How to Kill Queer Scum Properly

Pasted 0140422.03:11


based on How to Kill Queer Scum/ written october 2008
====================================================PROPERLY was writen for TOPSIDE PRESS  0140422 ~~ 11985 words


6 Months went by. and Sybil rode a bike for the first time with her new brain. She Was In the dock worker neighbourhood behind the piers on the Mississippissippi in the Driveway of KX’s new place. Sumbuddy had given JK and his wife deed on an 8 room house just as a present cuz jk’s girl had a baby and JK would have to work it off doing lazy yet thougrough construction gigs for his benefactor for years. it also only had half a roof so he’d have to do something about that. Syb had been staying here for at least 2 month maybe ? She’d bounced around. slept on the couch at the wallows a few times, attempted to crawl into every buddies bed at least once.

She din’t really run away from home, more like home had been deleted from her conscious. Staying on the bike rolling back and forth in JK’s lumber pile drive way saw too wobbly but the streets outside the wallows just behind the Closed and locked up with one guard on patrol shipping port the street were empty. Her vision was dark and blurry and her left arm din’t do much and her balance on her feet sometimes stopped working if sumbuddy gave her alcohol or if there was lots of stimuli. She could kind of roll down the street ok tho she couldnt tell at all where the left or right lane or the middle of the road was. She was fine if she just kept biking straight ahead. she could see the street signs is she was up close but longer names were sometimes confusing and took a few seconds to read. A car was coming down the street about 2 blocks away and she pulled right over in the gutter and stopped cuz biking on the road was nearly impossible to control a bike from not biking into an oncoming car if that happened. she was steering with one arm over roads whose asphalt had buckled when the flood receded. after she stopped the bike for the car to pass it took her less than 40 seconds to get her balance on a bike again. In about half an hour she made it 2 miles to BOTCH the little coffee shop at the very west edge of morteville were its separated by a levee from the start of 1000 sq miles of Atchuflya swamp.

She moseyed up to the counter of the Botch and she hadnt recognized him either. It was cursed haunted sicly li’l Trifle Von Bastard. Last time she’d seen him she’d beaten up her best friend and never spoken to her again for blowing him. now he shaved off his neglect beard and zombie hair, he had the kind of shirt where he could pass for an upscale barista, made extra legit cuz it looked like he slept in it, his track marks no where to be seen, wearing expensive dandy loafer shoes and sock garters. When she walked up to him and winked her dead eye while her good one stared him down he bleated “Oh Shit ! No! What the devil ?”  and then he leaned over the counter to embrace her. her plan to not speak to him for 9 months and then get killed and come back 7 months later had worked perfectly. Look at him makin the moves.

“You! I don’t even have or like all the information is OVER MY HEAD, or more like a chip off the block if you know what i mean. Its on the tip of my brain… Bastard! Bunny bunny Bastard. Its good to see sumone I can trust”

“Oh, Kay-eee…” he said scooting her over to the side counter. He gave her an americano and told her to go chill on the patio while he rides the cash for 15.

Her having always tried to push him to be the Boy if their relationship had just enabled all his worst attribute and made him work extra hard to be the Baron Von Bastard. Had she wanted the awkward Trifle yet groomed the demon baron cuz thats what she had wanted to be seen with? cuz she had a job for the Bastard. Something he was designed for It all made complete sense in her head like it had been there forever and finally she could see it but in her brain with language caved in on itself she understood everything in meta symbolic proto semantic notion clouds. If humanoids weren’t all cluttered with language  and languaged thoughts she could have told everyone what was demanded of every creature who could hear the message. Its our time to rip the sky open and destroy whatever we find inside. Trifle with his reading only the collected writing of Parisian and Madridian surrealist Pataphilosophers and his drop out of postgraduate studies in  advanced post discursive critical theory and post reason.

Trifle put some obscure 1940s musical on the cafe stereo and sloppy tap danced over carrying and thermos size fancy coffee.
“I will have you know that I have 111% quit all drugs and drug by products. I got myself this gig as a barista so I’d have an outlet for my addictive behavior for at least 8 hours a day 6 days a week. You Judging me ?  You ?! Look in my eyes, I have twice as many as you now, do I look like I’m on sumthin’ ?”

mis eyes were the color off beef marrow and mustard with blood in it. “Yessss!  Said Sybil sounding slow and cruel.”

“You Damned Right I am ! Harlot, I will have you Know that I am on DUTY!” and they he jumped up an did a little tap shuffle the ended with a foot out long in front of him flat on the floor other foot bent on toe and waving hands by the sides of his face.

He put down a quadruple espresso with a 5th espresso poured long on top of it all to make it more liquid and then a pint of frothed cream on top, white choklit flakes held in place by cecropia honey

So obvious watching, his cooked noodle studying her’s. His soul poised like some kind of crow rat octopus. like an octopus with hybrid crow rat heads at the end of every tentacle motionless studying her will and assessing how well the li’l lamb was taking to her new physical form amongst the humanoids She had obviously chosen to inhabit the most killable body available but isn’t that just like a Lamb. She grinned wikked admiring his tall slobby slouching frame and his apparent intelligence insulated by flaws and vices but her new streamlined ultra brain could envelop his conscious whole and add it to her thing she was working on. She could read his thoughts as easily as if she’d made them up. He was impressed by her audacity and he by his having disappeared up town lay low next to the only people in town with money.

“I’m like not her but I have all her memories and there is enuff stuff in here I can live of what she knew for the rest of my life. But no, this is the power. I have been trialed in fire and I’m pretty enuff to walk. I have monsters biting their lips in anticipation what i gonna do next.” She’d so excited she needs to grab her skull cuz she doesn’t at all trust her skull to stay closed when shes thinkin’ real hard.

“Yeh you’d better believe all that tripe. Or are you feeding me a bowl of offal cuz thats how the gory hole in your frontal lobe experiences emotions with all the computers smashed ? You kiss your mother with that putrid mouth ? And quit taking your teeth out, it screws with my tips”

Syb asked if she could use the computer for some occult stuff, trifle said stay out of the way and she could have another cappuccino in an hour, he’d be done in 5, then they could go to the piers and throw rocks in the mississippissippi until coal barges couldnt get past and all commerce and industry would be ruined, they hadn’t worked on that plan in 18 months they still had lots and lots of rocks. Everything was going according to plan.


… la la la la ….


Those half wits she’d had the faggot fight with had failed in so many ways.  They weren’t satisfied with just knocking out some teeth and disconnecting an eye but the felt no need to make sure she was dead ? I suppose they thought a skull caving in was a sign of validation of death ? Imbeciles ! Killing a queer tranny faggot should not be that hard. You hear about it in the newspapers a lot of true crime or on myspace all the time certainly. At the time there had been two things happening every week, northern girls getting violated and killed and faggots getting trampled, a really pretty latin queen who’d worked at BOTCH, she’d worn skinny waisted colorful dresses and had a pencil moustache. she’d had a super pretty androgynous face and  her pretty face kicked was in thoroughly, they’d kicked it right off and taken it. TL got his ribs and arms broke. Even non queers also had it bad and were actually more likely to die in the fights, but the queers proudly held the title of most likely to be permanently disfigured. Meanwhile the non queers, not to be outdone where getting raped and mugged and shot to death over beef with 14 year olds. one boy, and a local punk from the ATL got stabbed in the throat at the corner store just for being there. He’d lived by sticking his finger in the hole and breathing around it till the ambulance came. luck that hadn’t happened 6 months earlier there when hadn’t been any ambulances.  He wound up going to court to convict that guy and that guys whole extended community of hoodlums and mean old religious ladies and bodegas in sector 9 hates him now. he can’t go to sector 9 until that guy gets out of jail, which is in only 10 months. In this town, especially outside of the tourista quarters there is no police or courts, just sometimes tax men and the national guard on special occasions. In dystopian Apokalyptic scenarios the moral and ethical code will be rewritten daily the strength of argument depending entirely on your physical stamina. Its is rite because it can’t be destroyed. It is funny cuz it’s true.

Ok, “Trans Panic Defense” for example, TPD, is civil court hiccup, if passed in to law this bill written in tribute to the late 17 year old girl Gwen Stefani Arsenault would make it defensible to beat someone to death with a frying pan in the event that a gender irregularity is discovered. Like if you found out your long time friend was not exactly the gender you thought they were you could solve the confusion by killing them and the judge might go easy on you. This defensence was attempted by the legal representative of the 2 teen boys who beat Gwen to death with a frying pan after she had already blown them both, usually tag team style/  multiple times back in 279. Lots of our sisters would have been real happy to see them dare to rule judgement on that defense. It would be great to have this civil court motion be a real law cuz it could also be interpreted that if your ambiguous gender is upsetting someone you could kill them and fix the problem; Gawd is dead and death to the king, case law rulings  is the only Law. equally accessible by all learnedness and class because it nonsense and no part of any or it was never made for a reason. I you’d had  hoped to have had a handle on interpreting Napoleogic empirical code You would have had to have had been there when they made it up in a hurry 180 years ago when they’d made it up in a hurry with all the slaves escaping on gators and the british coming to blast the whole city with canon balls..


The Point here, Syb thinks out loud to herself,is that what the hell were those idiot cowardly drooling sub human addict human-piece-of-shit-heads trying to do. shes still alive but missing a bunch of parts. why din’t they hit her head again one more time and and make that open skull worth it? Did they hear and feel her skull crush and run away with regret? Perhaps calling them faggots the entire time they’d been killing her had impressed them for her spirit. Syb didn’t even grasp how common orbital ocular surgery was in morteville. back when morteville was fully populated the skull rebuild ward was hustle and bustle 24 hours a day, seniors building 3 skulls a shift.


Is that how a storm chasing northerner carpetbagger would think ? “Killing Queers” is fanatical. What if queers can live but they gut hobbled. only used up sluts and boys in debt ket killed. Its a natural order, Its summer in the south and its too hot to think.


* * * * * * ** * * * * * * * * *

No wait, She was confused, that part with relearning to ride a bike and Trifle din’t happen yet. No it was april late april and she spent 2 weeks getting a brain scanning spa at  Loueasyania UTH. There was a box on the wall with 9 different green digital numbers on it and wires running from plugs scattered about it that mixed with other plugs and wires and were attached to sensors all over her. sometimes the wires were connected to tubes, using tube to wire adaptor connectors, and then the tubes went right inside her nose bloodstream airways esophagus and urethra. {Serum, saliva, semen, sweat, sneeze droplets, synovial fluid/}  the wall in to sybil and it  making a long ugly beep noise. A very tired nurse in scrubs with pictures of kittens all over had come in to yell in in sybil’s face.

Syb was mostly unresponsive, just gazing at any who tried to talk to her and just stare at them. She couldn’t understand any of the words they were saying and she couldnt keep time moving forward is a series of events and causal relationships. for her it was as is as if the very idea of a bunch of event and the order in which they have or shall occur in was such a surrealist impossible notion that she couldn’t stand, she couldnt more, she could barely get hand fulls of food in her mouth without biting her own fingers bloody. {Regular, decaf, shorts, syrup, milk, custom, drink/}

As it turns out your memories are a fractal. physical damage to memory degrades resolution of memories but can not be cut up to excise targeted specific  memories. so the first 24 years of her life were complete as good as they ever were but with the resolution chopped by about 88%. and her ability to speak or understand english was mangled and her sense of balance irreparably destroyed and and her attention span refreshing itself every 3 seconds from now or for the rest of her life. The nurse is quacking at her trying to get her to be present in her gaze.. She’s talking about putting syb back in the cuffs again. Syb knew all this stuff so well from half a dozen time bicycling drunk and riding in to a an oncoming car. She proudly bragged she’d been hit by a car 7 times, only twice in morteville, the rest in her youth in new paris. certainly they happened so often because of her misplaced over confidence from walking off getting hit by cars again and again so easily. But that must have been at least a third the reason she wasn’t dead now. Another third might be any of half a dozen other times someone had  tried to bash some teeth out and shatter an eye socket cuz she obviously was so fucking asking for by being so fucking faggy with her sissy face and ripped up pretty clothes and homo girl pussy voice.way she talked dippy nonsense.

“Did you rip your breathing tube out again ? Why did you do that ? These are 50$ a piece and I don’t know if you have been historically consistent with settling your accounts with LUTHospital,  Miss Jane Doe.”

Syb knew all those words, but the 2nd year just kept repeating them in different orders for ever but with no future or past.


Sybil attempted to say ‘Yes, I did. I ripped out 2 IVs. One was just NaCl. The other is fucking Demerol. I been in a Demerol coma for 9 days. where are my clothes and how do i get home in this state i can’t see or stand up.’ It seemed cool and collected in her head, ready to expertly talk her way if to being released from the emergency room drunk tank like the other half dozen times the MOPD had thrown her spinny drug addict corpse in here as a favor to her to get pumped out by the hospital instead of by her cell mates.

But when she opened her mouth out came, ” No! it a…. ah ! K, I uh, um…its no, I don’t want that. I’m OK, I’m gotta just I can’t yet. This is, um, My pants? Boots? My bag no, It was… sunglasses… My bag but I had sunglasses. I put the wood. on me. in them.”

That had been 111% the best she could do of talking. She had no control. she couldnt articulate a thought in her mind in english. she couldn’t think. Her brain was like if a wall fell off your house.

And the girl wasn’t a nurse she was a 2nd year intern hospital slave girl. she had to go to the nurse station and get a nurse to tranq Syb and then she lay them and flopped watching her wrists get cuffed again and the straps under the bed tightened. She doesn’t care at all. 1/8th of her mind is gone. she hears people say ‘brain damage’ over and over again and obviously she wasn’t cuz her brain was very alive and she is the creature living inside this body since 2 hundreds a 50 fucking years ago. Why can’t these idiot doctors younger than her  listen to her when she speaks and try to understand what shes saying? She speaks english words. If anything Sybil can see plainly that she now speaks a grammatically more pointed and concise yet with implied nested descriptive sub clauses that mean that when Sybil speaks she actually make more sense that they ever could. She can tell by using her former olfactory bulb to take a sounding of their convictions.

“You have, yeah, I don’t need to breath like that, I got my own gak ! … guck.” and then the 2 year girl shoved her ventilator trach thing down her throat again. someone tried to explain to her that every time she ripped the hard plastic thing shoved in her throat out and through it on the floor they replaced it with a brand new one and that was 50$. they would prolly un do her cuffs next in about 48 hours and then she could rip this one out and tell the student off again. that would put her bill for destroyed medical stuff alone over 10000$ someone had shown it to her at it was over 100K$ so what else could she do now? They didn’t fully grasp that 48 hours was as good as 48 seconds to her. She focused on a blank featureless spot and the ceiling and waited for her next chance to rip her breathing tube out. The was still lots of blood pudding in her sinuses. Her friends joked in front of her about getting her a cone to keep her out of her stitches and she kinna wanted one

This is where so much weird foreshadowing of I don’t know what, Miss Aggression, the ultra erotic booty cag dance from the cow girl had been running around. Aggression had got a kick out of syb always hanging around to spy on the strippers and sell them toxic waste drugs and copy their dance moves. Aggression had been trying to ween her off of pills and replace it with massive doses of marigua-guwano. when the Loueasyania University Teaching Hospital  came back to life on day of the dead 284 Miss Aggression went in a week later to have a dental abscess, caused by every surface of morteville being still greasy with a recent massive soak is a revolting puddle of death. The over zealous students who staffed the emergency room opened her throat up and installed a permanent tracheotomy. They had wanted to book her for a partial plastic lung but they had already drained her social insurance so instead they’d gave her 3 disposal tracheotomy beginners maintenance kits and a website address written on the back of a case worker card for tracheotomy facts.

Syb had gone to visit her at the LUTH and watch her smoke joints with the trach, she was still playing with it. taking a big mouth full of drinkin box grape juice and plugging her nose and taking big heaving breaths through her neck with her cheeks puffed full of grape juice. Her eerily familiar friend the girl who was like an identical twin of Syb but if she was a ghost and not exactly not a dirt bag but , like an inverted sketch bag. sike what If sybil had been the evil twin of someone, and you could tell which one was evil because the good twin had nicer clothes and shoes. She had been Picking Aggression up to take her home and also for ice cream. Morteville had been lucky to get such an excessively well tooled and stocked hospital. that all the staff were only a year or two in to the emergency surgeon life meant that they were extra zealous. LUTH got major government money for training 24000 med students in a real dystopian disaster environment. and they had all sorts of crazy new medical products they received from sponsors tricking out the big deal of federally funded teaching hospitals. a caved in head was hardly a challenge but it would be a fun medium sized project. last week the post grad inner circle had rebuilt a guy who drove a buss off the elevated highway and flattened the cab around himself on impact. he is a bag of meat with one eye and sumthin’ like a mouth retrained in human shape for the next 8 months with one crying eye that sometimes looks around inquisitively. He was really really lucky.


Oh, Did I tell the Butterfield Story yet? That boy he went quite easily from being a goth fag disguised as  skinhead and he just morphed into a hare krishna and ran away with one of the other gay skinheads hiding out in the krishnas and they ran to peru to sodomy really intricately because of iowaska. Well that time in the hospital her maxillary sinal sutures had been blown out and it had taken 2 months to put her upper palate back where it was s’posed to be and she’d been delirious with a painful bruise for a mouth. that time in the hospital she’d just been a kid and pitched a terrible hissy fit just cuz more of her teeth had been knocked in she destroyed a gurney just to prove she could get free by patiently breaking the gurney in the middle to loosen her straps. funnily any time they restrained her she was actually in no shape to successfully escape. the only time she ever escaped the straps and snuck out the hospital she fell asleep exhausted sitting on the front steps. She had no money, she lived in a condemned building full of deliriously unpredictable petty criminals and mental patients evading recapture. Everyone she cared about, she hated.

The mental health diagnosable syndrome of behavior for sumthing described as suicide by cop. classicly to run towards the police waving a gun in the air threatening to shoot. Suicide by cops will even attempt to kill 1 or more officers in to draw fire on themselves. I am not even going to rift for 2 pages on the magic powers you gain for making people try to kill you and proving yourself too strong of will and can easily refuse to vacate your body amongst the living just because she’d smashed it to shit. why not suicide by fraternising with the crack heads, sorroritising with the junkies ? Even just standing up to dumb guys talkin shit in the ghetto to show she ain’t scarit’ cuz she’s stupid cuz she should’a been.

She woke up without any restraints with no breathing tube, she  made it it to the bathroom under her own power  late that night, hardly got any piss in the toilet instead pissed all over the bathroom floor. the hospital was designed for this and the 2nd years cleaned it 2wice a day with a hose. she checker herself out for the first time and confirmed that she’d effectively lost an eye, some teeth, crushed her left tit and left collar and ruined her left arm. it was all still new and blood blistered. she wobbled out naked into the hall and the nun hanging out at the nurse station told everyone to just hang back and let brain damage try to walk down the hall for a sec. Then she wrapped a spare gown around her and led her back to the room. no cuffs or anything this time. There was no fight in her right now. Sybs a big girl patient and knows hissy fits are liabilities. It will be weeks until she can understand a toilet.  It will be months  until she can walk around the block. she tried to say, ‘’tranquilise me, hook my mouth nose and ass up to the adaptor cables, scoop out another 6/8ths of my brain and I’ll make poo and carbon monoxide for plants for as long as i live”  But when she spoke it all just slurred to together into a long warbling “uhnnnn…”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *


Ressurected and Redeployed  in Late april 285  by a team 3rd and 4rth year med students assisted by 3 times as many 2nd year internes as would be necessary, Patient Jane Doe went through a mostly uneventful 5 hour operation to dig skull fragments and rocks out of her skull, the meninges sack around her brain had not been pincturesbut the breains inside had been bruised and jumbled and it was a preasureised bag of blood. The 4rth year lead surgeon opened by taking off pressure with a 10g and her lymph spinal cerebral shot all over his paper mask. two second year student t an entire diligent keener hour cleaning bone chips out of her sagittal sinus while 3rd and 4rth peeled her whole face right off down to her nostrils and tried to see if they could think of anything to do with the swollen red eye ball. crushed in frontal sinuses not worth repairing on a homeless test patient and more of a specialised than a general reconstructive practice. They prodded her fronto nasal suture back into a passable nose shape and set to patching her shattered zygomatrical arch. 4rth year guy expertly drained her maxillary sinus which was full of 3 day old blood also more recent fluids. Then 3 prepared her skull plate which had be custom sized by 3rd year prosthetics student and 4 set to reinforcing her maxillary sinal suture orbital fracture with little stainless steel plumbers tape and tiny screws. with another 4 2nd years running around doing things and reading machines the team of 8 did very good  and got an A- which could have been an A+ If they had been  better as a team especially getting so near the end of the semester.

Syb was lying motionless on her back relaxing her mind against the smooth cool smooth nice smooth nice smooth plastic that the left half of her brain was now wrapped in like a little left over sammich. with about 2 sterile medical coffee cups of rotting blood and brain juice off her mind her brain in its new plastic hug felt so nice. She put her fingers on her forehead and her brain flipped upside down and squirmed around like a kitten. Patient Jane Doe was the 13th final assignment for semester of whatever that 4rth year guy was taking. Like whatever the not very complicated version of brain surgery is. stuff like sticking pins in it and and giving the brain bag a good wash. Syb wasn’t completely sure what was going on around her and mostly just stared and rocked about propped up on pillows failing to get soft food in to her mouth and lacking the attention span for forks or spoons, she could only answer questions that could be answered by mumble word salad and yelling obscenities and vulgarities.

Her character and her very concept of self had been smashed and ripped out. the frontal lobe is the repository of personality. your very concept of identity exists in the frontal lobe and so does your concept of other like brains as yours as other peer conscious organs. The vaguely paranormal sounding studied 6th sense of something sort of inbetween the collective unconscious memes and reading auras. sybils got smashed in some weird way where if anyone tried to read her mind it would sound like a smashed guitar feeding back through echo. her brain does that when she walks in to the coffee shop. people can’t read or remember what there where thinking and people having conversations start speaking more curtly and yelling. She can glower at the back of someone’s neck from 40 feet away, the maximum distance she can see, and make them lose their mind and jump around screaming “what?” Over the next six months she broke her powers down to like 4 basic powers:

Bionic Power Number one is the new skull.  It might be all fragile and delicate because they mail slot of a hole in her head big enuff to stuff a sunday paper in to cuz the newspaper was starting up again since Morteville’s population had been over 100000 a while. But what if it wasn’t delicate? what if it was a headbutting tupperware battering ram?  with over a dozen screws all along her unflattering relocated hair line  and two really noticeable finger sized dents. her sense of self was smashed to pulp but her interests and her passions her view of the world and people were all still in here. Her character was gone but she found herself inferred in the remains of her practical knowledge and aesthetic memory ?


Bionic power number two is that I got 88% of my vision back after a few months in the remaining eye that is.. The left can do some things. Left eye has pinhole vision can’t read and there’s purple clouds and sparkles everywhere these days. her zygoma topic orbit was patched with bits of her skull and skull glue or whatever they use.  the muscles were stuck back wrong or sumthin’ cuz lefty moved similar to righty but pointing way off to the side. Sometimes she’d see imaginary people and animals and shadows sneaking up on her from the left but they vanish when I turn my head, bionic imaginary friend detector powers. for the first 3 month she’d wished she could have felt sad cuz she couldnt find her way through a house she couldnt walk down unfamiliar streets cuz everything swam around. she couldnt tell what things were. she crossed busy streets by walking in to advancing traffic deflecting the from hitting her by broadcasting mind rays.


Bionic power number three was that her my left arm being useless but the left hand works sort of but with some glitching. with her left traps and levator scapula and part of her rhomboid chewed up and beat in  her left shoulder is constricted tight. her arm is weak and she always carries it folded up like a Trex arm but with a limp wrist. her left neck is boot leather. her collar bone was crushed in to her collar bone so she can now effortlessly pin her own arm behind her own back and it will lock there like a rack and pinion. her left arm is more of a burden than a help for riding a bike. but its perfectly locked in to a little hook for little plastic bags of food she picked out the garbage or whatever. The flood was 2 years ago, the town is 1 third populated and phone services is intermittent and theres only 4 grocery stores but theres 30 bars and things are starting to cost money again and the red cross had left. she hasn’t quite lived to thirty yet but she had one one eye and one arm now which would be helpful for helping her focus now that her attention span was 3 seconds at most now.


Bionic power number four was losing her sense of smell and most of sense of taste. her frontal sinus smashed open, perforated ear drum, cracked maxillary sinus suture; she didn’t have a left sinus cavity anymore. It hadn’t been the 4th year pushing her naisio frontal suture back together that severed her olfactory nerves, i had been the blow that split her skull open twisting on the pipe and wedging her left eye socket to break off shattered complex nasal bone fractures. the sense of smell is a little cocktail hot dog with 1 cell thick hairs growing in to the nose from inside the brain. Syb had lost all the nerve cells as a side effect of loosing the front left of her head but the olfactory bulb was still healthy and located right between her eyes, a  relatively big and ancient piece of brain that to this day is the basis of the flight fight fright reflexes. what was this prehistoric proto human part of her brain doing now that it couldnt smell? here primitive brain had lost its senses and was screaming paranoid notions at her.

but with her self smashed to a pulp there was no self to worry about. nothing could mess with her, nothing could obstruct her cuz there was no compelling threat now. What could you do to me any worse than destroying a substantial  eighth of my head ?

Bionic power 4a. Super brain with mind powers. thanks to trauma to the frontal temporal broca’s region Sybils structure for communicating and even thinking in articulated words was scrambled and its connectivity was affected.the hematoma left 98% or her brain intact but the inter cell neural density had been about 88% reduced in the skull trauma regions. a erth year abnormal psych student intern diagnosed her as a 301.83 borderline personality disorder with disorder or metaphor; a concept of like or as abnormally removed from the mean norm,

Bionic 4b mind power through control brain space radio. functions of the not at all dormant olfactory bulb. it also works as a little pheromone and endocrine radio transmitter receiver. only brute id level thinking can be effectively communicated in endocrine and pheromones. No idea how it detects pheromones if it cant smell, mind rays seemingly.

Syb figured out fast shes super sensative to phermones now (since like ever) not thats she can tell from phermones what people are in to, just if people are ripe or longer being a  person it would be imposible for to be sad, experienc esorrow or loss or defat. all her pains are over. the worst happened and she was killed brutally. but surprise, the remaining 7/8ths of you could live to be 80.

I got more bionic powers like how 2 months later a patch of skin with hair and li’l frecklws on it the sive of a silver dollar fell off her headwhile routininly checking to make sure her make sure her brain had not accidently. she can’t feel sad or fearful. Its not just PTSD but the very root concepts of those primal emotions are pruned back to just active reaction to stimuli.everything is bizarrely delightful. discovering new side effects of the damage is hilarious, news of other punk kids getting beaten is darling. Sybil’s was not even the worst beatings. By fall 285 there were  two active gang games. beating fags and bangin’ northern girls. the girls were banges and beaten including one to death and one dying a month later from related trauma. All the fags lived but last most of the teeth, Syb was the only brain damages unless you count a boy shot to death in the head. but lots of teeth kicked out, broek arms and ribs, targeted non lethal stab wounds in the legs, others had their eye sockets and jaws busted but syb definitely lost the most brains

The reason she can never remember any ones name, and this will never improve, is related to the mostly destroyed sense of self and internal identity i relation to all external to her. her notions of personal space and privacy and the difference between herself and other people is now only understood approximately and by rote. she can’t trust her senses or her memory or that enuff of her core consciousness is here for her to actually be a significant consciousness. As compared to, say, a chiken. or perhaps a fish. and with a heightened interest in her own self preservation now, she has to hold everyone to the same standard and find them all terribly wanting.

5Gallon had gone to hell. without sybil’s blasse apathetic attention deficit disorder tyrany, the house had devolved into an uneasy stand off between foppish degenerates trying to build and antisocial club and drunk punks trying to take over sybil’s absurd garbage drugs buyers connections and both factions defending different wings of the house and the degenerates were beginning to regret picking the wing with the missing wall and floor and a dead tree in one room. But the did have the bathroom. There was no privacy, never quiet, dog shit in the kitchen. The house had 24 residents regardless of the habitability of the rooms. syb couldnt remember her way around the house she’d lived in 18 months.

She bumbled around her neighbourhood 3 quarters blind daring any young guys to come up and try to mess her up better. was it sufficient to ruin her good and nasty and then to haunt the neighborhood turning slowly into one of those stray dogs who live on the tracks eating garbage and slow cats and possum smucked by the trains. That was obviously where she belonged cuz she acted like one of those diseased little scavengers. raiding nests when their occupants were out, desperately devouring anything slower or smaller than themselves.

Her head impaled on a pipe with an iron pipe running right through her mind and she was sliding along a nicked up rusted iron pipe through her brain like a shower curtain. home for 2 weeks the civil war of the junkies vs the drunks rages on. She supports the junkies side briefly until after 3 days it turned into 2 or 3 of them nodding out in her room and coming 2 hours later with another 2 bux for her unless she went to the bathroom and then he’d do as much as he could before she got back. He was the one she had to call the hospital on that one time. its too bad that little lamby busker girl got killed or whatever but she had got to keep her little lamb had and she took to wearing it all the time and whenever anyone asked a question she’d say “let me me think about that with my super brain.” and then she’d take the lamb hat off and feel the 33 staples holding her face on an obvious ¼ inch rotated angle, but clearly unfixable at this point. Then she would roll her bad eye awake and watch the purple cloud version of things. after a while she devised a thinking song she’d sing for while she was pretending to think.

All Sorts of preposterous bullshit happened. the drunk punks were gearing up to take over all crack and meth bizznizz is sector 7  by flipping all the ghettos tables and getting all the heads in to BX03, cooked up with a vile of B1 they brought from califurnyeh and x03 cooked from all the weird schizophrenia meds syb had never figured out what to do with. the thought of how this was going to affect established rock vendors in 7 and how they might react was irrelevant as 5 Gallon had its own gun shop now.

Shortly the least useless of both the drunks and the junkies where weede out and theto sides distilled into super drunk punks and ultra junkie wraiths. by this point they all had the same vices just in slightly different proportions, their nightly faux battles which included discharging firearms in eachothers rooms declaring the ceiling and the light bulbs fair game. one guy got messed up by an exploding lightbulb but that didn’t count as sumbuddy overdoing it and shooting someone exactly. Y’know what, I can’t talk about it.

Sybil watched as the awkward wobbly door she and cake had built 2 years ago was torn out completely and replaced with a proper wall made with good materials. her and Cakes organic rube goldbergian plumbing and electrical system slowly being replaced by stuff that could pass building code amidst exclamations of amazement at how high they musta been when they wired these things, electrical outlets controlled by hidden switches. lights switched on and with giant levers labeled HEAD. she came home one day to that all coiled up and piled in her room. sumbuddy replaced it with outlets which was fine but there were no legic outlets in her room, just wires and tape.

the drunks got how drunk at 2am and the junkies were up all night jittering. Sybs brain was screaming and broken and couldnt do anything cuz it was broken.

she locked herself in her room with a chainsaw while people pounded on her door screaming and she cut the outside wall off her room and cut off 4 floor joists and the center of the room caved in. she through the oxys on the floor in the kitchen and the chainsaw in the dead bathtub in her room . and she walked out the collapsed back side of the 5 gallon with a bucket of orange and pink paint splattered when her room collapsed,  and she walked down main sector road 7 past people walking around and doing summer time stuff and the city had people in it, sell over 33% populated now.

Sybe was two thirds blind and wearing a lamb hat over her brain surgery scars. she walked all the way to sector 3 to find JK and Lex.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Yuri Ivan the Jackal ‘s hillbilly punk formal grande ball wedding was perfect. The young Atchuflyan Moonshiner was marrying a young smart mouth scamp named sea from boston. Sea was like a cross between a cat and a runty yet puffy diner roll. wanted to be a professional high end flower arranger after they’d rebuilt the city. Sea helped the Jackal get out of the house from time to time and they’ go watch hoses and bet on em and if they got money they’d drink it and go find the amusing thing to do. They’d get really drunk and laugh a lot. seemed perfect.

Syb and her lambs had pulled a bunch of clever hijinx so the could almost claim they had permits. just around the corner from anything significant the wedding was on a 200 foot pier in to the mississippissippi the piers on either side were just burnt husks after a lightning fire during the flood. When the Harbor security arrived the refused to acknowledge them as the harbor was closed and that guys job was exclusively to make sure nobody docked there.  Sybil and the lambs had Social engineering a bunch of semi useful documents from printing out emails from the peoples hurricane relief center to the harbor master alluding to them having permission to stage an event that was an action by Morteville art therapy college to revitalise the arts 18 months post flood. Syb was convinced it would have worked if any of them had been sober enuff to keep it together.

As it was the Harbor Police guarded the foot of the pier they were no way going to step on cuz it was horribly falling apart were ever anyone stepped. almost all of the wedding party had bloody legs from near falls. Sean and the jackal got married at the end of the pier really quickly cuz the national guard were on their way. It had turned out Lexus Had been ordained a priestess of universal anti life in Moss is the NW years ago. Southern Lamb centric demon summoning was just another stop on an evil reiki tour of Amerika. Ivan wore a pinstripe suit with no sleeves and knickers. Sea was wearing just a really frilly white apron and paper clips and clothespins for hair clips. Lexus pronounced them “bitch and wife, you may drink now” and everybuddy started pounding moonshine as the national guard came up stood yelling at the land side of the pier afraid to go on it,

Eventually on brave National guard tip toed all the way from to the wedding from the land. by then everyone was drunk. he had come over and started telling everyone to back off and get out of there and they’d be let go, and no charges. Sea screamed “NO!” and ran at him with a really big handful of wedding cake and threw it in his face and mushed it all over him. The reception party went on for hours with nobuddy able to leave the pier without getting arrested. And She remember making out with both the bride and groom by accident refilling her moonshine. Syb though Sea was adobs like a pixie and they played really really lost boys and  they had a pirate sword fight with dead seagulls picked out the flotum. Syb had been the one to walk Sea to the altar so the two of em making out wasn’t weird. Sexual politics is a whole different system in the south. nevermind queerness, the south has decadence.  And Ivan, his beard was so crazy, he had so much moonshine that it was crazy.

By 10pm several guard tried to board the pier at once and one kid sacrificed his drunken self tackling one off and the guard swam to shore and there kid swam away. suddenly everyone went crazy yelling at eachother and half the party swam away then and the other half argued with the national guard. everybuddy was yelling so much that syb climbed off the pier and walked away in 8 inch deep water,

ran into some other kids who escaped sneaking away to, heading into the little punk camp next to the train yard so they could smoke all night. she was wobbling and throwing up but followed them in that direction for a bit. She didn’t linger on the slabs cuz she knew she was in her final window of consciousness, said she was gonna piss and grabbed her shitty blown tire bike and pushed it forward using it as a crutch to keep her wasted all standing and groan mumbled a song on all swear words to keep conscious and stepped in to a floating infinity of railroad ballast rocks and wooden ties and dense tangles of steel rails and its all darkness rust rocks and 53 foot long booming metal tanks rolling past you with no lights or drivers. dozens of trains cars without drivers shuttling back and forth mostly unsupervised sorting by destination semi automatically. Its called a hump yard. 1 quarter of kids who die from freight trains die in these yards.

No she ran off on her own by then. She din’t know those 2 guys. I dont think you do either. If you have an excellent guess that means that you so don’t know. Nobuddy know who they were. I’ve said exactly who it was a dozen time already.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * *


When they asked her Sybil remembered her name, and she remembered she had no ID cards with her name on it that even allowed her to be in this country, She said her name was Shitty Delight which 3 years ago had sometimes been true. When they had asked her if she knew the date or what city she was in she din’t understand the question. She remembered waking up in an abandoned warehouse in a pile of garbage under a mountain of forklift pallets. It had been the warehouse by the train tracks where you can get on the roof, drink, and watch trains build under the water tower that looks like an 140 foot tall can of purple soda. She remembers kinda stumbling floating through the train yard with bloody hair, eyes swelling up, dizzy,  falling a lot. She remembers she was maybe trying to hide before the guy came back? She couldnt stand she couldnt stay concious much longer. I remember all these rooms in her head collapsing in on themselves and everything within buried and torn to pieces and who could have know that who you are is not written of your soul but its scribbled on your meat and that identity can thus be chewed up in to a squishy wad of pink meat and spit.

Well  Sybil remembers that well, but its all in dream shadows. any of her memory of the first 3 days is in blasted bleary newborn vision with her functioning right eye still trying to remember how to interpret color blobs  and her half crushed blood filled left eye broadcasting really intense retina burning anti light. It looked light darkness except it was really bright darkness. Not “light” darkness, but bright darkness. She remember giving up on her bike and my purse full of wedding pictures and a polaroid camera and a while crawling through the grass and gravel. She just wanted to hide and sleep and pulled a pile of forklift pallets over on top of her to not be found. It would have been funny if she’ died there and no one would have found her for a year or two until people picked all the pallets for firewood.

The time between me disappearing from the wedding and getting wheeled in to emergency so they could strip me naked and leave me flopped out in a half coma, that was 3 and a half days. 3 and a half days was as long as she could endure waiting, letting the frontal hematoma soak in nice internal bleeding hot and swollen cook her frontal lobe out from hot pussy infection setting in. Having jumped in to a 10 foot deep pit of forklift pallets to hide she was now at the bottom of a pit. She would have to climb a pile of splintered forklift pallets to escape while holding in her brain with one hand and her other hand not working.

She remember how everyone found her now: she lay in a pile of garbage for 3 fucking days. every few hours i’d try to get up, and it would be agony and I’d slump back in the garbage pile. felt like 3 minutes but she knew, remembers lying in the garbage watching the sun appear, cross the sky, and go back down a few times. She could really count cuz she perceived the sun as going back and forth across the sky. causality and sequences of events could only exist in theory and are were not be relevant to her thinkingness or decisions. She was in an out of consciousness and by the second day under the pallets she really thought she was at a hospital.  Her body was folded with her arm pinned behind her back folded up by the pipe and she bent her arm around a pallet she pulled on top of her back for relief from her arm trying to curl foetal in to her shoulder. . This hospital was all fucked up. all the forklift pallets turned in to hospital beds it was like crawling through hospital beds. it was like 8 months ago when they looted a north side destroyed hospital for stainless steel goods and they had found where one long abandoned attempt to fortify the hospital, barricading the doors with dozens of metal chrome railed hospital beds.The next thing she remembered  she was levitating to a better hospital.


She didn’t actually levitate to the next hospital,  She felt her entire mind get crushed as if the hand of gawd had just suddenly ripped all the electrical wires out of the walls of your house and all the stuff you’d had plugged in went flying and all the sheetrock ripped open and live electrical wires that were shoot extra electricity in electrical death throws where thrashing everything. what actually happened is she spent a long time trying to climb the pallets over the corugated metal fence  with a fucked up arm and head and vision. She fell off the pallet pile and bashed her self up more that one and getting over the corrugated metal fence was also nasty work. climbing out of the pit bloodied and bruised  her up even more but she just blundered forward holding her brain in having no idea where she was but she knew where she was and she was going sumwhere.

When she thought she was flying she was actually this bloody bruise stumbling randomly through the neighborhood .She doesn’t  remember interacting with anybuddy, some woman on st Claude asked her if she needed help and she turned her away saying she had to go sumwhere.  She don’t remember her stumbling into Eustice and MK’s house and them being “holy shit” at her covered in blood and garbage and crashing in to everything, screaming to keep from passing out.. She’d slumped on the floor and garbled “I have come 3 by 7 blocks! they hit me with a pipe.  Our hands, our hands are rocks, we throw rocks at them…”

I don’t remember any of this but that’s what MK told me a month later. MK brought me to the hospital and that attention deficit whore circus flamer boy who lived in 5Gallon’s attic snuck her in ice cream 3 times, each time delaying her brain surgery 24 hours cuz she couldnt be anesthetised with anything in her stomach. She used this extra time to meditate really hard on all the genius skills she wanted her new brain to have as it grew from all the old brain bits, she would endeavor to keep it all organised nicely and, um, something ways about how information is organised to see how good its going. one time it was butter scotch ice cream and then the second it was pink cuz she’d said pink a bunch of times the first time. and the third time she had like a mango sorbet or sumthing and the nurse who was also a non  snarked at her for not wanted her brain saved from slowly turning into a large mole.She remembered lying in my very own private hospital room that I got cuz my friend had been nice enuff to complain about them leaving me naked in emergency for 3 days. this may surprise some readers but not that many of her friends had seen her naked before.there were some minor scandals including an engagement broken off and lots of processing but syb declared herself CANCELED and mostly lost consciousness 13 days in hospital went by in 3 hours at most.

Everything else about the hospital was Syb throwing medical junk on the floor for no reason, my friends stealing things, and her every so often trying to get to the toilet under her own power instead of just peeing in the jug. Nobuddy else had any good physiotherapy ideas. After 13 days of mostly being passed out they woke her up and told her they’d finished repairing her skull and She could go now. The bill would be mailed.

Her sight was just blurry double vision with one eye just broadcasting garbage with fuzzy blurry purple crap. She couldn’t walk 1000 feet without passing out so she  just lay in a hospital room with nurses telling me to leave staring at them and saying ‘yeh’ over and over. They didn’t really throw me out until a day later when Dr No showed up and they insisted that he was now responsible for me and get the fuck rid of me. No follow ups, no explanation of how my head is doing, or what I’m supposed to do next.


No stole a lot of gauze from them in retaliation. kept an eye on her , wrote her legitimate non moldy pain killer scripts and took her stitches out from where her face had been cut off to rebuild her left eye and then sewn back of crooked.

Her memory is gobbledegook and all the 5Gallon kids tried to ask her about what happened and everyone hear a totally different version, every one who talked to her had each uncannily foreseen the beating in their minds eye exactly as she described it, over a dozen times. She wasn’t reading her friends minds so much as she was working a much older magic, of how she could steal their ideas and also put thought in their heads. He mind reading abilities only worked because her own had been erases and then few ravenously on any compatible mind that got near. her memory was like a library with all the pages torn out the books and thrown in the air and set on fire. What if she’d done this to herself. Couldnt she remember herself kneeling on the train tracks spun on speed and drunk and smashing in her own skull with that iron rod she’d noticed on the ground sneaking through the yard before. was it real, had that rod gone inside her otherways? had she really come blurry up the tracks pushing a bike with a flat time calling 2 guys faggots and demanding some of what they were smoking ? What kind of person had she been when she’d been alive., to turn up ina train yard collapsing under 4 different substances at midnight picking fights with the roughest crack heads in town.

The last time Syb had got beaten up for being a queer had been in 277 was when she was 19.. Two jock party boys called her and and her skinny goth shaved head hairdresser friend Butterfield a couple of ‘your ass is open faggots.’  Butterfield had flipped them off and the boys had run around the block and jumped them as we walked by the corner. Butterfield got shoved into a parked car and called a fag again. Syb had the larger a 6 foot 3 guy punch her in the head a bunch of times until a bouncer from some bar ran over and chased him off. Broken teeth, concussion, dislocated jaw, one month of purple bag of blood for a face, two months of eating pudding.


No wait, thats not the last time I got queer punched! They all blur together, it can be hard to remember them all in order. There’s this whole other story about Syb being depressed and on morphine and She had gone and thrown a rock through Maybe’s window cuz she was feeling incurably lonely. long story. short version is the humongous roofer who lived next door comes outside and starts screaming at her and called her an “it”. As in he was hollering at his mates to “Throw this IT the fuck off our property”

You, who are a what exactly? Syb thought. You do not call me an “it”. I perceive that as provocational and disrespectful. Why are you asking me to fight you and be disgusted by you ?.


That she had smashed out Yeka’s window and she and Maybe where watching this all furrious and perplexed was completely irrelevant to who ever the hell this guy was. Syb ran right up in his face and pointed at him laughing, “You’re a fucking IT you cock sucking faggot !!”

He was who jaw drop flabbergasted,  “…What!?”


So she called him a cocksucking fag again, and she elucidated on the subtle pleasures or fellation this stranger looked like he enjoyed, the filthier the better for the likes of his toilet of a mouth.

Roofer rushed her and pummeled her face. Syb wobbled jacked up from the adrenalin and whatever else and spat blood and started laughing and just jumped right back up at him screaming ‘dick sucking ass rim job shit lick faggy fag fag’ at him. Maybe and Yeka  grabbed an arm each and pulled her inside begrudgingly while the cocksucker just stood there shaking and telling his friend to hold him back, bro, hold him back, and his friend tried to stay way back away from any part of it.


Back in 280 in New Paris,  working at the tattoo shop and super of an apartment house in Evelyn, neighbours called her fag-witch. Drunk guys on their porches yell at her when she walks down the street that they better not catch her round their children. Fuck you. Those children broke out all the lights on syb’s old station wagon, they throw rocks at her when she does groceries.


Ever been surrounded by 10 children throwing dirt at you and screaming “WE’RE NOT AFRAID OF YOU FAGGOT WITCH!!!” ? Syb walked that off so many times it ain’t no thing.


Syb is working on her shit where she calls people “fag”s for calling her a fag. There was s’posed to be a theory about that which went something like “if you cant ignore them away, and trying to explain that she is not really a fag, but more like a queer woman who in spite of conciously acting kind of faggy but sort if isn’t cuz titties and whose only partially male, anyways, kind of, only sumtimes. And she likes fags, at least the dozen shes good friends with.” that doesn’t really work in practice in the field. Calling someone a fag for calling her a fag kind of works cuz they just called her a fag like they meant it as an insult so lets call you a fucking fag and you show me what kind of response to that you were expecting.

* * * * * *

The vain vapid dandy ne’er do wells side of the house brought Syb to the hardware store trying to get to to buy them a toilet for the west wing of 5Gallon cuz the drunk side had a really fancy toilet cuz they all worked construction and and pilfered stuff. they had 6 shower heads and a bidet and the west wing, where sybil had the headmistress bedroom was in much worse repair but wasnt missing any rooms like the east was. the wests bathroom was actually a utility sink. anything was permissible as long as it went down and stayed down the drain. they didn’t realise until check out that she had no money, her Cheque cashers credit card was run in to the ceiling weeks ago and she didn’t even know how.

They let her wander out to the truck wearing a ratty nightie and little jean short cut offs, little peach fuzz growing in most spont around her jagged face removal scar. Wearing a bunch of hair clips to show off her face scar.Some dudes in the parking lot start laughing at her and yelling, “What the fuck are you? Are you wearing a fucking bra??”.


Yeh like a blue leopard bra under a tea stain colored nighty her missing dead pet lamb humanoid  had left her, “Fuck you! You have a 40 bottle up your ass you jerk off, bitch!” Syb said. She was personally amazed that she really really didn’t give a rats turd about .anything anymore. did you not hear me? “Stop lookin’ at my dick like a fag you want to suck it?!” she added saying the whole bit in a sneering sarcastic voice, sneering at the guy and and with her bad eye burbling around in its milky depths.


They kinda shuffled about looking confused “Hey what you say?” said the guy  twice syb’s size chewing on some uncertain dread here..


“I said I know you guys, you always at the gas station dumpster. I hear you suck dick for $10 !!”


They all had their jaws dropped looking and the faggot bitch with her face sewn on crooked calling them faggots? “Hey, watch your mouth! Don’t be startin’ shit.” says dude, he and all his mates circling in together trying hard to ignore her praying she goes away.

* * * * * *


The next time sumbuddy called her a “WTF is this fag shit” was at 3 months in a shore-side parking lot, she’d been in just cut offs and a bikini top and platform goth beach shoes from the 270s.


I chased that guy a block down the street screaming “yeh man, you the fag shit !! you the faggiest shit in shit town.”  not like yelling or anything but just like walking at him and telling him he is a fag and laughing and smiling with her crooked face and a bikini.


The boy who lived in the room behind hers, the boy named Miss Lady Girl who happened to be a gay boy like a bunch of sybs friends and he attempted to have an intervention with her for running around trying to pick fights by calling people fags; quit perpetrating this cycle of disrespect and shaming language.

Syb apologized for the offence but she’s been desperate. The Fag-Shit guy has really seriously totally been screaming and running away from her.She had called the guy “the fag shit” and she was willing to pledge a periodic act of hopefully reparative atonement for pulling these stunts. And it wasn’t even her, but the fag-shit had started it. and i just felt so good to be running down the street screaming fag and chasing someone to hit them. It doesn’t matter if you are even hitting them good, hit them more is better than hit them good. you need them exhausted


Syb know I’m bad and wrong for this behavior. She admits and accepts that this is sort of a re internalised autogynopbic self transphobia or whatever. I she could get ahold of the guy who knocked a slice off her her shed smash his face i with a tiny hammer, just like hers but she’s do it relly slowly with a tiny hammer to sculpt the breaks as close as possible. to make it fair even tho she is the only one who even brought fairness in to this. how was their first meeting fair ?

No Sybil was locked in to this plan because she strove for exact pound for pound justice. something to do with her revitalised vow to get kthulhu or whomever to talk to her on her Meth radio. Maybe she could do a lot of gay dishes or something. she had been dishwasher in a gay village delicatessen once a few years ago. she know the ropes.


* * * * * * * * * * *


Getting her skull broken open was easy, all of her memory blasted out and ripped away She remembers the faces of the guys with the pipe as giant thumbs with no faces.  It’s a little bit dumb not to have any one person to blame this on, but finding the two incompetent killers and caving in their skulls and crushing their rotator cuffs would be fun but without a confident match up she would just be terrorising sector 8 as a serial killer with a hammer.She remember her memory leaving, it felt like being in a station wagon that got hit by a speeding mac truck. like not a car anymore but the radio and the cigarette lighter still work?  Also since she’d be targeting only black guys in their thirties It could be easily misconstrued and look really really bad on her part and I would not want to tarnish the beloved and charming reputations drug addict squatter punks with vulgar tattoos northern trash usually were received with. You know what? Fuck squatting and cast all punks in to the central challices of hell, burn them all and use the heat to blow up every volcano ever until spitting lava ignites the sky. Make the whole sky a ball of fire and dry up everything and turn every living thing to cooked meat and leather. Housing is a privilege, not a right. Death to all Houses. Death to everything.

Syb would find a greater power and more clever key to pry the sky open again and demand the audience which  she had felt that she just been snubbed. She would hunt and harness every hate and wrap unspooled armature wire all over it and and make a scream that was a laser that would set the sun on fire and cook the earth. She would find sumthing way bigger than a goat heart in a peanut butter jar to collect the spite and fury and  piss in. From her blood and cooked meat and leather she would create a beautifully hostile golem to hold the demon she called to carry her right to the gates. She would tear the sky open and  It would be a lot  like getting hit by a car you hadn’t seen or slicing yourself across the hand with a box knife; if its bad enuff it don’t hurt, your body has an automatic system that you can only hurt so much, there is a top limit to Pain. And if thats not really real then there is adrenalin which makes pain invisible for the first few minutes or even hours, so try to keep moving. Going into shock is your friend who cares about you so much it hurts. If her body was going to be in agony always how could it take really before pain just lost  its meaning. Kind of like if you drank a whole bottle of choklit syrup and after you drink down a like 4 mouthfuls it stops tasting like anything but sugar.

Syb noticed it first at the coffee shop and then again at the little grocery store that had just reopened next to it; her new look with the one eye and the obvious discount surgery way her  face had been sewn back on a bit crooked seemed to subliminally captivate and unnerve people a li’l bit. She had this crazy gnawing idea she couldn’t shake. How could she not have seen this before it was all so obvious, so vivid, so clear.