Sat, 23 Jul 2005

mouth full of feathers
This is they spot they claimed, and announced to the heavens they would never be moved, so that state-sponsored wizards in suits and ties of indigo velvet poured circles of salt around the park and giant bells tuned to specific frequencies were struck by hammer-swinging butchers still covered in the blood of the wild pig. Obviously such a spectacle brought out all the summerlong lollygaggers, folding chairs and coolers at the ready, taking good seats atop the stores along Main Street facing the claimed park and taunting the cops stationed along the sidewalk. “Crack a fuckin’ cultist head! Do as we command! Throw the swallow-box in the coven’s center and let the witches fall into hell!” Some local Jesus Rock band with cross-stitched bellbottoms stacked amps on the back of a flatbed and stole power from the streetlights and kicked into some kinda fuzzed up dope-raga about the fundamental nature of the human condition and the grandpa brigade kept hoping some girl would take her top off. I was there, drinking dollar beers with Susannah and her wheezing little brother with the shakes and the braces sneaking sips off his big (but not too big for me ‘cause I’m a revelator and a rumpshaker just as sure as your name’s Sucker) sister’s hip flask full of go-juice and sickleberry Kool-Aid, and the three of us were looking for something to throw at the lead singer when all of a sudden a thousand blackbirds came up from a hole in the park and attacked the park-claiming cultists and man was it ever a scene, Susannah’s brother poked out his eyes so as to never see the sight again and Susannah herself won’t go back downtown (which is okay by me, now that she moved into my trailer and I don’t have to pick her up at her house and talk to her parents, you know, the ones with pieces missing from their faces) and even I cross the street every time I think I see a blackbird. Mayor Victorious and his automatic cop army shoulda just left those warlocks alone.
(02:17.07.23.2005) [/scrytch] #