Intoxication log

[luka]

It was the acid that corroded families. It ate away at
all inherited traditions. It weakened the ties that bind.
The extrapolation graphs all read Doomsday. We
flicked up the data-display. Impact Date: Imminent.
Imagine, feral, and cloaked in the long grass, waiting
for a throat to seize.

 

[luka]

We couldn't second guess the numbers. It was a fool's
errand. We became bewitched by hawthorn and creephaste.
It was our delayed reward. It was the sleeper train. Our eyes
had glazed over. News kept lurching in through the open
window. There was flooding to the east of the country.
People were pressing against the borders. Humanitarian
efforts were concentrated in the cities. Caustic soda harvests
had been disappointing. There were riots in the shadow districts.
We had woken with our head on his shoulder. He couldn't have
been more obliging.

 

[luka]

He lubed the passage. It was going to be a tight squeeze.
He adopted best practice. The report would be a whitewash.
Sinclair would take the fall. Big willies got cut off first they
said up in the office. He laughed bitterly.
Colchester was still half a day's drive away. He faxed the
charges. If you could get the evangelicals to take the bait.
There might be enough smoke on the battlefield to get away.
Night-talk was on the radio. It was an emollient. It got him through
the field of stars.

 

[luka]

The minister of Interiors was defending his interests
He made a seasoned argument. He was on the side
of homeowners. He could see the way was wind was blowing.
After the debacle in Lesotho his hands had been tied. It
was nothing personal, Alfie. He couldn't be seen to be
siding with subversive elements. The cocktail set
had been his idea. To show that there were no hard
feelings.

 

[luka]

He remembered cycling past the orange groves.
The sun had seemed to compress the air. Lechery
was on the way out. All the research pointed in
the same direction. They would have to compromise
on the sun-roof. He choked on the implications.
The scandal-hounds would be sniffing up his
drainpipe. He was the face of the organisation.
He was the big pajamas. He looked breezy
on his lawn. He faced up to his responsibilities.
It was the court of popular opinion. He kept his
own counsel. The forestry commission would
just have to wait. They smelled blood in the water.
He had failed to declare a conflict of interest.
The sun smashed itself against the mirror.

 

[luka]

He was entitled to a private life. It was his own affair.
Guilt was like a colony of weevils. The Ceylon enterprise
had long since gone kaput, a victim of its own ambition.
He contemplated the fallout. It was a lunatic scheme.
He planned to put a jar on every table. It was the answer
to everything.

 

[luka]

It was anchovy pesto. It was the new dance craze
have some with your breakfast, prepare to be amazed.

 

[IdleRich]

You're polluting the beautiful purity of the intoxication log, one of the only threads that actually stuck to the point

 

[Clinamenic]

He invented a new cocktail that evening. It was a variation of a gin martini, supplemented by sake and cherry syrup. He imbibed three and a half of them, before avowing ephemeral sobriety. He briefly considered watching The Sound of Music. It was too long.

 

[Mr. Tea]

You're polluting the beautiful purity of the intoxication log, one of the only threads that actually stuck to the point

Yeah, come on @luka, there's already like five poetry threads.

 

[luka]

You're polluting the beautiful purity of the intoxication log, one of the only threads that actually stuck to the point

i was intoxicated

 

[luka]

Yeah, come on @luka, there's already like five poetry threads.

He dreaded to think. He put two & two together.

 

[luka]

It was a plan that couldn't go wrong. It was the Mekong Delta.
It was redemption. He said
I was able to fly, I was able to cry
I could say all the things unsaid.
It was Terminal 4. It was the end of the line.
He remembered the meeting in the office.
He crashed into the inevitable. They had sent
him an interpreter. He bore an indescribable
sorrow in his eyes.
The street hawkers jabbered angrily at him.
They'd shuffled his DNA so the scanners
wouldn't pick him up. They'd remixed
his eyes. He aimed his vomit at the sewer
grate.

 

[Mr. Tea]

He dreaded to think. He put two & two together.

He talked a lot of drunken bollocks.

 

[luka]

It was paradise. The opium birds shook the perfume
from their feathers. The women were a feast for
sore eyes. It had taken him a while to find his feet.
It was a reward for services rendered. It was what
was coming to him. He took it.
It was an erotic wonderland. It was a kind of
homecoming. It raked the embers of his soul.

 

[luka]

His heart was a dormant volcano
that had erupted thrillingly into
life. He itemised his things. He
deposited them in the appropriate
pockets.

 

[luka]

His heart was a herd of wildebeests.
He slipped out his suit of melancholy.
The rain greeted him as a lover. He
shivered delicious. Fat drops shattered
on his shoulder-blades. Run,
for the unseen gateway. Penetrate
the foliage.

 

[luka]

It was a damn shame about Johnson.
They'd already lost too many good
men to the jungle. He would have to
file a report. Brain jazz gurgled down
his piping. He was taking Sandra,
from the typing pool, out to dinner.
It had completely slipped his mind.

 

[IdleRich]

Oops five lethal apricot brandies with lunch.

 

[Mr. Tea]

Oops five lethal apricot brandies with lunch.

Your boss must have gone through the roof!