Thesocratespot: The art of Story telling - Part 6.007 : The deluge & After
We knew we were stalking some girls around, we were both stalkers but each had a style and purpose of our own and somehow both of us knew what the other was doing, just somehow, it was a small rural village we were living in after all, so while he played his spiritual card to the hilt, I knew he was also a sexual predator, I knew he waited for his opportunity and when he found a willing victim, like a sleak reptile he made his moves - observing, observing, observing, waiting, waiting & waiting - but once he made his move there was no chance for rejection or spurn or any such other surprise - it was always 100% strike rate !
100 % !!
I always envied that bastard Mr. Twist for maintaining that kind of a success ratio -
Target, Strike and Yes ! Succeeded !
That too with some of the best of the best of our girls in the village !!! I think the fucker ( of course !) entered the spiritual field more for the sexual pleasures available than the spiritual preaching he practiced - was his father too so twisted ?
Everytime I came to know about his exploits I would confront him, he would be calm and claim that I'm imagining things and show me images from his vast collection of his own paintings of beautiful ancient sculptures of man & women in coopulation, the one difference was all the images were captured as they were crumbling!
Not one single image was normal, every frame, every image were images of various temple sculptures of sexually immersed couples or sexually immersed orgies with one simple twist - they were all caught in a crumbling stage of their shelf life !
The scupltures were almost mud to an initial observer, only the very well obervant could see the original live image .
But one image stuck me odd - an image that looked like a very pristinely maintained mannequin in front of a very upwardly mobile Noire Fashion Store somewhere, the mannequin had slipped down from what looked like a standing position to an almost sleeping position, it's heels were strewn, its neck was naked and the head had rolled out... the symbolism left me running out scared !
For almost a week after the deluge and the visit to the art gallery, I was completely locked up in my room - I couldn't sleep despite all my efforts - I tried all sorts of drugs, Grass, Dopamine, Morphene, Ganja, Cherus, country liqour, arrack just to kill my conscious state - but no matter what strange images and stories kept disturbing my sleep, I was awake all the all the time and all the time Mr. Twist was somehow managing to show me things I never wanted to see.
Mr. Twist entered my mind at will and said look at this ! As i protested a grotesque image of a woman drowning was thrown at me ! And Mr. Twist was laughing ! Do you know her ?
DO YOU KNOW HER ?
I was in a drugged state, I hardly knew what was going on, I harldy knew this from that, I was so batty !
Told you we all are batty ?
Didn't I ?
But now that's not our problem, the problem is I'm now under the spell of Mr. Twist and he's now forcing me tell you all stories from his book of stories - of course I said Fuck Off ! But I soon realised He had already obscessed me and so now my mind was no longer mine !
Just as I started protesting again, Mr. Twist opened a new image book and I soon saw an image of my own mother chained, thin and starved in a remote dungeon like room shrieking ( was she calling out my name ? )
HELP ME ! HELP ME !
Or was it me ? screaming ?
Have you ever screamed ?
Do you know all of us are great screamers ?
We keep screaming
We all scream
But none of us dare admit
we do
Because most of us scream
in our dreams
Mr. Twist read my mind
And bid me goodnight
I spat all my sputum at him
He just laughed while skillfully avoinding my spit, reminding he would soon be back to make me tell the world his story ...
I was left confused, frustrated but somehow completely trapped !
I felt so batty !
We knew we were stalking some girls around, we were both stalkers but each had a style and purpose of our own and somehow both of us knew what the other was doing, just somehow, it was a small rural village we were living in after all, so while he played his spiritual card to the hilt, I knew he was also a sexual predator, I knew he waited for his opportunity and when he found a willing victim, like a sleak reptile he made his moves - observing, observing, observing, waiting, waiting & waiting - but once he made his move there was no chance for rejection or spurn or any such other surprise - it was always 100% strike rate !
100 % !!
I always envied that bastard Mr. Twist for maintaining that kind of a success ratio -
Target, Strike and Yes ! Succeeded !
That too with some of the best of the best of our girls in the village !!! I think the fucker ( of course !) entered the spiritual field more for the sexual pleasures available than the spiritual preaching he practiced - was his father too so twisted ?
Everytime I came to know about his exploits I would confront him, he would be calm and claim that I'm imagining things and show me images from his vast collection of his own paintings of beautiful ancient sculptures of man & women in coopulation, the one difference was all the images were captured as they were crumbling!
Not one single image was normal, every frame, every image were images of various temple sculptures of sexually immersed couples or sexually immersed orgies with one simple twist - they were all caught in a crumbling stage of their shelf life !
The scupltures were almost mud to an initial observer, only the very well obervant could see the original live image .
But one image stuck me odd - an image that looked like a very pristinely maintained mannequin in front of a very upwardly mobile Noire Fashion Store somewhere, the mannequin had slipped down from what looked like a standing position to an almost sleeping position, it's heels were strewn, its neck was naked and the head had rolled out... the symbolism left me running out scared !
For almost a week after the deluge and the visit to the art gallery, I was completely locked up in my room - I couldn't sleep despite all my efforts - I tried all sorts of drugs, Grass, Dopamine, Morphene, Ganja, Cherus, country liqour, arrack just to kill my conscious state - but no matter what strange images and stories kept disturbing my sleep, I was awake all the all the time and all the time Mr. Twist was somehow managing to show me things I never wanted to see.
Mr. Twist entered my mind at will and said look at this ! As i protested a grotesque image of a woman drowning was thrown at me ! And Mr. Twist was laughing ! Do you know her ?
DO YOU KNOW HER ?
I was in a drugged state, I hardly knew what was going on, I harldy knew this from that, I was so batty !
Told you we all are batty ?
Didn't I ?
But now that's not our problem, the problem is I'm now under the spell of Mr. Twist and he's now forcing me tell you all stories from his book of stories - of course I said Fuck Off ! But I soon realised He had already obscessed me and so now my mind was no longer mine !
Just as I started protesting again, Mr. Twist opened a new image book and I soon saw an image of my own mother chained, thin and starved in a remote dungeon like room shrieking ( was she calling out my name ? )
HELP ME ! HELP ME !
Or was it me ? screaming ?
Have you ever screamed ?
Do you know all of us are great screamers ?
We keep screaming
We all scream
But none of us dare admit
we do
Because most of us scream
in our dreams
Mr. Twist read my mind
And bid me goodnight
I spat all my sputum at him
He just laughed while skillfully avoinding my spit, reminding he would soon be back to make me tell the world his story ...
I was left confused, frustrated but somehow completely trapped !
I felt so batty !
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