The Ballad of Emerson Skreech
Soliloquy for the Prodigal Daughter
A Bit of Backstory
Dream Lover Fantasy aborted. Bitch Mode in process. Engage. I felt like I was sitting in a cold damp mist after exiting a relaxing soothing sauna. Breath.
It took all the mental and emotional effort that Emerson Skreech could muster to form sentences that made sense. Word Selection. Operate. Emerson had to go through a mental flight plan each time he uttered a sound as he struggled with ill-fitting dentures as well as a pronounced lisp.
Breath. In. Out. In the midst of getting my scrambled thoughts into coherent words She made that serpentine motion with her tongue removing the salt from the edge of her drinking glass in one fell swoop.
Spoke by Hamlet, Hamlet Act 5 Scene 1:
Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow
of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath
borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how
abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rims at
it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know
not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your
gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment,
that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one
now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen?
Now get you to my lady’s chamber, and tell her, let
her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must
come; make her laugh at that.
JoyBaieda Ruein ~~ The Making of An End
She is the Luxurious Fox to my slimy hound dog. Joy was a slow slinky melody filled with mesmerizing syncopation. When I Emerson Skreech discovered her all she was just another one of the irresistible creatures raising their skirts for the latest repeat customers. Now she was a raging inferno. Impossible to contain but with each breath of oxygen eager to expand. Myths and Legends corrupted my mind. Emerson Skreech consumed by lust and immoral pleasures believe the best and received the worst. Bewitched by a Bronzed highlighted entrancing beauty. At once I understood how Adama felt when God broke his companion rib. Dancing with her though a delicate pleasure my internal cognition was slowly being extinguished.
What was sacred now becomes hideous. Exploration and entry into her sacred Temple was a high price that cost into a then unknown future. My engorged purple red pole dug the grave and planted the Cenotaph that singled my burial. My shaft spit seed into a poisonous chamber. JoyBaieda was an Orchard in Bloom and I a thirsty Gardener | Gate Keeper. A Horticulturist of infected spores. Her body ~~ my tomb. Scorched, I sank into the depths of vast ocean seas coming to rest inside an abandoned house where everything was left intact. Mesmerized I expected forgetful innkeepers to return, the taps to flow, songs sung and dancers spinning, twirling and gyrating while thick beer steins are raised in toast to safe passageways.
A Punctured Romance from the start. I’ve come to the Potter’s Field Sanatorium to bury my bones. We were like rambling gnarling twisting trees marveling at volcanic Lava Monoliths arising from a barren windblown sandy desert. We stripped the bark from each others branches.
A Luminous Aura Borealis burst into exploded galaxies.
To Be Continued…………………………………………………….