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9. Dirt Trawlers 11. Haystacks

August 11th, 2020


Did Dud Doom Derange Danger Delegate Delicious Delicate Don't Do Doubt Difference Defer Dissent Dangerous Doubtless Decide Daft Derring Dongle Dingle Dangle Den Din Dong Drown Drift Dice Die Death Dead Dirt Dirty Dissentry Doldrums Dolt Delirious Desire Duty Dupe Dunce Dot Dob Detest Deter Disease Dwindle Dribble Dog Dainty When the Dog lay Down Daintily and Died it spelt Doom for the Delegates who Deftly Denied any Dissent amongst their Dutiful Den of Dunces. Decades of Disastrous Dreams had Done no good for Detestable Democrats whose Dirt was Deftly thrown to the Drifting breeze and Distributed to the people, who Devoured the Dissent and with ravenous appetite. Hard of hearing Dinosaurs sought out a safe-haven in the respectable town-houses of the world and sucked on their glass tubes, liquid ichor flowing in their purpose-built veins. Subtle lines appeared at their brows and we injected away, cut out and stitched up by nano-technology fibres with self-cleaning tips. The great-grandparents who had enslaved their own children stared not Down but out at nothing as the news came in on the wireless that something obvious and horrific was finally being made public and everything carefully concealed would now be brought to paradigm shifting bear, for a week or so. Scandal scandal scandal muttered the latest in the long line of egg timers who cracked in their twilight years when the lifetime of not noticing caught up with their hips, ankles, bent backs and hearts. Good Lord we Do not weep for them, those ancient Dinosaurs with their clawing grabbing hands, their powerful signatures and blank blank blank cheques. Shoot a gun in the air. The seaside is respite just in the hours before time stops and the latest spawn joins a sad clan of high profile thieving aristocrats. The one specific family among a hundred other very specific families who protect their Deformed and Defamed famous names from the angers of the generalised public, shooing them off their corporate grass with a large stick so as to not come to close to EUGH MISERY. Sadness? D- D- D- Don't those people need our help? DON'T STUTTER. D- D- D- Doesn't the p- p- p- point still stand? GO TO YOUR ROOM. I think that m- m- m- man was sick. THEN HE SHOULD DIE AND QUICKLY AND THEREBY REDUCE THE SURPLUS POPULATION. S- S- S-. GO TO YOU ROOM. D- D- D- DON'T STUTTER. You're a sentence based palindrome of a woman whose argument goes from ATTACK ATTACK to FLEE FLEE to SOMETHING UNRELATED to FLEE to ATTACK to FLEE to SOMETHING UNRELATED to ATTACK and never... I'm sorry what Did you say? I said this party really has taken a turn, I arrived with the SOMEBODIES an hour or two ago and the place was hopping, caviar caviar Delicious Delicious. The boy has gone upstairs to his room where he rocks the Day away till Dawn, Deciding on the Details of his Dreary Day-to-Day, while Depression Drips at the Door and Dribbles over the Duvet, Dangling Down in Daunting threads that further Dim the Darkness that Draws ever closer. Downstairs the party is BACK IN FULL SWING. APOLOGIES EVERYONE, PLEASE, ENJOY YOUR DRINKS, DRINK, DRINK! The music starts again although the band look... at each other... sideways... uncom... fortable... It starts raining. Fire a gun in the air. The band... keep... playing... It stops raining. HAVE ANOTHER DRINK. Nobody talks about the thing from the Day, which might bring them all Down in a web of pain-filled misery, but might not touch them at all if they can say, Oh I was somewhere else at the time. Yes. Yes, the whole time I was somewhere else. Yes. No. No I was never there. What pictures? Oh well I Don't know about that. No, never. The snacks are refilled by a white tailed waiter/Dipping bird that slips sideways around the house (or at least, the bits where they're allowed. NOBODY goes to the top floor, it's like a Victorian Ghost Story where the woman has been alive and hiding up there the whole time. Delicious little Cru and Dites are gobbled up by the meaty guffawing slobbering ravenous Deranged cavernous powerful mouths of the party-goers who laugh openly at the way things are. These few, these lucky few, who twist nations under their control and sow Discontent as readily as cotton powder, throw glasses smashing to the marble, stagger against onyx columns punching until their knuckles bleed. Their Doctor is next-Door stamping on the head of a roast beast so that the apple bursts out, spraying the crowd with sweet pear cider, the residue Dripping down the cold-stone glossy walls. The band... stop playing... they pack up quickly and leave without saying goodbye. They Don't. Want. To Do this. Anymore. The kitchen staff follow them. The white Dipping Birds bow out. The Doctor is on the table. The accountant is throwing knives through the windows. The eyes of the great-grands stare out. The Great Family Don't see the cracks that slink up the walls, tremble to the chandelier where the lights glitter and flicker. The boy Drowns upstairs. The woman in the attic screams and Drags her nails across the floor, her head, her face, the walls, the boarded up windows, and the the locked Door. The Doctor looks up as a creaking Din stops the laughing silly games. They all stand and watch the ceiling shake, feel the house vibrate with the weight of that morning's news, broadcast for all the world to see, all ears near and far to hear. They come together in a great circle, holding hands and smiling kindly to each other. Don't worry they say. We'll be alright. We always have been. AND WE ALWAYS WILL BE. It Drops. Diamonds. Dozens of Delectable Diamonds. Dripping Droplets of Dazzling Diamonds. Diamond Decadence Displayed in Dainty circlets. Dripping Diamond Droplets Drip. Diamonds Drip. Diamonds Drip. Diamonds Drip. Drip. Drip.

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