She asked, "what do you want for diner?"
He won his first and only prize because dinner was reverent. The mere mention now sends chaos shots fired into the dark of his brain. Creation's radiation washed over him. Now awake in the swirling and ripping ripples of starry ancient winds, sucking his chaotic thoughts into the burning twister of time-space.
A messenger dust body sent to vacuum up remaining fragments of true beauty and extol the refuse of linear time and space was now imbibing him. Life giving liquid flashed before his heart and splashed off cardio-tendrils into the polluted innards of his host body - a trashy beach on Sagan's cosmic shore.
Like mythical Halcyon hovering at the crossroads of reliable forest and unpredictable sea, and some eons later that cross-dressing midwife Agnodice of Greece, he felt the female spirit rise up to service him from within, causing survival messengers to grow just and fair in his holy handed-heart.
Still, only fragments of reality dotted his land from time to time like artifacts under sediment or lights over phoenix and under classified stamps. The hold-outs from the last "great war" of his time needed a trampoline made of spam to touch star dust. It all stayed botched without femininity, somehow incomplete.
And where the rise of clitoral underdevelopment expanded the minds of worthwhile men, always stood a hold-out, complete with Dino DNA and double barrel scotch - playing the fool for the body of knowledge.
Forever pushing upon a force, there remains another force, until universal-scaled conflict redefines what we have become and are to become. And in fact, what is to become of us? And why does this man care?
Is he not sipping his spirits on indigo pools of the finest, aged to perfection sand? Who among him could believe that such death could carry his sack of rotting calcium deposits into the conscious dark matter that binds all in a see-through future perception reception of reality.
He'll not write an invitation to a future party like Steven Hawking, but rather join her in singing "turnstile blues" in line at Whole Foods as they both plan the immediate future, reusable bag, Burberry and Barbour, gluten-free tofu play-dough unborn daughter, Catskill trout and arguments over all-purpose Shout and endless plotting toward the immediate future with so little at stake, except steak.
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