Via the undergrowth, in the rush, and brushing through tall grass, almost knocking through it, until we found an opening, but there, there was no opening but a tall tree, gnared and grey. It blocked our vision cutting it in two directions. No sound and then a sound and then no sound, but it was us pushing our way through the long grass. We saw the enemy and opened fire. He fell like in a dream or maybe it was him or maybe it was another. He stood up startled and tried to get into our vehicle. We bashed him on the head with a large rock. Glazed over, the eyes looked like the frozen whites of eggs. I say maybe this was him: my long lost buddy, I couldn't be sure, so much had changed in time and place.
Signalled to the guard at checkpoint the cool customer. Spoke to my friend in hushed of whispers and told him all was over. We were no longer in the infantry stage. He glazed back at me. and I could only assure him of a swift and sacred burial.
The figure of the black hamlet ascended in one direction (toward heaven) and I in another: toward refining my models for making better and better tumbulations.
First I'd made them out of an old shoe box and have them fitted out with nooks and crannies suitable as storage devices for a scope of global memories. Nostalgically I set about to put inside a small earth spider but on second thought no time for bleeding hearts.
I structured the box just so, so that the walls began to glisten darkly of the secrets of concealed memories, kind of like dark mica, blackened memory chips inside the walls.
Did I feel guilt? The zombie had to be killed and out of his ear structure we'd build the stabilizer device. We needed more, like Otolith, who could run the whole show for us. Let them take the land and everything on it. We'd gain more fish, more structures just like Otolith, and we would refine the system around a much improved version of the human ear. A real remodelling of God's handywork, enabling the tumbulation boxes to fall in a straight line, horizontal to the surface of the Earth, so that they didn't crash but reminded us of the twirling yellow stars.
Signalled to the guard at checkpoint the cool customer. Spoke to my friend in hushed of whispers and told him all was over. We were no longer in the infantry stage. He glazed back at me. and I could only assure him of a swift and sacred burial.
The figure of the black hamlet ascended in one direction (toward heaven) and I in another: toward refining my models for making better and better tumbulations.
First I'd made them out of an old shoe box and have them fitted out with nooks and crannies suitable as storage devices for a scope of global memories. Nostalgically I set about to put inside a small earth spider but on second thought no time for bleeding hearts.
I structured the box just so, so that the walls began to glisten darkly of the secrets of concealed memories, kind of like dark mica, blackened memory chips inside the walls.
Did I feel guilt? The zombie had to be killed and out of his ear structure we'd build the stabilizer device. We needed more, like Otolith, who could run the whole show for us. Let them take the land and everything on it. We'd gain more fish, more structures just like Otolith, and we would refine the system around a much improved version of the human ear. A real remodelling of God's handywork, enabling the tumbulation boxes to fall in a straight line, horizontal to the surface of the Earth, so that they didn't crash but reminded us of the twirling yellow stars.
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