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Re:wk 3.2
Date: 2018/10/09 00:28 By: Jesus Status: Admin  
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[Jesus, his eyes wet, his right hand knee-jerking to his back where his second pistol rests tucked into his pant's belt. He wavers his pistol hand inches close to his gun]


You should try and not take the Lord's name in vain so often, cousin.
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Re:wk 3.2
Date: 2018/10/09 00:41 By: carol Status: Admin  
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Go fuck yourself, Jesus.

[Carol has the current capital laid out on the cherrywood's desktop, and she's giving it the old once over. Her eyes squint and her lips curl like Elvis. She drums her fingertips on the desktop, and she juts her jaw to the left, and then she giggles softly. She examines the current capital...]
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Re:wk 3.2
Date: 2018/10/09 01:06 By: Jesus Status: Admin  
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[Jesus cozies up close to the cherrywood, going all fetus, his boots curled up close to his ass, his wet eyes kneeling down close to his boots]


Jerry Lewis is dead. What's the point of moving forward. I'm tired.

[Jesus pulls the pistol from his belt and presses the trigger and blows the front of his skull to the back. He wilts to the glass tiles, dead]
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Re:wk 3.2
Date: 2018/10/09 01:16 By: carol Status: Admin  
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[Carol shutters from the boom of the pistol shot. She looks over as Jesus takes the bullet, and she throws herself at him as if she can somehow prevent this. And she ends up on top of Christ, and she slams her fists into his chest, believing this might bring him back. She slams her fists onto his chest]

Oh, mother. Why, cocksucker. Why did you. Why did you.

[Carol pounds Jesus's chest, knowing and looking on his skull, which has been destroyed, and she pounds on his chest, and she pounds on his chest...
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Re:wk 3.2
Date: 2018/10/10 16:29 By: deplancher Status: Admin  
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[DeP hears a lot of commotion from inside her steamy yellow bivouac. Sounds like a war zone. She wonders if Ted still carries that reset device Lalo once designed. What was it called? Maybe she dreamed that part. Maybe there is no reset device. Maybe there never was...]

The population diminishes. There's a toll, isn't there, Roger? I know you're out there. You and your warning mouth spewing syllables in languages only macaws understand. There's a toll and some of us, those without the armour designed by a dove, suffer the consequence. Read of death. Breathe death. Consider the many paths to death. Walk blind toward the call of death. Embrace it. Revel in it. Roll with it. Fornicate with it. Evaporate into it.

Resistance is necessary. But, oui, also futile. You will die and death will rise in place of you, resume where you left off. Chew your power to powder. Digest it then excrete it onto the floor in strategic places you cannot see in case you dare rise again so that you will slip and be mired, rendered as helpless as an armless swimmer. And death will beat you again.

Ah! Sage me. Read me Thich Nhat Hanh... [She grabs up the cap she's been reading before the wars erupted on the opposite end of The Floor. She flips through the pages, tosses the cap aside.] Desolé, mes tragic ones. I'm not the saviour..or is it savior? I've cap in the middle. Cap behind. I throw you a sack of medicine, fresh brewed here on my hotplate. Rinse away your blood. Hammer some furniture together. Use this gum to mend your hearts...yes, chiclets from the packet handed to VC Mariah Montoya.

Send her cap to the seaside. To The Terminal. Carry on. Death's Armchair By The Sea

Scene I. Set 7. Death prevails but Life returns for more.

DeP
A Bluelight Dancer/Not a Pocketbook Romancer
of The Floor
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Re:wk 3.2
Date: 2018/10/11 00:52 By: carol Status: Admin  
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[Carol wipes her tears and gazes over DePward. She watches DePlancher, wondering what she talks of. There is DePlancher, in her glorious garb, her very sexy dress, and she has her capital and her purring cat. Carol looks down at her boots. She stumbles over to the wardrobe]

Swishing ghosts swoop...

[Carol stoops and looks under the wardrobe. She sees no pistol. She backs off and steps to the wardrobe once again, and she traces her fingertip through the chunky meatloaf remains of Jesus's brain. She holds her fingertip up in front of her eyes]

The worst of us poop...

[Carol folds and ends up cuddled against the cherrywood, much as Jesus cuddled earlier. But Carol digs her heels in and ass-scoots herselself to the blinking colored (sorry, don't want to use the term colered, but hey, the individual tiles are hued diff fucking colors, and sometimes the delicate community just needs to cowboy the fuck up) tiles. Carol twirls]


My world.


[She reaches up and grabs some capital off the corner edge of the Cherrywood. She looks the first page up and down, and she scratches her crotch, shifts her panties a bit. Her eyes are wet, and she's shaking a little, mostly her shoulders and her knees]


My world now. I've got Jason Cornrer's The Day of the Expanding Man And I will examine this capital.


[Carol struggles to get to her boots, and she squeezes tears from her eyes, and tightens her lips so as to not emit any silly mourning huffs or spittings. She kicks the shrapnel that'd been the pilot's chair from her foot-space aback the cherrywood. She unfurls the current capital on the desktop, knocking over a Batman pez dispensor. She lowers her head. Her hand reaches out and locates the Bose remote. She thumbs in The Meters
Just Kissed My Baby. And she puts her palms on the cherrywood's desktop, and she leans into them, twisting her hips, stretching her lower back. She firms up her lips and shakes her head, her hips going all metronome and she thumbs up the volume]
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Re:wk 3.2
Date: 2018/10/18 00:11 By: carol Status: Admin  
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[She has her palms on the cherrywood's desktop, and she's thumbed in NWA's Greatest Hits, yo, and it's rolling, sans bleep. She grabs up the capital and she twists the paper, slightly angry]

Okay, this shit is so bad I want to find the VC and ask him/her "nigger, what is up," because this craze wind us all stupid, ha, I mean, I do love prose and the future of prose and I love old prose, but daaaaaaaaaamn.

[Carol twists the paper, and she lights it with a match struck off the side of the desktop]

Fuck this shit. Craft well, bitches. No reason not to, right? Corner's capital has been Portholed.

[She tosses the flaming capital to the mirrorball, and it flits and flaps...
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