A POLYPEPTIC ENVIRONMENT

The double membrane. What comes in, must go out. How long can one retain? Information... fecal matter... The exit is inevitable. Death or the giving up process will overtake everything. Falling into the arid dry desert wilderness in the clouds is the ultimate demise of the soul. Fourteen years becomes a blink from a gypsy seamstress's lasikly enhanced eye socket. Foxe. Foxe is her name. She came over to a shut down marketplace on a quiet sleety evening. Blows kisses at the rotten cores. Keeses at the moldy rhindes. how endeering. wait, no, I'm asking... HOW endeering? I'll tell you how endeering. When a child takes that first lick of that freshly opened artificially flavored sucrose-filled lolly, enduring endeering endless enchantment lights up the rosatia-stricken face. That level of endeering came with Foxe. she walks over to a ladder. Bad luck, i realize that, but that never stopped a kiss-blowing gypsy did it? The climb was inevitable but to be quite honest with you, it never came. The opera man came. Singin' about a day when the english language was peasant talk. singin about gypsy erotica or some immoral malarky. But he came. that's the point. He stopped the inevitable climb. He changed the future, and therefor changed the past. He beat God. The heavens collapsed. Dramatic and a little far-fetched, I know. I'll tell you what really happened. The marketplace reopended. Buzzed like a horny wasp. Buzzed as if opera had never been invented. Gypsies never haunted the soggy streets.
-Doug Jr.