falling off mountains
tumbling in mud
the cobra is fine
there’s not much blood
slapped by seas
bring more wine
sink beneath the waves
the weather is fine
the weather is fine
the weather is fine
i tell you
fine
You crawl up the dune on hands and knees. Your clothes are in tatters. Your heart hammers in your chest, and your breathing is labored, like a faltering steam engine trying to haul a hundred cars of coal against a furious shrieking wind. Why are you there? You don’t know. You don’t remember. You are just … there, struggling uphill, sliding, slipping, digging in, advancing. Grains of sand whirl in attack, peckling your face with tiny stings. You sink supine, then summon a last flicker of courage, turn onto your belly and snake toward the crest of the dune. At last you elbow your way up and over. A sudden cessation of the shrieking wind greets you. You pause to rest. You can almost remember your name, but not quite. Down the slope at the bottom of the dune is a cottage. You throw yourself at it, tumbling and rolling down the hill. You slide to a stop at the very door of the cottage. You lift your head in hope. The door opens. There she is.
You die.
If his pencil triangle was not in place, John Cameron hid under the desk until pencils and subsequent triangle formation were quickly produced.
When broadcasting the news, John Cameron Swayze always:
a. wore a coat, tie, and purple velvet knickers.
b. carried a handkerchief with the word ‘ghoul’ written on it in blood.
c. had 3 pencils arranged to form a triangle to his left on the desk.
d. wept inwardly.
AN INADVERTENTLY STUNNING ACHIEVEMENT
COMPELLINGLY UNPLEASANT
leaves a vinegary aftertaste
SEE MAYHEM
LUST
and
HOPE
DEFERRED
SEE!
THE WANDERING CLAW
(free lobster included with the purchase of each ticket)
On cue, the streetlamps exploded, and the tiny reindeer emerged from the fake buffalo and fanned out to take their positions. The slim young man wearing boots with turnover tops nodded, and the secondary display unfurled, bats chittering down the wall of the stable and the insane monkey turning flips up and down the alley. The slim young man wearing boots with turnover tops looked at the maiden and presented her with a question mark fashioned from a bedspring painted white and sprinkled with red and green glitter.
‘Oh, Mr. Claus, of course I’ll marry you,’ replied the maiden, pledging herself to a never ending but usually delightful existence at the North Pole on a distant planet.
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Doc's Lunacy
5 of 5 stars to The Great Train Robbery by Michael Crichton goodreads.com/review/show/55…
