ndeed,
I shall leave it a year. Watching the Olympics in a low key fashion
might be rather difficult with nail and cheese wire impediments.
And
then, in 2013, two thousand one and three, I shall seek out the
Lament Configuration Puzzle Box and run inquisitive fingers over it's
strange symbolic engravings, as the sky greys to black and sinisters
coloured bolts of energy course along its structure.
And
then, shall meddling open the box, and I will taken away from here,
taken away from a world of drudgery and tedium, low paid humilation
at the hand of low-bred in-breds, and taken to a world where “Pain
and Pleasure are Combined”. My skin flayed, nails hacked out and my
blood replaced by an agonising preserving re-animating fluid, full of
parasites to perpetually stimulate the evil centre of my brain and
eat away at the good.
And in
a year, pvc clad and looking rather different of face and denture, I
shall return and Lo! Shall all my life's irritants shall feel rusty
chains rip through their plebeian flesh! But although, Cenobitically
enhanced I may be, the more louche aspects of my ensavaged
personality remain – and I shall drink Cuba Libras and Caparinhas
with one hand, smoke Sobranie with the other into lungs pulled apart
by rusty wire; all while kicking an enemy in the face with a spined
boot, piercing cheek flesh again and again and again.
And
then I shall listen to the Velvet Underground and crank out chirpy
bon-mots such as “Your sole...my pleasure” and “The road of
pain is a less travelled one, but as you can see the journey is worth
it” to some dotty American 19 year old who repeatedly refuses to
tell their arse from their elbow.
And I
shall attract acolytes, and followers ignorant of the true extent of
my powers, and so shall statues be made of me. Worship me if you
will, but remember to always quake in fear.
My
boots trample the still quivering dead. Is my life so far gone that
this future seems preferable to anything else. I shall tell you
later.
In two
thousand one and three.
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