film over eyes, no inverted commas )
Then there was the day they caught the long telephoning with nobody at the other end. Terror is a little furry animal. Trap the scream, grist for your musical art. As from a vast distant, the eyes. Cold. ” Someone come up and lift me.” I´d locked up the meat-carver. Let this chalice never pass. Stand by me now, O great self-love. Bridges burned, down the long road….
Her scream roared, ranted, her rocking ululation, that catatonic wail a chthonic keen. Caoine. Art comes from plumbing. Twenty seven years . Molten lava, lads, bottle her good …. ( I had to employ a food-taster. – Had to. ) Well, the eyes´ cold filmed fear had to snap. Actually. The terminal sprawl as her electrolytes just snapped like that. Furry, foetid, fetid finis.