Is he me?

Or am I gone?

Such dark waters I’m drowning in.

Where’d the great man go?

Is he dead?

Did he ever live to begin with?

Dark room, slickly black stairwell oozing ink all over the floor. Knock ing about the ceiling are bats with cheesy grins. Their eyes penetrate past the breast plate.

Squish- Squish – Squish, is the slick echo of tennis shoes slowly sludging through the icky pile of bodies under foot.

Such drab carpeting at that, thought the voyeur as his lips did begin to quiver.

Lights flicker on and off in an unsteady rythmn, casting shadows outward and drawing breath in.

Where did he go? Where did he wonder?

Overhead, where once was spackle and matter, now is abyss.

Heart goes out a little more.

Drop to knees now.

“Was it Tuesday?”

The deep voice crawls into my skull, smashing asunder all the walls.

“Was it Wednesday?”

Intruder digs a little deeper, wants to steal all my treasures.

“Was it … today?”

Peering out from eyes where there were none, it commandeers.

Oh, what a wonderful hostage, be I – he said, wincing.

(Tremble but a little more and spread your wings against the floor, my little angel… )

Cackle, tackle smash and crackle.

Crayola mess amass the floor.

And all we have are red ones.

“When did you lose your mind, Cy?”

And now the man turns his eyes to older demon, bespectacled and irksome.

“Mind, have you? Have I, a mind, to mind a mind?”

Dribble only spews and drips a little more.

“You’re facing a man this week. His name is Crimson Dong. Do you know where you are?”

Ah yes, the phantom phallus? Such an evil-doer, at that.

Would I be hero or ally?

Do words matter anymore?

Do eyes and sight?

No end in sight.

“…crrim…s….”[/color]

Yes, words do not come. They are banished in this sticky place.

No place for them anymore, nowhere to stash them away. No harbor to procure and no safety.

So, the words? They go away.

All we’re left now is with neuron and nancyboy.

He loves his words. Ties them up in fanciful bows and wants you to unravel all the goodies for him.

To hell with it.

To hell, we went.

No words, no mind, no soul, no hole.

Nothing and everything, all at once and neither.

He but pantomimes reality, ‘going through motions’, an empty vessel straying through space.

Now we know.

We know we mind no minds and tell no tales.

“… he needs a health facility immediately….. he’s gone aphemic…”

Strong hands might grasp the chin but black-glass eyes shrivel away.

Chittering, knattering, nonsense and nincompoop. Gotta beat the ‘Devil-Dong’ away…