loopy in the dark
Finally the atavistic void of booze coma spits me out with disgust. The motion carries through into reality, throwing me off the train seat. With a wet thud my face hits linoleum. Concerned by this sudden tumult my body stretches out flimsy probes of consciousness. Some of my lower senses try to get back to their post of duty. And they return to a scene of utter turmoil. The looming sense of dread in every new detail they encounter turns this progress into a bullet time effort.

The doors of perception have been kicked in, warped and split they hang off their hinges. Smears of obscene scrawl on the walls, furniture and equipment thrown about by a giant hand. Every piece of furniture sliced open and gutted from its padding. Through the thrown in windows a cold wind plays with ripped up memories. The whole place is reduced to piles of tangled debris. Stench of burnt plastic, heavy, some patches still belch out acrid black smoke. Worse was only avoided by the ankle deep flooding from a shattered sink.

Something does not feel right about this orgy of demolition though. It is too complete. In all its fierce finality a tinge of sobriety is imminent. This suspicion turns out true and now the physical damage means little. The very core, a work of decades, is gone. From first crude efforts, coordinating hand and eye, the balance to stand up, to the more recent middle term memory, sense of decency. Gone. That must have been a well informed enemy. Before the cold fist of desperation closes around them, they just so manage to deploy lizard mode.



It just about suffices to not soil myself and get my limbs sorted. Every step back into reality lasts forever. Propped up on my elbows like a geriatric seal, i adjust my eyes against the dark. Grab hold of the railing on the wall and pull. Shake some life into protesting legs, atrophy, almost-cramps from a night of dance and sleeping in a pile. Blind carriage windows on one side. Shrubs and dirt fading into pitch black on the other. And of course the alcohol poisoning does little to improve my usual myopic self. Too vain to wear glasses in night life. Prise open the hydraulic door and stumble across this perimeter here.

A well deserved lengthy piss is celebrated. You know the kind, where you feel time tie together in a little bow, so cavernous seems the extent of ones bladder. I nod my regards to my todger and the steaming fount of beer scrap he sees off. Now back to my cave. Oh, wait. Where is it that i came from again? Dozens of wagons, and they all look the same. Doors are locked. On the outer perimeter, a massive fence topped off with razor wire grins its sly wink. Lizard is confused, its senses in the soggy autumn night reduced to the simplest of tasks. Then voices between the cars, torches shining through the arrays of dirty steel.

Paranoia of thousands of man-hours spent in post apocalyptic FPS games. They must not find me here. Run away. Stumble across the broken gravel and try not to noseplant. Crawl through here, under the train. Try to get out. What are they yelling? They will do bad things to me. It is bad to be here. Hide behind that house. Try to get into the dark. Fuck, no, another fence. Back there? Oh no, here they come, here they are now! Cornered. They yell. I grunt and throw wild glances. Focus! Must get away. Grabbed now. Struggle! More of them, not a chance now. Dragged off. What will happen? Then a wave of merciful black descends again.



Eyes fly open with a start as a heavy wave of nausea and pain sees me to. Another train, same kind of it as before, but now the sun is slowly breaking through the fog. Some drone on the outer edge of my consciousness. Ah, that must be the cleaning dude shaking me. Okay, thanks, mate. I'm out of here. All good. His grasp on my language is as useless as my understanding of.. well, everything, really. The various kinds of hangovers mingle well with the booze still merrily sloshing about upstairs. But i can walk, and see straight too. The dude gets me to a road before leaving me alone, spitting a curse out for a farewell. And now i am twice as far from home as before.

At least i am composed enough to know i have to walk the buzz off before anything else. Well, wasn't that a fine night out? Let us top it off with a spot of sightseeing before breakfast. So i start off west, cross the river, and then leave the village. Walk into a forest, with birds merrily buzz-sawing my dried up bloody prune of a mind, country casuals with their expensive mutts showing disdain for the wobbly, bug eyed kid on their turf, and eventually end up at this lake. Totally worth it after all. And so i sat, the lazy rays of a rising sun warming my bones, songs without words bedding my mind in Kool Whip delusion. And the older i get, the better i was. What else can we have, really?
(funktrash soul = combustion engine, Wed 30 Mar 2011, 12:35, 14 replies)

tl; dr

( janet aylia y'all motherfuckers need jesus, Wed 30 Mar 2011, 13:27, closed)

ack
no-op
(funktrash soul = combustion engine, Wed 30 Mar 2011, 23:54, closed)

I don't get it.
You woke up in a train, had a piss and walked to a lake?
( 4Q just lurking, Wed 30 Mar 2011, 14:08, closed)

..inb4 porting Wilde, Miller and Nabokov to Twitter sized spunklets.

(funktrash soul = combustion engine, Wed 30 Mar 2011, 23:39, closed)

Seven consecutive words, making a coherent sentence.
A dramatic change of style, well done.
( 4Q just lurking, Thu 31 Mar 2011, 1:49, closed)

(great you are baited, have seven more)
From someone uttering Bundyesque stumps at best?
(funktrash soul = combustion engine, Thu 31 Mar 2011, 11:24, closed)

I think
The point of the story is that it was a dead nice lake. Or something.
(jaytoothetee, Thu 31 Mar 2011, 1:01, closed)

If you fuck the way you write.. good luck.
Dat feel when you come to Old Blighty, straight from the working class dregs of europe, and expect everyone to read the classics, and use at least as much of their own language as the mafia bosses and junkies in their movies..



..and have the best grade in spelling in the entry exam, are the only one who reads anyshit but NUTS and pop lyrics, and miserably fail to make myself understood using the very style of writing that had taught me the lot first.

Thus i rest my case, young man. Ain't easy out there for a forinner.
(funktrash soul = combustion engine, Thu 31 Mar 2011, 11:43, closed)

Quite enjoyed reading that.
But I feel a bit dirty.
( SigmaX0 Dear Die Hard. You rock!, Wed 30 Mar 2011, 14:29, closed)

Then the feel came across, cheers. Have yet to unlock this level:


(funktrash soul = combustion engine, Wed 30 Mar 2011, 23:51, closed)

Well-written, that's for sure
But I'm not sure I get it
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Wed 30 Mar 2011, 15:12, closed)

Thanks mang. My english is useless, but i try!
(funktrash soul = combustion engine, Wed 30 Mar 2011, 23:48, closed)

Piffle.
(HarvsPenzance was tired and confused at, Wed 30 Mar 2011, 23:39, closed)

Does a bear shit in the w&m darkroom?
(funktrash soul = combustion engine, Wed 30 Mar 2011, 23:47, closed)