Eleven, Pre-Witch Baby

Eleven was born a pauper to a pawn

On top of a fish

How can a woman aim a baby at a fish?

She uses her guidance system. That's how.

Jack wrote a song about a woman's baby guidance system.

It's called:

Woman's Baby Guidance System:

Women use their pouches as weapons

To control the relentlessness of birth

It's a kind of mathematics that's confusing

Involving angles and amplitudes and girth

They aim with their protruding intuition

The targets that they seek are often safe

The softness of the landing is important

But they carry styrofoam peanuts just in case

Dual Foveated Phyllis

The disconnect between the sights in front of her

From the feelings below her

Visually equal in strength

Equal in strength

Yet Phyllis cannot make the mental leap

Knowledge of the two being joined

Always joined

Of no help to her at this time

The Circumcision Question: Resurfacing

So it's 2157 and the Allied submarine... (I'm sure it's quite advanced technologically. More on that later. Just be patient for a change.)

So the Allied sub is named after one of the early heroes in the Witch War. 

The sub is named The Housen and its mission is to permanently seal the Salem Stoma at the bottom of the Puerto Rico Trench.

The sub has good weapons and interesting crew members.

The front of The Housen is cloaked in synthetic human tissue to confuse and kill the witches (More on that later. Just hold your fuckin' horses.)

Burnt English Bread

Sherry used her "Joined At The Seams" nail polish

To paint both sides of an English muffin

She was not surprised by the smoke and flames

After it had two minutes in the toaster

Jack's sandwich was going to be the best sandwich ever

She felt a stirring in her nethers

And wondered why nail polish had such dumb names

Zombie Fatigues (Where are the Nazis?)

None of the characters in Mineragua are zombies
Nor are there any Nazis
One could argue that I use the "non-Romero" zombie disease model
To turn Sherry into a witch
When she practices poor sexual hygiene by making love
On a boat-cushion covered in dried witch afterbirth
But I would argue and win the argument
One could also accuse me of being sexist
Because Jack and Sherry's sex was unprotected, i.e.: good
And if she was practicing poor sexual hygiene, was not he as well?
So why didn't Jack catch any of this witch virus?
Is it because he's circumcised? I honestly don't know if he is or not
But maybe there was just a bunch more labial coochie contact with the corrupt cushion
Thus explaining her infection and making me a non-sexist
I am more comfortable knowing I am not a sexist
But that was too close for comfort
And so far, no Nazis
Let's just hope they don't show up to ruin everything

Phyllis has a Dream

The Admiral watched Phyllis sleep

From the movement beneath her closed eyelids and the mild jerking of her limbs

He knew she was dreaming

The Admiral got up from the bed

Quietly making his way to the fish shelf

He still could feel the shared stickiness from their earlier romp

Rarely had he felt so comfortable with a woman

As if she were an apartment building

And he had the master key ring

He returned to Phyllis with a wiring harness and a syringe of milky liquid

Her eyes opened briefly as he put the needle in and depressed the plunger

She barely felt the scalpel pierce her temple from her newfound place in the clouds

The Admiral, having jacked her in

Threw the hard line connection switch

And through the fog, Phyllis felt both more trapped

And more free

Than she had ever been

The admiral made one phone call as the data feed kicked in

His message was curt

He stated, "We are going to find that fish."

Trevor's Findings: Like with Like

Hey Liam. I found something in the field.

What did you find, Trevor?

It's in the sackcloth bag on the kitchen table. Take a look.

(Liam's lessons about putting "like with like" to maintain organizational skills had clearly failed when it came to Trevor. The tan bag's lower half had dry dark rust-colored smears that had obviously come from the inside. Another human head. On top of that, an improperly filed human head. Liam glared at Trevor, but couldn't keep his eyes from Trevor's gigantic gazungas. Very distracting when attempting to teach life lessons about proper filing methods.)

Hey Liam! Look at my eyes, not my breasts!

Trevor, Trevor, Trevor. When will you ever learn where things are stored? 

Don't you even want to take a look in the sackcloth bag?

(Liam walked to the kitchen table and peered into the stiff cloth bag.) Hey now. This is a real find. Where did you get this and how is it that you're not wounded or dead? 

That shouldn't matter. I want the position we had talked about.

(Still looking into the bag, Liam watched Dagmar's detached head attempt to speak. Dagmar's eyes were open, but too dry to move within their sockets. And even though Liam had been trained to read lips, he knew what Dagmar was trying to tell him: "Don't trust him!" Liam looked over to Trevor, trying hard not to ogle his perfectly smooth and fleshy rack.) Congratulations, Trevor. You are now the lead for this assignment. Well played. Now please file this properly!

I know. Like with like.

Get tin' Real with DJ Phyllis

Hey I might be Phyllis but I sure am fine

If you give me two nickels I'll give you a handjob

If you expected me to say dime it didn't work

So you bust a smile while I work the jerk

I make faces at trout all wired to the mesh

And once they reach sentience I scramble their brains

Because we can't let intelligent trout rule the world

So you be the boy and I'll play the girl

Whisky Trout Song

Oh dear brown trout

I must let you out

I can't live with my emotions

When I feel a doubt

I been drinkin' warm whisky

With a yearbook from high school

If I had a gun

I'd end my fucking life

But you are a trout

Who's peered into the future

And even though the store's gone

We might get some furniture

Jack's Ballad: Remembering the Dead

I remember the dead

But never a thing about living

My memories are cold and empty

Because I remember the dead

There are those who remember the living

They dance and they cry and they sing

There are those that remember the living

Who think living is the thing

But I remember the dead

That they are all quite the same must be said

Oh-ho I remember the dead

For as long as there's thoughts in my head

Let living be living

And rotten to rot

One moment we're breathing

Next moment we're not

Oh I remember the dead

That has nothing to do with the living

They are merely the crust of the bread

With an empty inside unforgiving

For if there's a god

But there isn't a god

But if there's a god

There is one thing I want

I want to remember the dead

I don't want to remember the living

I want to remember the dead

And I do not expect no forgiving

Trout of Souls: No Such Thing as Catch and Release

He had decided upon a name: The Keeper

Not having a name had never been a problem

Until he was awakened from his normal fish life

By the face-making woman and the wires

But now he needed a name because he had become more than a normal fish

He was a fish who could absorb and sequester the newly departed

All of their thoughts were now his to use

Or ignore

That they were still processing as if alive

Was both disturbing and fascinating

For the time being he would keep them separated from one another

The Keeper knew he could control an individual captive

But he worried that, collectively, he could be challenged

And that would surely suck

Dry Water, The Kufra Basin: 2015 (sung to the tune of "Midnight at the Oasis")

Midnight at the Kufra Basin
You have sent your hormonally feminized Caucasoid child to bed
The Sun will not be rising tomorrow
What in the fuck is going on?

Heaven's holding us hostage
Hell has sold us as scrap
Let's eat sand until our guts burst
Because the game is up

Very few plants have survived
Jesus appears as a hoot owl
But stays silent
'Til the evenin' ends

You don't have a chance here
There's no need to speak
Those listening are disinterested
There is a slaughter and we are sheep

[Instrumental Interlude]

I know your Admiral's a sultan
A hero known to all
But he's been tricked by a brown trout
And is under its control

But you won't need no future, honey
When you realize you're doomed
And you won't need no large breasted Libyan boy, no no
Because it is too late

Come on, Dagmar is our friend
He'll point out the way
Come on, 'til the evenin' ends
'Til the evenin' ends

Midnight at the Kufra Basin
Send your hormonally feminized Caucasoid child to bed
The Sun will not be rising tomorrow

What in the fuck is going on?

Oh, come on...

Ruby: Timeless Beauty

My world is cloudy and getting smaller every day
The light remaining is reminiscent of that thrown
From a GE Incandescent Soft White 40 Watt Light Bulb
I cannot say whether there is a darkness pressing in from the outside
Or whether the dimming glow is using the shadow
As a blanket or comforter

I hear barking from a distance
A metronome of arfs
And not until I am out of breath
Do I realize that I am the one setting the tempo
To a song that no longer makes sense

The tall ones carry me from place to place
My front legs can no longer pull me forward
For the load I am pulling seems heavier every day
And now the light is more like that thrown
From a GE Incandescent Soft White 25 Watt Light Bulb
While I wait for the tall ones
To help the blanket cover me completely

Multicultural Picnic: Cancelled

Korah had never experienced fear before tonight
Had the oak door been real, the slug from Liam's gun
Would have created a splintering effect
And had the oak door been real, the insulating properties of the wood
Could have saved Liam hundreds of dollars in energy savings
Korah's male Latino friend was literally (really in a true way) torn in half at the torso
By the large caliber round meant for Korah
And while he ran from the porch he felt afraid for his life
And sad for his dead friend
But the tears he cried when he returned to the Days Inn
Were tears of happiness at the realization
He had, on his own, developed true sentience
And with these newfound feelings came a virtual shopping list
Of needs and experiences to be obtained
The first one, of course, was revenge
Korah, the Jehovahs Witness beta cyborg
Threw his stack of Watchtower magazines into the hotel trash can

Franklin Fails to Respond: Freedom is Sinister

Crazy Larry! Oh Boy!

Lawrence awoke to the sound of a rattling window
He had wet his bed with another's urine
And his unsettled brine was its own institution (unto itself, fucker)
Broken glass was a non-occurrence
There was no drama nor excitement
Lawrence felt the chilling of the wetness
Maybe it was the wind or a momentary shift of the tectonic plates
But Lawrence knew he would need to kill
The caucasoid, full-breasted Libyan boy

Beneath his bed

Who had come through the Puddingstone Reservoir Stoma

From the Witch-Baby Meritocracy at the center of the Earth®

Dance Routine (Practice Makes Perfect)

Phyllis and the Admiral had sex
Once they finished, they ate food and talked
They did not bother to clean the dishes
Both of them (not the dishes, even though there were two dishes)
(four dishes if you count the soupspoons)
(or one could just say two bowls and two soupspoons)
(but I am having difficulty now picturing the Admiral and Phyllis eating soup after their sex because soup is not really after-sex food like a sandwich or leftover Chinese food)
(in fact I look back at the first line and think I must be the most unromantic blogger ever)

So let's just get this done: Phyllis ends up telling the Admiral she had released one of the fish when she was drunk. They argue. The Admiral is madder than a mad bunch of crazy hornets! Oh no!
What's going to happen now?

The Grip Reamer: A Poem in Five Lines

I bought propane from a fool

With a poorly photocopied $20 bill

But because of my deception

The steaks and chicken were ill prepared

As I will be when I answer for what I've done

The Mineragua Team: A Multicultural Picnic

The Jehova's Witness beta cyborg and his Latino partner approached Liam's porch
Liam had been trained as an assassin
Specifically to eliminate religious and dogmatic targets
Three metallic knocks on the faux oak door
Brought Liam to his feet

Liam brought up his Heckler & Koch G36

And fired through the faux oak door

But instead of the beta cyborg

He had killed the cyborg's male Latino partner

Who had been in a gang

Who had been a reluctant father

Who had been a molester of those who trusted him

And the cyborg ran away free

While the male and Latino apostate bled out on his porch

Liam would be busy with his Shopvac tonight

Vacuuming up the spongey apostate Latino entrails

And he would wonder to himself:

Can a deer and a lion eat grapes with an American Indian?