Chapter 9

999

=========

I got to work right away, without revealing my tool. I had no physical object that I could or wanted to use. Just me and what we could see. I ingratiated myself to him, and whispered over him as I stood behind him, hands on his shoulders.

He actually whimpered, and grasped his cane, like he had almost become blind, staring into something he couldn't see. I whispered the first verse of the divination.

He began to weep, I stood over him, until I became dizzy, in the smoky air, and then...

I walked into a masterful room of colour, it had a luminousness like I had never seen. I had encountered the future I couldn't yet want to know, in this madness of a place. The absolute shock of the brightness, in every mad detail, it was a woman's room, I'm sure. There were flowers for the woman here, in the detail in the chair, big bold electrical machines, a pink round empty lamp, that produced wind, when I touched it. Bright colourful insane colours, pictures of woman painted from nature on shining paper, and there were simple things, like soap, in lurid tough, slippery surfaced bottles, chairs in all new types of actually plain looking design, with bent round iron arms, seamlessly soldered together, a square machine, that hissed and showed me black and white fuzz, blistering inside a square piece of glass. All of it looked like it had got old and abandoned though, I looked to the window for a way to leave, but it was covered by a mesh of metal. I turned the lock of the door, and went out into the madness of a black corridor.

There was everything for me to see there, but someone told me to look for nothing. A girl was laughing up in the air.

===

I stepped boldly along the hall heading for the door numbered 310. I had written this door exactly. I brushed my fingers across the dark door, chest height, and letters burned across in fool's gold colour, with a scarlet shadow. As I pushed the door with my foot, a blow of something large hit me in the face, and knocked me down.

===

The man in the wooden chair, shuddered. Then, leaning on his cane, he stood steadily and purposefully, he threw away the cane, and stepped forward, his eyes shone darkly with a white fire shimmering around them. He went up the hallway, and out the main door.

===

Ezu, passed into a new dream, it was a dream full of tiredness, his eyes were heavy, he went to rest. Regan was calling and calling. She thought all the possibilities would be given to her in her favour, so she used a modern day trick, she buzzed Ezu on his mobile, she dialled the number and as it lit up, the phone exploded. She was in endless white light, she used another call out, her mind. She spun through a silver fountain, spinning in a heavy windfall of objects that were half-formed and ghostly, falling and flying around her. A little spirit called Ezu giggled in her mind, and a girl was weeping. She lifted her head back, and swam backwards into nothing, into the silk door veiling the next world.

An islam convert gets locked away

Chapter 7

7 seven;

"Ezu?! Little Ezu!!" I recognise you!"

It had to be him, she could, see that wide slack jaw that stuck out, from the rest of his face, with a curve of fuzzy felt stuck round the chin, a down-turned morose smile, no matter what Ezu, felt or said, those lips would be miserable. It wasn't a plain face. He was a lot shorter than her, Regan. He seemed locked in thought, paralysed, stuck inside the frame of the door, the canvas he stepped from was deep orange and glowing like a huge candle, some huge force, inside light itself, pushing out the real light, and taking everything over.

His favourite jacket, was torn across the chest, she had made that jacket for him, when he wanted to take up on an old Chinese communist style jacket, called a Mao Suit, which he wanted, one because he liked the look of it, a lot, and another because, he was a kitsch creep for hard times, sympathetic, or, horrid to women, or mostly, because he wanted to infiltrate ranks and meet all of them, be with the insiders, throw them each a surprise, walk out of the ranks loud and apparent, gather men, shake hands with women, because he was sympathetic, I say. He just wanted it, and he wanted it from me, because I could make it.

All to have a grand time in doing so, to make apparent, a good show, to help, to song, to run, run, run along, so she cut dark grey flannel, and sewed it up, gave it a high square Mandarin collar, huge round blue buttons.

She ran to the door, grabbed him, tried to pull him from the door.

He shuddered, and disappeared, for a small moment she gasped, as the orange glow sucked her in.

======

She couldn't believe the throttle, inside that door, it shook and made a heavy noise, but she was psychically okay, unharmed. It was sucking at parts of her though, it sounded like a terrible sucker monster, with a mouth like a huge, loud exhaust pipe, starting up smoky fires.

Sick of the colour orange, and screaming for Ezu, in case he was in harm, she hurled herself into the colour, sure that, in going into it completely, breaking into it's source, she could somehow control the place around her, if it was, a place, she could become a tool inside, if not all of it, as it had form, it had sound, and colour, a look, so, it must have a centre, something inside it she could take over and control, and take it by riding it like, waves or wind. 

Patently, whatever, It was obvious she was in the Glue. Not the anti-matter stuff, where everything gets destroyed, but sure, complete absolute cosmic glue, coming from somewhere, though, that wasn't The All. It was being forced around, forcing her around, pushed by some force of the mind, who controlled it was a person, trying to take it over completely, with the own glue inside him, but he couldn't do it well, obviously, because it was a large force, so, it was kinda zooming around in whatever cage he had tried to put it in, and it was shaking big things, and moving over time, the everything. Simply, it was running through a timeline of various chapters of history. He was mad. He had spent part of his own self, his glue, into a bigger glue that was powerful and changing so swiftly. He must have caught It inside his mind, because that was where he knew to contain it. But, unfortunately, he had stuck it inside an non-moving object, a blank object, which he pushed at continually, in order to find magic in his glue. His electric field, was pushing into the huge field. 

If she jumped into the bigger glue she wouldn't get out, she had to hope it would stay in thought, and not get out of control, basically, remain a force, which carried her and buoyed her up, like a cork in the sea. She could just carry on it's current, and keep to the wave. Then, she would find the next room, and most sure, that Ezu would be in there too.

 Because his force was slow and weepy, like a willow tree right now, and her force, was rain lashing down upon him, telling him in each soothingly cool droplet, that she was there with him, there doing something for him. There, for him, right now, as obvious as clouds sending down, what is always inside them.

He was on the same wave, Ezu was...perhaps, if she pushed her hand to him, she could take him in, all the way, beckon him with her current, and bring him back to her, like how someone listening to music on a Walkman, touches another hand, and shows him, that they are both listening to the same music, through the touch of their electrical bodies..

Out with The Old

lots of throwing and cleaning up files and documents to do, start clean and fresh; everything must go...

. We couldn't see. We should have fallen at our knees. We fell for Tracy, and her plan to find some friends that had a flat together and a bottle of vodka, for sure. She expected that. Always.

FLATMATE;WHAT YOU DONT SAY TO PEOPLE;

They are not really sure why, because maybe, no one is sure of anything.

We said small hi's as we collected ourselves, and walked into the couples house. We took seats, as chosen. Tracy took the girl past the room to the kitchen to explain our presence, and we shook no hands, but took the sofa. There was rolling, and exchanging of papers, and tobacco. They had some grass. I rolled quick, and lit up. Smoke filled the deep brown room, old curtains covered the door. The girl looked like a war. The girls sat down on the sofas. There was a long silent interval. Everyone was silent, I gasped like a wide mouse, I saw a ghost hand tickle my tongue

I stared again at the table. Tea had been served. The Victorian girl had pointed a thin, bony finger into my teacup. Another death. I couldn't count. I counted she had done it 9 times in one day, that time when I finally worked out, what had been happening to me...Lighter this time. Oh gosh!

(I’m trying to find the raver")

Tracy and the girl were both large, and a mess. Real, live, messes like a traveller's injunction. Criminal slattern looks and there it is. Troubles flying, unaccounted absentees, poverty and then all the speeches, about little

A shock had him broken, I saw the husband, wait with an ear at his door, as a guard dog would to protect the entrance. 

He looks as though he is always withering into his self, quiet and polite. I swayed and floated away from the live, shut my eyes...sensors aware of Shiskman chatting, sensors of relief, that I could just float ...wait...relieve my sensor...leave the place...enjoy a quick moment of rising joy, Shiskaman says;

"We have the most wonderful belief, the fear of God, the joy of forever...”

"We can. Count. On Him. I have the belief, it is, that all will be well. "

I yawned, round black cat mouth. Then, I broke, so I hummed, and sucked in bunches of knots; I kept the joint to my fingers. Guiltily kept it, worry hanging there from my lips, smirking, cutting, cutting up, worrying. What's the business? When will the men arrive? Cake, cake, cake. What if the men give me a Fate? What is being hidden here, why is there more fear? An hour went?

"What's the point, mate?" The husband asks, cracked thin tanned elbows, leaning on his knees, his fiddling fingers between his legs.

"Praise be to God who sometimes still makes us die!"

------------

Rolled cigarettes are passed round. Oh, what is surprise? A cat. 

I am a bear, bowling bags of peat brown damp useless hash, trashing the backyard, all done with you, go home, gentle giant flinging violent furry claws at tin cans, throwing compost all over the yard.

Sit in front of the television;

There is an end of the world scene, on the television, but no one can know, only, me, its just sound, loud voices, they fill up the entire house and smash into my head.

I like to hear sounds out of the window, outside, like happy shouts and birds, even the insane cat girl that keeps shrieking, but an old man is out there, crying I’m dead. Shut in shouts, a repetitive lobbed stone, one stone of being part dead, next stone; you are dead, flurries of stone, like crashing tribes of birds hitting the stone slabs on the ground; I am dead, you are dead. I don't want to be dead, and stolen cuts at my bare feet makes my legs wooden, breaks my knees and slams down on the earth so slowly, that I don't want time to be moving, so I slam the window shut. On and on it goes, he yelps like an old man dog, and says You are dead! You are dead!

It takes my head!

I think he should shut up. I sit at the window, and he never shuts up. I sit on the floor; I face from the window to the wall, stones of death, still dead, never silent.

I stay all day with the shame of being dead, I don't go out, then, when he is zapped into the dark blue of the nighttime, mixed with orange slurs and break blues of light, twisting from particles to conduce sparks of colour through the night, I sleep. NO, I wait, I wait inside the bed, and he leaves. Then, she comes.

He was on chewing gum. Churn, churn, bubble gubble. Constantly. I want it, I want

chewing gum. Though he was on pills at first, cos he would bring out a white capped white bottle that shook like little pearls, pop open the cap, and stuff pills into his mouth. Then, chew perhaps because it was required for that type of drug. But, it was a new cup of chewing gum, extra white.

Betrayal, like triangle frames balancing on space network, the cut of the metal, the frail collapse of regular straight-line possibilities. A spaceman on a fire jet, hurtling across an unpredicted path, sputtering, blowing out, burning himself, spinning round and round and shattering, and fighting the journey, and landing slam, on a hard floor. 

I made dance music.

it was happening, eight circles on edge, happened eight time then...Eight consecutive, joined Time periods, with same events, meant a repetition of the one big event. in different spaces, or places.

What if she span in another circle, that could cut mine, to bring me messages?

I'm not going in a straight line, doors ar re opened by someone, psychical mass of movement, shuts it opens the next, to get through the Circle, that is Space.

The Circle of moving time is in a arena of space. It becomes our time. Because we can move about from room to room, in a house to a garden, moving through space.

I stop and start, when i need to think. I have one thought, I cut me in a new thought, or a repeating thought, which is worry. Does thought move time?

I wait and wait, I sit on a lonely chair, and wait and wait. I can move the chair. If i want to. It makes a spark, to 'choose'

 to do something, and especially something new. I wanted to hold New, so I brought it a spark, which ate up a chunk of the circle, called moving time. Stuck and scratched the circle.

A spinning clock has twelve hands, six o'clock arms hit twelve o'clock.