a walk and face that very dogs disdained pissing on him in his midwalk in the lower alleys running up next to him and walking next to him and pissing on him in their the dogs midstride the browncoat had a wasted take on walking and this he thought strange for walking seemed ever to be most of what he the browncoat did on any given night but he walked across the calendar and hopped across the red splashes the red days and walked into the basements of the calendar and thus the long tunnels of the funhouse were no novelty to him the browncoat merely told the thin walls to still their esperance for he did not intend to collapse under them and he should not seep under them and root them up but also did the brownback know that as a rule a smart man is someone who cannot tell a lie without believing it himself rules of self-preservation the budding art of living with oneself didactic blossoms short words long smiles nights of the long smiles but at least the standing man could boast that he and his were not boring what would the brownback say nothing why would he why want to say something any thing at all and the brownback remembered a child yelling in the street tearing out of one eye just one his mother pacing the staircase of a nearby house and the child yelling that he the child could hold his own and quieter yeah hold his own simply by not having one an own he meant or so the brownback understood it the childs release of his own and the brownbacks thoughts and caprices whirred around his cranium alight the thoughts like benevolent overgrown globules of fat rapt in a game of american football malevolent globules of fact but fact was not to his the brownbacks liking he erected refuge in imagination but for most imagination is weak susceptible well-trod divided imagination is inflamed by women who lack precisely imagination and such women confront their imaginers portraits and phantasies of them the women and tear and have at them with a ravens fury why the problem of originality their beautiful sin is not to be idolised outside themselves their sublime sinning a guarantee of ink defying magnetism an altar to ones originality seals one in ones discarded artefacts renders ones every novelty or young act an icon of ones ankylosis and so what is left why murdering ones followers for standing men and superb women alike in viability but at present murder is so so wheres the poise so newspapery and with or without murder one seeks constance of some sorts tis weak but inevitable for no knowledge of changing objects if knowledge changes tis sterile speculation the ontology of gossip but what is constant is not an invariant quantity of suffering but its progress towards hell and hereinafter would he the brownback no longer fall tangled into the unscratchables of his cranium no more would he descend into the whirls and mists of transverberation and so the brownback walked but he did not have long to walk since one of the panels of the rickety tunnel walls arrested him he heard a dialogue outside they were a man and a woman voices rusty enough to betray their middling ages and the man assured the woman that he spoke to her in troth and confidence and the man outside who as he spoke convinced the brownback listening beyond the wall but not seeing further and further that he the man outside was in point of fact rather an old man but speaking in youth young language and the old man spoke to the woman who in silence revealed herself rather an old woman but thinking youth and the old man spoke of mummifying the orgasms plateauing the quivers nobility demanded no less of him and thus his face and tonality of body spelt out pure will sicked on cock and then the old man said to the old woman that twas not easy and that my internal monologue is performed by many people and she misheard him and thought he had said infernal and found this very savage and rebellious and rightly said for youth well embraced in the apoplexia of dialectics and theirs a task both opposed and mated to the yelping standard of unwording the world and the old woman stares ravenously at the old man and the man does not stop speaking he accelerates his ideas heat up bump into each other and deflagrate and his tongue pours nay sweats oil and acid on all their fires and all their bullets and finally the man bites his tongue in the rabid fury of his pontification bites hard and the severed portion of the mans tongue flies off and he bleeds profusely and the woman looks on and he drops his gaze to the ground which hungers for his falling blood and the man himself falls on the woman and they are both lying down and the blood is falling on the woman down his chin onto her face into her mouth inside her widening but never enough nostrils behind her ears across her neck over her breasts throughout her voluptuously spiderwebbed hair such pretty hair another occasion he would have bit into it and the man stuffs his elbow in her mouth and wraps her nose sealed in his fist and the blood still fell and they were two or perhaps they were one and then one and the blood but the blood was so many and streams directions growthrates territorial annexations and a blind red kingly smile the blood was smiling it wasnt as dramatic and literary as the blood really etching the discernible form of a smile across her clothes and the ground beneath them it was the blood just smiling at him a simple elemental smile drenching her clothes in its fulsome sapience and superiority there were whetstones and ancient hilts in that smile in every one of the many smiles of the many bloods and a darkness metallic and then he realized the blood was smiling back at him for he had been housing an infectious rictus also in the ruins of his tautened face he was smiling the blood was smiling his smile imprinted on the blood and imprisoning the blood and imprisoned in the blood as soon as the blood left the mouthmother and fell aerial to its hegemony below and the woman was laughing giggling silencing her merry tremors failing then letting loose and laughing loudly and vulgarly laughing through the fist in her mouth unable to stop and at this his smile widened the blood smiled harder as well and he bored deeper and with his other fist crushed her nose into graven skin and beaten mucus and at this she started jerking him off pulling him out of his pants caressing and stroking and tickling the undershaft and running gentle circles around the glans with the nail and the soft pillow of her index and at this the man gyrated slowly back and forth inside her hands with a monotonous passion like that of a seed bull too small to mount a larger cow of a different species and she was cradling him shelter and cupping his balls and palming his abdomen and lightly pinching his nipples and sliding her thin long-nailed fingers one by one in an humid ballet from the tip of his penis down the shaft over the testicles across the perineum and in and around his asshole and without letting go of her without releasing her air or her speech he entered the woman and it was quick and so he looked down at her and she was blank and she stared through him and this time hed lasted over a minute and the blood was part of the scenery and the blood was the scenery and he had no more to bleed for her he had stopped bleeding by now and she stared through him and he dived into her and bit into her shoulder and conquered many layers of something-dermas and a couple of slates of flesh and he emerged with skin and new blood in his mouth and he spat it all in her face and back on the spot of her shoulder whence he had wrenched it and she looked smaller now because of the blood orchid in full bloom occupying the spring of her shoulder like a rorschach guardian angel but otherwise nothing had changed and finally but not so long after the man got up shook his feet one by one and he was a small string of a man with weak arms and bad sleeveless shirts in the evening chill that highlighted and mocked the weakness of his arms which weakness mocked the bad sleeveless shirts in turn and she saw him shiver under the chill but only ever so slightly and he told the woman ever supine that if we you or i seek immortality well then tough because so does the cancer cell and upon this he spat on the funhouse wall and the listening prone browncoat recoiled and fell on his ass but the browncoat listened still and the old woman was looking at the vertical old man and then he and his adverbs walked out of her life the old womans life but there was yet crawling in his journal yet to be read and some time after the old man had disappeared the old woman got up as well and rubbed her shoulder and raised the straps of her dress onto their proper positions digging into her shoulder wound and dusted herself to a suitable if modest degree of cleanliness and walked away also and for some hours there was nothing else for the browncoat to listen to and finally he too resumed the biped and walked out of the funhouse and looked around at the fayre and some people but not many told him the browncoat that his hair had whitened and the browncoat shrugged dégueulasse and he could not think of much else to do or much place to go and so he was so bored he