The Sinner's Carrousel

 

  The Carrousel pastiche's carol, mystique

Part 1

The approaching freight train's bowling shocks pierce first the pedestrians' solitude
then appears the rumbling certainty grown against hurling's both metallic and clamorous.
Clatters, seemingly drag their strobes, felt out in stampedes rhythmic upon perpendicular pedestrian lanes of halted traffic, and it reduced them but to mesmeric ponder; like ants,
removed, swept over and peering upwards at some majestic hurdling avalanche.

A man first points then makes a rolling gesture with his hands.
He says something loudly.
Nobody hears him, but we all are begun some in a kind of hypnotic sway.
And shocks of light extrude from between the rail-cars, like combative combs to wash across the lines of people, again and again and again: to pause, and sweep and pause, then sweep and now pause, and then sweep and pause...

There, and delivered
In obedience to this fixation as it's edicts slung out in utter whirls issued our silence, and it was as if to look outward from the eye of a fearsome hurricane, or as from the center of a spinning merry-go-'round; also there was Einstein's peripheral curvatures, lain among other taboo's of the universe; but they're also like such festive parades, like prancing suited equinoctial blinks and epochal flashes that strung themselves both severed and wreathing outward, where glistening serrated edges extrude ribbons from some great instant and idolatrous Maypole!

Now, all people are stood upright; but even more so, we seem to sway back and forth with the searing ravishment as blinked panoramic tranquility blinks disconnect then flash even more to our lateral blanching, and in ever deeper shocks.

And above us all, fly long tailed kites, among the ever present glistening golden rings that hold keys, keys to opportune escapes or to intranets, to the corridors' passageways, to some things majestic and forbidden like which haply, our fingers might feel and our eyes might uncover... Children in the distance run here and there to unroll the strings each bound to their own long tailed kite, kites that lift on the chances sway and swim  into the skyward and hide themselves in rolling movements and amid the pearly white clouds above us.

Here, they're only likened things, that appear living and wild, great and wing'ed galleons trained to traffic magnificence and straightened but either pulling or jerking everyone's just, but like empty chariots. By and by, whirl the episodes. By and by flashed knightly valor, combat and  damsels estuaries where dragons yet roam, and felicitous  shadows feint such beautiful puffs and whirling kisses, that are coming tornadoes.

Manic extractions are vanities strung torrents, torrents of folly and gushed in glorious floods, but rivers elicit, and the absolutes flash, and flash again lighting's luminous thrash. Rumbles of lore and billows on high: to whom could she be? whomsoever, could this image belie, and, of your lure that I taste, so your  kiss would distance deny; 'twas to vanity's pouts and excesses tufts make my memories crawl like a wounded dog both and my hopes of you fly like a dove. I've often turned this way and that, intent to tell you these things and always the sky is an expanse more, and more parting than blue. 

Again in the distance there soars the approach like a crystalline visage, it is of increase and of towers, of an entire city's bustle, it's holds and halts, fast stood founded worldly launches and spires that master overwhelming sharp corners between blue and stone and blue again, and stone again: embankments, and banks and blue and stone and squares and blue and frames and steel and stack and blue and edges cut abrupt cut. Such things and passing shadows across your face, and quickly I see turbulent holiness both and jubilant: you're tabu! "Thou shalt not touch!" "Thou shalt not touch!"

But of all blinked triviality and second accidental forms neigh despotic hastes : you looked to me as if you would be my every bye and bye, and foolish gift; but convinced are we of your marred concourse. I gargled a chant to the breaking light. A nave escapes, never, this sweet smell: but merely of your neck, that seams below your face, and your silver spangling earrings as they lie. I can't swallow in your presence, this I've declared here and upon some untoward parchment purely of seraphs' syrup. Your lips! your lips are the most dripping ones.

And for the beautiful wing'ed victuals that flourish, and brandish you in their sedans. Carriages  turn sequenced caravans, they vaunt in your visages; too, a splendorous foliage in the winds that's become deep and deepened sweetly, and as celestial tempests brandish shanks against blue, brash against billows white and grey smolders, also, be they furnishings of abandon in the palaces of every pearly construct, and you're neigh to me: Neigh unto me, both, as sweetly trickled nativity and in scents most despotic. Whence comest thou, whence comets trod: of prominence and  visitation, as angels in this torrent? Cantors chant the morning's dew, but also left this spangle upon the silvery betrayal of a webbing's betrothal so clearly.   

Innocence once removed; as, by them each time as 'round and 'round we must, we go rumbling...

People from every candor wrought every occupation as color swished, for to build and to build and build and build! Onward, as the wheels turn and roll and gust motley and huffed to force the tall grasses grown close to the tracks as in waves they were bowed, blades aspirant to calling sunlight in offered motility. Shadows pass and light streaks washed between the rail-cars: and shadows and light and shadows and light and long grass bows down too, like a whip then straightens then whips again downward beneath every measure and every hot breath, draw and hurl and trek and haul and gusts the pulverization and every wave and wash and every gust and heft and burning rolling throw.

Against the sky a foliage issues to suddenly wrench another tract, and there harnesses here, pure brimstone and searchers and teachers and gropers for wormwood, and wormwood and more.

Suddenly I'm approached, and approached, and accosted and pushed and forced and pushed and blocked and shoved and intruded upon. I had no chance to put up my hands, for to defend myself. In the midst of this tumultuous  assailant, a fist clinching money is shaken in my face, a threat is made, then screamed and screamed again. Now, there's more pushing I feel pushes and see many fists raised and each brandishing money. The crowds of screamers and pushers grows great, it became first as an heard, like beasts, and became a raging stampede and rumble and hurdle and hurl and gust and spinning catastrophe and heaving disaster and billowing blowing bowling turning terror and  torrent. All the while, my arms are pinned at my side. I can't lift them because of the crowds of squeezers, of pushers. I can only look upwards, and upwards and up. There are so many,  I'm squeezed and spun and pushed and jolted again and again.  I can't even fall down, as only upwards, I can look, and I just close my eyes, I only just whirl and close them and the whirling encompasses me sedate and agitate and bumped and agitate and sedate and pushed and bumped and sedate and numbness and goaded numb and sedate.  Secure, and sedate.

Clatters and rumbles become one thing done to another, as metallic lullabies pass against steely rails and furnishings are twins, like twinning at the division, like one deceitful beauty with two personalities. She sits in front of me, she's also rocking back and forth, no, from side to side and to mesh first with that register and then with this sentiment, and this register then that sentiment and some other sentiment and likewise like some old wobbly bumper jack and forth and back and forth ... A lady! no, a mistress of some sort, no, a whore, no a woman of the night, no a slut!  No, a desperate girl all painted up, by severity, or by choice, no, by desperation, into a whorish changeling, no a pretty girl, no a lady...

She looked at me, no, but she's looking again, no she's staring at me, she's studying no, she's sizing me up! She's devising a plan of some sort, no, she's contemplating me, or something I envelope. No, something she's reckoned or imputed to me. She's a witch! She's doing something to me, in my mind! No, she's confusing me with eternal shock waves!

Back and forth and zing and back and forth and zing ... Humm,

Perhaps we've a similar destination, she came on board with me. Coming from the past, maybe we were swung on the same axle, then fanned outwards and we're extending into the same futures. Perhaps this whole thing's moving too quickly, and maybe we've already gone beyond our intended destinations: maybe there's no longer a need to stop, or to even slow down! For so long it seemed that we only trudged up-hill, slaving against our own loss of momentum; then we reach the crest, and exhilarate over apex and sport so quickly, only to plunge now down again, down at  break-neck speed. Someone's given us all to gravity's deluge, snatched from the peaks, to head-long plummet. What is this future, into the which, we are now being hurled? We are but flung into the abyss without any wings! but with kite tails?

Yesterday's thrilling speed: is today's waiting to impact, and tomorrow's backwardness! Here and now is both a sudden and fluttering stage, that briefly appears like cigarette smoke on the passing street corners then disappears as quickly as a mime, after someone threw hot coffee in his face. But I see no evil, I only hear the music : "The Blue Danube," and I want to waltz along also and recite my various compositions to the whiten flocks and into their fog; and as it clears revealing another soliloquy, and a preening beauty beyond all description: all the while she was but a damsel rendered wild in the coming and most lovelorn.

Moreover, and so it seems I've been turned away downwards, and suddenly wrenched from the seething decadence of raw flesh, from the firmament's fume of a grizzled woman's forage and grope. She's aware somehow, as she's come awake! and gets to her feet then approaches holding to her several grimy bags and the upright support poles to maintain her balance and swing and stagger. Our platform lurches and letches she pressed herself against my back. I feel her moist and huffs on my neck, then a whisper slithers from behind into my ear :

(XX) : "Think she's beautiful?"
"She belongs to me; you know? So, who do ya think you belong to, hummm?"

I feel a hand smear across my shoulders then down the back of my shirt, then again I hear: "ooohuumh..." Somehow she's now towering and bending over me, and I look down, and she's climbed onto, and standing on one of the seats behind me! (XX) : "You seem petrified, I won't hurt you, and no one's looking. Why don't you come with me?"

(XY) aghast : "Come with you where? Get, get off me!"

(XX) smirking : "You can't get away: We're all going to the same place; anyways, It's not any better there, it's just a bit bigger. We're all just stuck, in these funny little provision's. They're prisons of sorts; like,  I'm in yours, and your in mine."

(XY) screams : "What the hell? SCREW YOU ! Get away from me! Get away from me you, you FREAK ! I'll kill you! "

(XX) snickers then hisses : "You think so?"

Next, I feel her begin in her fingers to crawl 'round my arms, up winding and constricting around, and around my chest, around my throat. Suddenly: sudden terror! and I can't even struggle against; and again, my arms are pinned at my sides. Now her legs are slung and slipped and slithered around and around and down and under and between my legs all the way to my feet. I can't breath, I can't get my breath's air that I need to live. She's to heavy for me, she' to heavy!

(XY) gasping : " I need my life! I have to live! I wanna live !" 

(XX) laughing : "Feel the darkening come down?" 

It goes over me like a sack, like an inter woven net, and netting like a whirling wave : I can only succumb, I'm overwhelmed, I try again to look upwards, for G-d, but I can see only the rolling hideousness and perdition's huffing and belting inwards, and also radiating as whirls from her face in shocks, and groaning urges and shocks of dark crone's and tonic lights and dark's and washing lights and preening dark swishes.

(XY) terrified : "What have you done to me? You killed me!"

(XX) condescends : " I've only brought you home: I brought you to the point where you were begun. This is what you are in reality; and, I'm the sack that you came out of. I'm your mother! Now, lie down."

(XY) gnashing : " You're sick, let go of me! O G-d, O G-d I'm gonna puke!"

Her face seems more replete to reflect and more repulsive above she's sneering both upwards and downwards at once; and while downwards at me, Issued tongues like whips licked from her eyes brandished lector's screws, and the lictor's screwing-face's'  licentiate delight.

A man, first points then makes a rolling gesture with his hands.
He says something loudly, again and again, and again.
Nobody hears, nobody hears him. Nobody's listening.

(XX) indifferent : "And so: My gratifications glide, like a satin sash crosses the windows of any pathetic and groaning cyclops. You're lashed to laden, and laden to my task, to my mill-stone; and I've always ridden this stupid beast."
"Don't you want it? Sweets? Of course you want some: Don't you? Don't you love me?"

She'd swallow me whole! and it was myself  that I'd delivered in obedience, to this fixation and it's grant slung out, in an uttered whirling silence, and it was as if to look outward from the eye of some fearsome hurricane or as from the center of a spinning merry-go-'round; also there, was : Einstein's peripheral curvatures lain among the other taboo's of the universe, but they're also like such festive parades,
like prancing suited equinoctial blinks and epochal flashes that strung themselves both severed, and wreathing outward, where glistening serrated edges strung  ribbons from some great instant and idolatrous Maypole.

(XY) struggling : "No, no, Hell NO!" "Get off me!"

Her eyes are continued spinning like iron wheels rolling, rolling on steel tracks, and as twisting downwards I see it all go in the volition, her clutch loosens, it still goes around, and around me, a man, first points then makes a rolling gesture with his hands--Now, I see her hand unwind and reach upwards and fasten upon the turning Maypole, as her other one slips beneath the back of my head. I'm peering upwards as there's a circle above with a light in it's center, the circle seems to shuffle somewhat and become irregular. I see people's faces, they're looking down at me: Indifferently. Again I see directly over me. A female's face comes into focus; It's, the same beautiful girl I saw just before, well, but she's holding onto the upright pole as she's lifted my head from the floor :  "Are you alright? You fell, and you must have hit your head or something. You were like, fighting with someone, inside your head."

"I'm OK, I'm OK now." : I grabbed onto the pole and pulled myself up from the grimy rubber floor coverings. Still on one knee, the girl looks up at me, she's the very semblance: almost angelic and ethereal in her demeanor, appearing, in beautiful, and very beautiful countenance . Everyone else is standing 'round still dismayed at me as we all rock back and forth with the train's own disaffection and jerking lurching movements. Onwards, onwards as we go. And, when I looked back down for  the calmly child/girl, she's gone!  Vanished, among the other taboo's of the universe ...

Part 2

With my hand still clutching onto the upright and silver pole, I steady myself to regain some balance against the lurches and common jostle among the other stunned passengers. They're set, sinking backwards in in their eyes by the low rumble and meandering meaningless back and forth conversations of wasted blank barking and misdirection. All of a sudden rudeness: I hate them with vehemence and individually, my other hand's drawn clinching into a fist, and as I stare back at them I feel my own teeth gnash as of vinegar, my lips tighten into a hateful curling and downwards: "I'd kill every last one of you! Grimy bastards! What happened to the girl?"

They just stare, like they're fastened to me somehow, and rocking, bumping, jostling each-other and then back again. They're attached, we're all attached!
Some kind of chords, or streamers, or wreathing ribbons upwards to that Maypole; and it's like some kind of tantalus judge. I can't let go of it or I, myself, will be also flung into their every walking vulgarity and hoards, into their frothing abyss. I hate them and what they are in reality: "You've took my girl, you took my Angel! She was mine! She was mine and you bastards took her somehow!"

Still, the blank faces there collect, just to stare at me, they rock back and forth and stare, but say nothing. They make low pitched buzzing like humming noises but say nothing.

Finally, that little man makes another rolling gesture, hand over hand, he says something loudly, but they're not listening. Neither am I. He points to the Maypole again, and in unison they all turn their backs to he and I. He continues speaking and pointing upwards at the pole, it's the one I'm holding on to and to which, we all seem, having been somehow connected both from it and to it, some chords are seemingly broken, and my ribbons are also beginning to unwind: Ribbons of silver and scarlet-red, ribbons that twist like beautiful whirls and peppermint. Upwards and at the tops, are the processions of ribbons issued, and from the mouths of strangely beautiful feline creatures, they issued them ribbons unfurling out and twirling downwards. They are faces of alabaster heads under a pearly crescent to waxing moons, and that spin their speakings into languages, and languages into lines that are whirled both down and upwards into several and intertwined  lineages, imputed, spewed and poured into existence, into the souls of people, of humans: and we obey, we obey them as pitchers await the goblets: and as brimming goblets also await such shimmering, glistening lips anticipate these silver's dialect and delectable blood-red chords unto the tables, the tables of our time's and our orbs, our comming feasts and festive services.


  I hadn't noticed the changes that our movements have now presented against us, changes that are shown through the windows; but the blurs outside, because of the process and our movement, seemed to be a state of flux and quickly changing. A picturesque image becomes the very different and darkening reality: A sullen landscape presenting only restlessness and blackened earth, and gnarled trees covered by soot; and so much so, that they appeared to be hardened, brazen, haggled and even vaporous; jousting upwards from the now smoking ground: the trees bore little foliage and no fruit. Again there floats the surly whispers to circle like vultures from behind us: We approach a tunnel.
(XX)  crackling : "Surely, this is Gehenna, the ghastly valleys  of Hinnom."

(XY) Realizing : "Oh my G-d!"

(XY) Panicky and terrified : "Why? Why this place?"

(XX) Snickering : " Look there's a sign: 'Abandon hope: all ye that enter here.' "

(XX) Conciliatory and assumptive : " So, Come on, we'll celebrate. We've nothing else to do." 

(XY) Revolting : " I'm not going, Get me outta here, I'm not gonna go!"

(XX) Authoritatively : " You're already on the train, and,"

(XY) Interrupts : " And what?"

(XX) Feigning concern : " well, sweetie, you can't just jump off."

(XY) Disputes : "The hell I can't; you just watch me."

(XX) Amused : " Well, I guess that you could... but, look around at where you are."     

(XY) Skeptical : "OK then, where am I ?"

(XX) Feigning benevolence : "Look around sweetie... Look around at us."

Having already begun to reason, I reluctantly comply, and as I look around myself I see only the hopeless expressionless people, people that are still turned away: but that twist their necks and faces backwards, that they might continue to stare; lovelorn, and in emptiness only: churlish faces, taken both and begun in their sullen expressions of disapproval and becoming apparent like children, children of scorn, draped in their own collective trappings like some strange kind of squalid quire-robes heavily scarlet-ed, dark, darkening, gatherers droning, suicide's sordid ones gathering for to sing their totalities: their benevolence.

The witch-lady now gets up from her seat as she asssss'umes the same persona and appearance of self satisfaction which adorns the (XX) entity. She turns toward me and smirks as we make eye-contact,

(XX-Witch) smugly : "These, also belong to me." and slowly her hands begin to float, lifted before the quire as if she would conduct their singing. With one hand she points up and with one she points down; And so, they begin to sing in tortured unison :

"Unto our beautiful imagined thing, we walked, we brought and gave, we gave our husbandman, the earthen womb to till and heave and thrust our seed in morning's bathed
genteel. In silver faun and dote, fawned we this: The Evergreen, beneath his golden sun. Mighty, there he grew,  majestic in our furnishings, and adorned we him--our chosen one. Although his roots resplendent entwined serpentine and strange; we uncover this darkness yet and beneath the crescent moon's secret are our secret's born again: recovered son and mothers thus unwed. We hanged pomegranates there upon the frosted Ceder boughs our ample winter fruits secure, among the stars to always bloom, our first born strength so purify and satisfy the salamander's choice and home is the process here ablaze, and in these flames we only roam, and feel it's calling through the gaze : 'It's Yule tide's such to bonfires lusts, so brim our golden ampules drink and toast toward heaven's host and say--To Rome! and say To Rome! and say To Rome!."

Just as they finished singing they all began to vomit, some were able to keep their mouths shut and swallow it back down; but, the ones who could not were instructed by (XX-Witch) to:
"Get down on your all four's, and eat it again! Dogs! You're worm eaten dogs! So you Eat it!"
Trying to retain some semblance of dignity and in reluctance they began to drop to their knees and then to lower their child-like heads obediently: to lick and suck their own vomit from the grime and filth  on the floor while looking up now and then in tears, to cry, and to--gargling--cry : "To Rome! To Rome! To Rome! ..."

(XX) Bemusedly snickers : " Why that look on your face? They like it this way! They've been on this train for a long, long time. I suspect, this, is where they'll stay. Don't worry for them, every year I let them hang their fruit on my Ceder-tree to--deck my halls--Ya know? Ya see? You see what I'm giving you sweetie? It's knowledge, it's addictive: isn't it?  knowledge of both, good, and evil ..."

She reached down to raise her skirt with her hand and to reveal herself, that, ...

(XY) Transfixed and unable to speak. " ???-!!! "

(XX) Discreetly : "I'm not, really, a woman like you think. See?"

(XY) Aghast : "Oh dear G-d! O my G-d, Why?  Why did you make me have to see it?"

Then and also, I felt the compulsive need--to vomit.

Between her knees was lain, like an appearance of the seething swirling swilling cauldron, and impressed into the hilt' of her loins were the indigent rotting remains of indistinguishable human-hoards that she issued, a secretagogue of ingredients that hanged briefly then dripped from her, as, the bloody viscid issues hung but soon failed those that clung to them, and they slipped from their incubation and from their grasps in her incubus, back into her sumptuous incognito. They horridly shriek and loudly scream as, to where she points: is where they must go; and again, as they become to look in their faces so child like and completely obedient: they go head over heels, crying like infants, again, they're lastly muffled by the torrent's roared in her laughter: No one hears them. Head over heels: and, A man steps in among them and says something loudly. No one wishes to hear them, any of them. Tumbling feet and hands become hands, then hand over hand like gestures, again, hands rolling over hands. A man grabs me by the collar of my shirt, jerks me upwards and I recognize him; he's the little guy that's also been making the rolling thing with his hands. He then refocuses my attention away from the squalling hoards and the (XX) harlot. She grimaces, and returns, snarling, to her seat. He points, and points upwards at the shiny silver pole; again, he starts with the hand over hand thing.

I look upwards, but only see the ceiling in the rail car. " Wha...What?" but,

His expressions become more emphatic, his hand is jousting upwards with his index finger still pointing up: "Climb! climb it, climb up!"

Next, he started making the circular motions with his hands again; but this time he was doing it sideways, like someone stirring in a big bowl.

Perplexed, I look backwards at the grinning whore who's watching the whole ordeal.

(XX) amused : " He's always yapp'n like that, but nobody's ever listen'n. Just yapp'n and yapp'n
like some ol' hungry stray Dog ... Annoying everybody! 'Round here, we just ignore him and call him; like, a dog, till he goes away. Cause he's not even a man,  he's the opposite, he's a nam, yea, that's what he is a 'Dognam' ! He's crazy, but at least he knows where he's not wanted, so he's really nothin' in our estimation. Forget about him."

(XY) : "Dognam?"

(XX) : "That's what I sssay: and Watch this!" while propping her feet up on the shoulder of the clean cut business man seated in front of her.

Appalled, he turns back, for, to express his outrage and dismay ... but, before he was chanced to even speak a word, she drew back and with both hands holding her seat's arm-handles, she landed a pointed boot heel squarely into his nose and teeth, and then a second time, and a third! Each kick, splattering blood over his clothes and a large Bible he'd now raised, holding it over his face for protection. Gnashing her teeth, she paused, and glared at him with her foot still raised and cocked, dared him to:

(XX) : "Say something! Say it, you piece o-shit!"

And again she fell back braced against her seat and kicks the Bible, so that it slammed against his bleeding face and out of his grip, dashed away from him, out of his hands.
He quickly put his hands defensively back over his face, but she reached up and grabbed his wrist to pull down his hand:

(XX) : "Now say it!"
and with a lowly quivering  voice he said : "Thank you, Sir."

With her jaw firmly clinched and that set her front teeth showing, she turns to focus her zeros back onto me, straight into my eyes; and between heavy breaths she husks-out:

(XX) : "He's not, what you think, none of us are."

Just then I feel a tugging, it's that "Dog'nam" guy again; with one hand he's still pointing up at the pole, pointing and pointing: and with the other he's pulling at me.

(dog) : "Climb it! climb it! climb up it!"

Baffled, shocked and confused, I slowly inclined my self to look upwards at the flange bolted to the ceiling of the rail-car ... I hear snickering behind me, then instructing her quire to (XX) : "Wait for it, waaaait for it."
And with both hands I grabbed as high as I could, on to the silver pole; then, it came, like a dam breaking: was the boisterous raucous laughter of the quire. Some of them were also pointing towards me and making the rolling gestures with their hands. Still clinging tightly to the pole, I looked around at everyone, they began to appear as though they were moving in jerks and like some accelerated arrhythmic manors that seemed manic, sunken, unnatural fits and nauseating. The only way I could look away is to look back up at the top of the pole; this time however, the pole has no visible top: I can see no farther than my hands. Again I hear the instructions of (Dognam) : "Climb! Go ahead: Do it! Climb up! Climb up!"  Then, He stepped back behind the quire, and as he did, they returned to become again the dross of the dolor's regular shuttling crowds with blanked appearances hostile, hopeless and jostling one against the other: History !

(XY) broken away : "I dare not, ever, set my feet back on that floor!"

Again, I reach up and hand over hand, begin the climb, I can't tell where I'm going but the climbing seems to become easier. My feet also find their holds, like steps, and like two spiraling ladders that's now winding upwards and winds and the winds there whirls up around and around the silver pole.
And when I gaze upwards from the spin, I see teeming tinges that are two massive beings, like sparkly wound stones hurled outwards and flung to spiral outwards from the center flown and above the reaches of the pole. Now I am even drawn and lifted thereby to ascend like a guise.

I went swept, and swept up like a gust, like all bristling guzzling jets, greatly billowing geysers from craters like cauldrons bubbling, bubbling upwards to our most unquenchable insatiable thirsts. And here ...

Part 3 : And, Here, are the pivots of our many, many galaxies and strange cosmoses.

At the outer edge of a great flat rim, like the rim of a golden lateral wheel and that's situated at the top and hilt of the temporal seasons and all those timely circuits, that when observed, they appear as the slow rotations of infinite gears like by which the inner-working mechanisms of wind-up clocks and wristwatches are constructed.

In the distance is a garbage heap made of old broken and discarded Hour glasses, weighted balances, bows and arrows, stone grinding wheels, shepherds' staffs, a plow shear, a sickle with a large hammer, a bundle of sticks tightly bound together with the sharpened edge of an axe-head protruding from them, and mixed in and throughout this great appointment were the appearances of bones: myriads and vestiges of clothing and the shoes of small children. And the whole pile was heaped upon a rotating pedestal: a stand that seemed to be turned somehow by the turning gears, clock gears. But in front of it all stands an over dressed "hunk uh, hunk uh," drunken slobbering slob : a bloated man who's grown too large for his glittery outfit, now covered with greasy grimy hand prints of such frothing multitudes. He has a disproportionately large head, and besides the size of his gargantuan head, his mouth was also grown bigger, and bigger and too big for his face. His smile was disingenuous and tortured: a top lip curled up, to betray a snarl. I think to myself that: 'Perhaps that's why he drools so much.'  but he's also frantically stirring, round and round: round and round he goes, in the same motion's of the big boiling seething cauldron. 

I went to approach him. He kept to his stirring, and only stopped to occasionally catch some drool in his hand then use it to slick his hair back. He didn't seem to notice me as I drew closer.
He was gyrating his hips as he stirred and singing something: "... in the whole cell block
was dancin' to the Jailhouse Rock

Shifty Henry said to Bugs 'For Heavens sake
No one's lookin'; now's our chance to make a break'
Bugsy turned to Shifty and he said 'Nix, nix
I want to stick around a while and get my kicks'

Let's rock; every body, let's rock
Everybody in ..."

All of a sudden he stops everything just to look up at me, squinting and rubbing his eyes, he says: "OH, there you are. I thought somebody was like, uh gettin' in my space man;  Hey, You dig this kinda shit? You dig what kinda shit I'm cookin' man? So, you dig the way I'm swirlin' in this shit right here, huh? Like swirlin' it around?  Yea man, cause it's mah thang see?
It's mah thang!  I'm uh, I'm like uuuh, a Gourmet yea! I'm a Gourmet: Ya dig ?" 

(XY) befuddled : " Who the hell are you; and what are you stirring in that pot?"

(Hunk uh hunk uh) panic stricken : "Hey! hey, you can't ass me that kinda stuff man; ya dig? Ya dig?"

Then he sprung emerged from behind the cauldron and began in some strange floundering approach, charging at me, with his arms flailing and his big head bobbed up and down like a cork in the water; and although, he was floating, at the same time, he also appeared to be drowning. 

He was visibly hurt by the question, and his intent was just to drive me away. Now, I can see!
I can see what's wrong with him:

(XY) astonished : "Hey, you got no feet!"

(Hunk uh hunk uh)  enrage / outraged : "Yes ahh do! I got em all, and I got so many, I don't even need em! I got em all man, I got em right here."

He points to the cauldron; so I went over to look in it. He would have stopped me, but he could hardly even move himself from one place to the other and I went easily around him, and over to the big pot. I looked down into the swirling concoctions and I saw there the feet of a multitude of people; next, I saw the people, several long lines of pedestrians and they were captured in the familiar sway, back and forth as I felt also the swirls begun in my own stomach, and swirl, and sway and swirl and sway like a swing on a long, long rope and the breath in my nostrils up and out and to and fro, and in and out and swirl and sway and night and day and in and out swung silvery whirling trails and back in golden swooshing splashed eddies there spun amongst the blinking day, and to night's whisper: "inwards,"  to day's calling outwards and to and fro like the rolling waves that wash their bowling shocks again and again over their faces and lines of pedestrians bound to mesmeric enchantment blinked and blinked them black and then white: that give silver haired damsels to golden clad knights and ...     

(XY): "Wow!  Rock and roll--man. Rock, and roll !"

Across my face, and with the passing whirling shadows goes a broad wet smack, 'SPLOWIT !!!' from the opposite direction of everything else, and from behind me. It knocked me to my hands and knees.
It was the drool-filled hand of :

(Hunk uh hunk uh!) : " Git away from ma '!%$&*&$$*!'  bowl, man!"

(XY): "You sum bitch! You sucker-punch me like that!"

(Hunk uh hunk uh) : "You get in line, like ever body else! No body, but nobody juss walks up here, and looks in my soup bowl man... Nobody!"

Then, he made the gyrations with his hips and with a curl on his lips, his big face jerked back and forth, then his arm went round like the hands on a clock. And, He pointed toward the bedazzled hoards of human muted blanks. They applauded wildly and began throwing their feet towards the boiling pot. After a couple of moments they calmed down.
Now the lines of people appeared, more and more recognizable; they also seemed like mere furnishings given to the (Hunk uh hunk uh), and as they approached they volunteered their own feet and threw them into the big swirling cauldron, and in their complacence seemed familiar to me. I remembered them form the train. They were the same filthy people in that quire, and once again they were all on their hands and knees--but so am I. So, am I ... I gotta  get outta here!

(Hunk uh hunk uh): "Stay down! I said, stay down!"

He started at me again, like running, but with no feet he looked as if he was in water again, and not able to bend himself down, the size of his giant bobbling head made him off balance then he became frantic, he started thrashing and splashing in the swirling cauldron as if he were drowning and finally he just gave up. His limp body just seemed to only dangle from his big-head.

A chuckling laughter came out from among the droning indifferent people, as out stepped that little 'Dognam,' fellow, approaching, he instructs the Hunk uh hunk uh --with his rolling hand gesture-- what to do: "Get back to it!" as he also points to the cauldron which now was only bubbling, but had ceased to swirl. Grimacing, the Hunk uh hunk uh, reluctantly goes back to his work-assignment. As he begins to stir and gyrate and grunt and slick his hair back and stir and... then, he pauses, looks up at XY, and says: "Get outta here!" he reaches down and begins to throw several of the loose feet toward me.

(Hunk uh hunk uh) : "Here go's yo soup, ... man!"

XY, puts them all on, like slippers. 
Then, reappears outwards and onto the outer limits of the silvery ribbons and rims I go, I'm able to overlook and see downwards into the workings and tangles that form the mysterious depths like some huge dark tunnel. Again I hear such bowling shocks and hurdling rumbles of the freight trains' approach, I see the lines of pedestrians, indifferent crowds and passengers, waiting in the strobes to board the trains.

These trains, always coming in and always going out, coming and going, coming and ... I'm thinking to myself about them, and their schedules and their rumblings; they're kind of like waves from the sea, first they come then they go.

As I continued to look downwards, other things came into focus.

and I see again, I see the tops of the trains and they themselves look as if they are silvery snaking ribbons pulled along by the prospects of golden shards and sunlight that's been lain ahead of them. I'm raised higher still, and I see every train leaving as the Hunk uh hunk uh, makes another swirl and stirring motion in his cauldron. Finally, I can see that the trains are traveling in great and strange twisting circles winding and spiraling both inwards and outwards, through and through, the various tunnels where they are vacated, and where they are loaded, to begin a brand new journey over the same old course: over and over, round and round, again and again...

I'm somehow facing now towards the East, I think, and there seems to be light climbing upwards in the distance like through the mists of a brand new day called out. Several men, have already begun working in their specific sections of track, with picks and hammers and shovels. They're building new expanses; then, they try to connect their segments together with the main line routs for, to divert the trains with their passengers. Some of the diverts are longer and more appealing then are others, and they place odd advertisements, signs, pointing in the direction of their particular branches. Each divert starts however, with it's entrance into a different tunnel.

Some of the branches go to the ocean, some just go to the weeds and turn dilapidated in the marshes and thorns, others go off the face of a cliff, some go to the blackened desserts made like ovens, horrible, horrid gaping ovens scraping themselves with shards, made of metal, sheets of metal formed and forged into gears and shanks and shafts. There are sounds reverberating: hammers and scrapes and screeches and rapid rapping repetitions that formed billows in hurdles and hurdles like waves of people on load, faceless murmuring muddling multitudes and trains thrown and thrown and thrown down, and into the tunnels.

And the hoards were appearing to gather themselves around me and to jostle and laugh their hostility like as flames cling upon their issued transfixed faces. Again I feel the rumbling metal wheels below my feet, and again I'm busked and shoved and clinched in a strap, and strapped.

(XY) panicked : "I've been here before! I've seen this, Now, I see this! again?"

Splap ! Again, I'm found on my hands and knees, trying to regain my cognoscente bearings.

Everything's going too fast! This is too fast and changing too much! I can't tell where I'm at!
I roll over onto my back and open my eyes upwards, focusing to see, to see the Hunk uh hunk uh, bending over me and amused. Then, again, he became both enraged and outraged at once.

(Hunk uh hunk uh) : "I told ya, I said, don't you look in my pot, son! You stay outta my pot!"

I realize that, I am looking both upwards and downwards at the same time, and again into that filthy, filthy cauldron; and as I do, so I have unconsciously  become obedient to it's upward/downward suck and it's many hypnotic whirls.

I've gotta get myself outta here, I don't ever want to see that pot again! and with that, I'd  begun to run, and running, with the many extra feet acquired, I moved more determinately and in all swiftness. I see far, far ahead as upwards and outwards I've begun to incline myself, and as if to almost swim, to swim like flight, like a wing'ed serpent's vibrancy in the turbulent seas, and in the whirlwinds of the skies in conquest: and conquest mounts upon, as the splashing of waves, as the lifting whirls.

  As before me swoops, then swoops again her image is like this: A brilliant light shining from within and without upon a crystalline shimmering orb. 

O angel faced damsel wild,
wild is the Sophi-Ophir, and my inducement, the lovelorn pearl
and my determination; the blistering rage's splash upon forces,
driven, seized, driven seized therein
the focused-blinded apparitions but parted,
like slumbered crests and rolling plights

heavy breaths; and men,
and an hungered man there wagered
also to wrestle and perish where from, the thighs of a woman: No return, 

no return or halt: So swept, and stampeded beyond any prudence, 
both steeps and shore and faces' swished glossy glassy images. 

The clouds arise quickly but to frolic, as we upon the billows blown. Now loom,
on preening evergreen sashes swept futile autumn brooms
as through the enfolds furling whistlers wished.

Cling unto the summits therefore,
we sift, silvery born mourning branch, and fruit from light laden boughs lain home,
and child, and home O child, and home.

From sweet silvery whisks and to promises' gold
in moon light, sunshine, moon sun day night rocking chairs
back and forth and back and bow and tilt and crest and fall and dip and weigh and lift
and silken poured powder blinks, taste and fluttering mists and dew and bath and here dawns day reached me spinning and the sound motions also streams their turning, falling turning lustrous and winding upon the millstone's rumbling noise: and she subdues their blended rustles.
Back and forth, back and forth like a pendulum's tick tock, tick tock ...

Part 4:

The muffled thrum of a kicking foot maintains the spin, a spinning motive that constantly spurs the rumbling whir. Upon a huge millstone stands a pedestal, a pedestal to the potter's wheel, the turning tables winding 'round and round and round whirl the shimmering ribbons, down and round and round.

A man appears from seemingly no where, makes a rolling spinning gesture with his hands, then points down at the spinning potter's wheel. He says : "Cast up, cast up, but in this house, cast up." he sat down and began to throw a beautiful jug, a sleeve prolonged and many sleeking vessels; but a giant's bowl for a splashing basin; out of which, he dipped and threw the waters like the  seas spread out like a blanket both rolled and unrolled in their waves, to splash and splash against the hard hard face of stone: faces, bowling faces like stones pounding, pounding all to powder, then turns them first to clay of ocean's often mists and silver spray, and over flies their gulls to caws and blusters falling streams wind round as millstones moan and together they turn, and moan and groan and are turned there into sleeves, them to prolong. Tunnels' call to whisper : "Here, come swiftly here, go here, come swim and fly and see and find her through and through."

But,
A glistening banded serpent wound his way down and across the lace of waters great, across their hardened faces many, range and curse and scathing lines to cross a searing stone. For too: They stretch themselves across the sear and stretch also the parch, and curse their darkened many, as their empty faces gather blackness harder void's' more and more and more.

Around me gathers yet again, the incidental trudging filthy crowds, the seas of jostling men, of filthy, grimy face strapped loathsome vulgar men.

(XY) : "What are y'all doing here? Why do you keep bothering me? Why ya gotta keep follow'n me around everywhere? Get away from me!"

(Dognam) : "You came here on the same train with them: Are you going to abandon them now?"

(XY) : "I don't know what they want."

(Dognam) : "They saw you climb the pole, on the train. They saw you climb the pole."

(XY) : "But they mocked me, and they were laughing, they were mocking you too! They also took my sweet angel, they took my angel-girl away!"

(Dog-nam) : "I hid her among them. I also hide myself, among them."

(XY) : "What do you mean, you hid her?  Just who : Who, do you think you are? All those idiots on the train called you, like you were a Dog. What, are you crazy or something"

(Dog-man) : "They just get everything backwards."

(XY) : "Now, what do you mean, by that?"

(Dog-man) : "They still belong to that strange whore, they listen to her. They obey her. She hates them, they only go in little circles, little bitty circles, and they like it that way; and therefore, they give themselves to her, they're cowards, they hate themselves. They're inverted, backwards, upside down ..."

As he was speaking, the Dog-man took the beautiful cylindrical jug that he'd just formed, on the potter's wheel. He then decorated it with calculative multiplications in silver, and excellence in golden inlay quickened it's linear designs; geometric, spiraling, and into floral patterns upon myriad bouquets turned unto facial images therein; and that, formed it's fine porcelain; but with mosaics of gems, hanged in chandeliers; like cosmoses throughout which light; also spilled a spectrum's forked branches, uppermost, and are roots beneath their cities sundry; but upon their bustle's are foliage's' families and bushels of  fruits, as there, rollick such children of promise and hope.

Having seen never, a thing so beautiful, I'd become by it both transfixed and delightfully  entranced.  I was not able, because I am begun here, to seem unworthy of it, in it's realization.

Should I, continue to gaze upon this vessel? when, from among the many faces, she declared herself: an apparition, a garden: a couch before a sterling water's spring, wherein her sinew's frolic in meandering bristling whirls, into pools like many carrousels, and like affluent sedans sequenced of her elegant visages, like the brook's crystal and silvery caravans.  It is the Angel-girl forlorn and beckoning from the empty vessel. I leaped, toward her image.

I am stopped by the back of an huge hand, like a slammed gate. It was the Dog-man's hand. He'd begun smearing it across the face of the jug, and with one swipe, he'd disfigured  everything. I looked again with astonishment, as the wheel continued to turn, I could no longer see the differences between silver, porcelain, paints or the mere clay; from which the vessel was formed.

(XY) : "What the, What! ... why did you do that?"

(Dog) : "It belongs to me, I made it. I do with it as I want."

(XY) : "But, but I wanted ... I mean, She was in those pictures!"

(Dog) : "You still don't understand; do ya? You've still got everything turned around backwards!"

Dog-man, just looks disgusted and wags his head at me.
And, in another voice, that both looked like the quaking mountains, and sounded like hurling's of thunder he rumbled: "It all belongs to me!"

"It all belongs to me!"

And with that, he picked up the beautiful vessel and smashes it down onto the spinning wheel. Splat! Then, in a still small voice he says : "It all belongs to me." he looks directly at me, focusing his intents. And it was again the same overwhelming impenitent glare with which, the enormous whore latched her profane intents on me and again, she threw me to the rumbling floor. I hear the metallic rumbling when, I'm feeling them, like when we were back on the train... When we are back on the train... when we were ...

Everything goes black momentarily, and then the light flashes across my face, then darkness, and light, and dark and light and...

(XY) : "What's happening?  What's happened?"

My eyes are blinking and blinking as I'm trying to focus. Hey, I'm still on the train!

A crowd of people have gathered and are bending over me, their jostling heads form a kind of semicircle. They say nothing, but just stare down at me like they're expecting something, expecting to see something. Beside my head is the silvery upright pole. To my left is the strange woman: "The mother of all witch-whores!" and she's closely monitoring the situation to exploit somehow; my situation, to monger it at her first opportunity. The little "Dognam" fellow pushes his way from behind the crowd through the gathering of, gawking, spectators. He looks first and points upwards then down then rolls his fists over each other, he jerks his hips from side to side. Someone turns a Boombox radio up and loudly, I hear Bee Gees music, from some old gaudy movie: 

"... And now it's all right. It's OK.
And you may look the other way.
We can try to understand
The New York Times effect on man.

Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother,
You're stayin' alive, stayin' alive.
Feel the city breakin' and everybody shaken',
And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive.

Well now, I get low and I get high,
And if I can't get either, I'll really try.
Got the wings of heaven on my shoes.
I'm a dancin' man and I just can't loose.
You know it's alright. It's ok.
I'll live to see another day.
We can try to understand
The New York Times effect ..."

Dognam, halts his flamboyant dance routine long enough to glance downward at me
and chuckles: knowingly as he says : "Maybe, next time"; then, returns to his --out of date-- Grease Fever dance. He wheels and steps half cross and back, toe to heel skips, points at his rear foot and then back at the ceiling before disappearing back into the crowd. His head still bobbing in time to the beat; I couldn't see them, but I knew his hands were going round and round.

Part 5:

Collecting myself from off the floor, I struggle and climb upwards amid the muddling ghoulish onlookers. Dognam, has vanished along with all my dignity. Soon people begin to turn themselves away. "Show's over," and some other asshole remarks: "I give him a -- 3.5 -- for that performance, at least it was kinda stupid/funny to watch." The others smirk in agreement and another one wags his head under his breath, just says: "fuck'n Idiot."

I guess, that pretty much sums it up. I feel like it, like a complete idiot; and where's that Dog-man dog fellow now? "I got nothin' here! It's more and more like a ghost-town."
As bad as I hated these guys before, now I hate them for another reason, and the separation between them and myself seems to be an even greater chasm and more distinct. "I'm not what they are: They, are not what I am!" I don't belong here, why am I returned to a place that I've abandoned? Why, must I be forced to linger in this circumstance, where I have no place to even gather my thoughts? I feel like I've been abandoned in the way of an already begun stampede, and at the onset of a storm where violent waves hurl the canonization of it's onslaught against the walls, as there swallows the sweetness of our given honey in gulps, through the throat and into the seven stomachs of those abandon by hope.

Through the windows on the train, I can see only the things as they quickly pass; things closer pass more quickly than do things in the distance. I can not see to where we  are going, or back to where we've been. I sense that we are increasing in this linear velocity, I feel the momentum as everything before me is brandished against my face like I'm caught in the recursive deluges of some reservoir and there busked both and shattered against the dam that holds it. The train, takes a strange turn, a turning, to downwards, down and goes screeching downward into a darkened whirlpool and dissolves as it falls it further disintegrates into the entrance of a long dark tunnel, and here, we are all delivered somehow to falling flight, to swimming headlong into the protracted extended darkness. Everyone around me is also left as it were in my state of transit, of transport and of transitional being. We're all being forced through the darkness and toward some unknown thing, towards a journey of purpose: Purposed in it's own journey?

(XY) : "What are these gushes, and to where am I being thrown? Is this the end? It must be, it must be that! Am I dead, and is this the place, where we go?"

Upon the realization that: Hey, I'm still here and I'm swimming or flying somehow, we all are. Everyone: just like me! and, even though we're going head over heels I recognized them, it's the quire of idiots from the train, it looks as if we're all flying like kites, like a huge flock of snow geese in the sky, with long, long tails. I see light, I feel like I've finally been set free, I see the light, shining, shining at the end of this gruesome tunnel! 

(XY) : " Hey, it's the light at the end of the tunnel: I'm gonna go for it! "

Again I'm climbing, swimming, flying, running, surfing, bounding through the dark tunnel towards that light; and it's the only thing in my focus, it's my destination, my sole purpose: It's the angel! the sweet damsel that I saw and lost. Now I see her again! and I've become furious in the middle of this insane stampede. I began to claw and pull and kick to gain against the others who surround me, I'm climbing over them, they're loosening and at last I can realize an advantage. I am learning to beating these bastards. They continue to grab onto me as reaching, we've reached the end of the tunnel and we're all launched into a large banquet hall, where gardens hang lush and delectable. Then I'm held spellbound as a crystalline orb and brilliant spectacle descends before us. I also recognize the enshrouded quintessence that it holds, and holds my angel, my perfect and pure damsel beauty and it is placed upon the center most plates settings as if by some sheer magic they're meticulously prepared of themselves unto this consummate splendid reception. I'm breathless as the vale is lifted and again I see her countenance appear like tinctures from all spectrum's and as prisms measured the galaxies through each of the crystal facets that surround her.

Immediately, the slobbering frenzied hoards of gluttonous mongrels are upon it even as they gape one upon another. They pull and dig and bite and grunt and snarl and in all futility. Envious: They beat themselves dead upon the very object they most desire. Watching the episode I am also devastated thereby the vulgarity of these dripping hoards, they come in waves again and again they appear as the diving swaths of drunken filthy deficient humans, with each compulsive gush increasingly less than decent, and less decent than the preceding one. They hurl themselves as vomit launched from the seething cauldrons, my stomach also starts to swirl. Again I hear the babbling inflictions, hissed as they were, of the (XX) over my shoulder : " I've only brought you home: Sweetie, I brought you to the point where you were begun. This is what you are in reality; and, I'm the sack that you came out of. I'm your mother! Now, lie down."

(XY) : "Oh G-d, O G-d no!"

The beautiful banquet hall is in shambles, overturned and rubble, the fine tapestries, shrouds, curtains and vales lie shredded and torn to bits; The tables and pedestals are covered in filth, discarded body parts and bloody vomit. Aghast, stunned and void of consciousness at what is just occurred in my sight, as such a beautiful pristine domicile oasis: The tender and innocent damsel, has been given to such profane multitudes in all violence and every perverseness of mayhem upon her being: My absolute beauty, to the uttermost and filthiest degradation, as the dark washes come over, then light and dark  and light moving strobes in waves and life and death and love and hate and desire and repulsion and dark and light ...

"Come, come to me." as the still small damsel calls out sorrow from beneath the shameful piles of human putrefaction.  Again, faintly; but she's alive! and she's stilled upon the tables yet!

In as much as I've been given these feet with which to climb to the heavens, from beneath, I will go up to her, I will swim in unto her in the midst's and I will fly like the long tailed kite, upon her over, for to cover her and make her one with me. Again, I look upwards. As upon the pedestal she's lain, and there and beckons from inside the glistening orb. With all my might I've leapt to her retrieval and burst through upon the orb of her captivity now diminished, a weakened orb no longer able to protect her essence; but I am, as I have breached: unto her. I am her unyielding shield armor and helmet as she is the cause for their shimmering, and of my own shimmering pearly gates, just as the first light's spectral gold becomes upon the remnant: unto the night's silvering  trains fleet mists moistens, and our accomplished newly, brilliance, and very brilliant innocent child face...

Part 6:

From the fourth floor up to the sixth is all just a big maternity ward; and a young man
peers intently out of the hospital window, astounded by the witness of a living advent and entrance: a spectacle of preponderance, resolution, and time, and motion's revolved and revolving like the wheels on the gurney being rolled, as over and over the flat spot goes gump, gump, gump...  out onto the dirty sidewalk and toward the waiting ambulance below. A body is unloaded onto the gurney with the face already covered. The ambulance driver smirks while combing his his hair, first on the sides then on the top and then licks his fingers to touch up his sideburns.  "Get this one ready for his Ol' train ride' to da graveyard." He glances over chuckling  and points toward the screeching train as it stops across the busy street. 

Then starts to sing, while acting like he's holding a microphone : "Well I hear that train a comin'. It's comin' round the bend, and I ain't seen the sunshine since I don't know when; but I'm stuck in Folsom Prison, and time keeps ramblin' on and that train keeps on rollin' on down to San Antone ..."

Another little man walks quickly by trying not to spill the hot coffee that he's guarding; visibly  annoyed by the driver's undignified serenade mocking the helpless dead person's body.

Farther down the way a street-mime sets down his bags then fans away his own cigaret smoke  and begins to his usual performance routine : as if, he were trapped inside of some weird invisible box ...

The End?