finally getting around to eye riding your reprints Lucius-= seems the
colourful anticipation of downloading confabs with Hermione, yourself and others
gives me most special sighs exhaling grievances with every word you serve-=
"Realism" cure me toasty-= to see upwards and inwards-= to be a body i cast my
self back-= hook bait and supplicate-= i can't help it-= i'm running up and down
in here wall eyed and tired of scraping my head on the ceiling-= every touch your
words make bring great taste in faith-= correctional filth and maggots-= no sun
light stimulation-= nothing but dangling cocks poking bulls bashing bone back and
straw-= still, death's cyclical sentence matured me-= helped me to see life clearly
now that i live so closely with death-= this place is nothing but a warehouse of
death-= the release of the body goes by with no ceremonial events what so ever-=
the dark groping for the darkness-= it's a dry run from the gun in front of a
behind the glass audience-= two people in the execution room-= one with the gun
and one strapped blind folded to a chair-= the executioner puts the hood over the
prisoners head-= cocks the gun puts it under your chin and blam!-= with a live
body there is a lot of blood splatter-= so the executioner he wears a mask and
a bib-=
when a person is executed he has no sense of punishment-= no sense of
ritual-= therefore on the grand grid of things executing is a non-event-=
execution registers not even a shiver in the pools of blood thirsty grid-= so
what then?-= take me you drivels-= what matters it, but to read, study, grow,
exist-= i'll take any other life form-= this one has been little else than a
trick-= of course i'm saying death row is the opposite to this it-= all the
same for me it has given me a spark mentally and even if the end is death
i will have progressed up until that time-= it's unfortunate if i have to go
before my potential has been tapped but i've come to grips with the aspect of
dying-= we are the swarthy ones-= not scared the way people think-= my happiness
radiates from within-= when i go i'll go like a man-= otherwise my manhood will
have been a fraud-= i always knew it would end up like this-= killing people-=
that's why i took the job at Hope Centre-= see you in the next world-= i can
comprehend no longer existing-= i expire in a little over a year-= what matters
it?-=
you asked me for more "Information" on the where abouts of aphids and that
aspidistra garden-= well here goes-= the aphids at 15 Grovewell are particularly
fond of our aspidistra garden-= now you see Sandra our local agoraphobia clone
has a severe fear of sexual abuse-= yes, it's a deliciously horrific spectacle
if you get her going-= anywho-= Sandra has three other afflictions-= spina
bifida- which makes her bent over like an upside down u-= chronic aphthous
ulcers which grow in cluster pustules inside the surfaces of her cheeks or lips-=
and on occasion she gets these little black hairs growing on her tongue-= as a
result of this next prodigious practise of hers-=
through the garden afflicted Sandra strolls hunched over leaning to inspect
the underbelly leaves of our aspidistra-= if she spies any black bumpy prizes she
rips off the leaf and gorges herself on the juicy aspidistra aphids-= when she's
gnawed on the juicy critters she then sits with her pitiful cranium touching the
grass and begins humming like an enraged mosquito-= with any manner of aphids and
grass flying about her mouth her body starts changing-= the ulcers which grow in
her skin appear to be bubbling-= she starts sweating, a putrid stink wafts up
into the air-= she takes on a kind of ethereal sickly presence-= and then she
changes the buzzing to a kind of sick maniacal purring-= as if the stench and
repugnance of her own self gives her the greatest pleasure-= she now starts to
moan and thrash about violently in the front yard-= soon her festering pustules
begin to break open and ooze with puss and blood-= like a fussy feline she begins
cleaning herself with her vulgar swollen tongue-=
this has become a regular occurrence as of late and i must tell you
Armillus, this little eccentric ritual of hers seems to me no small mote of
happiness-= for it senses suffering and algolagnia tendencies like no other
olfactory can-=
alas, he began in a sad tone-= enough is enough-= the neighbors around here
are beginning to get a little annoyed at the noise and constant display of
oddity-= i want no attention from these rancid community efforts-= so i cut down
all the aspidistra, spray the entire Hope Centre grounds with bug spray and cap
off the days pleasures by shaving the hairy tongue of agoraphobia Sandra with a
butter knife-= some dances one cannot follow-=
the humidity is thick close and dry-= up for the live count at six thirty-=
shaved cleaned the cell gleamed-= i'm ready when the cell door opens at seven
thirty to step out into the hallway and stretch my magnitude-= this business of
the frightful death show bull grows-= every sound a blue note-= these poor
suckers fear death-= believe it to be something they have no control over-= sure
i could extrapolate my insight and my wisdom-= but some find no foothold in my
teachings-= and prison is a terrible place to be taken the wrong way-=
enchanted Armillus-=