Darkest Hour

It was in the darkest hour
And upon the darkest eve
That I heard a maiden weeping
And I saw a maiden grieve

For the life of her lover
Had left him without warning
And she lingered there beside him
Softly sobbing til the morning

And when at last the sun arose
And cast its golden hue
In silence I drew near her
And whispered, “My love is true”

But the maiden neither moved nor spoke
As if she had not heard at all
Again I offered my words of love
And for her answer I did call

But no response did I receive
Just her breathing soft and low
As if not to awaken a sleeping child
It was then I turned to go

When a sudden fear swept o’er my mind
No! This thing could never be
As I gazed upon her lover’s corpse
And the one embraced was me

– Burnell Yow!

mb2-6 Darkest Hour accent

g for gaga

suffering bexistence!
i deny my visiblexistence
in selfpity, in fear of
my own desirability.
mentalese overcomes me.
resistides drown the courage.
zense betrays me.
i am lost. lost.
but philsophations
vibrastic and mean
make the notseem
seem divinowhere.
buttresistance leaves me
nothy.
noty nothy atall:
but bexistence is not nothy!

– dwatt

mb2-6 g for gaga footer

Notes from Soviet Dissident Ivan de Tourmaline Kabral

At first there’s a wrenching crack
And they bring you to with smelling salts. Your eyes refuse to focus so as not to see the horrors in that interrogation chamber. But you’re aware of them all the same.

And they pull at the wires that they’ve implanted under your skin and you tell them anything. But they don’t want to know anything. Just hurt you.

That’s why I left the McDonald’s company and joined with Magic Bullet Productions. If I had to tell you of every case of mind control I run across, it would take years. You’d likely flee, screaming.

Look, just accept that you’ll never know what I do or why. Or even whether it’s important or not. ‘Cos I couldn’t tell you in any case.

See, I receive letters.
I send them out.
I don’t open them.
I don’t want to see.

You know too much in this business, you’re automatically in trouble.
From inside the company.
Soon the witch hunts will start.
Soon the shelling.
The constant screaming.
I don’t know if I’ll ever get home again.
I don’t know if I could want to.

mb2-6 Crystalling Structures accent

Coin Flipping

Does the flipping of my coin
mean that I determine my fate,
or that fate determines me?
If I cheat by the way I throw—
Does it mean that so life chats me—
or that I cheat life?
Or does the flipping of a coin indicate the perversity of fate—
Or does it really indicate the fate of a perverse life?

The answers to these questions
I do not know—
yet wherever fate leads me or I lead fate—
I shall go.

– Cheryl Thomas

Laundromat Scene

“Here, he turns down the page and brushes sandy hair over well worn eyes. Two other people are definitely watching him. Oh, sure, they look like they’re only interested in his dryer, but that’s, after all, what they’re supposed to look like!”

mb2-6 Draftsman accentIn the hollow echoing of a corrugated cylinder, spinning endlessly round and round, Dik Thompson ups the gain on his transceiver. His ears are pierced by a whine of inestimable vintage. Oooh. Feedback; shit! He wants desperately to get out of the dryer, wants only to quench the flame of that upstart young sociopath and go home to a placid evening tying his wife Harlan up in bonds of plaited gefilte fish. Alas, there’s 25 minutes left til his trench coat is dry. What’s worse; he forgot the Cling-Free. He can feel all the polyester in his life begin to clot and pull at this throat; “Papa, Papa,” it seems to be screaming, in a dialect just this side of Boris Badenov. You think Perkasie’s a weird place!