Another day (7818) tumbles into its grave, torn-tethered to the last, response-ready for the next, resigned to its place in the cosmos... the plants just do their life-affirming thing...
Lost of care, lost of crucial intensity, lost of smelly synchronicity, my soul is...
(Quanta do their things. Quite amazing their speed, really.)
Or IS all this shit real? Or NOT?
(I still feel Her.) Every fucking day. Every fucking day.
Some days are mildly different.
Some days are very cold.
Some days are simply warm. I like them. The birds sing to me...
Some days are HOT.
And then I know. It is sooooo easy to see.
"See the stone set in your eyes,
See the thorn twist in you side,
I wait for you.
Slight of hand and twist of fate,
On a bed of nails she makes me wait.
And I wait without you.
With or without you.
With or without you..."
U2, "With or Without You" and IT is still relevant.
I almost dropped his personal signal to the XO, and surveyed the scene. The interior was vast, smoothly and roundly cut. and molecularly immaculate upon quick inspection. (Like the inside of an unfamiliar gem, quietly rational but superbly exotic.)
There were almost a dozen of us, moving further into the belly of AMHRF, Level Seven. No human has ever been down here, and back.
My eyes caught few details.
Several old-school ships were berthed - maybe even moth-balled - and they sat, sad and dust-covered, even way down here, the glib 'flying saucers" of our parent's days. They seemed like pathetic relics in a crude museum, even though they probably outclassed anything our Defense Dept could do, in their current state.
Then another door, but it was a tack-welded, steel-framed door, so I knew humans had been down here before. Or had built that, at least.
My Security Team was nonchalant, as cool as Fonzie, as they obviously shared with the other Greys in our novel team. The new room was over-lit, more of an orange light, and it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. Like tangerines on fire, amplified.
"XO, we're pats-smil. Repairs are underway, are they not?"
"Aye, Klargen."
"Prep for dust-off immediately after repairs are complete."
"Blinx, Klargen."
"Now you're just somebody that
I used to know..."
Gotye, "Somebody I Used To Know" and it kicks ass.
I don't psychically want to exploit this whole story Beatrix, but, maybe, I damn well will. For my own reasons. (Like naked profits, truly revealed karma, spiritual wisdom gained, and a tiny amount of [relatively] harmless revenge. It'd take a sly-as-fuck detective or a dedicated, patient friend to figure this all out, unless I write it.)
I know you aren't either one or the other. Just something else. (That I totally, without-limits, loved.)
I'll do it all by myself, like always. (Personal High-Five!) (Closer to a high-seven-plus, to be TMI honest... you must recall the pulsing, titanium-bolt intent. You commented on it, quite often, in near-rapturous states, way back then, in those sweaty beds of your late teens.)
Don't be surprised when the checks show up there in that Tuatara box. Just cash them. Sign, and cash. So easy.
Just eat it up, and never give mind to me. (You obviously can't and haven't, so there's no large change there. These aren't the 'droids you're looking for...)
(Don't dare look/recall/remember back, Beatrix, you can't rightly constitute it, I surmise. What a pity. You missed a symbolic epic story in your youth... and turned it into pseudo-feministic rage, unearned anger, and blind-unaware fear. Wow.
Congratulations! Your path was set as a would-be victim. Of ME. If I was SUCH am emergency-level threat, would you be reading this 22 years later, in the soft comfort of your island home? (No.)
I'm such a direct and violent bastard, right?
That's what you intimated that day long ago,
(I would assertively turn the tables on that in Court, of course, should you renew that avenue. Because YOU, Ms Beatrix, were the mean, petty, angry one. Or, perhaps just naive and young and, therefore, scared. Of ME. [Which nearly makes me laugh.])
Songbirds and crows aren't even afraid of me, and YOU are? (Shed that Zookish fraidy-cat shit and be real.)
Still writing the screenplay.
It IS ironic you'll pay to see the movie that is written about you.
Cash the checks.
