Dear Delou,

You have asked me this once and since I am sitting here now with all five senses I shall answer them now.

Yes, I am the angel that as been evicted from his apartment complex in heaven. I've got the evil of many men and I've got the hearts; who knows what I will be next, a tyrant? a spaceman? a soldier? a box? a flea?

You could see me under the shoes all it takes is a closer look. No need for a glass, no need for the books...can you ever once guess what I will be? Well if I were a tyrant, I'd give a rose to you than march my men for complete annihilation of the most despised object.

And if I were a spaceman, I'd float for some sacred place, kill the interstellar ladies and gentlemen whom want us vulnerable and keep us paranoid in soft rooms, the cushions printed with a thousand and one dreadful eyes.

If I were a soldier, I'd sing in No Man's Land, walk up to my comrades looking like the homeless man's swiss cheese. If I were a box, that's a very unfair life to live but a small child shall doodle on me a bright happy sun face and I would just have to deal with it.

And if I were a flea, I'd crawl into a skin and walk upon this earth as though I were a man.

Uneasily Yours,

Von

Surely crows have cried "Hallelujah!"
was there ever a day that they didn't I am most sure the nuns would give up their vow of celibacy and hand themselves over to the mass quantities of gigolos.

Amongst the city, these birds are compared to the likes of holy figures with just the saying of that word and I can guarantee that something most grand happens in the usually bleak city.

In a way they were like the stately raven of the saintly days of yore who sits, stares, and squawks "Nevermore!" but the crows were not so obvious in speaking the word "Nevermore" in great numbers in a glorious time of war.

Despite the towering black bodies of these creatures, they were believed to be "The High-minded Pack of Feathered Miracles" but there was something of irony when the birds cawed "Hallelujah!" for they be the symbolism of many a horrid things and fables.

I would often see them picking at the war-torn corpse of the battlefield's body, did I ever at once hear them quote "Hallelujah!" oh no, not when they were devouring yesterday's friend, it was more like "Nevermore!" like the stately raven and I would scream and run and shout "Nevermore of nevermore!"

Miracles with blackened wing and sharpened beak were not quite a surprise but when the crows shouted "Hallelujah!" over the brainless heads of that great structured city, I hid for I knew "The High-minded Pack of Feathered Miracles" had gone mad.

They swooped down with their ironic wings and my war battered people never questioned when "Hallelujah!" plucked out their eyes.

Infant sinner in Kalviomoken lamp shades
there was nothing ever here for you
infant sinner stop making me feel like ze, please don't shatter my mirror at 3AM

The hand that bleeds is the eye that sees and so on the queens tell me
there were things that could stain my shirt and things I would rather stay blind to
infant sinner, don't shoo your feng shui at I

Tie me to the heel floor and drag out the ghost.

I put my hand on the wall and leaned forward, my gut twitching spastically trying to hold in the vomit. In my convulsion I had swallowed the putrid cream. It tasted like nervousness with a smell of feet and a fat-like texture and here I taste this nightmare like a gluttonous food judge. No baby no matter how inhuman it is should have to consume this. There was a mingle of noises and voices as I tried to get over my agonized taste buds. I gagged a few more moments then walked back over to the fine upholstery, trying to forget about what I saw before Ezekiel came back. Thirty minutes had gone by and I began to see faint polka dots in my vision. Turning my attention to the door I saw him stalk out of the now silent room. No longer caring about what this gentleman did or was going to do to me or to the members of society I sat back and watched him with hardened eyes. His eyes were lowered; too busy wiping his bloodied hands with a snow white handkerchief to return my gaze. I watched him, his shoes deliciously tapping on the bright floor. He stopped right in front of me like he was in a trance of absolute unawareness but I knew he was doing thus on purpose, trying to get a good old caterwaul out of me for he knew I saw the blood and he knew that I was the kind of person who would faint at such things. But with my now lack of albatross I could careless. Once his palms were completely free of body fluid his old, tired eyes looked down upon me from my position on the couch. And the only words he said to me were: “A failed experiment and that is all I should say on that matter.” I drooped my head down and thought: Now he is playing god, must he control everything? What a tyrant. Ezekiel sat across from me took out the papers from his overcoat and began to look over them. It was soundless and for once I had not seen a single sly grin curl upon his lips. Ezekiel sat back and viewed them with care. His eyeballs moving with interest and I simply could not stand the silence much longer so I blurted “You cannot be serious?” Ezekiel’s head shot up to look at me with wide eyes. I looked away and let him continue with his reading. “I failed; I got the feeling that I have failed.” He cried moments later. I looked over at him in surprise “Oh god,” his eyes rolled up to the ceiling and I could see tears glass his eyes. I could hear him sniffle “Oh goodness…” the whimpering got louder this time. I heard his voice turning into something sweet and more human not a cold, sophisticated beast. “My son!” he howled in anguish “My god! What a horrid turn of events!” he covered his melancholic face with his hand. “Oh what have I done?” I did not react I just stared at him “Oh dread, oh, dreading dreadful…The bird’s cage is unlocked and the cat is hungry.” Ezekiel moaned. He put the papers down, got up and slowly walked away. I saw the lonely figure of a sinister man. Ezekiel had his arms around his person


I watched him, feeling and tasting his sadness with my eyes. My attention went to his voice as it spoke again “Great eye taking the last waltz, saints and tyrants threw me into a broken elevator, a torn spirit has got the great mama face of a thousand soldiers marching to a fist above war, a spit into the face of the business man who tried to push me off a twenty story building, broken teeth and I have loved too long in the stages of sleep.” His voice wandered off into the depth of the hallway. It was a few more bits into the muteness when suddenly the voice shrilled “Got blood all over me blue suit. How wonderful, grotesque, and in the strange; the exquisite corpse only drinks the young wine once. Before we knew it my father was a chrome based humanoid and I could not blink because frankly I can’t repent the fiendish rapscallion in me.” His figure disappeared from view. The voice echoed momentarily and then silence. I tried to think things over in the silence trying to keep this little moment, realizing that this gentleman had emotion, realizing that he was three very different individuals in one body. That he was a man but not at all. It was a very confusing moment in time so I got up and followed Ezekiel’s footsteps into the great unknown like a pet. I wanted to know where he was planning to locate next and what kind of act on the stage of life he was going to perform next. My walk was quick as I followed him. He was non-existent; I believe he went into the elevator I now see. A beautifully decorated equipment; not fully detailed to my vision from the distance. But as I came closer to the elevator I saw its decorations; a design that called upon heartbreak. The elevator opened habitually as I walked inside. I stood there; trying to suck in my breath before the elevator levitated upward; quickly to the heavens. I held my organs in my mouth as I gripped the metal railing trying to keep my feet straight. The elevator rattled and hummed then stopped roughly so roughly in fact that it felt like my brain hit the roof of my cranium; resulting in a major headache. I walked out feeling quite dizzy so I leaned myself onto the door as it separated and became two doors. My ears picked up a soft sound. The sound was of like the kind that I had witnessed upon the stage in Ezekiel’s moment of madness. But it was much sweeter no it was a bittersweetness and oh so delicate and troubled was the muffled sound. I exited the entrance of the elevator before the doors shut on me as consequence I followed that somber melody. While following it; I heard an unnerving shriek that petrified the Holy Ghost right out of me. “My god.” My voice accompanied a loud crashing among one of the rooms, the room with the muffled singing. I trotted a few more steps and the sound was now very familiar “Amazing Grace” I remembered this piece of music; we use to sing this when papa took me to church. What a bore, I do remember.


I turned to my left and saw the door; it was unfastened a bit in an almost suspenseful manner. The choir was so loud now that it made me quite nervous; thinking I was going back to that deranging moment on the stage. I pushed the door all the way and caught sight of Ezekiel lounging on the floor, limp like a puppet, with clear revolt on his kisser. A little further into the room was the singy songy choir singing “Amazing Grace” they were almost pitted to the corner in the vicinity of tremor; four men and four women. Objects were scattered across the room; silverware, photographs, cigarettes, and string among other strange things. His arm slumped over the silverware casket while the other arm’s hand babied a dying cigarette. Ezekiel’s expression turned to absolute melancholia. It took the poor devil a moment to notice me. His cheerless head dragged a moment before lifting to look up at me with the most worn out eyes to ever grace a man’s countenance. He looked so old sitting there like a beaten animal; like the old fox that he was. My goodness how the woebegone cut the air like a knife through soft flesh. But he was not an ugly sadness more of like a sublime sadness, like a peintre created a piece that told the curious eyes of a many grand funereals. My eyes looked back at him he noticed this and said “Never have an entire conversation in a backward speech, it leaves a lot of loose ends and no one gets to prove their point.” His voice was so blank it was unnatural to hear him talk as such. “No, sir I don’t believe I will ever do that.” I replied just going along with this certain type of madness. “Good, lad, very good…oh and do you mind if I can bother you for one those fags over there?” I looked down at the scattered cigarettes, picked one up and took it over to him. Ezekiel flicked the tiny butt away. “Can you insert it into my word hole, please?” he watched my hesitation and said “Since I temporally have no use of my arms at this very moment it would be very kind of you, gentleman.” He spoke with absolute ease like he felt that there was nothing to fear from me. “My dear friend.” He uttered with a grin coiled upon the lips making the cigarette hang from his mouth. “Do you need any help?” I said with worry for of the look on his face. “Oh, help, oh yes I always need help, help, help, help.” He tuned in a high-pitched voice flicking his fingers about. “I shudder to think that the many of men at this exact moment never left Ms. Breakdown money on the nightstand and because of it they have not all had their company graced by the great Edgard.” He said and gave me a dizzy smile and I smiled back very politely. His expression suddenly turned to a neurotic joy. He clasped his hands together and cried out “Joy on earth and mercy mild! Call the doctor!!” I leaped to the red phone seated on the table right next to silent, unmoving choir. I was about to dial the emergency number but heard a voice shout “By god, what are you doing boy?!” I whirled around “Dialing the hospital.” I said matter-of-factly. “Put the phone down, idiot!” Ezekiel growled and I put the phone down; watching him as he dropped his head. I stared at the poor figure and a bloody-minded thought popped into my cranium What if I cut the line of this treacherous artiste? End this snake in the grass aesthetic murderer, this high class whore of the twenty first century, the charlatan that one meets at the crossroads of morality, the devil that lies in the afterlife saying that heaven is this way when its really down the street…hm yes, kill the monster when he is wounded, I’m doing what the great Aztol would have done, I am the savior and I shall bring the aesthetics back to the tradition oh yes, I could not block the thought it was stuck in my eyes like a diabolical star. I covered my burning orbs, peeking through the fingers to see Ezekiel still in his sleep-like state upon the floor. He already made the appearance to look like the dead for how still he was. But some part of me wanted to make sure he never got back up. I looked down onto the floor and may the lucky devils have this; a knife sparkling and of a just birthed kind lay on the clustered floor. My temptation was going to throw me off a cliff once I spotted it shining in the light so brilliantly. Reflecting and calling out names especially mine. It screamed for blood, for the blood of the artist, for the sake of art. I was sickened with my nervous twitches again; biting my nails, shaking wrists, holding my hands above my mouth. Give him his day; put the poor bastard out of his misery…that wily dog will have his judgment day now! I clamped my hands over the ears and grinded my jaw. “Shut up!” did my voice roar. Let him fall…you don’t need the money you need an honest life, my friend that is what’s called for. Your morality and may I just say your life is at stake here in this little victimizing bond; this maelstrom of complete and total bedlam doesn’t need you in it; you are an innocent the most of all at your age, little furry dicks doing a lot worst than you could ever do. The paramour of the century; the tainted generation…the tainted generation it is not of parents oh no not because of them it is the century; good god, man it’s twenty seventy! The world should’ve been blown to smithereens back in two thousand! Fuck! You twat we are drowning in the apocalypse! We regret for we were born in the mad as a March hare age.


I ran my hands down my face; eyes like darts at the slumbering man on the messy floor. My attention turned to the silent choir which now disappeared from this room. I began to ponder where they have gone during this chunk of time in the room. I never saw the ladies or the gentlemen leave. There was only one door and I would have sighted them exit. Suppose a trap door caused their disappearance but that was highly unlikely; it is more likely that it was some kind of vanishing act. I expected the avant-garde in this mansion and so I got it. Ezekiel was so stock-still and I was unmoving as anything. The thoughts became my weakness and the great sickness. They would surely find that Ezekiel was dead; suspect foul play, witnesses are a plenty in here, swine would question them; asking who he was last seen with, numero uno; me. They would come and get me. Paranoia hit me like a bolt of lightening. I won’t be their savior my mission is to save the very security of philosophy and I have quite frankly failed; it will fail…kill him to save yourself, kill him so that you can live if you do not it shall become the exact opposite. He’s being dragged down that grand atrocity in the hands of praying would be saints and he’s planning on scratching you down with him. He does not deserve to live in the warmth of the sun like the other men; a public outcry is apparent in this city, society wants him dead…they all know he has killed people but they disregard his exhibitions, thinking false of the parts that are real. Some get taken into this they become his followers, adding to the population of the depraved and some ignore and repulse and some are so frightened that they don’t know what the world of art is coming to. Police won’t give a filthy rat’s ass about the violence in the museum, they keep their eyes on the street…think those rodents will tell the filth about what is going on in there? Ha! Too scared for the walls have ears. I fell onto my knees with the knife dangerously close to my person, begging for Ezekiel’s heart. “Shut up! Oh lord, shut up in there!!” I shouted. Want me to stop? Then I suggest you pick up that knife, you little wanker and give that fucker the best piece he shall ever have! Make him the art for once. “Mr. Edgard.” I heard a soft voice say. I looked up and my eyes caught sight of one of the maids. She walked in very pleasantly and with care. She was followed by one butler, then a second, then a third maid, then a fourth butler. “Mr. Edgard,” she repeated “It would be so kind of you to quietly leave the premises until you are called upon again.” The maid was calm and so it made me get up from my position. I began to watch the servants spread around the unconscious Ezekiel. The one maid and the one butler gripped the wrists of the artists. The two other butlers grabbed the legs of him. They heaved him up and walked him out; Ezekiel’s head hanging as they carried him. His throat was exposed and I noticed a vein crawling underneath the soft flesh. His handsome head bobbed up and down as the servants conveyed him through the door.

I put my hand upon my throat and bit my bottom lip anxiously but my uncertainty had turned into anger so I folded up the piece of paper and ripped it into little bite sized bits. I scrambled up to the left door, jiggled the doorknob frantically and then exploded, slamming my fists upon this person’s door. “How do you know this?!!” I screamed “Who are you?!” my voice burned in my throat “There is nothing wrong with what I am doing!!” I roared but nothing came from the inside “Nothing!! You hear me? You bloomin’ spider on the wall! Nothing! I need the money, do you not understand?! I need it! I will become king!!!” I heard my own insane yells and with embarrassment I had ceased. I came closer to the door and whispered in a hoarse voice “Leave me alone.” I turned around and I was surprised to see my other neighbor, the Finnish inventor. “Are you alright, Edgard?” he spoke with such concern and landed his hand upon my shoulder. “You look like a frightened little bird.” Our eyes met “You actually look like pure fear, what devil has gotten into you to make you act so?” his voice dripped with care like a father. “Oh nothing at all is bothering me, Lino, not today.” I said trying to cover up my fury. “Come on inside.” Lino beckoned me into the open door and I followed gladly. Lino shut the door behind me with silence. “I’m not going to question what exactly was the going ons out there. But I will ask of you the location that you have been all this morning, you said goodbye to me at ten o’ clock last night and now I finally see your sorry hide at two o’ clock this afternoon. Where have you been?” he said as he folded his arms “I was beginning to think the government snatched you into some great conspiracy.” This guy must have thought he was my mother, the way he acted but I suppose this is just fine since no one else cared for me like he did. “No, no government conspiracies today though I do wish that was the case.” My bland voice had sadness shining through. Lino plopped down like a tired old dog upon the rocking chair, across from where I was seated. “Will you mind telling me what happened?” Lino asked politely. I sighed a shuddered sigh and looked upon Lino with great melancholy. “Okay, I shall tell you everything but do not become a gossip bee, do not repeat any of this to a single living soul, if you should do so it may just be the end of me.” He swore on his grandmother’s happy spirit wherever she might be and I began to tell of my horrid tale.

I left Lino’s little place, I left him on the rocking chair, he sat forward with a stone shocked face forever it stayed as I closed the door behind me. I went back to my little home miserable, scared, and realizing the cold terrible reality. I felt freezing sweat bead upon my face. I grabbed the telephone like a hypochondriac ready to call the hospital about the new disease he has exaggeratedly caught. I held the receiver tightly upon my ear, deciding upon a heroic but painful death that could possibly lead me to ditch my courage and embrace humiliation or living the rest of my life with the unusual, the artistic murders, and more of the great surreal. I shook with the telephone in my hand and the finger upon the dial. It was quiet until the receiving end began to speak to me in Ezekiel’s voice “Watch your doings, babe. Or you’ll be having a nice little night affair with Necro and his six feet.” His voice creeped over my ear like a monster that sent frightened twitches down my listening hole. It was as though he were here in this room with his lips in my ear. I felt my wrists begin to shake sporadically and before I knew it the old phone was thrown across the room. It laid a beaten machine in the corner. I heard the droning sound and went to hang it up to put it back on the table. I sat on the floor and stared blankly ahead. I did not have a thought in hell and I wasn’t in a rush to have one for I knew my thoughts would draw back to Claudius Mansion and of the things I have witnessed there. I believed this was reality but it borderlined upon insanity. It was like I walked right into a David Lynch film and I had yet to walk out. I held my face in my hands while I rocked back and forth, trying not to scream. “I could just accept the fact that what I had seen was all in my head and not a reality, if I live in denial I can get past this.” I rubbed my chin with my hand and began to relax in the silence of my room. “Yeah, alright that will do.” And in my paranoid state I went upon the desk and scribbled out some verses on a scratch sheet of paper. Once I was done I turned out the little light and took a long deserved slumber. Bloodied feet, a young girl dirtied and gored. She ran the endless tunnel with rabbits all around her ankles. Voices were heard, teddy bears along the wall. The girl ran and all I could do was watch in horror as she was driven into a corner by a thousand horrible eyes and mouths.

My eyes shot open to fix upon the clock, it was twelve o’ clock in the afternoon. I was surprised that I had slept that late also unspeakably queasy of my dream that I had. I rolled onto my back and my eyes spotted a rectangular shape upon the table. My eyebrows shifted in bafflement and I got up to see what it was. A nice white box wrapped in ribbons daintily. A little tag stuck out and caught my gazing eyes, it read: To: Edgard, From: Ezekiel my eyes fixed upon the little words scribbled on the bottom “Since I just cannot stand the sight of you looking like a scrounge ragamuffin in urchin heels, here is something with a bit more class that even you can grasp.” Without questioning how this gift appeared in my home I opened it delicately and found a nice black suit folded inside, relieved that it was not an organ of some kind. In a way I was greatly insulted and disgusted that he mocked me of the class he thought I didn’t have and disgusted of the snobbery that came with this narcissistic Nancy but I am not surprised he thought he was king and you know what happens to kings, right? They reign only for so long before they become the faint and forgotten and once that happens they come falling from grace, this is the trouble that all spotlight artists carry and that is why some feel bad for them when most loathe and envy them. But in a way I was greatly pleased that I had something nice to wear for once. I slipped it on and looked in the mirror. “Hm, very good, Mr. Ezekiel…you seem to know what I like but I wonder how you got in here.” I whispered.

“The door was wide open in the witching hour, you looked like a little angel you did but you might need to see the apartment gentleman about your broken locks or you’ll be going home with a harp, halo, and wings.” I froze at the sound of that voice and turned around to see him “You are a very eldritch kind of person, you know that?” my voice shook in hushed voice “You horrified the great dope out of me.” Staring at his reflection in the mirror. “Give me one godly reason why I should not call those swine on you.” My voice filled with great despises. “Do that and I’ll give you a far worst mutilation than what my dear butler underwent.” His eyes lightened with maliciousness “Who knows what else you have done to me while I laid on the eyes of slumber, only the apostles in heaven know.” I commented softly. “Oh, do not be ridiculous, you men of the earth think I am the great rogue, you and the others that have seen the moment of madness and as well the critics, those stuck up old moles know not a thing in modern art and of the grand design of Dadaism.” Ezekiel spat bitterly “Open up those great large eyes, boy. Forget of those morals those totalitarian mice have brainwashed you with, those mice think that murder is such something under the finger, something so taboo but we hear of this injustice everyday of our lives.” And I turned to him and said “Are you saying that was indeed a real human heart? And that my paranoia has been corrected?” I gave him my question and he nodded “Indeed it was, Mr. Edgard.” I put my hands over my mouth quickly and squeezed the eyes shut. “It was a murder most foul.” Ezekiel said casually. “And which one of those dogs hidden in your mansion did it?” I whispered between my cluttered hands “It was I, as you presumed.” Ezekiel said with submissive bow of the head.

I could not help but to retch god awfully “You stupid squeamish cuckoo cannot be serious in the presence of I.” Ezekiel spoke with mocking. “And what is so great about you?! You are a murderer! My god, I am working with a fiend! Someone help!!” I could not help it; I could not control it anymore. For the first time I had seen Ezekiel jump in startlement. He ran to me and covered my mouth with his cold hand. “And so I had given my trust and this is how I am repaid? By your insults! You oaf! You fool! You are lucky I see some real potential in you, my lad if I did not methinks right at this moment when the world actually listened I’d be making a new piece called: The Fabulous Importance of Gender.”

I stared at him with muffled mouth and wide eyes, sore eyes, and great misery. “I am a sophisticated gentleman, critics and fans think of me as such they think the props in my works are of a plastic or fake institution, those idiotic little lambs. But you are lucky for you know no matter how much you wish not to know you do, and in the public eye I expect you to be as them; a great doe-eyed moron.” Ezekiel said with cunning “Do you got that?” and I nodded, he shook his head “I want to hear it from your mouth that you understand fully.” Ezekiel whispered and he removed his hand from my mouth allowing me to speak “Yes, sir.” I spoke while my limbs began to shake. “Good boy.” He replied “Do not act like this has something to do with you for it does not, do not pretend like you know what is going on and do not hope for the worst when you take foot into my home. Do you have that?” and I replied with “Yes, sir.” “I’ll take care of everything so don’t you worry, you just worry about what you are going to write about next and where you are going to put the money.” And I replied. “Good lad, good.” He said with complete satisfaction. He removed his hands from my person and stalked over to my desk. He opened the shelf and pulled out a big pile of papers from the past. “I want you to bring these.” He said looking through them with curious eyes. Old papers, private papers “Those were from a long time ago and are very personal and very piss poor!” I grieved “Oh good!” Ezekiel cried with joy “If you want to be known, the life before this must be ripped opened and viewed by all, your life is no longer personal.” Ezekiel’s eyes narrowed with an inner-knowing and viciousness. Silence conquered my room. I spotted Ezekiel putting the large bundle under his arm with great heed.

The silence was unendurable and so I spoke “What was the victim’s name?” and I got the most saucy reply “I don’t bloody know, some foolish broad came in with some Whore of Babylon air about her, with veiny cans popping out of hell’s blouse, grand nameless female; but of a airheadedness that could break the sound barrier.” “Will she be missed?” I asked dumbfounded. I saw something of uneasiness sparkle in his eyes at the moment of my question. “Enough of this nonsense!” he growled abruptly “We shall leave now. My poor imbecile is waiting…hurry before he forgets who he is.” He put his hands on my back and shoved me forward. I made a hesitation to shut the door but Ezekiel glanced at me and said “Might as well just leave the door open, eh?” he dragged me down the steps and onto the outside. Ezekiel rushed into the car and I went at average speed into the automobile. I shut the door and Ezekiel was already seated in the fine material. The whole drive was a moment of subconsciousness, like traveling through hyper-space. Not a stop to break me out of this, not a voice for my eyes to shatter the blank gaze. A higher power was in that car, that may sound like something a schizophrenic would say and perhaps maybe I am a schizophrenic in some shape or form. “Alright, Mr. Edgard, time to get that ass off the seat.” I heard Ezekiel say and I snapped out of my spell, without any hesitation I exited out of the shiny black car.

Malvie opened the front door for us and we both entered. We were immediately greeted by a nervous maid. “Oh, Mr. Ezekiel, it is acting up again!” she weeped with exhaustion. “Oh, you bloody shriveled woman! Lousy birds can’t do anything right.” He seethed with impassion as he followed the maid, leaving me to wait. I sat down with a heavy sigh and did just that. The one thing I despised the most and I was doing it. I rested my chin on my hand and swiveled my eyes about room, at the checkered floor, at the white marble statues that stared back at me with so many looks, at the book cases, and at the red curtains. The moment was an edgy quiet before I heard a baby scream violently. I sat up immediately in alert. I turned my head to the hallway right side of me. Doors littered down this hallway. “Monsters!” I hissed and spat in a hushed tone “Monsters, bloody monsters!! One thing to take the life of a gutter bitch but this is inhumane no there is not even a word to describe this beastly and fiendish act!” I looked toward the door; the baby’s terrible cries stung my ears. I bit my nails anxiously. But I shook off my anxiety and jogged toward the door once I got there I dawdled. Something was just not right and it was not the fact that they might be doing something truly grisly to that child as the screams of the little thing got louder. I put my hand on the doorknob and with a fear of what was to come I turned the knob and opened the door. My eyes tried to quickly comprehend all that was going on in this room. The first thing my eyes really focused on was the disorganized ungodly organ fest mess in the high chair. It was not a baby and it was not an animal of any kind. A terrible gore imbued creature disguising itself as a baby sat there. While Ezekiel stood frozen in the spot like a surprised feline, he had a spoon of some cream-like material in his hand; ready to shove it into the creature’s mouth. I could not describe it and even if I could I wouldn’t for fear of it inhabiting my dreams. The three maids were turned to gaze at me in a hysterical matter and I returned their gazes with an equally hysterical stare. Ezekiel quickly gaited toward me and shoved the spoon into my mouth in which I gagged automatically. He walloped the door in my face leaving me to my nauseousness.

“I need to leave, I am sorry but I must decline on your generous offer!” I exclaimed nervously unaware that I was actually screaming. I rushed to the door but had to pass my broken savior, my household Christ. I heard him say in that rough yet antique voice like China plates being smashed “I tried, I didn’t tell, lad, not even when he threatened to take out my eyes but I had to when he did for if his first threat wasn’t a bluff I don’t think those others about neutering, mutilation, receiving full brain surgery, and severing my head on a silver platter with a nice squeeze of lemon and a pinch of Worcestershire sauce were lies either.” My heart broke and I mumbled “It is alright.” I tried to swallow my tears “It is alright, you wise owl you.” I continued my walk to the door but Ezekiel was there before I blocking the door like some rude sculptor made and left a statue of the casual style embodied right in front of the door. “I cannot let you leave, Edgard.” He hissed like a serpent. “Oh, please go away!” my voice shrilled and I found myself on my knees from mental exhaustion “I’m on your mercy!” I held my head in my hands. “I don’t know how I got here, I just want to go home, but I find my life is in your clutches now.” I whined. “Oh, you want to go home do you?” he questioned in fake surprise “Loose lips sink ships, my dear boy. And if you go off and tell the filth, they will sink my ship and if such happens I’ll drag your little yellow submarine down with me.” That old fox said and I gulped “Now, we could play this little captain, my captain game.” He said calmly “Or we could establish the deal that we discussed earlier before you ran away like a scared little lamb.” He finished and pulled out some dollar bills. “So what do you say, jive boy?” he said as he knelt down beside me and put his delicate arm around my shoulders. “You could become my next piece for my fear of the pigs that you will tell or you could become the next big cheese in the literature universe.” I looked at the money before it disappeared from my view as Ezekiel shoved the bills into my pocket. “Do we have a deal or not?” he asked as he pulled me up to stand with him. I began to think. What other choice do I have? I am broke and my family has left me for the streets to eat and for the foxes to practice their deception skills on but if I don’t accept the deal I am dead. I was caught in the moment, the moment where I was stuck as that undecided little boy caught with the monsters underneath his bed. I felt my eyes big and caught in the headlights as I gave my eternal side glance to Mr. Ezekiel. After awhile I gave my answer “Yes.” Ezekiel put his hands on his face and cried “Splendid!” he then moved his hands onto my scared face “Jolly good, boy!” he extended out his hand to me and spoke with joy “I am so very glad to hear!” I looked at the hand hesitantly for a moment then shook his hand with my own. He gave me a little cunning squiggle of the lips and I shifted my face to an uncomfortable smile, feeling like I really wanted to frown, feeling like I was making a deal with the devil.

The deal was made; I took one last look at the blind butler, blah, blah, blah and before I knew it I was in a nice automobile. Oh so happy I was finally going home, yes finally. My eerie apartment complex turned into the Taj Mahal right about now, with the dark, dingy room that spoke of such the lie of bright futures, women made of chrome, robots that walked on a great bed of nails, balancing the decision of what was morally right and freedom, my crazed Finnish neighbor who tried with all his might to help this bleak future with his strange inventions. The neighbor on the left side I did not see that often but whoever lived there left me some powerfully odd verses. The drive was unnerving, the chauffeur drove like a complete patient, and every bump felt like my hindquarters were hitting musical notes. More uneasiness in the seat next to mine for there sat the terrible Ezekiel. Yes, I got a job but of what costs? This whole morning was like living in a nightmare for two years. I was emotionally scarred that was the cost. I was now an icky twitch in the knitting of our society, an icky twink. The drive was at least twenty minutes long and during those twenty minutes I looked at nothing, blank and straight ahead. Ezekiel didn’t say anything either and if he did I certainly didn’t hear him. The car stopped suddenly and when it did I had to stop my whole person from flying forward. “Is this the right place, boss?” slurred an unintelligent voice, the speech sounded like one of those sloth males that barhopped, intoxicated to the marrow in those Jack the Ripper days. When Ezekiel spoke however he sounded like the Queen’s best “Yes, Malvie, this is the exact place.” Ezekiel leaned toward me and shoved the door open he then gripped me by the collar and threw me out. My body hit the hard cement of the sidewalk “Remember, my little duckling…” he said in a pleasant tone hiding saturnine, his head poking out of the automobile slightly “Loose lips sink ships.” “Yes, sir, got it, sir, mum’s the word, sir!” I exclaimed with a fake glee, saluting over-enthusiastically. “Ah.” He grumbled and slammed the car door in my face.

I watched the black automobile screech away like a man-made monster, loving the tar and hoping to consume a victim. I heard Ezekiel shrill in the distance “You bloody fool, what did I say about driving like a complete fishy idiot!” he kept complaining but I could not hear as the automobile gained more distance from the place I stood. I stuck my tongue out at the fading black dot with quite the scorn and did the great squish lipped face like an angry little child who didn’t get the toy he wanted, I was surprised at how immature I acted but I felt that it was necessary. I stood up and dusted myself off, took a deep sigh of relief and made my way to the complex. Ah home. No more creepy artist, no more spontaneous beboping choirs, no more of the organ, the machine that causes love and at most times the undesirable lust thrusted upon the canvas like it was supposed to be there. But all these fears were just for today, I’m sure I would be seeing Ezekiel again of course I would be after all I made a deal with him and he was suppose to pay me as long as I gave him my word, gave him my works, and wrote new ones. I was financially set well not right now but I soon would be. I wanted to believe that old fox but with what came at the Claudius Mansion came with high doubt.

The art world was becoming deformed and this gentleman would be the great deviant of it, no, what I witnessed was not art; it was murder, murder to the most flamboyant degree! I put my hand over my mouth as though I was suddenly struck with post traumatic stress disorder and I froze in the rain slicked street. I pulled out my Cellular Tapoid (Our new means of telecommunication) flipped it open and tried with my shaking fingers to dial the cops, the ambulance, anything but I found myself unable to do so and so I scared myself straight. No, no I thought it was just a prop, that heart was, and that old butler and Ezekiel were just playing an old joke on me, that fool could see, they were just trying to give me a fright, make me piss my pants and cry to me mama, that’s all, yes and that mannequin was just a puppet, a poor one I might add, tried to give me a bit of a horrorshow they did with that saint choir. I smiled with relief and put the communication device back inside my pocket before it began to talk to me with it’s worn out pleasantries. “I’m alright.” I mumbled like a crazed gutter man. I quickly shuffled to the large ominous building, so tall the crows lived, ate, slept, and shit at the top. I opened the creaking door into the darkness and this unwanted future. It was false, I knew all those things were real, why should I deceive myself? The lie that covered the fact that my boss was a well-dressed madman with the strangest building that has ever been my pleasure to walk through like a naïve child; never trust handsome artists they’re nothing but wolves in sheep’s clothing. Never go into structures with a strange name for example: Frankenstein, Dracula, Madame Tom, Standing Crucifix Sitters, or Booberry Manor. I was asking for it, hanging with those hyenas and seeing Anaxagoras who was assisted by Ezekiel, that thought made me gulp. Anaxagoras was “assisted” by Ezekiel. Yeah, clobbered him and tied him up in a sickly room with a bloody cow’s head slabbed above the doorway.

I shook my head; I am not a performing artist, that won’t happen to me, what worst can he do to me with my sort of talent? Papercut me to death? Ha! But I can’t judge I do not know what really happened to Anaxagoras, perhaps he wanted to be in the room that way I am sure of it, after all he is probably the straight descendant of one of the Actionists. It has to be that way I am most certainly sure of it, besides if that psycho got caught by some means it won’t give me no trouble, if that demented old queen got caught somehow by some infamousness there should be no trouble coming my way as he said himself, unless of course that was some clever scheme to deceive me. I wiped my tired eyes as I crept up the last step and onto my floor. No noise today I smiled and walked up to my door, glanced up at the security camera that squeaked and watched me suspiciously. I smiled and waved at it with faux, actually telling it to flock off. I put my key into the knob and then looked down as something caught my eye; it was a note. “Oh no, not you again!” I sighed and turned my head to the left side door. “Fucking twat!” I mumbled as I bent down to pick up the little bit of paper and read in my mind With lovely teeth, comes the devastating bite, with the lovely eyes, comes the gaze of great flames, and with the most loveliest lips, comes the deadliest speech. The cycles of chaos comes in the form of the most greatest of persons, with slips of the tongue like the devil, the fox coos, lies, and seals fates, that old trickster will live up to his name this year.

“Oh, that one…Mr. Conlictson, He does that to himself everyday, around eleven o’ clock, we use to have our special section of lunatic surgeons disembowel him every day and put him back together all brand new like.” My eyes widened at the news “And…you would make him do this or was it all on his own accord?” I said in disgust. “Oh, all on his own accord, of course.” He said with a smile and I could see he was lying. At this moment I wanted to scream and run far from this place like that virgin maid but I was curious and you know the whole deal of that curiosity cat thing. “Now we shall have no more talk of that nonsense.” He said like an over protective mother “Get up, you slouch I have more that I must show you.” I stood up and thought Great.

“The last public room in this house is what I like to call The Canvas Room.” Oh how creative! I chuckled to my brain but Ezekiel received silence. “I want to show you my next piece; I have the essentials now it is time to make it. I have waited five long, long years in vain for its preparation; it is something that belongs in secrecy before its usage that is why I could not show it to you.” He said, his voice echoing in the museum-like hallway. “Ah, here it is!” he cried with excitement and walked a bit faster. We went through one last door, one I regretted going through more than the dissection chamber. The room was dimly lit; a large grimy stage consumed the room as though it suffered from some eternal hunger. There on the stage were three enormous canvases, each of them white as snow. They stood like guardians of this strange room which never told a soul of the acts that went on in here. “I am oh so joyous!” he exclaimed “By Jove I am!” “Whatever for?” I commented. “I have someone here to witness this long awaited act!” he laughed and climbed upon the stage having me close behind. “Stand here.” He said hurriedly pointing to the edge of the stage. I listened while watching him as he stood there, looking over the center canvas. “So why exactly do you want my work?” I asked he turned his head to look at me and responded casually with “I’ll pay you 80,000 for these works.” 80,000! I screamed in my head bloody Christ in heaven! But moral had come before my greed and I questioned “But what will they be used for?” Ezekiel turned his head back around “To be an exhibit, to keep, to be published but not plagiarized.” He noted “I’m going to make you known, darling.” He said as he went behind the stage curtain. “How do I know you are not lying?” I nagged “Oh I’m not!” he replied “You can trust me on that; there is no trouble with my warranty.” He spoke calmly as he came back out shuffling a large bucket of paint. Ezekiel put the bucket down right in front of the center canvas. I noticed that his outfit went from suave blue suit to butcher apron, smeared with reds, blacks, blues, greens, and grays.

He breathed in a sigh of relief and of total completeness. “My great in all the eyes of the brand new, the time has been struck from there.” That grin curled upon his face like a plague. “The time is now, darling.” He expressed, removing something bulky and wrapped in tissue, he hid it from me when I observed too close. “Greatness comes from a sense of a physical trial, entangled in human clothing and loathing every minute of it.” He poetically quoted. “What did you exactly like about my work or are you just using it for commercial terms?” I asked “Hmm, I see why you would be so worried but did I not already tell you?” he growled and I replied “No, I don’t believe you have.” It included bitterness. “Oh, well, let me think of a smashing good choice of words.” He sneered as he kneeled down. I seen him put the tissue covering down by his right side as he dipped the unidentified object into the bucket of paint he did this oh so carefully as though he were baptizing a baby. “Well, I think they are…” he drifted off and I waited “Interesting!” he shouted in such a petrifying tone and threw the paint covered object. I jumped once again not of his voice but of the thing he had splattered upon the canvas. It stuck upon the fabric, covered in black as I stared up at it and realized with dread that I was looking at a human heart. I covered my face with my cold hands and screamed in such a bloody matter it would have raised the dead and struck the choir. He turned with an exquisite countenance full of smiling madness at me. The human organ fell from the canvas with a grotesque sound; it made a quaint shape into the fabric and made me want to vomit. I covered my eyes away from Ezekiel’s “art” “I absolutely loved the use of even the most common terms in your pieces.” Spoke Ezekiel. All too suddenly did the grimy tarp-like curtains lift, revealing stands of men and women in white gowns. Almost immediately they began to sing an unnerving and yet sad tune. My own heart was pounding out of my chest so much I felt like I was going to throw it up. Maybe that is what Ezekiel wanted. He acted like the choir was not even there and continued with his heart art. I was so frightened that I did not know whether to laugh, instead I whined pathetically and covered my face. I heard those shoes and before I knew it, Ezekiel was standing before me. I looked up fully and he said with such nastiness “Move, boy…you’re killing my grand moment de pensée d'inspiration with that noise!” and he roughly shoved me off the stage. I fell from a mild height and my body landed on something hard. I turned my head downward and seen the mannequin from the couch of Ezekiel’s room. It was now animated and smoking that old time oily rag casually from underneath my person. I felt my face become stone to exhibit the most horrid grimace. “Don’t rush in so fast, sweetheart.” It spoke in a sophisticated Russian accent “You little boys are all alike.” It said as it dragged the smelly fag “Hurry into things and before you know it, you are finished.” It cackled and chuckled. I covered my opened mouth, got up as I felt its strange little hand on my backside and I ran out like the devil was chasing me. I left the noise of the choir beboping to an anxious tune in an anxious room, I left the artiste as I heard the heart being thrown onto the canvas, I left the living and yet inanimate plastic Russian laughing and I slammed the door behind me.

I felt like a rat in a maze, I probably was being observed of my actions. “I gotta get out!” I hissed, never bothering to wipe the sweat off my face. I frantically tried to open every door. There was no way back to the upper floor. I made strange noises as I speeded down the hallway, turning the corner, begging to go back to the noisy streets of London, a hysterical safe point. I heard the choir; it grew fainter as I moved farther down the hallway. I turned the corner and there before me stood I suppose the butler. I stopped in my tracks and went from surprised to sincere “Oh help me, please!” I whispered. “I could never find an exit in this damned basement but I can give you a hiding space, come with me.” He spoke softly and as if he knew this horror. The butler took me to one of the rooms. In the room was a large shelf. The butler moved the shelf to reveal a medium sized door. It was bolted with various locks and chains. “I come here to get away from those terrible and yet beautiful events, this little chamber is completely sound proof, I will let you out once his moment de folie has ended.” I did not think that old boy was up to no good it was anything, anything to get away from that modern horror down the hallway. Besides I saw something in his eyes that told me that he was a rather trusting being or perhaps that was just my blind fear getting the best of me. He unlocked all the little nooks and chinges and then wham bam the door was open, I immediately crawled inside like a plague rat. It was darkness in there but I felt secure probably from some long forgotten primal instinct of being in the womb. I turned my head to glance at my savior. “Now, I know there’s not enough space to jazz, jive, swing, and shuffle but you shall see no danger.” He said like an old wise owl. A smile curled from my face and I said in absolute praise “Oh, thank you, sir, oh yes, thank you.” And before he closed the door in my face he said to me “Yes, young man, even that old devil can’t sniff you out now.” It was silence and darkness, darkness and silence. My eyes felt non-existent, I felt obsolete but it was quiet and that was all that mattered, that was all that ever mattered. I was beginning to get an artistic headache from that grand old choir. My ears still rang from all the terror but I was quite safe now. I believed that old kook, I trusted him maybe because I was so scared that I followed the fool shepard that leads foolish sheep to the slaughter. Maybe, maybe…but that old man gave me no reason to think he had some truly sick plot under his wrinkled sleeve. I felt myself falling into sleep a sleep most deep, a sleep that could only be possible when experiencing great grief, horror, that excellent dame paranoia, and other personal causalities that cause children to be molested in solitaire rooms by lonely psychologists.

I woke up to a loud crashing which had surprised me for I thought this little chamber was soundproof. I heard the locks begin to shuffle. My eyes grew wide and I felt my heart begin to race. I heard a muffled but all too familiar voice say “You bloody imbecile!” I began to shake my head and hissed in the dark “No, goodness, no!” I heard the security of the door unlock eerily. I soon saw a light but a not so divine kind of illumination and then an ominous silhouette leaning down towards the diminutive entrance. I saw Ezekiel’s face, crazed and worried in its own special way. “Hallo.” I smirked nervously from my curled position “’Ello, how do you do, ‘ow’s the wife?” he said with plastic fake glee. His little grin faded swiftly when he grabbed my arm roughly and pulled me out of my little hidey hole. “Ow.” I mumbled like child, his pale hand felt like claws digging into my arm flesh. He dragged me up by my sore arm “Oh, so you think you are so clever, eh?” he growled “The whole lot of you are against me! I can’t ever sleep alone! Ah.” He spoke like a complete queen who took too many shots of the drama bottle today. I was unable to speak for I was way too panicky. I glanced over at the butler, he stood in the back and when my eyes turned to him I had to stop myself from fainting. For I had seen gauze on the eyes of my savior, bloodied gauze tied around his head, he stood and smiled as though nothing at all bothered him. I had to hold myself from a vomit as I held my stomach and seen Ezekiel grin once again. He stuck his hand in my face and my eyes looked down to see that the butler’s bloodshot, baby blue orbs sat in Ezekiel’s terrible palm

“What a loony bin.” I whispered looking at various book titles and strange little crooks and
nannies on the shelf. “What am I getting myself into?” I said looking over a very peculiar
and worrying book title. I made my way down the hallway, passing unmarked doors, shut
and locked. I found one slightly ajar and peeked my head into the dark. A fear stirred up in
me as I heard wet noises squelching in the pitch black. I felt for a light, grabbed hold of the
switch and flicked it on. Not even one minute before the lights had been flicked on and
already my jaw had dropped, let me over exaggerate for a moment and say that my jaw felt
like it unhinged and had dropped to the floor for I saw a man lying on a surgical table,
sitting up and dissecting himself. He placed the organs around himself. I felt a cold sweat
form upon my face and throat, I tried to control my shaking but it could not be stopped as
my trembling showed on my face structure. I felt the blood vessels crack upon my eyes.
“Excuse me, lad but do you mind?” he said while looking up at me “Ya look like a
complete bird standing there.” He spoke quite rudely. I guess one can’t help but be a bit
rude when uh oh there goes the kidney. I gulped and nervously smirked from the sweaty
corners of my mouth. “I am dreadfully sorry…” I chuckled “Wrong room then, huh.” I still
chuckled, my face half way out the door “Right.” I heard him mumble and seen the image
of his pale hand about to dig into the open sack that was his stomach and then shut door. I
put my back against the door, looking like an escaped screwball pinned to the wall, trying
so hard not to be seen or heard by the orderly. I tried to catch my breath and wiped the
thick sweat from my ice cold face. “Okay, Ed.” I whispered breathlessly “Just move on.” I
straightened myself up and walked away from the horrible room. A couple more locked
doors in silent airs until I looked upon my host’s door. I knew this was his door for the big,
black letters worn his name. I rolled my eyes “What makes you so special?” I snorted and
grasped the doorknob to my surprise it was opened. And without any hesitation whatsoever
I waltzed in, curious to see what he was hiding.


I gulped once again for the first thing I seen were mannequins, one was sitting on the
couch, legs folded, looking too human and having an old time cigarette between it’s
fingers. The other was standing in the center of the room, staring at me with the most lifelike
eyes. The others were standing along the wall. There were strange paintings
everywhere and even an opened canvas on the floor where the artist last left off. There was
a great mirror lined with beauty products and which resulted in me putting my hand over
my mouth in order to conceal humor. The one thing that worried me the most was the shelf
in which happened to be lined with jarred parts whether human or animal is unknown and
strange ancient creatures. There was an old brain titled “Wendelfer’s Education Piece,
circa: unknown” in rushed and nervous hand writing. There was another brain right next to
it in the same rushed handwriting called “Zanuchulf’s Chewed Gum Intelligence, circa
2050” I touched the top of my forehead, imagining the pain they must have felt if at all. I
walked back over the mirror; slightly cautious and melancholic about the poor creatures
let’s hope creatures. I sat down on the prissy little stool and rested my chin on my hand
while looking into the mirror. “I guess I have no choice but to wait here, I honestly can’t go
on.” I uttered. Suddenly a face appeared next to mine in the reflection “If you had any balls
at all you could, yes sir you could, I can arrange an operation for you.” Ezekiel said with
glee. I was startled and stood up in fright, my legs quivered. And he grinned more into my
face, I realized the cause for my being startled was just a strange man so I grabbed a fluffy
pad and amusingly stamped it into the center of his face. He whimpered and backed off,
rubbing the powder off his face. “Oh, you got some of god’s great nerve!” he snarled.
“Don’t be such an angry little doggy.” I said “I noticed you needed some freshening up.” I
laughed. I could hear him chuckle for several moments but then cleared his throat and said
pleasantly “So what do you think, lad?” “What, this?” I said looking about and he nodded.
“Well…” I pondered “When I first saw this…” I said while pointing to the mirror and the
products on it “It gave me reason to believe the you were a man whore.” A look of
absurdity spread upon his countenance like a wild fire. Leaning toward me with a slight
bow, hand sincerely on chest and crooked smile he said “Just because I am a man, Edgard,”
He said my name with a slight edgy distaste “Does not mean I shouldn’t go poke my
sniffing nose into the aisles of feminine products and attend to my own appearance.” Yes,
let’s just hope you don’t go down too far into the women’s aisle, mate. I thought and
chuckled to myself. “You know, why doesn’t one try to look in the men’s section to keep
up appearances?” I questioned. “You think in this day and age I could but we are so stuck
in the traditional ways of things, we still think that the woman should be the only one to
worry about looking good and staying so. You would know, considering that you are about
the prettiest young thing I seen walk through that mansion door, well except for the young
maid last week.” He giggled, remembering the event “Boy, did I give her a run for her
virginity, I mean literally, I scarred her so much she ran out of the mansion with her firm
bosom close to hanging out and screaming for the nut house to take her in.” he finished
then put his hand on his chin, contemplating “Poor little rabbit.” He then said emotionless.
“So is that what you do, scare young virgins and then lure them in for the worst pain in
their short life, you sick gentleman.” I said nonchalantly. That old fox under the tree was
about to say something when I cut him off and said “Before my memory leaves me for my
mind is processing to erase this terrible picture as we speak, why is that gentleman only six
doors down from us having an organ frenzy with himself?”

Oh I shall tell you the horrors of Claudius Mansion and of the quarter pocket knife out in
left field that is my host Ezekiel.

I stood up and followed my host who had begun his tour of his “lovely” little home. “I shall
take you here and there, my chambers are not a quarter of a hair, they are the deadliest as
though someone cut the cheese, please be careful not to sneeze on the Vietnamese.” He
said in a sing song voice as we entered one room, one tall room with people of various
skins and cultures in peculiar positions as still as church mice spotted by a fed-up priest,
they were positioned close to the wall. These people were not at all surprised nor
actually…alive; I think they were made out of wax I say think for I got talk that gave me
reason to believe that they were not. “These pieces were the most difficult to exhibit. They
supposedly would have started some controversy and the museum wanted nothing of it,
being low-brow as it is, they just didn’t know, those poor things.” He sighed and went
behind the African American posed like Jesus with the most sardonic look on his face.
Ezekiel reappeared with a large dark jar in his hand. I seen him about to smash it but I
closed my eyes when I heard the shatter, opened them to see him quickly pick up
something large and quite black among the glass. He turned around to face me, hiding the
object behind his back. “Come, come…follow.” He said in a nothing-to-fear voice. He
walked facing me the whole time, opened the door for me all the while looking up at my
person with a sly smile. The next room was filled to the brim with swimming bodies of
men, women, and womenmen. I stared at the goings-on with wide eyes. He stared at the
look on my face. “I apologize, I told you this mansion is crazy, don’t act like this was not a
complete cliché.” It was hard to hear him amongst the moans and groans. “You won’t
regret working for me.” Ezekiel spoke pleasantly and with the strangest grin I had ever
seen on a human face. “What makes you think I agreed to work for you?” I said in such a
mordacious tone. He slithered closer to me and whispered in my face “You have no
choice.” He put his dead man hand under my chin and inspected me like a master
inspecting to see if this high-class whore was good enough. “Do you really think any of
those media mongoloids want your work, what tosh!” He hissed snarky and cruel into my
countenance as he bobbled and turned my head to and fro as though I was a doll. “Silly,
silly boy…silly, silly.” He chuckled in that oh so sophisticated voice. I turned my eyes to
the large human manifested by about a thousand white bodies. Ezekiel let go of me with a
little scornful push and casually backed away from me as I recovered. “I read your work, -
excuse me, I seem to have forgotten your name.” He stared at me apologetically and when I
didn’t answer him right away he began to feel around frantically underneath his coat for
some reminder. “Edgard.” I said finally and rather slowly. “Edgard.” He repeated with a
slightly bowed head, saying my title even more slowed than I as though he wanted to
savor the name on his lips. “Edgard, right, well Edgard I read your works, I-” I cut him off
abruptly “Wait, how did you ever get a hold on those manuscripts?!” I spoke with quite the
surprise. “Oh, oh, being in these socialite circles have made you quite popular
unbeknownst to your person…I believe you shared these creations,” he said while walking
to a white desk and pulled out a heavy stack of papers, like wills of a thanatophobic
grandmother.



Ezekiel plopped them down and it made a loud clunk “With a certain Pauli bird, my lad to
be exact, he had good wills for you and I’m here to send them out, you have a very bright
future ahead, me jive boy.” He articulated and patted my shoulder. “I do?” I questioned in
absolute disbelief. “Yes, yes you do.” He wavered his finger at me. “Have you read
Courage Discouraged?” I said with fright, he nodded. “How about the Old Snake in The
Grass: Mr. Mambo?” he nodded and I gulped. “Oh please, please don’t tell me you viewed
the Dissection Orderly Section?” and he nodded with that question too. I whimpered with
my hand clamped tight over my mouth. Ezekiel looked up at me as though I were insane
and he was not. “That’s the worst one!” I gasped like a fish out of water. “These are made
of something horrid and you want to publish them?! Are you impaired of sight, man?!” I
ran my hands down my hot face. Ezekiel shoved the papers into his desk with an amused
grin. “I think they happen to be very lovely.” He said still with that amused grin “And
nothing shalt tell me otherwise.” He said suddenly turning serious. “No, no, no…” he
pointed at me and startled my soul “I do not think they are lovely at all!” he shouted “They
are bloody brilliant!!” my hair stood on end and my whole body went rigid as he grabbed
me and put his face next to mine. I saw his crazed eyes at the corner of my own. “Brilliant
pieces, constructing thought provocation.” He giggled. “Oh yes, the problem with the
culture vultures is that they are so use to Shakespeare’s tragicques and Poe’s macabre and
mighty horror,” he said, his voice turning into a posh, fake scared speech when mentioning
Poe. “That they see the modernized literature as complete common man’s trash.” He said in
that same humorous voice while tussling my head a bit and pouting. “And what business do
you have in the common man’s trash? Considering you look, sound, and live like a culture
vulture.” I said coldly. “Ha. I’m all kinds, my dear boy! I own Shakespeare down to the
Bukowski, I collect Pablo Picasso down to Damien Hurst. I have no boundaries what so
ever!” Ezekiel exclaimed. He grabbed my hands suddenly and began to waltz around the
room with my person, humming a loony tune. Right at that moment there was no what ifs,
right at this moment I knew my host was deranged. He involuntarily spun me around and
pushed me with a fox grin on his face. I fell into the bodies. “Take this to the basement!”
he shouted excitedly as I seen the masses of bodies darken my vision while they fell over
and consumed me; all I could do was scream. It soon was quiet; the moaning, groaning,
and other sex sounds left my ears. The scents of pheromones, sweat, and fish all left me
and my nostrils. The darkness was all I could see momentarily cause I had soon fell from a
great height and landed hard on my ass. My eyelids squeezed shut as I felt the rump pain
tingle up to my spine and from there ceased to be. I felt cold air which was a change from
that dark hot tunnel. Opening my eyes I seen that I was in another corridor, books lined the
walls except for an occasional large window on each side. “I guess I am in the basement.” I
whispered to myself. My ass felt like it was falling asleep so I got up and stretched and
decided to conclude the tour myself.

I and my two angry men in suits made our way up the hill, into the emeritus mansion, and then I was thrown onto an antique couch. There I stayed for several minutes recovering and wondering who I was at the moment. Soon I heard the tapping of shoes on the checkered floor that screamed class as they clapped and tapped and hurt the old sack that was me ear, you sickos. They were that of hands that clapped in praise and ever so frantically for a female singer at some risqué cabaret before the owner of these flesh kinetics leapt onstage and stabbed the singer in her talented throat, and that is what the shoes did to the air. The sophisticated shoes drew near and soon I seen a handsome figure stand above me like some indifferent angel looking down at a sap with pitiful eyes.

“Hello.” I said sounding like a drunkard; I outstretched my hand and touched the lapel of his blue suit to make sure he was real. This pitiful look in his eyes morphed to remind me of a queen whose peasant had salivated upon her new slipper. “Ah, ah, ah.” He cooed “laissez faire!” and shooed my hand off as though it were a demonic insect or ashes from a finished fag. “Hands off.” He repeated in the King’s English. “I apologize.” I said, trying to recover from the previous attack. “Uh, hello again, where am I?” I said my voice echoed a little as though a doppelganger tried to catch and imitate my speech. “You are at the Claudius Mansion and I am Ezekiel, I am only letting you know of this for I have seen that my dear boy dropped me off yet another drone.” His vision wandered off in a kind of spare second madness that only a genius could do, ignoring my look of insult and he said looking back at me “I meant artist…I apologize this mansion is a little crazy, my dear lad, I stay in here a bit too long and my words suddenly have different meanings then what various Greek philosophers wanted them to mean, why, just last week some sweet thing at my carousal said ‘deus ex machina’ and I replied ‘just down the hall, a spot to the left ya can’t miss it, be kind turn the wind, there’s matches in the medicine cabinet if you need them and please do not hesitate to wash your hands.’ " He said with a slight smile and I could not help but chuckle.

Then there was a moment of silence as I studied his features. But that silence was broken once he exclaimed in a way that made me jump out of my skin and lay upon the alabaster stones “Come now, you lazy la de da bones! Get up or I am afraid that you’ll become my new fishy!!” I sat up with my face straight as your mama’s ironing board. He cleared his throat and fixed his tie in a suddenly suave manner.

Pauli said not two words but got up and beckoned me to follow him. All the while the apes from the unstable lands adopting highways and screeching gallstone pornography, wanting to be made of chrome and simply weren’t saints enough to teach the poor man how to fish, grinned up at me as I took my leave. They followed quite close behind me, the chuckling hyenas. Pauli leads me to a black door, opens it slowly and as I stand not too far from him. I can see that the room was painted entirely white. I heard a muffled scream as though someone was choking on a diabolical sponge. And that is what I first thought before I stepped upon that doomful threshold. I saw then that a pallid figure enwrapped in Gauze stood in that oh-so-heavenly room. The figure had the eyes and mouth wrapped and it wiggled like a worm impotently in the spot it stood, “What a volunteer, how fly is he, boys?” Pauli clapped and jeered. “He’s got to be some kind of grand visionary he is.” I heard a slime drenched voice said behind my head. I took a look at Pauli, shame the Anaxagoras could not hear their words of praise I thought to myself turning my gaze to the cow’s head nailed above the door. “Yes, indeed…some kind of grand visionary.” I heard my own voice hypnotized in that sickly pale room, like we were standing on the face of some poor devil ready to kick the bucket. “Why don’t you tell me what this is all about?” I said to Pauli. “See mate, I just can’t do that…you see we are among the small friends, if we were to confide any data into you we would become grand visionaries too.” I heard the snickering behind me. “Following structures and plans, being at risk of flesh architecture and loving the oh-so-bloody manifest destiny.” Pauli articulated next to the Anaxagoras. “What in all’s hell are you talking about?” I gave him my puzzled eyes, removing the low baskets above them. “Move over DNA, get back you composite cells, welcome to the chaos circles made by the divine brand new generation. Can violence and technology become its own social circle I say yes! We shall see this whole desert with a bit of abstract expressionism class like a dull bell ringing; hypochondriacs do certainly need to fear!” Pauli stood next to the Anaxagoras with the proud speech and all I could do was stand there in a tunnel for I had no clue as to what was going on in this room.

His voice went to silence “He was an artiste, the kind you do need to worry about; he was the section of contemporary that would send us all to hell.” Pauli turned his head to the side “He tried The Starving Artist, literally. The Dog under the Skin, and who could forget Family Reunion?” he chuckled as though the memory blasted in his head and exploded into bright colors. He patted Anaxagoras on the back and received a surprised stifle. “It was thanks to Ezekiel.” Pauli said with glee “Ezekiel?” I spoke “Who exactly is that?” “Oh the artist that funded him for these pieces, if we haven’t arranged a meeting with Ezekiel, oh our buddy would still be living with the wolf at his door.” Pauli said in a fake heavyhearted voice. “True, true!” sang that deranged choir behind me. Pauli turned a delightful gaze at me and said “He can help you too!” slyly while approaching me. “Oh, I don’t think I want to be caustrated, castrated, and cocked by the boys back home. So I am going to have to pass up on that mighty fine offer.” I said nervously. “Why not?” spoke Pauli “We’re your friends, mate; we want to help you become the greatest writer in the mother universe.” He finished and put his hands on my shoulders. “No thank-“I was numbed. I couldn’t hear the voices no, I couldn’t hear what they were saying but there was the tone, muffled deeply by the blow I had received. I saw myself falling to the white flow, no pain. Once I had fell, I could feel the deep tapping which was really a blunt object being dug into the back of my skull, no pain. My brain begun the lights out session.

When I had opened my eyes, I was being drunkard carried by two angry men in suits. I heard that giggling again and turned my drooping head around. I saw the blurred vision of Pauli waving enthusiastically from his car. “We helped you, dear, now go west young man…become the sponge not the soap!” he yelled jubilantly, jumped back into his car and speeded away like a bat out of hell.


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^{caustrated is not a word
and the Anaxagoras means "master of speech" which was funny cause the poor guy can't talk...it was also the name of a famous greek philosopher, there's your facts for the day now go and have fun with it.}

Hello, my name is Edgard. I won’t disclose my middle name and I shall not write down my last name. I am twenty-five years of age and I happen to own a model of Big Daddy’s antique automobiles, quite an expensive import if you don’t mind me saying so. I live in the City of Westminster, a borough of London. My income is 80,000 and I’ve got a very strange tale to tell. Explain how someone like me, a young gentleman living the late twenty-first century in the white crisis monologue man era can have revenue of 80,000. I had to have either been a successful entrepreneur in the eleventh age or have been fortunate enough to get meself into one of the top private colleges. None of those are very much truthful, I wish but unfortunately no. I am or more like I was a-oh what do you call it? Ah, yes, a struggling writer, I was a struggling writer or an artiste in a tunnel if you will. I have not found a publisher that wanted my short contes and poems. When I was in high school I thought I was on top of the world, writing my corpus callosum right out. Hoping I would have a future in the literature continent. Graduating high school in the year of 2011 I began to work odd jobs here and there and I have not stopped since. Still tried to publish my works but no one not Asparagus, Atom Publishing nada! Verso non! Mantra nein! Twas a very sad life for me. The new law ‘round here told us that children with a significant intelligence or shall I say “school smart” or “A tool for the education board to flaunt like a top-class whore in fuck-me pumps.” Quite indeed, I seem to like that one sevenfold anywho a child with significant intelligence are the only ones acceptable to get into grand colleges. Colleges for the norm no longer existed in this country, only top of the line good job, men. I regret deeply for I was never well at staying away from the home life and going to school, I can say I paid for it big time.

Well, I found myself stalking the underground juicy. Bombed myself out once and a while and got myself screwed by the magical round about. I found myself in a chaos circle while recovering from Brainwave. One thing I will never forget from this deeply-felt age craze was a night with Pauli and his cronies from Pays de la Loire, Berlin, and this silly little pierrot who spent seven years of his life in Algeria, contemplating on Vogue with the folks all the while wrapping them in his hand-made legwarmers, crazy cigarette consuming bat. Well like most, we sat around, wearing philosophy scarves and consuming something called an Interest Drug. I felt like an illness surrounded by white blood cells for after a while the droogies began to give me a kooky stare. I stared at them for quite some time, in a strange silence in a strange space among Franz Liszt and the maid in the next room getting what’s good for her. “Hey,” said Pauli suddenly “Edgard, do you want to see the Anaxagoras?” “What’s that?” I said in complete wonderment, had to go and open my idiot yap.


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^{This is a story I'm working on
I'm not going to give it a title until I am completely finished it
I have an idea about where's going but who knows if it will be followed.}

Get behind thee, Satan!
I’ve got bigger fish to fry and bigger octopuses to unstick off my face.
You won’t know exactly that you have missed the actionists.
I am awaiting my surprise from the Kangaroo in the marketplace.
Ghouls, freaks, and super creeps that missed World War II by a long sleep in the wrinkled monster throat, good day and hoody hoo to you and yours.
I welcome thou to my expiration celebration.

Is my lust justified?
Okay, I’ll confess I made quite a mess on your blood red dress
Oh, Averlily how is my lust justified?
You know the tangle herein social spire (Oh is this justified?)
We walked from the tangle pie
The tangible, tangible nerve web?
Where is it?
It became but its gone, sun rising sun
Upon the structures it was a flesh and fermions banquet
Who would have thought I’d ever see your ol’ scratch again

This is a perfectly damnable business!
This is a perfectly damnable business!
This is a perfectly damnable business!

Oh god, (Strike the choir)
Joy on earth and mercy mild!

See him in the corridor
I got the never blinking eye
Upon the know I have become the spy.
Overthrowing beasts is the specialty
I have the venom and the tea
You can’t see the beggar man for he’s here and yet nowhere
Let’s bring the creation back to its rightful title
Take my hand and I shall lead you to the window
A golden opportunity,
So let us throw him out a window
Let us toss him down the stairway
Let us burn him
Let us tear off his sex
Oh please, let us pull out his teeth
Oh please, let us open up his head
Oh please, let us feed him to the wolves
Oh please, let us tear out his pretty, pretty hair
Oh please, please let that statue embodiment of melancholia carry him to his well deserved grave.

October 31st 2018, 7:00 AM

A crash in the badlands, something’s rather fishy. Cells pondering the existence of art, wearing leg warmers and snapparooning photos in black and white, an article is ill and that article began sometime after Baby Grace, we believed that it was over and that society waved a lackadaisical hand at it. The following chaos circle might have been the result of the government passing laws in favors of black magic to legalize abortion. I remember Mr. Chaplin now, a someone call the doctor performing regular abortions on thirty to forty women a day. He piled the seedlings from the garden of humanity in his office. He said that he needed them for his masterpiece; he needed something that will truly define him and blow the trust from the backside. He invited me to an exhibit that will case his “chef-d'oeuvre de l'artiste” I never got around to see that piece, one can only have a deceased fetus for so long before the limbs begin to fall apart, come to think of it I really didn’t want to sight that piece.




November 7, 2018 10:00 PM

My occipital lobe is really ticking with this one. I believe this is some kind of great thrill from the turn of a divine hand. A giant mind hacking for a droogie like I who use to droog his life away until the matters of the world’s dementia artists came to my attention. I’m going into matters that camouflage the real teeth. Lodging deep into the underground I find ecstatic universal. My mind consumes the data like a virus; I’m taking a joy ride down the information super highway. Its all very humorous that humanoids turned the ordinary PC into the Biocomputizard, something double, a twenty-first century t-rex. I could not go anywhere without the new way for they lie in the internet, everything evil with tarantula legs lies in the internet. Excuse me, while I become the philosopher.



November 23, 2018 11:00 AM

Cricket. Cricket. How very odd and unnatural to hear tune bugs in the fall. The world, it seems is facing the spooky mama nature blues.


June 22, 2014 11:00 PM

Piccadilly Circus, London

I’m trying to establish the invisible line of media murder and “Zachalf and The Empty Bus” The invisible line between madness and the fear we will forget our laws and the Thou Shall Not Kill mambo time. I don’t have it and yet I do and though I do not linger in the Art-Crime division I cannot help but put a little fun in my investigations by observing and over-observing. The criminals have changed the way; they changed the way and made a new oy vey in the hearts of the fainting lamb society. Sociopolitical manifestos would call it “Me, me, me!” personality. People no longer want to see murderscene blood-red dribble drabble, they want to see vital fluid as art. Certainly reminds me of that artist Marc Quinn whom made a cast of his head using his own blood. Suppose it is true that ya can’t keep a good ghoul down.



January 19, 2019 6:00 AM

I do not see she thing, pretty thing no more. The last time I saw her, she was hiding from a heavy forecast of god’s tears underneath a slimy fish brigade in the common man’s market. She had kettles around her that rain had made sing. And I look up at the window a few feet above her person and I could only mouth in what would otherwise be a loud exclamation “Joy on earth and mercy mild!”




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^{As I was reading my story I figured it needed some adjustments and more explanations or more like pondering...so I decided to write some more entries plus it gives me something to do during the dull dreading bored school hours. There shall be more!}

Oh nobody knows of the trouble I have seen with these crow decayed eyes.
I have witnessed the animal rights activist mutilating the rabbit, the man encasing his defecation, they take the name of creation to destroy in these not so private areas in these oh-so-heavenly spaces. My criticism is lost with this one, he's dangerous for he has the quality of that queen.

I have seen him in every cabaret, stalking like a hound for a scrape of meat, no soul spots the snake as he slithers to good time females and humanoids from ancient worlds, see the sneaky snake sneaky speech. He cruises the weak ones, those ones with ants in their pants, hands in the air, and erections in their underwears.

City landscapes pray for this mommatocker and his heart beat chaos laden minks raining the exquisite corpse upon the fixed Sahara. And I have to down a glass of man's true best friend and say to myself, "What a nerve!"



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<sup>The Fixed Sahara loves Cabaret Whores

Victor Neulfblitz</sup>

Pigment eye
pigment eye
gave yourself to the stage at night
Pigment eye
shined your head to the wandering eye
It's not a fair life to live
when your a pigment eye, you're the corporate crime of a thousand white mothers.



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<sup>One has been listening to too much Tin Machine

this isn't meant to insult anyone if you should take this ever so wrongly just remember kids it was written by someone who cannot write.</sup>

Woke up with a bore
I simply can't take anymore
city with a dopey morning dew
doc, I gave ya diamonds, ya took my bed, ya took my time, I am the flat female...I stayed for the grand old time
doc, doctor...ya took the child
I think you had your fun...call it quits
Claudeville don't cry for us, Claudeville doesn't need us
come on daddy, we dragged our last dream high, we had enough wankings
hang it up, vati with the bull
hang it up with the roadkill jive
you'll open your eyes to put soft flesh through hell but you won't for love.


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^Delou