DESERT SONS CH 4 : RESURRECTION

[The Urbane Spaceman]

Heretic.

Blasphemer.


Hated.



Who is the Judge of Justice?


Here is the connection to all of these that I have been telling you all this time. It truly is connection, and communication. Redemption will happen, but it was not on that day,I tell you. Wherever you go on your path, you consider what it means to be walking upon any path, to where it leads.


Do you race to the finish line to win something?

Are you simply marking your time upon this mortal plane of existence, waiting for a better one in the afterlife?

Are we here to kill everyone else so that we can have a better time, there, than what is offered here?


We do not deserve pain, nor anguish, in any way.


However, we do not deserve happiness and enjoyment, either.



But we may find both, and these are caused by each other, one to another, and also by the elements surrounding our condition, into whatever place we have been born and raised.



Here is a brief moment of time, a snapshot, an image pasted across the face of time and space, to mark our place along the unforgiving, relentless march of time. Some moments are scars across the face of the wind, dissipated with each fresh kiss of breath. Minutes may feel like a thousand years of searing pain into death, or else, a blink as you drink of life’s blood upon awakening.




Now we go to La Fleur Du Mal.




Brian the Biker roared his engine twice before cutting her off. The gas exploded out of the exhaust pipe and that there was his announcement that he had arrived.


The Evil Flower smiled.



She pulled a corner of the brick off with her razor blade and smelled it. It made her nose sting. She looked down at it with her eyes watering. It was iridescent, like the rainbow shine form the scale of a fish. She hated to ruin this lovely sight, but it would be bloody and possibly deadly to intake this material without cutting it first. That was why she gently stabbed the chunk with the corner of her razor and picked it up this way, and dropped the sticky chunk into a small tea screen. She poured a bit of vitamin B dust over the top, and then used her pistil to whirl these together, sending them through the mesh.



It snowed in the desert, on her mirror.


She chopped and swirled, chopped and swirled, and then she sliced eight long, fat rips. A rip, you know, is the tide of the ocean.



When she was finished, she got up to let Brian in.





Flash forward: One year later.







When you drive in a big Ford automobile from Hollywood, through gay old Westwood, through Beverly Hills, eventually you will arrive at the beach.




The sun arose behind me, and cast shadows of the palm trees upon the beach. I looked down at the fine sand and searched to see a shell, but there was nothing.



The Pacific Ocean is not peaceful. Magellan could attest to that. There are volcanoes on the sea bed, and giant waves would someday destroy a large part of an island far away beyond this west coast of my native homeland, on the other side: the far east. These are our allies.




Allies.



People who hold together in the face of evil. The worst thing is evil that cannot be reasoned. Insanity, however, will bring its own demise.



Some of my friends were incarcerated, others hid away from the seeking eye. Many people died during these exploits, and that was unjust.




My own little island to the east beckoned to me.



I sipped my beer and watched the sunlight glint upon the waves as they crested out a bit further from the nose of my ride. Yes, I was an asshole; I drove my car onto the beach.


But I could see my shadow on the wet sand before me, and it stretched long as a full yawn form the belly. My shadow touched the ocean.




I appeared to have left my mark.



So I got up and took a piss in the ocean.



I marked my territory.



Like a man.



It appeared that I would have to drive back to Fuckno and take care of some bidness.




Damn.



.

[oettinger]

Say Urb, were you present while the boss lady took this tasting? Did the biker tell you afterwards?

[mistah willies]

Say Urb, were you present while the boss lady took this tasting? Did the biker tell you afterwards?

Dude,

I think that you are totally correct. That Spacey man always told his stories form the First Person POV.

Other folks said things to him later about what happened when he wasn't there himself.


And now, two years later? Unacceptable.

Spacey, you need to answer to this. WTF?!