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FROM "THE TEXTURE OF THE SKY" BY S.B. Reda
An elegant jaunt across posie filled bay, posie to be not flowers but of water instead. Several days of churning propellant salt guts, pointing gallons away, to the east . . . to the east. Glare through periscopic telescopic tri-ocular foci, yes . . . land ho! Seems serene, even seems sheen, reflective brightly underneath blackness of day bright. Glad to weigh down, glad to live in the moment! So organic such an original oil canvass sculpture of glare in front . . . to the east! Can the beauty appear so justifiably so? Is it the glare that impairs, dare you impede? The posie shallow depthless deeper no longer, three leagues times three. Steady clip victimized, bemoaned with strategy of tides against sides, rudder at full twist. Must be to the east . . . To the east! Now can see canister valleys, spread voluptuously, generously, foresakingly . . . or forlorn. Ten days elapsed, two days before the next gives a day for leisure . . . two days for work. Much establish, much left. Assemble men, you must, uncharted, bereft of human? Not seen on maps, no word or hint . . . no knowledge of what to expect except unexpected acceptances of new data. Bag filled with treasure to barter to buy, regular weaponry (a knife . . . sharp!), a sack for the head, a pillow for the back. Leave some men here for something to come, want no delay on board. Six men to suffice. Right, gather seven for ten man journey into glare! An exclusive excursion, what! You not know of behind and forward . . . to the east! Yet on the trail, eyes. Wait. Laos . . . Surinam! No compare, two equal and the differ. This is plenty inspiring, you thinks. Plenty challenge and yet unique! Marvelous . . . shove off with the oar on ear, listen to current currents, they whisper voluminous! We are not there . . . Welcome! Rivet beach head, tin slicing soles severed . . . BACK INTO THE POSIE!!! "Illuminated! We go back cannot. Shave to bone it must if we. Not meant for human, carnivore beach!" one men, perhaps half say. "Scoundrel!" you say. "To the east! Clever not to, brave and clever to! Prepare shoe of balsa, prepare and depart!" Zabda Rect, who whittle with blade, sandal of save, scalpel shore! Zabda Rect furnish 16 slips for seven before, slides meticulous, soles still store. Clamor of vibration, rattle of metal, the glare of cascading solar reflections. Sliver extend to sheet, ease to feet and walking free. Sheath the fear, sheath the fear in holster of patience. Await! "To the east . . . we shall unlock texture. Obtain and covet! Covet to perpetuate! Perpetuate to perpetuate! It is this place, it is buttressed by fortress and why should it not? Here is the glory, on the foil tree, in the pellet sun! Posie digest red from beneath, it too needs to feed. A solemn gesture of appreciation, punctuated with Zabda Rect. Ode to Zabda Rect!" confidently, you state. Some slip, some fall . . . wade across the metal moors, polished teflon, radioactive nuclear absorption- pellet sun waves toothless to the damned beach below. "Illuminated, this is Zabda Rect . . . coming in clear?" he asks you over data chip medulla implant. "Coming in clear, yes Zabda." you respond. "Happy to hear delighted to know! Many a motion lie before you, movement towards the unknown. Texture perhaps?" Your vacant eyes light up. "And so it is! To the east! We shall brave cowardice festering in our bowels!" Gallop clop of wooden shoes, modest violence on island of silence. Skin not made of wood, skin slashed against blade of grass. Disturbing contrast, blood color red against void of color, and it soaks, fades like old newspaper, disappear like smile on saddened face. Blade begin to animate, split in two, then twice again! Movement like vine in directions, not to the the pellet but to flesh, seeking more blood! Wrap around leg of future dying man, scarred by one thousand marks. Severed at joint, bone snap at pressure points, blood shower in sprinkler spray. Many blades reach in disjoint botanical joy, feed! Many devour, split in two, then twice again! Screaming man produce a cacophony of howls, a cascade of blood, a cavalry of angry blades. He drop to metal floor, with smash, gathered and divided democratically amongst blood poor! Exponential, amazing terror! Branches erode and come together at once, barbed and spiked, angular and poised. Leaves disform and conform to shape of razors, lining barbed branch like armed militia. Attack! You leave man on ground, stripped ivory bone axed by vegetable hack. Zabda Rect, savior of feets, where are you? Arms, knees, necks, scathed as barrel through into what . . . to the east?
* *If you wish to continue through the blender of your existence, feel free. If you wish to escape, now is the ONLY time. If you have at least 10 positive seconds, turn to page . . . Fierce calm, permeate sudden horror renounce. Hollow cove, posie lake filled with ore, tranquility. A dubious nirvana, how long to stay? One man down, many on the way, how can stay? Clatter resonate, reverberates through forest, blades sharpening against each, headed this way . . . to the east. Terminal, without continuation, blood tear trickle from young one eye, madness to begin again. Scamper of balsa, echo in cove, awaken unseen forces . . . Run! Galvanized clouds crash together underneath ominous, pellet sun. From baby hair descend, canned swine, no-joint legs, prickly sounds, descend to march on you. Crackle above, clouds spit horrendous iron lightning, voltage conductor increase, shock ground, melting and reforming blades. Coiled snakes with nail teeth slither over barbed vines, hissing in turbine-whine, elusive, camouflaged in glare bright. Air stolen by steel, sound of foundry louder and louder. Reinforced scorpion quiver dagger tail, strike, snap! Coiled snake, lurch back, venomous attack. Gather flesh of slow one, tear off, double in size! Razor branches dissect and dice, gather blood and divide. Forest alive, threatening, tyrannical demise . . to the east. Data chip medulla implant wail in defective cycles, oscillation waves produce sounds of exhilaration, consternation . . . confound. "Illuminated . . . it is I, Zabda Rect! We are listening to most unusual sounds. What is the place? What is the matter!" he requests. You bounce through silver growth, overgrown and then some, words not comprehensible through filter of fright. Easy to discern, difficult to answer. How to say? Elemental gain, travelling against you, racing you . . . to the east! "Zabda!" you squeal, through heaving chest, heavy breath, saliva splash across lips, slurred speech. "Spray the island, whatever you have! Ice it! Fire it! To kill we are dying, in pieces, falling at the mercy of technical beasts. The east . . . it is a lie to the east. Save, for us to die!" "Illuminated, I have flour, grain for men, loaves to bake. I have balsa slips and trowels and rakes. I lift anchor, raise, set, save! Where are you?" Zabda Rect, cry out, his voice clear, enough to think he is behind you. Die-cast spiders gallop spring shot hooves, propelling several yards above and below. Island closing, severing limb, joint. eye, ear, nose, mix puddle of flesh, absorbed give life to death and then some. Other posie cove side now clear! "Zabda! Zabda Rect to opposite to where you are. We are a step ahead but amount of steps reduced, narrowing victory is theirs if you cannot perpetuate. Zabda! ZABDA!! New shore alive, frolic in distinct maniacal joy, parading death dances, closing you down, pinning you in. How to reconcile that both island side come to exist, only one devour flesh? Photo-cataclysmic synthesis? Impossible yet no info to refute? Canopy of pellet sun extend over and again, look into bright metallic glare, shape descend, perhaps a mirage! Descend from babyhair, silken, blond strings spun, descend statuesque shimmer statue . . . Zabda Rect?
* * I cannot take this, the carnage! I am quite sure that you feel the same way. Perhaps I am nicer than I thought! If you wish to be spared, deposit all of your negative seconds and turn to page . . . If not . . .
In mind, spiritual beings suffer inexplicable explosions, data overload, what to compute as probable based upon delirium or fact? There stand he, savior Zabda Rect, fallen, nay! Very much to the opposite! Savior? Nay! Very much to the opposite! Bronzed in silver like commemoration symbol, thunder ground tremble when he touch down. All previous motion no longer exist. Snake lie, spider . . . scorpion too. Blade wilt in painful creak, bent metal, tired shriek. "Illuminated . . ." Zabda regurgitate, chemical mucous gurgle in tin lined throat. "You will be needing no longer this," as he point dagger finger into back brain, severing major chord apart, removing data chip from inner medulla, like surgeon removing spleen. "Illuminated, I pity, no longer such so. I pellet sun beast, bastard son of metal sun, see no longer in the east. This is scurry, I implant retarded message, provoke, manipulate. I AM YOUR CONSCIOUS! ZABDA RECT AM YOUR LIFE . . . AND DEATH." Sword lighting slash from galvanized clouds, spearing unwary. Impaled, island come alive once again to reap harvest of blood rich sow. Temporary stain on silver blades, fades, absorption in photo-cataclysmic synthesis . . . in the east. Zabda look, empathetic lying eyes, spread wing like angel falcon, other left to side. Push off aluminum, swoop upon you, claim prize. Clutched in shearing claw, ascend. Pellet sun near, metal forest far, impenetrable glare, with tint of red, amoebae like movement, harm and despair . . . until gray.
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