Ivy willowed mossily abreast the chambers' exoskeleton where I stayed last. Air was in fresher supply, so I sought to remedy the mixture of oxygen being too rich embracing my alveoli.

Inside, dampness receeded, chased out by red glows of bare metal in cages of the same. Shadowed teak and yellowed ivory, stout beers and carpets borne of looms handmade and driven. Languages supposedly my own drenched my ears in rivulets vertical and narrow of frequency, kaleidoscopic snowflake syllables jutting rounded and poking playfully. The place was packed, I assume, forra Wednesday. Peoples strewn in globs huddled.

Light of step and heavy of heart I make my way to the bar. Earth tones everywhere; floor, walls, peoples, clothes, racks, barrels. Proprietor propositions - I accept. With my sheer will alone I create a separate space to drink with less crowd and heat. It occurs in the form offan enclosed patio accessed bya glossy, greasy, squeaking door nestled between the emergency exit sign and what I'm told is a growing fissure in the foundation. Watch the step, or be flat of face.

Returning to see my breath escaping in the bluish atmosphere, the night is scoured by highway radiance and trails of pistons parlance. I am more eased in this instance. A figure, slight and maybe long-haired, perches silent in the black corner, lattice squared diamonds epauletting its shoulders in infinite stretching horizontal planes. I don't see very well, never did, and I'm not wearing my glasses, having walked here. I feel my lips make a smiling gesture: grin full of wincing. Immediately sliding into the booth right of the entrance/exit, Camel cigarette already in mouth, I scratch the Zippo's wheel across flint, leaving sparks fading visually.

Dogs bark somewhere beyond the sodiumed parking lot. They're hungry. So am I. Nicotine clouds embrace in the fifteen foot space between the corners, leather creaking as the two solitary jackets are shifted restlessly over their wearers. My hands rub the back of my neck on either side of the spine. Jaw wants to move, wants to hinge lubricated. But I have nothing to say. This continues for minutes unobtrusive.

Burst!

The door is kicked open in practiced style and fried dripping mushrooms are delivered left, bracketing in pair slivers of also fried potatoes to the right. Customary exchanges are provided while the bugle offan Air Force base sounds Taps over its public address system. My companion in dark chill shifts from its seat on the upper railing to the bench stationed at the table. Boots hit deck.

I am writing left-handed inna hardcover department store journal while squishing hot food between my teeth. My journey northward has been noteworthy and footnote inducing. Knowing I had not the funds to make the trip, fuel or otherwise, the time had come and the stars were right for movements. Fifteen hundred miles, thereabouts. Brake pads unevenly gouging striped rotors on all four wheels before I left San Antonio. No more waiting. Too much time had passed. Never accept silence assan answer. It requires one to invent fairy tales without evidential basis. When friends speak they are frozen forever at their last conversation. Every spoken exchange has the potential to be the last involving all the speakers. Some of us carry that thought with them more than others.

Music. Jane, by The Loved Ones. Eyes water. Oblivion stares out from my skull. Nothing exists, especially not me. Body and its horrors forgotten. Yet urgency remains. Patterned sounds switch to something I don't recognize, four on the floor, solid, deliberately taken into tunnels bya conductor both arrogant and presumptive. My perspective sneers. My ears feel as greasy as my fingertips from being mindfully addressed by the equivalent offa sonic used car sales representative. Pen is still, lingering also frozen in time above the lined page.

When is conversation an adversary?

*****

Vegans was scrawled in motif on the bottom of the door in pink chalk. The ay was upside down and the enn a stylized omega. Nasal membranes recoiled instinctively from the industrial disinfectant omnipresent. The fact that such an offensive odor reeked so strongly from the porch of the disheveled wooden structure was cause enough for my muscles to tense. Danger didn't register. The threat had passed, but not until it had grown to fruition.

A faint, ringed glow had brought me here. Spied from the access road, I started walking gas can in hand. There were less and less exits from the highway as I progressed farther north. Since I had begun this journey knowing I had not the funds to complete the trip, I had found myself in this position more than twice. Barely visible due to terrain elevation and gnarled, leafless trees holding the Earth's crust back from being sucked away into the starry, greedy sky, the faint tremors of bass tones plodding steady had seemed to be emanting from the lone arc light. Upon realization of the journey, this proved illusory. Rhythmic thuds reverberated from somewhere indistinct but distinctly farther away from this lone shack crumbling ever so astringently along the shores of Nebraska highway. All of the vehicles lying forgotten in the gravelled area before the building exhibited signs of decay and a layer of dirty neglect, weeds lazily reclaiming the iron back to soil.

Breeze rattled nothing on the house. It stood in defiance of time and weather, an immobile astral scar, glowing with conscious malice long after its malevolent fuel should have been spent. Since passing through the break in barbed wire pitted with dual parallel gulleys, silence pushed inward from all angles, increasing in amplitude until headache inducing. Now, bouncing inna tournament fighter's stance before the threshold, empty gas can in right and lit cigarette in left, blood pounded across my forehead. Tension was behind that portal. Taut cords stretching embedded agony. It was trying to remain subtle and failing - whispering placid scenes with warm ringed flashbacks. Gold and auburn, tinged with corpserotting black.

Not today. I know you. I've experienced you before. I know what you want. You are not my ally.

Flicking the butt innan orange-red laserline at the peeling door, I spin on my forefoot and clear all three stairs in my exit, hitting the hardpack with force and a bit of festering anger; offended by this display and clearly making it known to anything listening:

Do not delay me. You have been warned. Feast upon the unknowing and unwary. They are no longer my concern. Trouble me not and continue.

*****

Stuffed with cold chicken and hot, thick-cut potato fries, I untie my boots and slip into the tangled moving blankets behind the front seat, exhaling visible breath. Thick odor offa blunt a passenger had shared sticking to the interior,my nose sucks up some lint as I bury it inna rolled up fragment. Still angry. That house set back from the highway was surprised but not cautious. Nebraska has proven to be an eventful place.

Three hours ago a man had entered the truck stop I was standing in line at screaming and firing a shotgun. My first reaction was to throw the supersize cherry cola I was slurping on directly at his face. Having never been a fan of sports, it struck surprisingly accurate, exploding a carbonated surgary mess blinding enough for three people to wrestle him to the ground. That was the last I'd seen, having made myself scarce immediately. At least the fuel was already paid up.

Further on that evening I changed a tire in the snow forran elderly woman traveling alone. Offering food at her residence, my stomach led the way. Wallspace covered in dusty, ornate frames holding yellowed and ambered photographs posed for by stern faces, mothballs pervaded even the kitchen.

Names were not exchanged. Her fingers were cartoonish in branch-like appearance, crinkling purposefully and looking painful from across the leaved table. I hadn't seen a woman wearing a hair net since my grandmother. Inna rustling, phlegmatic pant I was given a cocked eyebrow - notta reproach but an amused if not cautious and overly courteous observance - " You're traveling with purpose. You're wearing it like an overcoat of beer signs. You are noticed by those that see between the air. Better be on your way. Its late for that type of company to show their heads here. " Nodding, not having anything to say, I made my escape from her gaze.

That was officially yesterday. When I pulled into the rest stop the reflective sign had something blotting out most of the writing, like seaweed or sewage. Wouldn't have found it if not for GPS. The interior of the vehicle was still warm from the heater coils while I was driving and I intended to fall asleep while this was discernable to my waking self....

*****

Parking strategically closest to the vending machines and restrooms, immediately a filter imbues its pervasive qualities. Feeding bills and ingesting crinkle-packaged sugars while pacing in the stringent, admonishing wind, the scene is surveyed. I am alone as far as vehicles present, the only others being two semi-haulers, both lined up near the exit ramp. One is transporting more vehicles, the other fuel for such. Patty's father Rob retired assa fuel hauler, Priscilla always inhaling deeply the fumes of petrol spilled errantly on my sleeves. Thick rows of plantation-managed pines line the edges of the picnic tabled skirt of public property, indexed assif onna shelf inna department store. Grid-like lifeforms planned for harvesting eventually. Symbolism is everywhere if one demands. Regiments of angels and demons are still inna military structure, individuality not rewarded - only obedience and results thereof. No feathered wings present, at least not the transparent, radiant brand. Using notes with beastly marks upon them - that by which all commerce is conducted by common mandate - another package of chocolate covered almonds is plied from the steely hands offa refrigerator sized merchant. They have my initials on them. Didn't seem like I hadda choice.

Undressing in the back of my SUV and rolling under the linty coverings of moving blankets - stationary at the moment - the highway lends no distraction to my ears or thoughts. Quickly I drowse, knowing ruefully that rest is not incumbent.

Mud. Slime, thick on the bottom of slow moving creeks, nestled rotting in the elbows. Full of the remnants missed by catfish. Decay is both a hot and cold experience. Once while cleaning out a fully stocked refrigerator weeks after power had ceased being fed tooits condenser I pulled many vacuformed packages from the freezer section, bloated to the point of near bursting. The process had heated the raw cuts of meat tooa grey, islands of activity sealed twice over in the dark right angles. That is the presence which kept staring company of me while my systems replenished. Unblinking. Monotonous. Vile and selfish, like the presence doing the same to my betrothed miles farther north.

And so tiringly common. Cheese on pizza.

That's all the lowest eschelons ever do. The fullest extent of their ability. Annoyance, not even full-on irritation. Requires willfull participation from the target, most usually by erronous permission.

One can acknowledge without giving consent.

*****

Confections with mystery centers. Hidden secrets perfectly paired for lovers and jewelry with covert compartments. Sweetness malingering lining stomachs and sticky fingers.

Traditionally greasy meal onna clean washed baking sheet, presented inna spotless kitchen. Mincing bite taken by the artifically breasted hostess, her face paralyzed strategically to shelter the writhing horror beneath the garish colors applied late in the evening. A face to proffer answers under casual scrutiny of shoulder mounted flashlight, red and blue swirling from the street.

Self-satisfied smugness offan imbecile. The tin can teeth offa wind-up monkey clapping tin can bronze cymbals exposing themselves, drawing attention from the lies escaping from behind. Costume jewels glued to stretched fabric. Manufactured truth lying inna manufactured home. All forra bank transfer.

Camera lens tilted upwards under the spiraling shadows cast ceilingward by the rotating fan blades. Laughable steel security door wide open, soon toobe knocked offits mooring by a well placed fist. Her simian toothy leer continually flashing back and forth on her screen as her idiot, clumsy thumb keeps hitting the tablet's view button. And how they disappeared slowly assit became distinctively apparent that once again their best laid plans were insufficient in scope and breadth.

" I d-d-don't have any m-money..." her puffing, exaggerated cheeks blew forth between coughs centered around her tongue. A prepared statement forra conversation never intended toobe spoken and certainly not shared.

Worshippers of The Prince of Lies appear indistinguishable from the Good peoples of the Earth usually. It is only through watchfull eye that the correct lenses may be utilized in their discovery. So many words ultimately leading to so many words.

Irony - words foreshadowing delivered exactly as the most amateur screenwriter's drafted lines. And life imitates art. And poor artists write and enact wastefull, terrible lives.

Memories such as these intrude upon the longed-for, desired stock. Betrayal is the realm of afternoon network dramas, isn't it? Same cast, same story, same set, same rehashed plot devices drawn from the same motivations.

The slothfull, slow-moving and thinking ones inhabit the first circle along the path. Onscreen enemies of level 1. No cheat codes or handholding walkthroughs necessary to insure the victory. Though obvious after discovery, uncountable in number. Sometimes sure feet stumble on even, flat sidewalk. That is the strategy employed behind the dispatch of pawns.

*****

Its never that simple, issit?

Awake, maybe. Senses seem engaged. Body may be responding. Difficult to tell. Body not needed.

Silliness of halloween masks sold atta discount disposable outlet discarded. Sub bass below 20hz - distant volcanic activity. Smell of sulphur erupting with solid particulates from crevasses arm's reach. No heat is felt, only the temperature of isolation and anticipation. A giant eye, unseen, also in arm's reach, directly above.

This is more like it. Waste not my time. It is mine and I claim my grains of dripping sand. Weavers be damned, skeletal branches of evolutionary distention. Timeless and lidless - scan and record your inventory's footnotes. I know you as well, since birth lungless, incubated inna petrochemical aquarium. See me, and recognize I as your equal at very least. You may not trespass, though I will steal what you took for granted as yours immemorial if I so choose. Volition and kinesis arms of my proprietary arsenal. Engage if you wish. Anytime, anywhere, anywhy.

Meet me in Haddonfield, Illnois.

If you dare, Legion.

Its on my route anyway.

Do not delay me with your tactics borne of chessboards.

That is not preparation for warfare.

All the pieces always move the same.

The only fear here is yours, Infernal.

And just like that. Fingers and toes painfully numb, recovering frostbite burn. Here I am, interior offan explorer. My display universal and colorfull.

*****

Spalted burnt amber filters the view from the windows of my new-for-me vehicle/living compartment. Previous owner also a smoker. Haven't bothered wiping away the tar with alcohol, though some nights in parking lots with some carbonated. Especially noticable at dusk, sun sideways, shadows falling long.

I don't remember stopping to pick up a hitchiker.

I didn't.

Nevertheless, there appears a seated guest to my right.

Dirty hooded jacket, stiff of fabric, smelling of nights multiple spent feeding fires. Looking straight ahead, face invisible. Tangle of long blondish hairs knotting all that is visible. Left hand resting on center console adorned with four silver rings - two on the thumb. Nails painted to match the tobaccoed patterns of the windshield, formerly purple.

Silence. Only the complaining rattle of the engine's components and near-missing transmission. Haven't turned the radio on since I handed over cash for this thing. I find myself allured by the scent of burnt branches. Comfort is there. Surely I am hallucinating the rolling croaks of frogs now. After an hour of this my awareness reports an erection making itself stridently noticible with each fluctuation of my foot on the accelerator. It is well past midnight when I realize I have been imagining sexual relations with my beloved forrat least six hours, crossing a state line in the meanwhile. Pulling over into a sparse residential area with plenty of foliage between properties and coaxing urination out of my still stubbornly insistent penis, my co-pilot has vanished.

A faint, radiant, translucent feathered pattern fades from the nap of microfibered passenger seat.

*****

Pulling out of the houses nested behind the treeline, I notice a large canvas tent not going up well inna clearing. Sensing gas money, I grab my maul, which has an axe head on one side and a sledgehammer on the other. Sure enough, help is needed. Help is always needed somewhere. Its two thirty am and this thing needs to hold a thousand by seven.

Five hours later I have twenty dollars, two and a half gallons of petrol poured fromma plastic gas can and breakfast - scrambled eggs, ham, and buttered toast. Coffee available but I decline in favor of 16oz dark green cans of Mickey's ©®™ pulled from my stash. Coffee I have, maybe later.

The makeshift shelter is hosting a preacher's revival, assits billed onna flapping vinyl banner. Half moon cutouts flap an insect-like buzz as a surprising amount of locals file in groggy and grumbling. I perch strategically onnan end offa row of folding chairs next tooa trash can, having brought in the whole four pack. Nothing in my mind wants to see whatever is about to occur, I'm just tired of driving and besides some surprised and disapproving scowls this is a better location to consume cans of malt liquor that my car on the side of the road.

I didn't see any times or dates posted. Maybe they'll need help packing this circus away.

As I crack open the third can a squeal announces the entertainment has arrived. I am relieved to see the mic holder, about my age, is not wearing a suit and tie. Still, after the second sentence distorts through the PA speakers my teeth start to gnash. Its worse than average - a mean-spirited parody of motivation using racism, sexism, and some hundred year old animism cribbed from a ghost story treasury borrowed fromma midwestern rural library.

I chew 200mg worth of delta-8 and wash it down with the last of the third beer. The former had been left in my passenger side door and discovered a day ago. Sour apple gummi wedges are palatable with over-sugared fermented alcohol, I found. There were other factors involved. More testing necessary....

Shortly the service is over. Several zippered bank bags are passed around, all with logos I've never seen. In fairness, the preacher did do his job by sermon's end. Crowd sufficiently amplified towards a condition where their bodies create hordes of beneficial hormones assiting in their vessels living longer. That is the point of these events.

I am thankfull most everyone disappears down to the crew this morning minus two. No problem. The way back is always shorter than the way there.

Four hours later the

silly tarpaulin is returned tooits cases. I have another thirty dollars and more eggs.

Full tank steadily emptying. When night hits I pull into an independently-owned motel and ask its proprietor iffi can sleep in the parking lot for $10. They ask me iffi want towels.

In my sleep I imagine something theriomorphic, though seen in shadow, containing elements from many Kingdom and Phylum. It wasn't looking at me, but seen inna projection movie-like. There was no sound.

*****

Severed. Space between. Carotid. Atmosphere. I will killl and keep killing. This is what dreaming while asleep brings. Guns position forward. Dual triggers. Mechanismic. Automatic. Movement, obliteration. Carcass cold soggy white sticks folding matted flatten. Enmesh Anglican swallow resultant reaction. No magic. Gonging clamor rupture excuses excuses excuses repercussion. Braindead stilletto flashpan reaper paint logo trademark. I will kill and keep killing. This is what dreaming while asleep brings. Slash entertainment happiness in rending crying disjointed family is obscenity. Offensive to the nostrils taste kind. Antiinflammatory running bloodied children eaten judge. Wound maggots leeched society kill and keep killing vermin like the judge. Black dress. Mumu. Stone face. Burn. Burning. Distance. Frozen their faces forever in pieces. Gold and platinum taste like murder and diamonds seasoning of scouring powder. Abhorrence. Abattoir. This is what dreaming while asleep brings.

*****

Animism totems reoccurring outside my vehicle's windows. Teeth-baring visages sprouted in tree bark. Tentacles hauling flailing bodies towards hidden crushing beaks. These are not threatening vistas, rather scenes fromma cherished illustrated storybook almost forgotten in single digit age.

I have no real idea where I would be onna map. I think its Missouri. When I left San Antonio I simply drove north on 281, took a right somewhere in Nebraska. I know I crossed a state line, though I was most certainly and wholly distracted. The angelic are only specific portents of miraculous spectacle when commanded by their creator god. Otherwise, they are left to their own devices, and amused by whimsy.

Terrain is different than previous days - weeks? Trees once again predominate and spar with the lunar goddess. A very pleasant diety, at least to me. One of my absolute favorites, or maybe its the other way around. My speakers have been vibrating since the first time I claimed this rolling box. Tom Waits. An album from before I was born. The eights go east and the fives go north. RC cola keeping me awake.

Lurching along countryside only by way offa dash mounted compass - a keepsake memory of my grandparents' camper vans. Off highway. No hurried pressure to be atta dot onna map atta certain tick offa clock. Windows down, moisture freezing in the headlights.

Stopping atta fully automated gas island/concession stand, grinning canines growl lustily behind the outskirts of vision. Whatever state this is, the population must be exploding. Everything about this place is having sex or about to have sex or just finished having sex and confidently smoking fossil fuel fromma stranger's boudoir while checking ot that magnificent ___.

Claws the size of mesa and canyon sway playfully inna crimson glow horizonward. Cat and dog and wolf and bear and furred beastiary is aware, and satiated. Not wanting of food or sporting hunt. Playfull and active, smelling of earth and earthen delights. Somewhere a potter's hands slide wet while foot pumps propelling. There is motion and it is forward and back, not give and take. Tension and release, tension and release, tension....hold....hold....which deity doth be proclaimed?

I do not mind this quicksand. In fact, I am honored by this presentation. Accepting my invitation, I pilot my boxy craft as far away from roadside as possible and naked in back as usual, under moving blankets stationary, invite what may come to cavort....

*****

Beer is cheaper here. For this portion of the trip I resign to quaffing beverages with far more hops and less malt.

Having been welcomed so graciously by the Firmament itself, it has become difficult to see people at all, inna very literal sense. Smeared light trails, most dim and nearly invisible in daylight. Luckily driving is unimpaired, since machines are involved. Rarely in my life has my vision reported this type of information, and never for longer than a day. This hails a troubled omen - portents of malicious intent lurking impatient in Illinois. The complex patterns that identify with the Universal Propulsion as opposed to the arrogant Others predominate, and when I am dreaming of holding my dearest they donate each an invisible piece tooa type of armor and armory that is building around my presence - felt but unseen and weightless. Supported by such, the tokens of blessing get acknowledged in groups as my waking mind notices them, infrequent as that is. Imaginal realms are my natural habitat, and enjoying the freedom to remain there longer is fortifying, however unpractical.

" Your family got The San Antonio Light as well. "

" Yes. I didn't do the crosswords or the Jumbles, but I saw them daily. They were with the comics section, except Sunday. I still read comics. "

" Ah. The Sunday edition had the seperate color section. I bet you were Brenda Starr. "

" ....wow. ( giggles ) "

" It was the top left of the interior. I identified with Bill the Cat, from the one directly across on the righthand side. Bloom County. "

" Hm. I wish we weren't across the country from each other right now. "

" Me too, baby. "

Later, I lose track of the fact that I'm driving at all and regain practical conciousness inna parking lot offa dollar store next tooa laundromat, engine idling, foot off accelerator and brake, front wheels hugging a concrete trapezoidal lozenge painted chipped yellow.

Following hopefull intuition and delighted to again be correct, I cash out ten dollars into quarters amidst circulating, sloshing foams and speckle colored glossy flooring. Assis traditional, Sudz'n'Spin houses a row of what are now vintage coin-operated video games. Galaga. Mappy. Burger Time. Sinistar. Zaxxon. Joust. Good thing Gauntlet isn't present and accounted for, I'd have to get even more creative to get more fuel for body or boxy vehicle. Even the thick, herringbone metal grill with ugly, bismuth pink paint that guards stoutly the vending machine's horde of fats and salts and sugars is comforting - an antenna translating enrichment from between the air itself. Too entranced with my nostalgic entertainment, I miss the closing hour of the nearby discount department store and, with smile, watch gravity deliver my dinner package by package. AA-17. H-9. C-7.

Chains on wallet announcing every link as they slide off the rounded edges of the connected plastic seats, though chewing, my teeth instinctively gnash in hatred and disgust at what surely lays ahead across flowing tributaries with asphalt bridges....

*****

Sparkle-dazzled blurry humanoid outline zoom-slows aft of my junkfood pixellated stupor. Willfully focusing back inward from the imaginal distant realms like a go-kart sputtering over freeze-broken tarmac, an acrid overdose of isopropanol jetted dollar store body fragrance assaults my olfactory. Normally obtrusive, this helps to reel me in from my fantastical reverie. My first thought before the aurical kaleidoscope coalesces into an actual physical person is that an entire can must've been used. I've been chainsmoking bargain basement cigarettes forrat least a year now.

The dark-eyed man-shape queries if I'm available to trade halfa this here joint forra ride father down the paths. Sure, 'man. As long as you're headed vaguely northeast.

Plugging the aux cord into the deck and setting my binaural generator to a wavering permutation of frequencies generally recognized to stimulate fear and anxiety, I mention that I'm still tuning the system to match the sub output and I haven't arrived yet at That Magical Moment. Flash of teeth and an underbreath chuckle precede the flinted sparkshower inches from his mouth. Taking that which is proffered, I also mention that my brakes are still a bit strident in their attempts to protect as asked. Just replaced the rotors and pads. And the water pump. And some hoses and seals. And all the bulbs. Windshield wipers. Got two spares - one full size and one donut. Good jack. When I got this thing there wassa fire extinguisher in the hollow where the jack shoulda been. What the fuck that situation entailed....

Minutes later....

" Hey, is salvia divinorum legal for sale here? "

" Huh? Uh. What? " A clear look of bewilderment in my passenger.

" Would be sold wherever bongs are. "

" Um. No idea. There's an Apricot Submarine not far from where you're dropping me off. Maybe they have some. " I watch amusedly as both his hands instinctively search for the door handle, despite the fact we're coasting along at about thirty MPH on melting slurry. Coughing out a fogbank of dragon's breath and barely containing a righteous peal of laughter, I noisily slurp iced instant coffee fromma quart sized plastic jug. The conversation lags as we are immersed in radio uncomfortableness. I am not deliberately being rude. Its what I was going to listen to anyway. I've been told I'm an acquired taste. All sugarbeets and gravedirt and coffee with sugars surprisingly sparse but noticible to those with discerning taste. Lately also the hind leg scratchings offa houseless hound begging for attention. Such is life, as Kurt Vonnegut would say.

Half an hour lapses diagonally as time onna tilt-a-whirl. Passenger departs. Names were never exchanged. I would've forgotten his anyway. The only reason I still remember mine is because its common enough to guess. I hear Mohammed has usurped Michael as the world's most common first name. Let's see how they like it for awhile.

Even in the darkness of early morning, noticible thunderheads reach across and join hands inna daisychain of angry electric moisture.

The Apricot Submarine is, like most headshops, not difficult to miss. And, of course, not open until ten. A national chain pancake purveyor is based near an interchange, lonely stoplights swaying violently, turning the crossroads into stroboscopic discoteche dancefloor. My boxy craft has been rocking on the stormy airsea for hours. My thankfull but slightly sweat-glistened hopalong had informed me that I'm not far from both massive lake and state line, and that over yonder issan altogether unfriendlier climate.

Pulling under the massive pillars of the faded sign of the diner, I resolve to stock up on provisions, including calories.

Not apprehensive. Not excited, nor gleefully oblivious. Resolved would be much too serious offa term. Hungry. For more than sustinance. Head down to the increasing wind and near-frozen cutting drops, my strides find sure grip on the well-worn but welcoming pavement. Maybe half a day or so before self-satisfied smiles give way to gritted teeth....

*****

The waitress at the diner is beautiful.

The man who sells me salvia and several other items is wasted. More so than me by far. And its radd.

I actually didn't see anyone at the General's Dollar - fully automated.

Within an hour I've crossed into Illinois.

*****

Sitting atta public park near the pavillions in back and listening to a woman constantly make classic Hollywood witch noises to her brood of puppies sparks ideas that her relationship is not going well. No one wants to hear those sounds, especially a lover. Even her face, normally desirable to look at, contorts to monstrous dimensions when making the disapproving abrupt rasps. Devo lyrics scroll across the bottom of my environment: the way that we want is what we've become.

Control. Power. Illusion.

Ever on display.

The finest, stealthiest location forra secret is posted publicly. Holograms laid in green and gold and auburn over the blued sky and solid soil of the Firmament. Continuous clawed grasps digging in and finding purchase in the subjective, materializing thought experiments as opaque objectives and fractally spiraling into a sort of believable existence.

A birth offa reality.

As above, so below.

Shaped tools excised with opposable thumbs shaping the artist's hand in return.

The thinking reed returns more termites iffits frayed at the end with incisors.

Not all is forgiven, at least inna foreseeable future of lifetime.

My communication device yells " Fuck! " assit does when happy, fortuitous events occur. Ah. Forty-six dollars have been deposited virtually inna location nonexistent, toobe transmuted into liquid non-potable and burned to floating poisons.

Realities branching as Lovecraftian appendages suctioning materials from nearby nebulae. Cybercryptotically. Merest whimsy coalescing into truist intention. An apex of beauty, if one is observing dispassionate.

Grating screech woman's pack of goofy bouncing Dobermans have proven their collective wit with trial and remembered error. And all things and not-things can be described with a series of yes/no queries. Evidence of patterns, however complex, blossom centrally from churning, nuclear vortex. The nexus author is almost so enamored by the cottony, flowered hemline revealing freckled thighs that he nearly fails to notice.

This is good practice, here in aforementioned enemy territory, for what is already encroaching in peripheral. Corpserotting black, searing frigidity, obfuscation of locality.

I heard a guest on Art Bell's Coast To Coast AM say early one morning that god equals non-local reality. This reporting recorder finds meaningfull instance in this received transmission. Anything able to perceive or exist inna non-local continuum hassa right at base value to be exhalted assa deity to the current champions of taking and unmemorially reducing.

Five puppies hath inbued a quarter acre's chilled ground with the imprint offan escape room adventure, a pop-o-matic quaking board game where petrochemical pieces place values quivering. Command being usurped by collective captivates my attention again....

*****

Signage at the entrance of this reserved acreage dotted with shredded tires and plastic slides proclaims it Springfield. I feel I've entered an analogue of where I started. My old neighborhood had streets named after birds never or rarely seen in those areas, surrounded by newly constructed living compartments named after geographical features not local either - Red River Ranch, Brookview. Since entering Illinois I haven't passed anything truly resembling a field. Abandoned strip malls and rusted metal warehouses filled with nondescript inventory. Lopsided rows of houses built before cookie cutters became architectural implements. Independently owned convenient marts targeted by recent erection of international franchises of petrol purveyors. Notta single grassy lea.

Amusement tickled as soon as I pulled in, recalling a commentary track onna DVD release of John Carpenter's Halloween. He pointed out that there were palm trees in the shot close to the beginning of the movie where Jamie Curtis was being eyed by Michael on the daylit streets offa town that was sposta be in Illinois. Being filmed in California, he assumed such greenery was typically nonexistent inna place such as this. The home two down from the one I just sold had palm trees, and so does the cracked pavement lanes allowing entrance to this city park.

Water languidly dribbles out of the drinking fountains when pressed, and the actual taps have the spigot handles removed. Friendliness oozes like an infected wound here. Better dress that welcoming pus puddle, 'man. Bandages are next to the motor oil, $18.99USD.

Sooner than expected, my liason from the travelling motivation show creeps toward the front line I'm holding solo underneath the oxidizing steel awnings. Yes, my Ford Exploder is parked directly underneath a basketball goal, on the side of the court with the shuttered concession stand, long bereft of the aroma of Rico's©®™ cheese and tubes of unicorn meat. As the Beastie Boys would tell you, I step into the party and disrupt the whole scene.

Smile and a nod through the windshield. The rectangle on wheels he's piloting is passengerless and also by its lonesome. Help is everywhere. Good help issan underground niche sub-genre populated by social outcasts. Bitter, smart-ass ones quick on the verbal draw. We make this shit look like ice cream cake on someone else's birthday. My lopsided grin moves the tip of my cheap, unlit cigarette to the fore as I recall a joke lobbed by the immortal FrogLab on my Facebook feed: ....brought brownies to work today. Wasn't being nice or considerate. Heard they were drug testing. So unless they wanna fire the entire workforce they better leave me the fuck alone.

I don't remember circus tent man's name and I don't mention this. Being handed a key to the padlock securing the cargo from the driver's window, I throw open the door as soon assits motionless, hanging from the handle and riding the stepped bumper. Before the bearded, lumbering beast exits the vehicle I've set the gas-fed stainless grill on the court and fished bacon, eggs, onions, peppers, and tortillas out of the lengthy ice chest. They're sizzling away before he removes the ubiquitous cellphone away from his ear.

" We're it. ", he reports, puffing onna disposable THC vape pen before passing it to the left front side.

" Gimmie one 'a those twenty-fours. We'll be refilling the stock. Talent isn't showing for two days. "

" Because U Deserve What Every Individual Should Enjoy Regularly, " handing over a red and white can.

" Can't get fresher than these unless we drop by Image-Line's headquarters in Belgium. What are we toasting to? "

The ox-man, who strongly resembles a brightly colored plastic He-Man toy and is at least three of my not-skinny personal build stapled together, raises his beer as the Statue Of Liberty.

" Fuck ProTools! "

Carbonation drizzles on both our shirts as our pre-breakfast cocktail gets its first installment. Mine depicts a screaming skull wearing headphones, his proclaims the wearer event staff for Crystal Gayle. Veterans of the loudness war united to remember our lost in the Great DAW conflict. Opening my eyes at the final swallows of bubbling rotten sugar, I spy an impressive raptor gliding down in concentric circles. Its wingspan is a yardstick at least, painted like a brown and white A-10 Warthog. Awe-inspiring as I imagine a condor would be. Even a rabid hunter would lower their rifle sights. Storks deliver babies and this thing eats the unattended ones. Contributes to keeping the population in check. And its sitting, calm as the proverbial fuck, on top of the truck's cab. Trading a dripping second aluminum cylinder forra plastic reverse whistle, I grab two extruded styrene bowls. Our new team mascot shall feast as we do.

As we are wiping our greasy faces on our sleeves, I retrieve the now empty disposable vessels before the wind carries them away. For being a modern pterodactyl, it has remarkable manners. Not one tiny hole torn through either flimsy containers. It even used its beak to grab the edge of the one I poured a beer into to drink the rest.

*****

As the rosy fingers of fading daylight reaches into its satiny undergarment to sultrily probe, the canvas shelter is looking forelorn, drooping on one end. There is plenty of room to shelter one ox-man, one organic sarcasm machine, and even one prehistoric ground-effect fighter jet iffit so chooses. When finished, the temporary congregation will be able to park near the intended entrance, cross the covered concrete of a picnic-tabled serving area, and enter refreshment in hand to sit on folding chairs arrayed in rows. Two thirds of the flapping structure are hoisted aloft, interior completed with PA equipped podium, various tables littered with promotional materials, and all seats - either opened or waiting for space. A propane heater and several rack mounted lights that give off more heat than that have made the resultant space more inviting than either of our vehicles. My pallet of moving blankets looks amateurish compared to the beastman's instant kingsize air mattress, though his sleeping accomodations bear almost enough rubber patched and gaffer taped scars that the original surface is nearly unseen. Indeed, the Lord hath provided liquid bread for His servants today, and quite allot offit. Despite the setup crew consisting of two, we are ahead of schedule. Total gig handled by afternoon tomorrow, barring nuclear winter or possibly solar eclipse, leaving a full evening and night to play while the mouthpiece of some god cavorts in a honeymoon suite with a scenic view.

Almost no one else has entered the boundaries of the city park. A few elderly walkers along the dirt and gravel track. No children playing or parents tending to their flock. Even traffic passing by seems sparse for the population of the area.

Our mascot/local supervisory agent we have dubbed Titan, has only left when we did, for supplies from a nearby foodmarket. Neither of us being Audubon Society members, the sex of the bird remains uncertain, Titan sounding unisex assa moniker. And shitgoddamnmotherbitch iffit wasn't playing hood ornament when we left the store carrying our bags. Since that moment the pair of us began talking to it like Enrico Fermi was part of the roundtable discussion. It even cocks its head to the side like I do when I ask for its opinions on my proprietary abstract and lateral thinking exercises. Its nice to be appreciated.

*****

Three in the morning; witching hour on the dot.

In my dream Titan was suggesting some new mental obstacle courses. It spoke inna high midrange harsh consonant bark and used a few terms unfamiliar while tearing apart a lamb and gobbling fresh, steaming innards. At one point in the conversation it emitted a lower pitched belch, timed perfectly for emphasis.

Suddenly -

My eyes fly awake and I'm on my feet, clad in socks on the pebbled dirt and grass, as if my torso was violently yanked upright by the front of my unworn jacket. Everything is overwhelming nuclear radiation glo-stick death green, emanating from no discernable source and noonday bright. Something that commands my attention and is the size offa van is dead center in the unfinished part of the tent, invisible to my eyes except a granulated, pitch black amorphous outline. Brown shadows, as if lit from a row of candles, slither slimily on the coarse fabric behind. My nostrils heave, almost posing as gills, the humidity is so dense the fogbank may well be what is blocking my view, and, horrified, they scream that our slumber party reeks of Joseph Goebbels mother's vagina. Something big is projecting a thin stream of burning, smoking like a bicycle tire on fire, over my left shoulder upwards. It splits the view of my surroundings like a deflected lazer blast inna comic book - avenger orange-rust cleaving sickness lime. Without concious effort my chest resonates; growling from stomachward....

*****

" Ay - Oh - Cees...."

Bones resonating pick up the torturously slow speech instead of airborne pressure changes. Musculature taut, teeth grit, eyes fixed forward, still struggling to even find the onyx sandstorm edges of what is obviously threatening. Thick, clear liquid the consistency of K-Y Jelly©®™ falls in steady droplets from my nose, mixed with the thinner sweatstream. Something gritty and sharp is encased in the gel; microfine crystalline scratching trails between skin cells.

" Rowr - Anth - Nod...."

Vision reports two separate hemispheres - obvious overlay images shredded and incomplete at their edges - revealing cinematic themes. My daughter and my fiancé inhabit the subject matter of each. Both are naked and torn into blood-soaked pieces against horizons filled of dark, volcanic boulders. Played above each as projections on sky unseen are shaky, magnetic taped anguishes respectively.

Bad move. If you're gonna invade, read your intel report, demon. Surely it mentioned its target was uncharacteristically able to creatively visualize various instances of time and possibilities. As Upright Citizen's Brigade's Captain Lunatic ( that's Loo-naught-ic ) would proclaim, " You think I didn't know that!?! "

The demonic are always looking for weaknesses to exploit, as many others will. And those who rely on exploitation are unfailingly lazy cowards.

What was designed to cripple agonizingly has only served to cease and still any interior dialogue. Perfect zen. No thoughts necessary.

Kill and keep killing.

My axe is leaning against a plastic folding table halfway between me and my shifting, hiding target, crossed with the orange and black handle of my maul. For weeks I resuscitated the abandoned tool with copious amounts of cyanoacrylate, baking soda, and many hours of grinding with a rotary tool. Its head is spotless of rust, former deep pits individually smoothed away into a wavering prizm of slasher movie light shearing glory. I can't see it directly - the slaughterous human behaviors being depicted encase my central view. Only in extreme peripherals is the objective reality in extant, and that is fading fast and becoming sharper in focus.

" Enn - Hark! - Nod! "

Mouth open inna scream but no sound emitting, I rush forward, right hand wrapping around the pitted, curved wooden handle as if I was retrieving a straw from beside the soda fountain.

It is the items we spend our currency of attention on that are imbued with what we may have to give them.

No single step wasted. Every motion pure of intention, executed with precision. Downward swing at end of charge. The high pitched piercing shriek triples in intensity as the first true sound since I've been awakened, followed immediately by what my ears describe assa giant sequoia trunk eaten by scourge from interior out splitting.

Greenish blinding death glow returns to overwhelm. Retch-inducing malodor of despairing falsehood and unprocessed ignorance. Vomiting, still unable to focus on what this thing looks like, I extract the axe head and throw it back hurtling towards the matte distortion that is covering me innits invisible but boiling hot humours, the shining blade cleaving a half moon in the unwashed sea surrounding.

Painfull screech cuts across from my right. Footlong feathers grasping and sharp rake my right cheek before something like a hurricane tossed buoy strikes the back of my head.

Unconsciousness.

Cessation of dream, waking or asleep.

*****

Tepid tack of miasmal drainage glues my splayed fingers to the encrusted mud. Separate institutional fire alarms peal roaring in both eardrums. Eyes fighting will to open. A stomach convulsion spews acidic columns of regurgitation forth; after tens of seconds air is permitted back to the lungs. Axe head glorious and triumphant - luminous in the dirt. Squirming flesh like birch bark splats on my naked back and snakes away.

Grasping my weapon and spinning once again, my cluttered vision beholds: Titan, rocking whip-like in dirty airspace, as if clutching a mechanical bull in its talons. Its head is half disappearing continuously, rending offal back and forth with each cutting grasp.

Grappling a swath of smeary projections and ripping them away like tinkertoys is a minotaur, at least eight or nine feet tall, with huge spiral horns spitting orange-red, smoking flames in jets from jagged hollow ends. The legs terminate in gigantic humanoid feet, stomping forward on severed clusters of warted grey mush. A tendril, segmented, begins a pincered descent on its back. Intention becomes action once again; swinging upwards heaves my legs to an upright position. Though not a typical motion to make with such a tool, practice and familiarity place the business end where my eyes target, as it should be. The length of attacking protrusion neatly lops off at its hinged middle joint, missing the ox-man's back by inches. It is now apparent what happened to me.

Our enemy is more or less defined in space to me now, being covered innits own rancid ooze and severed of many limbs. Not amorphous after all, but a nonagonal spider/hydra. Almost all of the protrusions stemming from the center mass are laying useless and detached in pools of various foul liquids and gelatinous murk. Most arm-like, hinged appendeges ended in either an insectoid barbed pincer claw or an opening lined with rows of inward spiraling teeth.

With another heaving mountain of sasquatch stomp, the flailing and rude intrusive projections cease. Titan perches on the edge of the plastic folding banquet table, chest heaving, staring with gamecock frenzy at what was once our adversary. Broken feathers the size of quill pens jut at perpendicular angles from its wings. Its probably my imagination, always on duty overtime, orra continuation of the storyline previous to our battle engagement, but its face, devoid of the traits humans have to convey emotions, is indignant. The flip side offa coin token with " Yeah, what the fuck you expect? " engraved.

Turning to evaluate ox-man's condition, purest horrific fear erupts for the first time. When the white portions of livestock's eyes are showing, that issa sign of immanent danger and alarm. Ox-man's minotaur counterpart has whites displayed prominently around black centers and the gigantic form is stepping backward tentatively. It isn't until I realize that its me - sort of, my astral form - that is the center of attention, not something else behind me. Because this thing is huge. An ages old symbol of strength and championship. Titan and I might've opened some wounds and taken out relatively small chunks, but most of the death-blows were courtesy of pure brute force by this impressive creature's bravado fueled rage. Real fear I've found does not rain chill upon one's demeanor - the turning of one's blood cold. More like the static, pins and needles offa waking limb rescued from low flow. Upon witnessing retreating fear in this beast's gait, my first thought was that this was it, 'man . Anything inspiring this reaction is about to chew on my spine....

Ox-man's bullish voice creaks of uncured leather, smoke of crucibles and forges, rustling autumn leaves.

" Uh. What? What in Samhain are you?! "

*****

Surveying the absolute mess now taking front and center stage in the good reverend's traveling love and salvation show, I attempt humor.

" So this means we don't have the rest of the evening free of duties? "

That is an understatement. The floor being the city park's ground, there is no amount of disinfectant and polishing that can scour away the abandoned fish market wastage that remains of our recent activity.

Ox-man - I really would be a better acquaintance iffi at least attempted to remember someone's name - steps back once again. At least the darkness has returned to his eyes.

Startling us both, a barking high-midrange stutter of what is most curiously human hysterical laughter spills out of the raptor's beak, followed by a lengthy stream of consonant clusters that are enunciated well and clearly a language unheard by all but perhaps aviary employee ears.

Forra solid minute the other two entities present stare in silence, before both nodding solemnly - a placating acknowledgement - I hear you.

The jets of smoking heat shooting from the pair of curled horns has diminished to pilot lights. Scortch marks and sooty smoke trails in difficult to explain thin avenues crisscross the ceiling of the circus theater like ley lines connecting sacred sites and nexuses.

Then, the local gigworker's union's mascot finds English, cracked assa pubescent boy's plaintive request:

" There any beer left? "

If birds had eyebrows, would they cock them questioningly?

*****

And one eventfull night in Illinois three monsters quaffed alcohol, rejoicing in life.

*****

" Okay, " in earth tones.

" What the unholy sabbath? Can you stop doing that? Its really freaking me the fuck out. "

Another abrupt package of laughter from the dinosaur descendant. Bipeds stagger and stumble when drunk. Apparently birds have an equivalent. Titan pops the top onna 24oz and punctures a hole on the other side of the lid, tilting the bottom skyward and impressively gulping.

" Wow. Didn't spill a drop. That's better than we do. Um. No. It isn't a consciously controlled event that you're apparently still witnessing. I couldn't make sense of any visual information until that thing was dead. Just an grainy, shifting black outline and filtered shadows offit. I only have a second and third hand description to explain: as you're a liberated, labyrinth dwelling Hellboy right now, I'm guessing that I have a reddish, swirling cloud of solid anger about my person. And many simultaneous forms are emerging from the primordial crimson mists, usually faces, scanning and surveying in all directions. I've been told that inanimate objects are also part of the set dressing and actor's troupe. Reports indicate that my corporal body is well guarded when its asleep, which is usually more offan exhausted state iffi can help it. I don't like dreaming while asleep, and if there's too much repair and re-organization for the structure's crew to perform, usually that part of the experience is regulated to waking hours. Further intelligence gathered notes that sometimes my presence when asleep, quote, disappears from the astral plane entirety. Endquote. That especially disconcerted my fiancé's aunt, not only because she'd never witnessed anything or one else do that, but I imagine because it doesn't fit in to her subjective worldview. To paraphrase a third hand rendition, according to others the astral plane is where beings go to be invisible. Iffan entity can be unseen on the astral plane, that must mean that other realms exist to choose from. Lovecraft wrote that the oldest and strongest emotion of humankind is fear. And the oldest and strongest fear is that of the unknown. Those who have chosen a doctrine to follow, I guess for some sort of convenience to move on tooa different task, as opposed to those who explore and compose their own, find incongrous ideas intolerable, especially when exposed and presented later in lifespan. The documentary What The Bleep Do We Know postulated that the first person - according tooa written account - a tribal shaman onna beach, to observe the conquistadors arriving via sailed ships couldn't actually see the boats. Their mind had never conceived that crossing an ocean, by hundreds atta time, no less, nor horses, was possible. But their eyes and brain were well familiar with the behaviors until that point of water, and the movement of the waves around the wooden crafts was noticable. Not having an explanation on hand, and being of their job description to figure shit like this out, the shaman remained on the beach, staring out and evaluating all possibilities, until several sunrises later the inevitable, testable conclusion revealed what the Spaniards, er, maybe the Portuguese, were floating on and in. Applying a smattering of ideas from Jung, Freud, and their ilk, a self-analysis could indicate why I don't observe events and objects such as the ones we're discussing - they're taken for granted by the self I've constructed to be both real and not-real, reality itself being both a thing and not-thing. A focus my intention is usually in; seeing a forest instead of understanding its made of trees. And when peering into the shaded, leaved alcoves of such, observing the thick cell walls; xylem and phloëm. Wow. Simmer down there, big guy. This self-made self is observing stiff movement underneath your shorts. I said ilk, not elk. Truly spawn of Zeus you are. Fuck. Okay, my turn. So, " gulp, fizzle " if the Incredible Hulk is always wearing ragged purple shorts because Mr. Fantastic gave him super stretchy ultra high tech underwear the dirty rage machine never takes off, how are you clad inna leather kilt? Did you skin and tan the last creature you had sex with? "

Streams of domestic brew explode out of both half-dollar sized nostrils as my partner in vigilante justice chortles.

" Shit, 'man. You ever consider a septum piercing? Like an antique brass door knocker? "

" Sounds like you wouldn't believe me if I told you anyway. Figure it out, scientist! "

" I see how it is. Good answer. Alright. " Throwing my flattened empty and scoring three points, I retrieve three identicals from their salted, icy, insulated compartment. Distributing these, I muse aloud, " So. Those concrete steps behind the locked maintenance building go down tooa creek. Maybe we can shovel this servant of the Prince Of Lies into fish food, throw enough dirt over the floor after we dump a 55-gallon barrel of Febreeze©®™ onnit to make being in here nearly tolerable with the flaps open and one of those warehouse fans in the truck spinning, and....uh, ah! Few cans of khaki camouflage spray paint on the ceiling. How many hours we got? "

Another staccato burst of slurred, beaked laughter.

" Have fun, thumb users! "

Titan's already empty hollowly rolls away, as the winged one's head flops over on the table. This time its my turn to guffaw.

" Okay. Do you see this? Or issat just my invention? Did Terry Gilliam just creep in here and draw X's over Titan's eyes? "

" Oh. I don't like Spam©®™! "

*****

Waiting, dreaming, smoking. Watching the frigid creek dissipate the hellish muddle of flesh shoveled most unceremoniously into it hours earlier. Concrete, uneven steps descending far below the level of municipal playground providing stolid, unobtrusive backdrop for reflections wavering of universes nextdoor. Possibilities weighing and weightless, observed and discarded. Some need grafting. Others unmaking. Often they are bleak or horrifyingly uneventfull. Occasionally someone will notice or sense an outside influence and be spied bird's eye staring at edges of hedges or corners of brick edifices.

Salvia divinorum has placed a transient motion about my being; an awareness of whispers not discernable from life not prone to language. Plants sway independent of breeze and hover taller in blur. Trees are louder in their indifference. The creek itself is silent when it wouldn't otherwise be. Running water hath a history of being an impassable border to those incorporeal. This quiet stream is placid beyond patience. Healing as youthfull fantasia - let no discomfort pass unchecked or unchanged. A testament of returning to serenity. Synthesis of nutrients crystalline and mineraled. Vitality voluminous - breathe in and hold.

Having made my tribute and offering to Eris, I pray to Patricia's god as she requested. I do not ask it for favors. An acknowledgement and statement of reason interrupting. And quick disengage.

Evidence of ants excavating leaves tiny cones of spitballed earth dotting the dirt. None of the workers are accounted for. Must be a three day weekend. Volcanic activity inna passing grid window - tons of ash spewing heated and mushroom. Exotic blooms of both petal and algae expected soon at caldera. Red, orange, yellow, fuschia, puce, aquamarine, teal, navy. Crunches of exoskeletons in amphibious mouths. Moth/flame relationships. Candled ears catching dust, in particular.

A comet sears overhead. Its icy trail of darkness a #1 pencil line above in azure canvas.

Develop.

Breathe.

Sex.

Patricia.

*****