I paid a rooster to Asclepius but doc said I've got problems modern medicine can't fix. Idiopathic they call em, the kind that come outta nowhere and they just don’t know where to start. "Problem is I take a hit and I feel like myself, a sip, and I’m no one at all, another man, in a room, with a tab, shuffling dollars and praying their gods protect me against psychosis and stray rounds. I’ve started fasting just to remember I’ve got skin in the game. I feel like Diogenes when I’m sleeping on the floor. I go to count my coppers and find nothing but tunic. Available balance says I'm worthless and to the TV I think too much. Inscriptions on the door claim it’s better to suffer thinking than wallow in cool mud, but the brewers keep brewing, Oceania is at war with Eurasia and I'm in my mood. Is this making sense? You know what, lemme show you something that will put it all-" but the doctor has no time for my ilk. “Next best thing,” he says, pen clicking, “a seer.” Oil-slick slashes on the notepad, on the paper he has written L E A V E N O W in big, weeping letters.
Old men hate new gods and cowboys.
Blade in hand, I depart for the consort. I’ve been there before. Last time I swam my way to the temple in my dead man’s clothes. Lobby of the Marquis One, ill-fitting suit, the sycophants and TV stars. The herald materialized behind a Ruby 1 9 9 2 Geo. She made like we were old friends then quickstepped through the antechamber lest we become suspects. Patent leather and bony elbows. Mistake on my part miss, wasn’t watching my steps. "Look at my jaw. Pay attention." This version (v 1.24) has no time delay, she tells me. No cheat codes. Everything must be orthodox, rendered in-engine, within the confines of the machine. The rules bend enough, but for the real fun you need powerups. “Luckily, I brought some— but they might just fry your save file.” Sans serotonin sob stories n’ curt whispers from a dark corner, now I’m awake against my will, & my memory’s getting shorter. A youth facing exile, I've crawled a long way from the bonfire. These dark circles will never disappear.
This is for your who wonder where truth lives. Though it may be far, it matters not. A man can lie a thousand ways: with a look, a breath, a pen, or his cock, even. Only sincerity makes its way into stone.
— Aidea Apashī
A ROOSTER FOR YOU BOTH WHOM I NEVER KNEW BEYOND PAGE AND PARABLE.
THIS IS NOT AN EXIT.
— Aidea Apashī