Barefoot.

mylefttesticle

He bandaged her wound with silver cabbage from the swampland of the dead ravers of east Fife and with a wheelbarrow made from the spines of three hundred dead stoats he wheeled down the passage of former wild flowers known as the garden of red deers.

Barefoot with a new found heart found below her ribcage engineered by hedgehogs impaled in her gullet and wheezing with honey made medicine from the plant of kings that is Thistles. Her glow for Lord sam reignited and she sly touches his thorny wrist whenever she can and feels the currents of water in storm electrocute her valves made of mush and becoming ravenous.


The last remnants of the china bowl inhabited by the last chiefs of Mongolia furiously attacked by Hungry wild boards with skin of dead wild trees from the forest that was once green, hushed away, hushed away we were by godfathers of torment who sprayed the wild boars with liquid nails made of poison from snakes who wriggled along nails and plunged straight into the boars nerves.

Lord sam swings open two thick heavy curtains made from tarantulas eyes and into a river seeping with joy.



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mylefttesticle

It happened weekly he wheezed and heaved and sprayed his flower and she withstood not because it was forced but because this was her acceptance and one early morning she awoke with cramps and vomit and on hard cold white tiles like teeth of sharks she plunged her neckline down porcelain shape.

She felt the light and for a time the joy inside of her like a beautiful flower a wild plumeria not quite blossoming but growing and becoming ripe with each day that passes but the black birds never far away circling her head like a thunderous storm in a small embankment that is her brain.

Deep in her bed she was that was made of wild stinging nettles that would never leave her to rest.



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mylefttesticle

Fifteen thousand trumpets being heard from the south from the wild animal disco as they celebrate more gruesome beastly crimes against man, woman and child.

Lord sam awoke from his sleep and a beautiful mist proclaimed before his eyes as barefoot standing in water resembling mousse made from millions of diamonds all polished and all sparkling. She was naked and washing away the month of February from her figure of heaven. He turned his eyes away out of respect but kept the image in his gallery of thoughts that made this worth fighting for.


I can see you she said, we must leave soon he replied, its beautiful here can't we not stay awhile, campfire he said, he must be found and he must be saved... she cried silently a mothers guilt.

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mylefttesticle

The viviparous lizard signalled for them to pass, neutral he was he spoke in latin he did said he was a wing from Jesus and Jesus had a message for Barefoot.

Say what you say says Lord Sam...... We must be alone the woman and i, ears only from her.. Lord Sam wanted to rip its greenish brown head off Barefoot with calming fingers that sparkled soothed him.

Under my blanket said the lizard, no said Lord Sam but Barefoot entered.


It was noise, noise horrible noise sirens and mayhem and beeping and running and in a distance she heard the voices but couldn't hear. The lizard produced a polaroid of campfire and with steel shocked eyes Barefoot stared and then lashed at the lizard gouging his eyes...Liar, liar liar liar i killed him you know that you know that this face is not his those eyes are not mine and those ears are not human and the lizard reflecting and growing now released himself from her grip and grew a man with three heads who grabbed Barefoot by the throat and whispered in her ear.....He is saved and you must repent and find, a world waits and a world relies go now with the blessings and forgiveness of those who wanted you dead....awake awake awake the spirit of Barefoot and release your bravery and let it seep into lands that starve and feed them with your bussom.



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mylefttesticle

The blanket disappeared and with it the sea and the moon and the tarantula curtain fell and the black sun rose and they both stood in darkness.


1.2.3

1.2.3

1.2.3

1.2.3

1.2.3

An explosion of lightening lit up the sky the most beautiful array of wild Burren flowers now three dimensional and full of artificial colour raving and dancing between kestrels on fire, sixteen vatican soldiers with sunglasses dance and play wild violins with pink glow-sticks and Lord Sam and Barefoot embrace.


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Insect Overlord

Are you making this up as you go along or is it actually leading somewhere?

mylefttesticle

An File wrote: »

Are you making this up as you go along or is it actually leading somewhere?

as i go. yes its going somewhere.

Masterofballs

Barefoot thought as she looked out over a dynasty of lakes like mirror illuminating her tin foiled head of dread locks, reflecting her loss, the embrace, the garden of her mind alive with insects on long wheeled bikes cycling in squares and crashing loudly, her tear, single, lonely and on fire seeping like cold lava down her hot face, she cried. two legs becoming one and one leg falling over the tractors disguised as blue lizards spitting coffee beans full of cave man venom, a cry in the distance, the map on her scalded forearm moves left, the eyes from 3000000000 acid testicles move south east

Masterofballs

Yes Lord sam, she remembered his smell right under her chin to the left where tattoos of cauliflower brains paint a picture of happier times, in houses under trees now awash with stink from bombs made of dirty hands and filthy minds, aghast, she sighs, no anger, she left it somewhere.

Masterofballs

MH: The answers are out there....

PHY: Loss is a powerful bomb that wounds deeply but does not kill.

MH: Less the pity.

Masterofballs

Dark wood, smells, greenery, rain, thunder, trickling of sick water running down banks of rotten fish and mice, pink worms attacking hares. 7ft he stood, arms of hardened mince and eyes of hatred and love. Little Campfire surveys to the left, then right and finally center, little donkeys wielding guns of propelling steel popcorn under deep green skies overlooking a beach of sea urchins waiting to spit dynamite and Adrenalin. War is soon but not final. The bridge tentacle instructs, the followers ready, war, both sides eager.

Masterofballs

The tide rises, wild blue orchards dance to the beat of war. spit fire pigs sharpen nails made from elephant brains. In the distance a hum of dark matter is visible, sheep packs run flamboyantly through alcoves of two inch ladybirds painted in the war colour of purple and green, Picassos brain is the front of all Armour. Eagles drag hippos in nets exfoliating poisonous gas. Death will dance with joy tonight.

Masterofballs

The womb of partition. Installation by jelly flesh lush with cockles as they clasp beneath her skin, sinking teeth into flesh, turning joy into pain. This is the smell of fear running wild through mountains naked, spitting and failing. If one was to rise then now would be the time, has hope displayed its love for the last time? Or has the wonder of spirit confessed its murderous past? Behind him the animals of one hundred million dead carcasses burn radiant with nuclear fire, we are witnessing the baptism of earth or the rise of the rotting decay of mammals. Time will tell.

Masterofballs

Left-lung her voice inspiring thousands of snails to shimmy and jump, hardened battled souls with steel shells dancing like tropical butterflies in the blue majestic seas. Her voice travels like stuck in a tube spreading angelic notes and inspiring those lost in cowardice to pick up arms and join the war of self preservation. The rottweilers of the tentacle wooden bridge hiss and spit and rub their poisoned eye balls of hardened sand rocks while the trumpets of dark ledge frogs round up the mercenaries of the east of Dun na Hal.

Masterofballs

Unhappiness, always unhappiness and he thinks why me? Why was i selected to mend broken fences while the shed has been burned to the ground. It makes no sense and here they come with hands out and tongues at the ready, they would swallow anything, wouldn't they? The clock moves slow today.

Masterofballs

Barefoot summons her miniature cow which holds all her slender possessions. The smoke from the west now bellows through the rain forests of outer Plagmia. Curse the day the fallen skeletons of duped colony was exposed and now she stands maternally summoned to find that which came from her soul. Her knuckleduster of woven sheep nails tipped with poison from ivy fields of dead reptiles at the ready to tear all apart, kin or foe she will succeed in embracing once more that which was bestowed upon charlatans without her consent or voice. She ducks as a hail storm of snake-root laced with lead piping attacks, soon she will see blood.