Lost March.

[Music: Blood Brothers]


With my recent addiction to Whitney's brilliant side-project Neon Blonde, I had forgotten how brilliant his Blood Brothers work is. Namely their last album, 2004's Crimes.

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Save (Excerpt from my Tails in Red Ink).

Testosterone harvesters reap the innards of earth, plowing endless fields of elevated soil populated with a seed only paralleled in worth by a chest of ancient artifacts from the tomb of some rank ghost king. Enduring southward, through forests of sullen pines lined alongside the remnants of spirited battles, feathered medleys altercate upon epic flowerbeds; here rests the thrusts of pelvises through the insane heat of an apocalyptic dawn. The body feeds on letdowns and events reimbursing the mind for its own minute instances of pre-occupational exoneration, a basic interdependence of misplaced veneration. Utopian realms obviously shun this concept of a well-fertilized (to the point that individuals maintain an equal share) conceptionsphere being that their very mission statements call for the release of mental fluids to repopulate, disregarding intercourse as an act of imbecilic irreverence. I, being born into a legion bearing an adjacent mindset, should have been readily prepared for the onslaught of non-political treatise that the procreative clergy would pile upon me. I was not, and paid my dues in the form of verbal embarrassment and infantile inquiries. I soon vowed, when the time permitted, to return to my studies amongst the lama consortium and clear my skyward debts.

“Come through these tilted walls, your altar lies beyond,” whispered Kaline as we rapidly walked the length of the hallway towards the ceremonial stages.

“Do your people have a limit to the length of the proceedings? Does morning suffice for multiple sacrifices?” I said.

“Time leaves our ranks when the curtains close.”

“I see.” I guessed my tone was far too somber for her to go unnoticed; she shot me an awkward glance and slowed down her pace.

“Is your collar hurting you, Ekim? Do you thirst?”

“I drank of the stream before you arrived, and, yes, this collar is chafing not to mention cold as a glacier.”

“It will warm to a comet before you realize.” I did not know then what she meant, but I took it that my head would not be removed by way of blade, but rather by extreme heat.