Lust / Dance of the Deplorables

Death’s Muse / the continuing story

Lust / Dance of the Deplorables

Little armies of decrepit ants loved to soak in the trailing ooze of Fat Boy.  They would devour him happily to take in his total visual horrors.  They needed to skate the protections afforded those on the roads to Death’s casino.  They needed to be loved and accepted.  They needed artificial light as the disinfectant of regular light was not practicable in their case as they were by nature horribly voided souls.  The casino had it’s functions.  Slime and ooze suited Death as well.

Fat boy culture entailed multiple layers of necessary stress.  The stresses to the systems of general balances of power and general openness to vulnerability were pushed to high rising levels due to the sheer banality and overwhelming thickness of and layers of indolent grime and rancid immune virus like puss holding things together.  Death liked his playthings bearable.  Amy liked to twirl and demean and play ..Fat boy was vile. A muse to Death was a good thing ..much fun and pleasure.  Fat boy was an affront to the workings of their universe.  Too much stench and misery.  Too much the anti-universe ..too much a home to all things inhospitable to soul and life.  Amy pondered sour thoughts.  Death felt ugly.

Deplorable vermin as a rule were a run of the mill hazard of the job Death had to do.  He had come across all sorts of vacant, boorish, stupid, non-sentient bottom dwellers in his march through …Fat boy’s deplorable vermin had no redeeming characteristics save their ability to be void of self awareness.  This made them relatively easy prey for Death as they, being soulless and insentient they could be made to march into fire for an order to go to hell for Fat boy.  Amy did not think I would find my true love among them.

Deplorable vermin scurrying around made me nervous.  Sloop and Pitch laughed at me as they were more comfortable with general pond scum than poor little ole’ me.  Pitch came up through pond scum.  Sloop played a lot of pond scum chargers for what she could get ..always with them thinking that Fat boy would save them and bail them out if they reverted to type and we’re left spineless and brainless and fugitives from cognition.  Sloop was eternally amused at the thought of these suckers putting their empty abilities at faith in the Fat boy scam honor, …scrum scum demean, void and generally roll over, mash and vaporize with shriveled breath.  The willing scum begging for divine slaughter.  The Fat boy.  A blot on the earth.

The running trap for Death and Amy with this seminal group of animates was the urge to purge their universe, their ether of their mass footprint and and degrading capabilities.  Fat boy punched a hole in time, helped his inebriated flock through valuable portals and preened like a drag queen.  Bless his little heart.

Sloop and Pitch’s trips through the lands of deplorables was always unsavory… existences tempered by wonder.  Sloop and Pitch, veterans of the soils of time were eternally imbued with the dregs of acid astonishment and toxic waste.  They were always waiting for more of the flock to spring fully grown and deformed from the toxic pits they trundled through.  Waste material for sale.

Deplorable follies happen continually in the space time continuum according to Pitch.  They are like droplets of dripping vile let out of the clouds after cyclones raging through the toxic wastelands that define infinite death.  They are the spores of forever that infect lands of honor, substance, truth, beauty.  Truth and beauty needed the sunshine and the mists of the sea to be savored….foreign elements to Fat boy’s molesters.  The word honor was never known as the silent H was a concept beyond comprehension. The scents of simplicity and courage were there for mocking by the useless minds filled with the self degrading venom required.  Sloop was an honorable actor. Pitch was an honorable actor.  I was an honorable actor.  Amy liked that in us. We had her blessings.  We stood for good.  So said Death.  A conundrum all around.  Trips to vacant, degradeddead worlds were offered us by Death and Amy . Fat boy was one into himself. 

Shards of destiny were being meted out to the lost spiritual virgins of time as we three were known in Death’s circles. With respect.  Always with respect.  An alien term in Fat boy land.  A useless term in the dances of the deplorables.  A lust for charm challenging the lust for lust living there.