Down The Hereway Kick The Silver Days
Oh the destroyed little creatures bouncing within the sidewalk he walks on. Critters that be dead and goon dead and gone and all. But bounce they do. He can feel them as he walks. He could fell them as well but that would require construction equipment and the will of Athena bounced from her unfathers head and lubed with foam rimmed with arrows. Alas he be not immortal or breastless of woman born he is. Of filth and rotten raspberries gestating around him a mobile cottage of humours tissues and neurosis the circuitry of nature all this is all this was all this will be. Alas he walk.
Aye A bar There he be all bonny in his bourbon searching Off the sidewalk wee manthing Think not for a moment that onwalk is better suited to the destroyed critter’s home Think it not If think it you do give it away to another preferably one whose genesis lie above goats and columns
Sits down does our mistermissus on Old Ben’s fave tree from the longago where he whittled and masturbated over the heart of one who wanted him like the plague nay wanted him not at all at the end of it. The darkling thrushes above his head nightengaled his melancholy scraped it off his aura and hammered it into the trunk that would later contain hammers to mangle that would later be the stool for our hero the mistermissus who orders a draught of pissgruel stout.
“Thank ye, funky barman of heights so low mine bonny cries an ocean in recompense.”
“Take yer draught and know the terror of ghosts whose ankles ye might have nibbled for a fairer long time than ye did had ye the courage to dance the toxic waltz of forevermore.”
“Yer advice shits a rainbow in my soul as sure as this draught contains thine mummy’s secret heels and half-babes. I did what I did listening to Jack The Lad whose ministrations ne’er did me a whit o harm.”
“Peace.”
“Pieces.”
mistermissus places pieces for his pieces and peace on that oaken long shank that never was the hull of a ship in the longtimesince where Old Ben would rocksmooth with Amphitrite’s lovethroes her titanic hips receiving the motion swelling the ocean. Old Ben did hear her many nighytes while whittlin’ the frosty pirate for his true love missmissus. Old Ben whittlin throo tears so’s to like his shavings were pieces of Old Ben’s longtimesince anointed salty. The oaken were never the wall Old Ben sat his rump upon lied his shoulder rested his top. Nay, but there ye look and see that mistermissus has a rump upon the tree where Old Ben cried many a cryee cry crying out into the grooves the impossible history of us all aye me too “wai wai waieee missmissus ah ah wai wai waieee missmissus” and all sniveling were Old Ben but noble like the purple grass from Faerie that Old Ben kept in his mad pocket next to lengths of solid water not ice and ne’er seen by us.
Behold! The slimyslither feller named by his mummy after discharged from her sarcophagus Making Ratmeal. Ole Ratmeal be a sly feller ah so sly his deardeaddaddyman named him twice called him SneakyBit. Making Ratmeal named twice SneakyBit makes his way through the bloodvines of the tavern called Drinkhere and sits on mistermissus lap.
“Fair mm so fine drinky the drinky and know not all at all.”
“Ackack! What old death be you Making Ratmeal on my lap at so hour an hour? Know you my lap is the seat of child gods and not those wracked to the gears! Why then must Sabrina’s ottoman be stained with your form? The Old Man will not smile on you after this I think at all.”
“Gods be not in your head mm so fine nor do their mistakes rest upon thy thigh. But from your silk organ I remove myself. Barman may colors campaign against thy thread lest I receive the draught I dread.”
“Take this dread and pay me not, SneakyBit called Making Ratmeal, lest my coffer spoil from thine venomed coin.”
“On the heiss as none are wont to say! I thank ye and still wish upon your sawhorse frame many an uncataloged scoring most foulindeedy.”
“SneakyBit called Making Ratmeal wherefore kommst du here? Thine Arcadia lies many shitleagues below stars and Gaea. Trouble I think breeds maggotlike in thine eyes and tongue. Crusty carrion that you are.”
“mm so fine. I’d a vision as true as mine hair is dryad flaxen raped in the womb of the elder wirld. I’d a vision as coating as my right leg was wrought from carapaced summer girls.”
“Visions be for those addled and re-wrote.”
“Aye! And visions be for mine stormy web of eyes affixed from inner ear to inner ear mistermissus so dear. Listen well virgin pervert. Hark to this tongue that bubbles with the shameful secrets of those frenzied to betterworser places. Seen I had thine true lovejewel so fair.”
“Lies sexx on yer tongue!”
“True be these things said still saying. It has the hair and eyes ye remember but crying always. Not for you sucka. For anotha. But much pain she be in. Pain most terrible like a chest plowed to seed matches in the hottest hour.”
“Ye speak true though I know ye lie.”
“Lie always does I. Yet my truth lied be still fleecy and greasey. I does always lie.”
“Barman! Barman.com here and acquaint SneakyBit with the ear of god that I might rid of him.”
“Here be the lord’s ear, dead lord that he is from choking on his owen faith.”
“Ah! Flee I must! The good God of Corners’s ear boxes mine braynes uppercutoff from the webbed way. Farefell barman accursed! Farefeller mm virgin pervert of us all made real in white silk organ!”
“He flees.”
“Aye. Have another before I weep.”
“Weep you will. Weep will I. But another I shall have and barman make it so foul my head needs a month of onedays to recoup.”
mistermissus how I bawl liquid life for ye! Thine lovejewel it still be! Were foul Making Ratmeal ne’er borne mayhap thine path would forever be full of happy destroyed critters who would sing ye sweet songs with their wrists had they wrists that could sing over backmouths that hiss in murkyawkward syncopation! Ah it is oh so crueler than the color of skin so young not yet twelve year on this tick of a world where her childe eyes liken all to arms of molasses holding ye cold but not alone forever and further than that. Poor mistermissus. Who will comfort yonder virgin pervert of us all? Will it be Old Ben? Aye! Look! It is Old Ben. His unseen phantom tears fly slowly up from the stool that was once upon a longtimesince his favoryte tree to whittle and weep under under the canopy of leaves and moongoddess dresshemmings washed in the sighs of Endymions all o’er this tick world. Old Ben still lives in that wood. He offers comfort much needed balmy comfort and kindness to mistermissus now cryin in his head the same wai wai waieee way Old Ben did back when he was greeted outside the docks as Ben and there was no Old to be heard for Old Ben was Ben then. Wai Wai Waieee goes mistermissus in ‘is ‘ead! Wai wai waieee in Old Ben’s stead. Lovejewel it be out there still not lost just weeping away in pain for someone not you mistermissus. Get it ye can still have ‘er ye can rescue it mistermissus rescue it and maybe it weep for you hold it wit those marbled blue veins under yer skin and let it feel the vapor flame that from yer pumper pumps still ye can do it
“Aye my tears! Do ye think it true? What Making Ratmeal vomitted in my head?”
Yes! By all the frogs in gods I believe it true!
“Chivalry then? All of this come to chivalry? All knighted and questing with a horse who most assuredly wishes naught but to lay on its side and scratch its rump with a lance forged from the aroma of truthful fingers?”
Aye! All of that ye said and what ye may still! The lance! The knighted! The horse ye may get from yer friend! The one for whom yer lap is reserved as sitting space for ‘is daughter. Verily! Horses he knows well! Knows them almost as well as horses know the true danger of travel!
“All the circles pinpricked symmetrical by the first hived god! Could this be!”
Hot damnation and celebration mistermissus be this could!
“I finish this foul draught and thank ye with a small vial of poison to silence the pastry-making memory ye still live with barman and I take my leave for it is rightfully mine to take. Then onward. But where? Upon what rock or within what shoestrap lies my wayward lovejewel?”
Ye must go to Abaton! There be answers there in the luminous chests of creatures both base and outbounding.
“To Abaton then.”
Fare thee well mistermissus.
Ah, it does my heart a lesion of wellness to see youngnotoldyet mistermissus on a quest ta find his lovejewel and give it whatfor. But follow virgin perverts we cannot do just yet. Snack yer eyes back on yonder barman drinking the poison of mistermissus to quell and bind three times over with the magic of death the pastrymakingmemory of longtimesince living in his head.
“There wife. I drink and say GOODBYE TO YOU IS NOT WORTH THE PAPER MY SOUL IS PRINTED ON. Closed are we now patrons.”
Forms scuttle and bustle out from bloodvines and corners and leave the bar called Tavern this tavern called DrinkHere. Leaving the shambling forms and half-thoughts pay with clicks of the tongue and a warm wish somewhere in their pumpers. And now look. There be the barman closing the door with a soft close and sitting down next to Old Ben’s wood.
“She is going already. I can feel her hasten out my braynes corridors. She was a worthless sow in life oh wood of Old Ben and a bright monster of sorrow in death. Miss her I will not. But you! Oh chair from wood of Old Ben’s fave tree miss you I will and could I weep...had not the sow stolen that from me...weep I would. Weep with missing you and laugh. “
Old Ben’s wood and the spirit of Old Ben within it do not watch the barman leave the head and top. Nah. Old Ben’s wood would smile were it possible but Old Ben’s wood know better’n to watch a man about ta be held face ta face with a disappointment. Ah poor Barman. Mayhap ye’ll find yer way back like a bit of Old Ben did.
There mistermissus goes hiking to the ocean his long coate slung over his shoulder and I wager hating every step of it with nonliving screams of Put me on ye virgin pervert wholl protect yer silk organ from the saliva of gods mad on fate and allness wholl save ye from the dope lightning of lesser gods should they pilfer daddys thunder There walks mistermissus with a flight of blind tongueflies in his wake lighting the night of nights with their furry appendage of sound glowing dark blue Are these the same tongueflies that followed Old Ben on his quest to punish the color red after his missmissus ran off with Life In Death before Old Bens weeping armada braved the horse sea with cries of miss miss missus waieee on his lips Over these same hills make no sense to go under them lest ye know the old dwarves that dance perfect still did Old Ben wander long ago with pirate and purple grass and solid water not ice in his mad pocket
Comes falling up and down again a young girl in the path of mistermissus. She got a pail of fresh air in her hand. Ain’t no thing. Takes more’n fallin’ up and down again ta spill a pail of fresh air aye little lady?
“Yessir. It takes an abattoir of souls to spill fresh air milord. Hrm.”
Politest childe I ever did meet outside a dead one dressed in thin blue dragon scales curled and sliced thinner than silk. Why they din’t just use silk be beyond me. But oh that childe is polite and correct as she standing all electric daisy pretty before mistermissus with a little something crippled in her dark eyes and a little something crippled in her bod what with her one arm and one leg. And that’s hellsauce for mistermissus the virgin pervert of us all.
“Hello mistermissus. How does this hill and those hills ye already crossed find ye? Ow.”
“They find me firm enough to turn my freak from you childe. I take leave.”
“Can’t go yet till my infirmities find you out. I have fresh air if ye want it. Ow.”
“I walk on. Goodness to you.”
“Stay a spell and look on me. Ow.”
“Bastard death and madness I cannot in good anything lay eyes upon you.”
“Then in badness lay others. Ouch.”
“Devil creature that falls down after every utterance I know ye for the block you are.”
“I be no devil mistermissus though I know yer name without ears. Ooof. I am but childe called by some Twelve. Ow.”
“Odd to be called such but no more odd than some. Wherefore that name? From witches spawned you were? Thine parents offering foul prayers to dread goddesses of night who ne’er know the import of keeping well enough at home?”
“Nay, mistermissus, Twelve is my name and year. Hoom. In a whored cycle of stars I shall be called Thirteen and after that never again. Ouch. May I touch you? Ow.”
“Away. Abaton funks ahead in gayest hope of my heart. Your fear seeds in me rustlings. I must leave.”
And then that polite childe dropped her pail and took off her clouded yellow dress fashioned from some Faerie fabric that would turn the guts of any evil thang. All naked was that childe Twelve in front of mistermissus and yet he did not explode into sinewed flames nor did his stout-sodded innards fall to the grass and cackle at their foulness like Old Ben’s brother’s did when confronted with a like childe all them longtimesinces before.
“You died not. Owie. Your pumper is a strong and beautiful thing mistermissus. I would like for you to hold me in the grass whilst licking my flesh and teaching me all about the distance between reality and pain. Oooh.”
“I hold you in my arms and crush your head softly into my breast while my long coate moans in the distance for the simple faith found betwixt thine hips.”
“You do no such thing. Ow. Here I stand. Hurm. Come to me. Oof.”
“Your skin tastes like the unfoulest hymn. Your small mouth against my neck breaks constellations into base matters.”
“I stand here. Yikes. Make what you say true and hold me mistermissus. Oomp. Let my mouth drink ye down. Ah. I want to be absorbed I want to absorb. Hek.”
“I let this moment last forever for on you I smell the unborn and the purity we all come from. It lingers in your skin. The perfume birthmark of heaven. I take it and you and I throw you around me till my eyes are opened and I see the pale expanse of your smooth chest like the breath of a better next week. I have had you and I will never forget unless I do. See-ya.”
“He leaves me here naked. Ouch.”
That he does you politest of childes named Twelve and carrying a pail of fresh air. He is the virgin pervert of us all who is in his deformity as simple to watch as nothing. As truthful as a moving object can be. Let that zip through yer zippers before ye try to give him everything he’s ever wanted again aye?
“Yes, milord. Shoot.”
“I’d have done it Sir Coate had the crickets and tongueflies not whispered to my ankles the dangers of dreams.”
Smack us down the silver days all ye gods and ghosts. Smack us down like ye did poor Old Ben like ye’ll do to the lovely mistermissus when he reaches his beloved lovely lovejewel. Ah Ben. Poor Old Ben with his leg made from the ruddy bone of the sphinx’s spine. Riddle me this indeed Old Ben! You showed that wench whatfor! No Oedipus were ye! No answers to silly bugger questions and quizzes. Just a torturer in yer heart wearing the velvet mercury flesh of your missmissus. Sweet and treasured ye held her Old Ben! Ye treasured her with the treasuring heart of immensity as ye sawed off the bitch’s back for foundation! Ha-ho! Ha-ho-ho-ho! Sing ha-ho-ha-ho! for the life of Old Ben killer of quizzers! Sing ho-ho-ha! for Old Ben treasurer of treasures! Sing ye gods and monsters for Old Ben who ye smacked down the silver days but Old Ben loved ye all the same in his own whittlin’ way!
Ha-ho! The fever’s upon my bones jumping like the heart of mistermissus ankles when Twelve exposed all her hairless bod and cripplingly pled to be held and loved against a ground almost older than the ocean where that titanic whore gasms still! I feel a dance upon me! A dance to twist ye all up the hereway kick where ye can look down upon mistermissus as I do now and say to him with meaded glee HOW FAR ARE YE FROM ABATON SQUIRE?
“Not far. I’ve only to block it from mine skull and let my ankles be my guide. I shall know when that fabled town is upon me if my thoughts drift seditiously to lovely children made of beer. Their seethrough delights hopping bubbly about my waist and seeping into the firmament. Their delectable foamy heads daisychaining the idea of promise into something that can be worn about the wrist or Ahha! I have arrived in Abaton.”
That ye have mistermissus! Ye cannae find Abaton by searching for it! Ye’ve only to clear yer mind and think of beer children! Beer children! Ah they be polite children as well barring their habit of going skunk on ye but all children do that from time to tyme in this cruel ole tick of a world.
Fix yer unworthy peepers on the keepers of all the world’s secrets! Fix yer eyes on Abaton also called GiftTown also called NewFaerie also called by those who’ve long since lost the tongue to speak Foreverhere. It’s buildings be built all entropical going thither and hither and thether and never. Up and down sideways front back again all around again curling like perfect moons sometimes with tapering stairs from one inn leading to the middle of the street! True! All true. Buildings small and large shaped like the impossible bonnets of gods sometimes shaped like anthills sometimes. Look at the townsfolk of Abaton! The elves and children and the men in strange shiny godsuits carryin’ rainblockers under the crooks of their crooked arms. The men that are just pumpers walkin about all la-di-da as if it weren’t of anymind ye can see through their skin to the most privy of privies! And the insectmen! Musn’t forget them! The nicest folks in all of Abaton dressed in fine aprons wearing even finer hats and tippin’ ‘em to a passin’ elf maiden with a politely crackled, “’Ow ye doin’ madame? Lovely little morn, innit?” Some o them mantises and butterflies or beetles but all with a song in their soul-less black eyes! Ah the wonders of Abaton! Ask a question any question and it’ll be answered! Truthfully as well, mind ye! So many answers and all this truth like a torrent of the gods own honey spilled from some enormous banquet halls most decorated table! It can get under yer skin though. The truth’ll do that. So most them locals go to wee outoftheway shops and pop themselves a fine draught of forgetfulness pilfered from Lethe itself! A wonderfully mad place is Abaton where the avatars of us all must forget to make merry!
mistermissus a-walkin’ in search of truth finds himself a purrty woman no more’n a cat’s life with cat eyes. Be not charmed by those thin diamond pupils, mistermissus! Laughter wouldn’t melt in her lashes!
“Well said. Return my gaze and answer true friend.”
“Ahhh I purr to you while cocking my head to the left and scratching under my chin in an inviting manner. What may I assist you with I purr again through pale lips that seem to pick up the sun’s glint from your eyes?”
“It’s been said before but I’ll say it again. I have heard Abaton is a place of marvels. I take all in and agree. Most wonderous. I have also heard Abaton be a place for answers. I ask is this true?”
“Answers you may find here I say, my exotic eyes crawling up and down your odd yet alluring frame. The question is whether you truly desire such answers, and in my tone there is a forboding you neither recognize nor understand. If answers you wish, ask away friend mistermissus.”
“Long ago before the fall of everything dear in my braynes I had in my possession a jewel exquisitely carved from the flesh of a beauty not much younger than thou strange cateyedwoman. In travelling the higher vales my jewel was lost perhaps to wolves or bordeom or the sovereignty of other powers. Since that time I have taken to drink the foulest gruel in all the seventeen welts in hopes my innards resemble the charnel house of my soul and ankle’s heart. Alas, the pumper pumps still and my guts do not leap from out my skin and cry YOU HAVE SUCCEEDED YOU BESOTTED FOOL! I DIE! Nay. I have recently come into information that my lovejewel is not all lost to me. I ask you strangecateyed woman with curled hair as if closely-cropped red grapes adorned
your skull’s top where is my jewel now?”
“I sigh in sympathy for your story has touched my heart. I too had once lost my jewel only to recover it here in our wandering city of Abaton. I decide against sharing this information and instead say to you sadly, if you wish to know I shall tell you. By the look in your eyes I can see you wish to be told so I take a violet from my purse and chew on it as I say, beyond the Gapstain mountains in between two stone cauldrons lies your jewel. The cauldrons lie beneath the cave of Robyn the Gyant dead these four years but dangerous as a still object can be. Would you care to stay in Abaton, mistermissus, I say flashing a bit of leg and crooking an eyebrow as if to whisper, I want to throw you down and drink you like the milk you are.”
“I find milk repellant. There is none of it in me and yet I am still kind enough to say thank you cateyed lady. Fare thee well.”
“Later skater, I coo then turn away to feast on the loins of my forefather’s forefathers.”
mistermissus has his answer! And there he goes out of Abaton. Good day to you city of wonders! Thanks for the ale for it does not me! And lookee here! Ole mistermissus reaches into his own mad pocket and pulls forth a little carved horse. He calls it a vomittous little thing raised by rapists and the horse springs to life! A gift from the Old Man for services rendered I wager. That’s what our bonny boy wuz doin’ by the shore! mistermissus must have a magical lap ta keep his wee girl amused ta the point he’s given our boy one of his fabled horsies. And look at that mane of sea foam! Ah I remember nights where Old Ben would whittle and whittle and cry just a little and say to me Back with Old Ben ye shoulda been when the seafoam was potent intoxicating and green. Ben used ta go on and oan and ooaaan about that seafoam wine his missmissus used ta brew him. Fermented it in hope he said she did. Hopped it up with sugar-tinced tongue kisses he said she did. And Ah Ben I’d say Why’d ye let ‘er go? And he just fixed me with this out in the rain alla my life look and say half-surprised I did didn’t I?
How’s that horse treatin’ ye mah boyeee?
“A serviceable creature. By force of will I’m keeping it from lying down in the grass and lollygagging on its side hoping for a spear forged from the aroma of true fingers to scratch the sore on its right haunch.”
Aye laddielassieman. The truth of those finger’s scent could smite the sore that keeps us all from walking comfortable. But I wager tis a good thing no such spear has existed for more than a summer evening. Think ye, what would traveling be like had we no sores nor strife? ‘Twould be poor traveling indeed homeboy. And traveling ye are. Traveling to the Gapstain mountains! Yonder they break from the jealous clasp of the gods clouds. Two mountains once one in the longtimesince. Heard it straight from a truthful kobold the mountains were lovers most loverly and embraced before stars learned to wink til stars learned to fade. Then that one mountain there on the right started arguing over the trees adorning the other. Makes ye look like a hussy he said and oh, that argument was one that could send any abstract into soilin’ itself imbecilic. And they parted one night. The kobold feller of mine, think ‘is name was Loikon before he dropped his skin and joined the war of finer feelings, he din’t tell me what the final straw was but by the distance between ‘em I wager said straw was a constellation wide. Still, can’t help but look at ‘em now and feel they’re a bit sad, can ye, mistermissus, the virgin pervert?
“Rocks is all they are. Sad rocks, perhaps. Yet naught but stone.”
Ha-ho! All the learning in the world crammed in his bisexed head! mistermissus yer somethin’ else indeed. Like half a firefly marrying the spectre of an even deader dream. Ha-ho-ha-ho! That’s right, mah boy! Leav ‘em that horse and climb those hills just like Old Ben climbed ‘em years-a-go-go. Old Ben climbin’ those same mountains in his sphinx-legged way the purple grass, pirate and solid water jangling in his mad pocket. And what was Old Ben’s pocket saying to its occupants? Saying it was with seams I contain ye all and ye won’t get free till I’ve covered ye long enough to seep yer all from ye until ye be just grass, water and wood. That pocket was mad is a true thing to say. Tried to rule Old Ben and he shoulda got rid a the thing but Old Ben was a softy for that pocket. He’d be sayin’ ta me after that pocket called me a shameful name, he’d say, can’t get rid of it old fella, my missmissus sewed that pocket fer me the night I told her I wanted to live forever in her hollow bones. Ah, he was a harmless one Old Ben. Believin’ his missmissus to be a creature of the air.
There ye go, mistermissus! Ye’ve passed the Gapstain mountains and yer comin’ upon Robyn’s cave! Yer lovejewel should be right in front of ye!
There she is! Between the two cauldrons. That broken sobbing song of it gets right at yer pumper doesn’t it? Crying for notyou it is as they all cry for. Closer ye creep and ever a bit closer listen while you step to the silent alive things in the ground over which ye walk. Nah, they donna like you at all. Well dip me in cool ranch dressing, there’s yer jewel! Headed like a girl a little over a cat’s age but just the head. Ah, I’d forgotten how good they got at makin’ jewels like that, Looks like real skin it does. Not as white as the virgin pervert’s organ, but pale. It’s just stone boy! Ha-ho! Ha-ho! All the knowledge in the world ain’t much good to ye now y’know? Pick it up, mistermissus. Pick that fleshlovejewel up in yer hands and rescue it! Ha-ho!
“Does remembrance swell in your drenched eyes my jewel? Or has conceit eroded even that?”
“You. What place has your ankled heart here?”
“Chivalry. Horses. A jaunt to Abaton to gleam thy location. And so here I am to rescue you.”
“Leave me.”
“I pick your head up and say to you I shall not leave you e’er again.”
“And I am in your hands and I say to you with clenched hateful teeth that would survive the rage of gods, put me down and leave.”
“I lost you once before.”
“And you will lose me again.”
“I understand if understand means I do not understand at all.”
“Put me down and let me weep.”
“I am here to take you from weeping. No more shall your humours water rocks older than the oldest of old things.”
“Incorrect you are as always you were before when I was not myself. I shall continue to water these rocks with tears and with the echoes of my sobs.”
“Wherfore?”
“Always why, why, why-eee, with you before and always still. Robyn is dead and gone. He treasured me and now he is gone and now I weep though I know no tears may revive what hateful gods have felled.”
“Robyn. I have heard he was a giant and did many giant things with his giant arms and giant ways.”
“You heard wrong. He was my treasurer. And I his many-sided wife.”
“Your words are hot piss in my brayne.”
“Put me down.”
“Remember not when you were my jewel and I kept you in my satchel?”
“I remember and I would give my eyeteeth to have those years back to spend with Robyn. I do not have eyeteeth. I am a jewel. And so I just say put me down.”
“You are a lovejewel.”
“No. I am a jewel. And you are a fool. You have put me down and I extend hateful gratitude for I have no hands to wipe the filth of your hands from my cheek.”
“This was all folly. I take a spoon from my mad pocket and scoop out your eyes. I hear your screams. I take the spoon and dig out your tongue. I no longer hear your screams. Nor do the rocks. The earth is no longer watered with your tears. I will keep your polished organs in my mad pocket until such time as I decide to grind them or return them to you. I take my leave of you, it is rightfully mine to take, and I am off to see childe Twelve, drink gruelstout and bury a barman.”
There goes mistermissus leaving his lovejewel like Old Ben finally found and left his missmissus all those years-a-go-go in the longtimesince. Ye did goode, mistermissus, manthing such as yerself can’t be taking griff and crazytalk from jewels think they own the sun and its opposite. Probably Old Mistermissus should get some wood and whittle his days away, get some purple grass or get back ta that cateyed broad and score some solid water that ain’t anythin’ like ice. Ha-ha-ho! If this were some bardsong sang over mulled wine in a dark tavern called DrinkHere he just might do that. If this were art he just might. But this is the world of gods and ghosts that smack us down the silver days and they haven’t a mind for symmetry.
