Post by Deleted on Jan 4, 2013 10:39:54 GMT -6
[It was dark, quiet and the color of orange was absent from the room. All that shined out with the reflections from a large vanity mirror, part of it being blocked by a man, hair pulled back in a pony tail, a mane of beard poking out from the sides of the silhouette.]
"As for all men who shall enter this my tomb..."
[The silhouette speaks, continuing to stare forward into the mirror. Upon closer inspection, a blue and yellow piece of fabric hang draped over the vanity.]
"I.M.P.U.R.E....
"Implementing many poisons under redeemable expectations...
"There WILL be judgment..."
[He quickly yanks the fabric from the vanity and fashions himself with the double crown of ancient egypt. The cobra and vulture stare forward in 24 Karat perfection.]
[The man, simply known as Zortalk, jabs his finger forward the camera, lurching forward as he does so.]
"An the end shall be made for him.
"I shall seize his neck like a bird, I shall cast the fear of myself into him as I wrench back, as he screams helplessly for assistances.
"But the Gods, Oh the Gods don't listen. They laugh from the heavens. Because the Gods are Rock and Roll Machines. They praise and commend my actions.
"They howled and celebrated as I jumped over the barricade and applied the full nelson on Justin Brooks.
"They delighted and celebrated over the modified camel clutch and as I hyper extended Brooks back."
[Slowly, his finger drops back to his side. The Space Pharaoh smiles and laughs a little bit.]
"But some people, don't see it the way I do. No, they don't recognize the sovereign nation that is Space Egypt. Instead they claim to have journeyed there as if it was some higher plane of existence that only be accessed via tetrahydrocannabinol intoxication.
"... maybe so.
"Who am I to say that an Orange Octopus is wrong or right? After all, he seems to have bedded more Space Slave girls than me, he clearly possesses creativity that I have never seen and he likely lives in an apartment with one, maybe two more bed rooms than me."
[Zortalk frowns.]
"You win some, you lose some, right Orangie? We can't all be Astronauts, right?"
[Lightbulb.]
"But you're not an astronaut.
"You're not a cosmonaut.
"You're not even a rocket Scientologist."
[Play Beck's "Midnite Vultures" to find out more about the sect of Scientology where they spread the gospel via rockets and love while playing the music of rockets and love.]
"No. Instead you're a terrestrial-bound octo-jerk attempting to achieve the zero gravity friction that I've experienced time and time again.
"Right now, in another plane of existence, I am getting it on with vishnu. She's using all of her eight arms in the most seductive way ever. You, you can't even use all eight of your tentacle appendages.
"You just sulk, wallow in a puddle of your own ink and disappointment, throwing dick, smoking blunts and claiming to live the high life again.
"Well, I've got news for you. You're not Steve Winwood.
"You're not going to achieve a Higher Love. You aren't going to be able to Roll with it. You won't even be able to Take it as it Comes
"But I guarantee you this. I will wake you up on judgement day."
[Zortalk grins stroking the chin of his beard.]
"Once you have transcended both space and time, we might see eye to octopus eye...
"But until such time, in this Blind Faith metaphor. I'm Eric Clapton, the greatest white blues man to ever identify with the struggles of the oppressed and your Steven Winwood, some guy who plays keyboards and didn't watch his kid fall out an apartment."
-----------------
December 30th
"So, you're crystal clear as to what you're going to do, right?"
[Donavon Torment, Best in the World, looks down at Zortalk. Instead of greeting him with eye contact, The Space Pharaoh ponders to himself fist pressed against his chin.]
Donavon Torment
"Do we have an understanding?"
[Zortalk tilts his head towards Donavon.]
Zortalk
"Wouldn't it be better if I came during the match and--"
Donavon Torment:
"No. No. NO. Absolutely NOT. Omar is going to win this match and you're not about to fuck this up for him. Do you hear me? Come in AFTER the match."
Zortalk:
"Yeah. I get that. Omar wins. It's for the good of Space Egypt."
Donavon Torment:
"No. It's for the good of Omar Wise."
Zortalk:
"Well then, how about for the pain of Justin Brooks?"
Donavon Torment:
"After the match.]
Zortalk:
"I understand that, but..."
Donavon Torment:
"Repeat after me... After_The_Match"
[The Space Pharaoh looks down at his boots.]
Zortalk:
"... After the match."
Donavon Torment:
"Good. I'll see you then."
[Torment walks to the door but turns back to say one last thing.]
Donavon Torment:
"... Make sure to really give him hell."
-----------------
[The Chinese Market was a place very few white people went to. Probably because it had exotic odors that they would turn their nose up at, claiming that it smelt like rotting vegetables, dingy seafood and mothballs.]
[Towering above the men and women in the grocery was no white man. He was from Space Egypt. He stood tall, taking long even strides to his step, carefully navigating around the kimchi, day old dried sea food and the over abundance of mothballs.]
[He found it.]
[Tang.]
[Delicious, Delicious Tang.]
[Tucking it under his arm, he had no use for a shopping cart; he had places to go, people to see, things to do. He was in charge of parsecs of deep space that needed constant protection. Jive ass turkeys had to be stopped. The ice was running low. He had to shift down into the fifth gear of extreme.]
[He was important.]
[Improving My Personal Objectives Through Apparitions Noticing Talent.]
[But he stopped. Staring straight ahead.]
[Unmoving.]
[Mouth hung open with awe and wonder.]
[He raised his arm pointing forward.]
"How much for that..."
[The Fish Monger replied.]
"... I'll take it."
[How much?]
"All of it. I need it alive."
[And so it was done.]
[The Space Pharaoh had found himself with a large Styrofoam cooler, enough tang to satisfy his needs.]
[His People were happy.]
[He had done good.]
"As for all men who shall enter this my tomb..."
[The silhouette speaks, continuing to stare forward into the mirror. Upon closer inspection, a blue and yellow piece of fabric hang draped over the vanity.]
"I.M.P.U.R.E....
"Implementing many poisons under redeemable expectations...
"There WILL be judgment..."
[He quickly yanks the fabric from the vanity and fashions himself with the double crown of ancient egypt. The cobra and vulture stare forward in 24 Karat perfection.]
[The man, simply known as Zortalk, jabs his finger forward the camera, lurching forward as he does so.]
"An the end shall be made for him.
"I shall seize his neck like a bird, I shall cast the fear of myself into him as I wrench back, as he screams helplessly for assistances.
"But the Gods, Oh the Gods don't listen. They laugh from the heavens. Because the Gods are Rock and Roll Machines. They praise and commend my actions.
"They howled and celebrated as I jumped over the barricade and applied the full nelson on Justin Brooks.
"They delighted and celebrated over the modified camel clutch and as I hyper extended Brooks back."
[Slowly, his finger drops back to his side. The Space Pharaoh smiles and laughs a little bit.]
"But some people, don't see it the way I do. No, they don't recognize the sovereign nation that is Space Egypt. Instead they claim to have journeyed there as if it was some higher plane of existence that only be accessed via tetrahydrocannabinol intoxication.
"... maybe so.
"Who am I to say that an Orange Octopus is wrong or right? After all, he seems to have bedded more Space Slave girls than me, he clearly possesses creativity that I have never seen and he likely lives in an apartment with one, maybe two more bed rooms than me."
[Zortalk frowns.]
"You win some, you lose some, right Orangie? We can't all be Astronauts, right?"
[Lightbulb.]
"But you're not an astronaut.
"You're not a cosmonaut.
"You're not even a rocket Scientologist."
[Play Beck's "Midnite Vultures" to find out more about the sect of Scientology where they spread the gospel via rockets and love while playing the music of rockets and love.]
"No. Instead you're a terrestrial-bound octo-jerk attempting to achieve the zero gravity friction that I've experienced time and time again.
"Right now, in another plane of existence, I am getting it on with vishnu. She's using all of her eight arms in the most seductive way ever. You, you can't even use all eight of your tentacle appendages.
"You just sulk, wallow in a puddle of your own ink and disappointment, throwing dick, smoking blunts and claiming to live the high life again.
"Well, I've got news for you. You're not Steve Winwood.
"You're not going to achieve a Higher Love. You aren't going to be able to Roll with it. You won't even be able to Take it as it Comes
"But I guarantee you this. I will wake you up on judgement day."
[Zortalk grins stroking the chin of his beard.]
"Once you have transcended both space and time, we might see eye to octopus eye...
"But until such time, in this Blind Faith metaphor. I'm Eric Clapton, the greatest white blues man to ever identify with the struggles of the oppressed and your Steven Winwood, some guy who plays keyboards and didn't watch his kid fall out an apartment."
-----------------
December 30th
"So, you're crystal clear as to what you're going to do, right?"
[Donavon Torment, Best in the World, looks down at Zortalk. Instead of greeting him with eye contact, The Space Pharaoh ponders to himself fist pressed against his chin.]
Donavon Torment
"Do we have an understanding?"
[Zortalk tilts his head towards Donavon.]
Zortalk
"Wouldn't it be better if I came during the match and--"
Donavon Torment:
"No. No. NO. Absolutely NOT. Omar is going to win this match and you're not about to fuck this up for him. Do you hear me? Come in AFTER the match."
Zortalk:
"Yeah. I get that. Omar wins. It's for the good of Space Egypt."
Donavon Torment:
"No. It's for the good of Omar Wise."
Zortalk:
"Well then, how about for the pain of Justin Brooks?"
Donavon Torment:
"After the match.]
Zortalk:
"I understand that, but..."
Donavon Torment:
"Repeat after me... After_The_Match"
[The Space Pharaoh looks down at his boots.]
Zortalk:
"... After the match."
Donavon Torment:
"Good. I'll see you then."
[Torment walks to the door but turns back to say one last thing.]
Donavon Torment:
"... Make sure to really give him hell."
-----------------
[The Chinese Market was a place very few white people went to. Probably because it had exotic odors that they would turn their nose up at, claiming that it smelt like rotting vegetables, dingy seafood and mothballs.]
[Towering above the men and women in the grocery was no white man. He was from Space Egypt. He stood tall, taking long even strides to his step, carefully navigating around the kimchi, day old dried sea food and the over abundance of mothballs.]
[He found it.]
[Tang.]
[Delicious, Delicious Tang.]
[Tucking it under his arm, he had no use for a shopping cart; he had places to go, people to see, things to do. He was in charge of parsecs of deep space that needed constant protection. Jive ass turkeys had to be stopped. The ice was running low. He had to shift down into the fifth gear of extreme.]
[He was important.]
[Improving My Personal Objectives Through Apparitions Noticing Talent.]
[But he stopped. Staring straight ahead.]
[Unmoving.]
[Mouth hung open with awe and wonder.]
[He raised his arm pointing forward.]
"How much for that..."
[The Fish Monger replied.]
"... I'll take it."
[How much?]
"All of it. I need it alive."
[And so it was done.]
[The Space Pharaoh had found himself with a large Styrofoam cooler, enough tang to satisfy his needs.]
[His People were happy.]
[He had done good.]