My Cardboard Balcony

So girlfriend withdrawal has been cured. Ergo, once again, no productive introspection tonight. I do have a lot of things to say, but they won't translate well into writing. No, the thoughts in my head only seem to work when they are strictly oratory or spoken. Instead, I'ma go relax and enjoy this weekend. Night, all!

...and Out by Belinda Roddie Urgent message. Very urgent, Over. Cover’s been blown by city lights, Over. The gladiator’s broken down our shields, Over. Do you copy? I repeat, do you copy? Copycat, repeating lines from a Beckett play – I cannot understand you, Over. I could never understand you, Over. I see the gladiator rising for the kill, Over. There’ll be no time for us to celebrate today – Do you copy? Do you follow? Have you fallen? It’s all over. It’s all over. It’s all over. Over. The work you see here has not been edited nor altered since November 13th, 2007.

The creature was maned, but winged. Fanged but tusked. Sharp and crude and snarling all at once. But it bowed its head to me, and my mistress, and my two compatriots, its snout scraping the dirt because it dipped so low. It bowed to all of us. As if we were kings and queens. My mistress stepped to the creature slowly. She clicked her tongue. She straightened her waistcoat. "Pretty," she mumbled.