41. Illumination

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I was secretly eating the bread of God, when the fire alarm went off. Water fell upon my weakened body, burning my skin like nothing before. The telephones neglected every one of the first phones passed on to the commuters. I was eating the divine knowledge and reached the dimension where I shall notice the wildest inventions and soul-terrors I have ever dreamt of. I cried for unknown beings, and noticed that we had spent my Saturday in a state of handsome physical embrace. It all started according to the placement of a rule, as homophobic trash is being spread by me and I like stereotyping the others. I had a chance to direct and witness the ridicule of an attempt to look emotional, so we cut holes on my shirt with all the flowers. And I am a Catholic bottle placed near the greatest plate we ever had. There is a tree inside my head, and it makes every move extremely painful, but I had no plan of shrinking and becoming a bottle of vodka. This was an international program against the Women's Day, and negative thoughts held her by the nose, and we were with and incredible feat, as we cursed the piss lifestyle. The main plan was just to be farshmicked - she sold me a coat and there was no need to feel annoyed. Enormous masturbation kept us both extremely happy. Our forms were dissolved, as I had no meme and my head was now one with the greatest of American mouths. I uncovered it, and I think I must have failed to infiltrate the protection of my mind. She read my diaries, and the next time we saw one another the gas station nearby was gone. After several years we were only some souvenirs of a cellular outing. And then someone remembered the bread of the Ancient Ones.

By then I had started thinking with marginal notes. They were only line commands as the muscles let into my body were completely useless in every sense of the word. I had to express myself as a priest, so I decided to be like the king or some man I should know, even though I am free. But this passes all limits sloughed by abuse of intelligence and the burnt remains of his face and the subway on a lesbian show of some other amounts of sexuality. I had to let the security take a warm and cosy shower, because the person who had given me love, substituted it with alcohol. Two females thought I was out there, but how could I be so devastating when it comes to Martini? I had to ask for a tongue, as it was the part that completed me. They wanted to claim no liquor was for sale, but our vultures tore entrails to parts that worshipped him with iron running riot with the disapproved. One of them saw me ringing. And I saw them too, and sent them back one after another, and we were all immensely happy.

I secretly cried out in my hideaway, releasing the ultimate of all morning ragas. The sound was faceless, shapeless, and the waters of a heroic body went by again. As I was eating the bread, the wasted years passed all my efforts to shove people into the graves of the two people who had arrived, but the phone still didn't ring when the nuclear alarm sounded out and the sirens went on. The evening came, but the phone was thown out of my window and I was stereotyping politicians. It still didn't ring, although I think it should have. Bread. No, it was a nuclear alarm. Not just any experiment. The voice of God. Listen! Before the rest of his face was an artful pissoir. He had failed in the larger proceedings by passing my extremely erotic system running over his flow from the other, giving me every thrill I - giving me the bread of the holy - because what I had been seeking was not enough for a negative reaction, receiving ice cream from a celestial glass bowl, afraid of being nailed - no, I should have brought the agency with me. He ordered and mattered in a manner that made some people write, but sometimes it's all that is required. Now they shall finally realize what he really is heading for, and the form can still recall the icons in my hideaway, because I felt we were all exactly alike. Now his name was mine, I could never imagine the opportunity beating the call that I made, it was... It was like... a whole. The devices had him, so therefore my telephone seemed to be looking at a face from some local radio, making the ballroom only half full. Burn until our next broadcast.

The evening came, but the phone still didn't ring. When I thought of it, I was sitting in a bus. The grey clouds just won't go away, even by accident, as there were some guys with solid graps of the rhetoric. They were seriously tripping, but suprisingly they were the messengers of the Elder Gods, so the fire alarm sounded upon the planet known to us as Earth. I still believe that with ideas like these the dudes could make fantastic officers - they got my instructions smashed with violence, so the moment started to resonate. Some blast! After we are gone, today will be contained for them, so that they might send crusaders. There they might find some small ironic footnotes I forgot while using my immensely engrossing square meter. A dog was eating my shoe, as I stood up in the rain - I had the beachy dream that students under my power were aspects of alcohol, and the first one that identified me heard the telephone and everything. It was astonishing, as the rain started to skin weapons of the person who had handed me his fruit and vegetable forefinger. We decided to spend the evening at the negative gas station. The aimless message hit his ring: Here's for being weeded out.

Henry Zalkin