Once upon a time, in a land far away, two forces brought together a new hope.  One, grown through years of evolution since its genesis, and fluttering across the hillside to offer a gift to each lucky finder in the form of a sweet kiss, was nothing less than the heavenly taste of the fructose of a fruit.  Matching this sweet dandelion in the battlefield and changing it into something new, was the all-powerful yeast that catapulted our friend the fructose into newfound levels.  

 

These two formed into something drastically new.  Bold and audacious, like the eagles of the sky, something completely undiscovered came to be created.  Slow and meagre, it dwelt within the decaying fruit for some years before venturing out of its cave to see the open sun.  There perching along the ground like the elixir of mercury, it remained still, until at last a wandering elephant came and picked it up with its trunk.

 

That, my friends, was the origin of something we today call alcohol.  This newfound potion became adopted in the early settlements of the Eastern Mediterranean and the Near East. Rapturous vineyards growing like a thread across the mountain expanse furnished the ancient Greeks with a source for their wine.  Pitch black in the dark of night they blessed their banquet kraters with this shimmering wonder.

 

Today there are two types of manufacturing the sacred liquid.  One, stemming its lineage in a long train of heritage, is the classical interpretation of the use of yeast.  The other, bold like the eagles of the sky, requires securing that contraption tight within a bottle.  For it is told that man shall rise.  They shall touch pure heaven from the skies.  This, my friends, requires the innate knowledge of the sacred l’alcool. The departments of virtue by which this is achieved I shall divulge as the story progresses.

 

But let us first return to our humble origins, my friends.  The innate ouncing out of virtue.  Does the wind not blow amongst the sicklemore trees?  Does it not carry that sacred bastion of wisdom from whence the battalions first sprung?  Yes it does.  Oh yes it does.  I said yes it does.  For the written off compadre always blow the quietest cry.  Do not speak of it lightly, either, my friends.  For that dandelion will carry with it a thousand rascals through until the journey’s end.

​

To gain the ancient wisdom by which mercy is achieved, it is said that one must first dowse himself in the finest perfumes and frolic unabatedly through his own disheveled labyrinths.  The task is arduous and the plight wicked, but it is said that by reaching the sacred plinth they can discover virtues unabound.  Whispers fly that the first to recompense his searching delves furthest into its fruitful embraces. 

​

It comes to them like a slowly creeping serpent, awakening solemnly amongst a cave.  Fickle hearts will collapse at its sight, confounded in their hearts by the dazzling spectacle.  But do not think it is unaware of the virtues of vice or twisted from its origins.  It is a strange creature, untoward to man, that finds its respite in the most peculiar of edifices.  Scurry now, for it is the evening of the twilight moon, and the resplendent shadows call for the task to be done. 

 

How to describe it, I would say, would be an awakening of the soul.  Yes, fashioned from the new moon of the twilight of butterflies and sharp like a dagger.  It will haunt you if failed, but, if achieved, recompense the soil on which you walk for centuries to come. 

​

It is the sacred passageway of a royal squire amongst a trophy cabinet.  It is the written-off fortress of a by gone seamstress.  No one knows how it came to being, but the word permeates quite rightly through the barracks of men.  Nay, a hay bail blew its cry when my village swayed amongst the furnaces.  Yes, I remember it well; I can assure you.  But do not think it is becoming of a young gentleman to dilly dally away from the task at hand.  So.  When the task is complete, a new shadow arises from the trappings of his dressing room. He is awakened and all hail this sacred beckoning. 

 

 

*****************

​

Virtue never came easily to David.  He heaved at the soil of discernment and found its tiresome mud run ripe through his hands.  It was not becoming of a man, during that age, to find medallions of gold falling to the ground with ease either.  Yet, despite these somewhat inaccessible setbacks, he found comfort in a twofold entity.  First, his mother’s courage had instilled in him a lusting for a graveyard liberty and his father a proud pledge to serve his ambition.

 

Do not think I want to regurgitate the origins of this fine fellow.  He was a noble sort, akin let’s say to the tallest knight upon a seamless mare.  He was one of the few who threw the casket of pleasure quite rightly onto the ground and directed his means to a less frivolous task.

 

Today is the day that his journey began.  For it is written liberally among the clouds that all heaven shall awaken in congratulation of this rite of passage.  A free-thinking sort, if you will, who chose the bastion of honour to anoint his bed chamber.  Pass a candle onto his mantelpiece but do not think his passage into the skies was always guaranteed.

 

No.  For David found many objects, filled with beauty, most amusing, but never travelled the furthest apart from what he already knew.  Unfortunate, unfortunate, I know.  Yes, his journey only grew more arduous with the months that passed solemnly by above the clouds.  But, do not cast aside this tale already, young sirs, and denounce it as some hark amongst a crowd of harlots.  For let us not forget that he achieved glory.  And glory, I hope you’ll all agree, is something to be cherished in whatever circumstances it finds itself. 

 

And so to begin, young fellows, with our tale.  It began one morning when David was out in the centre of his local town, ruminating over the attractions of the urban expanse with his indoctrinating father.  He was only a mere boy at this stage of his life, and rather than hike through the mountains destined for an experienced climber, they were humming around the hub dub of the local magasins.  David’s father, Romulus, turned his head somewhat delicately away from the sun that loomed across the town square in front of them and looked at David devoutly in the face.  “Eh, young lad,” he said liberally, “do you want to go for a drink in the Shakespeare tavern?”

 

“Umm yeah…. I mean I don’t know.  Actually, yeah, I could like that.  Can we go!  Can we go!”  Replied David nervously, prickled by his youth and inexperience but at the same time energetically excited like a pup in a dog home.

 

“Let me take you to where I’ve always belonged,” cried Romulus in reply.  “It is where one day you will learn to grow up.”

 

The Shakespeare tavern was a square, proud building that was positioned in a terraced environment surrounded by antiquated shops on either side.  It reminded David of the Pizza Express he enjoyed a much enjoyable birthday dinner at only a few months before.  Today was the day it was celebrating its 200th anniversary, a feature not forgotten in the effervescent bunting adorning the outer façade.

 

Twas a howling of a gale they found that merry fine morning.  New moons perching up upon a blanket of clouds touch the tree tops of those shelters like the rays of the sun.  No one said a word, but the two vagabonds found the dainty artefacts shine brilliant like the dawn of an oncoming tidal wave.  No. No.  It was quite tangible. Like the warming of a fire across a desolate campsite.  Free thinking, my friends, free thinking, for does not the rainbow always reveal a pot of gold the other side of a mountain expanse.  You will all find it in your hearts’ one day, that much I am steadfastly certain of - but to those two youthful getaways, it was a form of delighting the candles of infinity.  

 

And that is where we must interrupt this tale for now, my friends.  For it reminds me of a point in astronomy that is precisely this.  You see two long summers ago, two wolves were accustomed to scurry wildly through the breeze of the forests.  Be under no illusions.  Their crimes are wicked and the famished lusting for prey spells fear into the hearts of all others.  But on that occasion, in the midst of the forest, they found a strange romance for one another.  Orion’s belt glistened calmly above, and they sat down for a cup of tea under the twilight of the stars.  “Oh good day to you, young sir,” one pronounced kindly as the other glanced towards the forest under his brow.  “Does not the forest bless our occasion with any more beauty,” the other fervently cried in reply.

 

Some say romance is a beacon of the wilderness of the forest.  It is not bound or broken by the terrors of the night.  It is rather the true and almighty kingship of the clouds in the sky.  They scurried off bobbling like two blossoming petals.  They made love to each other that night.  For it was a form of cajoling their appetites, twisting their desires until it did them recompense.  They lives went on and some say they never left the cottages of the wild, but rather danced in the freedom of the shadows.

 

So too did the countryfolk who heard of their stories.  They smoked fire into their circular firepits and drank late into the nights with a warmth in their hearts.  No longer did the warmongers have a claim to disturb their children or pervert the liberty of the conurbation.  Their hearts were pure and no stain of anguish tainted their lives. 

​

 

*****************

​

It had been two years since David had spent that one fresh morning in the Shakespeare tavern with his father.  Proud like the meanders of a vineyard, he had grown in stature and was now two foot taller in height.  Taking less from the pick-pocketers of virtue, he had even travelled further afield with his father and taken his frivolous smile to more fastidious locations. This time they had decided to venture to a car racing event.  It wasn’t David’s choice but rather his father’s who somehow claimed he was a bulwark of the car racing scene.  Nonetheless, the two went, and before long David was in the crowd once again with a beer in hand.

​

Fervent minds will always be drawn to further their senses.  Simple happenings turn into the unfathomable spectacles of the night sky that in turn fuel the streams and rivers of our lands. It is only right that one advances their audacity and reclaims what ill fortune has so wickedly taken from them.  I myself am quite partial to unravelling a cloud among a playing ground and so, I hope, will others as time goes by.  Yet, viscous reindeers, plaisiring in the polar regions, can run wild like the aurora above, an ill-fate, which I’m afraid to say, was to beset poor, young David.     

 

What was this strange potion doing to him?  He felt it again – a slow soothing of his senses, an overriding of his nervousness and as if it was liberalising him wildly into a whole kaleidoscope of emotions.  Again.  Again.  It touched him from every moment on his lips and launched his psyche up into the sails of a ship like they were blowing incandescently in the wind.  Oh sweet mother of God, he thought to himself.  I’m at one with my loins.  They feel wild and alive.

 

To him, it was an arrestation of his liberty.  It was a jocose storm cloud that seemed most unwanted in the crop fields.  The dried-out riverbeds that indent our land seemed ripe with viciousness, as if a spider ready to entangle its prey.  They were no longer wholesome, and the destined wager between virtue and strife seemed beset with wantonness.  Alas.  Two rhinos were charging towards him that evening and it seemed like nothing was going to stop them.

 

He turned towards his father, who seemed like a distant spectacle in the limelight beside him.  “I’m just gonna pop to the toilet,” he stumbled, trying to regather himself whilst standing upright.  “Oh, alright lad.  Don’t be too long,” Romulus nodded in reply as he looked out calmly towards the race track.  “It’s not long until the banger racing starts.”

 

The stadium seemed to gloom around him.  It whispered forces into his soul, blowing a howling gale against him in an attempt to knock him to the ground.  Where was he?  What was he doing?  How was he going to escape the clutches of this god forsaken alcohol?  He could see a sign post directing people to the toilets in front of him.  Dodging his drunkenness like a darting hare upon a hillside, at last he made it to the toilets and came to relieve himself.  But, that, I’m afraid was the end of the story.  The alcohol, gathering its troops like the ancient Samurai’s finest, overcame his poor, brittle soul with full force, and David fell down and collapsed by the side of a wall. 

 

“David, David,” a voice growled.  “Are you there?”  It uttered some words some more.  “David, David?  What have you been doing?”  It was his father, Romulus, who crouched down to the ground and heaved David up off the gravel.  “What have you been doing?”  He said again.  “You shouldn’t get so drunk at such a young age.  Come now,” Romulus huffed with a groan.  “Let’s get you back home and dusted off.”

 

Blur, blur, blur.  The world to David whizzed past him like a cartwheel tossing him into the abyss.  Random segments of code jockeyed the bluebells of his intuition upwards and only more north.  Was he destined to live?  Was he destined to laugh again?  Or was it, as we all agree, a merry fine welcome to the glory days of heaven?  A welcome to his furthest very fucking dreams.  Too right Cum Claus, too right, for we have jockeyed your inner dangles into the newfound stratosphere!  How’s about you go ahead and raise a very fine trough on your merry fucking dreams!  This man is a chief!!!!!  Raise a trough!  Raise trough!

 

Yet further, David even began to dream when he returned home.  He stumbled delicately onto his bed, flicked the light casually away and began to let his mind unravel.  Oh nothing more fine you say, nothing more fine.  But rather than tango with the spinsters of the taverns, his mind rather lunged on a much more candescent token.  It was the undeniable verity of his soul and a smooth serenade of his exacerbating tenets.

 

He found himself in a bedroom of an antiquated building that seemed like a medieval castle.  On the far side, beneath a window, a maiden was delicately applying ointments to her skin as she gazed into a mirror.  But wait.  Suddenly another man entered from the door behind him and appeared in the room.  “They’re waiting for you,” the man announced studiously.  “There’s not much time until you are due in the arena,” he continued.  “Hurry now!”

 

David proceeded to follow him.  He had no clue where he was going or even what spirits these wild folk fathomed, but David felt the courage of eternity sure enough burn bright in his heart.  He pounced upon the new coming venture like the birds of the north, and, broaching through the wooden door in front of him, lurched himself onwards in pursuit like a cry of men falling down a mountain scape.

 

It was jousting match he had encountered upon.  He knew sure enough.  The proud villager of his curiosity took one long swell look at the environment and knew exactly where he was.  “Raise your arms,” pronounced a seeming looking squire.  Standing in the middle of the dusty armoury, David remained betwixt the metalwork shining on either sides.  “Take your lance!”  Resolute, he latched it onto his arms and shuddered through the veins of his body like a man visioned to death.  He dounced off the shame clamouring in the shadows.  Yes, yes, it was a bold occasion, very bold indeed and David found himself unenveloping his soul in the centre.

 

And so they charged.  Take his pedestal atop his mare, he rode into the cataclysm.  Shuddering slithers of the sledge hammer.  He was done.  The clouds had won.  All of sudden he woke up lying drunkenly on his bed.  And like our dearest loved ones, sometimes in life you have to say a goodbye.  He fell back down to sleep and before long the dream and his whole day at the races became a long distant memory, nothing more and nothing less.

​

 

*****************

​

One year had past solemnly in the enduring haze of the background.  David had occupied himself with his school work and other activities including sport and art.  Furnishing the clover petals of their fraternity, their lives had passed by with little occurring of note, and it was almost akin to a form of pottery class in which the potters had liberally lost track of time.

 

David, however, was getting older and older as time passed by.  He felt as if he was ready to delve into a new pod of nectar and find a new awakening source of honey.  This by which I mean he was ready to find a partner.  And to soothe his soul with some romantic frivolities.  Luckily, David was 18 at this point and his friend, Randolph, said they’d organize a night out on the town with their group of friends.  David was very keen and, before long, he and four other friends found themselves sat around a table in the Shakespeare Tavern.

 

“Aye lads,” Randolph announced holding up a tankard in front of him.  “What shall we drink to?  I know… a night out with five of the finest!”

 

“Chin, Chin,” proclaimed Richard from across the table. 

 

“A spot of cavorting in the shadows!” Cheered Daniel joyfully in the centre.  “Why that’s a spiffing pint of Pimms to this boater’s regatta.”

 

“You’re a gent as per!  I said you’re a gent as per!”  Lauded David in reply.

 

“Now tell me, David,” cried Randolph, interrupting from the corner, as he swigged his tankard ombriously from side to side.  “A spot of night hopping comes as a luxury when the winters are so cold as these.”  He arched forward and glared at David studiously.  “What beckons you to arrange this gathering at such an ouverture when we could all merry well sit by the fire and read a book?”

 

“Tis a twilight of the shadows,” uttered David austerely.  “I, nay, we all, must recompense our souls!”

 

“I’ve seen that glimmer in your eye before, you know,” continued Randolph resolutely.  “It can run amock if left at the mercy of your vices.  Here,” he arched forward rapturously.  “Have you even any idea where the night skies might take you this very fine evening?”

 

“No,” floundered David in reply, as if he was giving up the argument.  Yet, beset in the pit of this self doubt, his courage once again raised him to a newfound flag pole.  He sat up straight and looked at Randolph palatially in the face.  “But I know one think sure enough,” he continued fervently.  “If we do ourselves our righteous justice cette nuit, we all can come out burning bright with the flames of amor.  “Glory is waiting for us.  Take it!  It belongs to all of us!  This and many things I am verifiably certain of!”

 

And so they went.  They moved on from the Shakespeare Tavern and before long found themselves in The Alchemist bar.  The Alchemist was a dark shadowy dwelling, with twisting vines running up the walls and fragrant fish bowls smoking clouds into the translucent air in front of them.  It seemed as if it was a humid jungle, rich with the tokens of many years adorning its setting in a newfound beauty.  How would this woodchopper’s nest change over the years – it was unbeknown to them and the flowers that perched across them uttered no word – yet they fathomed somehow that they were in the kingdoms of infinity. 

​

“Tis is a place where the birds set their nests,” cried Randolph.  “I’ve seen a place like this many years before.”

 

“Nay… a hark’s tale until we have a few drinks inside us,” gesticulated David in reply.  “Let’s get to the bar before it gets too busy.”

 

The group of five arrived at the metallic bar table that gleamed in shiny stainless steel.  An attractive German-looking bar maid finished handing over some drinks to a customer and looked, perplexed, firmly at them in the face.

 

“Can I see some ID?”  She demanded resolutely.

 

“Why certainly,” replied the boys, ushering into their pockets.

 

The bar maid acknowledged their IDs and began pouring out some drinks.  Randolph, leaning over the bar table, looked at her humorously as if with a twinkle in his eye.  “So what time do you open until?” He mused honorably.

 

“Why that would be 1 am,” beckoned the bar maid rigidly in reply, before she finished pouring out the drinks and handed them across the bar table.  There, with the drinks collected, the group sat down under a very fine luminescent strobe light and tucked into the intoxicating cocktails now before them. 

​

Twas a smooth serenade of their inseverable plight.  They gazed longingly into the pits of their fish bowls wholesomely like a dragon nurturing his gold.  A moment here, when Daniel handed out the cigars to the crowd, and a moment there, when Richard recounted his adventures motor biking on his field the other day.  The blessed powder adorned the sky.  Like a gardener perching above in the clouds.  And yet they were to ski down that mountain.  They were, they were.  The blessed powder was going to glide them into the clouds.  They were destined to fly like Lucifer in the sky.  But wait.  All of sudden a purty young fine-looking woman appeared aside the table and glared at them like the spinsters of the cabaret clubs.  “Hello boys!”  She exclaimed joyfully.  “Fancy seeing a group of fellas out on a night like this!”

​

“We’re just here having a few drinks with our pals,” replied David duly, as if with a nervousness in his heart.  “We mean you no trouble."

 

“I’ve always thought trouble walks at you firmly in the face… just as you find it!”  Cried the woman with a somber touch.  “You’ll never escape the shadows with an anguish in your heart!”

 

“I searched long ago for a pathway into heaven,” denounced David proudly in reply.  “Tis a fool’s pleasure - the way is shut.”  David picked up is fish bowl and took a large gulp with both hands.  “Tell me,” he gestured solemnly.  “Why do you beckon to the night sky when men’s hearts are as somber as this in these frozen months.”

 

“You’ll never liberate your soul till you take a drop of the spectacles of the night.  Nay,” she continued.  “Leave your cum principles at the door, young sir, and step into the unknown!”

 

“And walk unto there is no redemption?” Blundered David floundering.

 

“Young sir… you have my word!”  She reached over and took a gulp of Richard’s fish bowl as he sat bemused by the table.  “Why Cum Claus there is nothing finer.  Nay,” she said again,  “meet me on the dancefloor just before the night comes to a close and we’ll tango through until the rise of the dawn.  You have my word!”

​

David drank and entertained himself amongst his friends for the remainder of the evening.  He slurped his fish bowl obsequiously and dandelioned the looming stares of his compadres away from his clutching elephanting.  Strictly speaking he was a man untoward himself, and it was not becoming to divulge his burgeoning fascination with this delightful young escapee of the night he had happened upon.  He felt attached to her soul, as if she were the pied piper leading him into the wonders of tomorrow.  Before long, the night was, however, coming to a close and the bar maid surrounded the table calling last orders.

 

“Can I get you one last drink, old sport?”  Cried Randolph from across the table.  “Tis only fair for the joys you have provided cette nuit!”  Yet despite this seemingly affable announcement, David stood up, electrified like the pillars of mount doom, and shuffled across the table in front of them.

 

“Sorry… no can-do partner!”  He decried fervently.

 

“What?  Why?”  Interrupted Randolph abruptly.

 

“I have to go and speak to that young fair maiden.  Nothing will stop me!”

 

“But Daniel said he’d get us another drink,” replied Randolph, ushering him to remain at the table.

 

“My drink belongs with the feminine umbrellas of the seas!”  Decried David looking back at him.

 

“What do you want me to do with the rest of your fish bowl?  Give it to Richard?”

 

“Yeah that’s the one,” bludgeoned David proudly before he turned his back on them and marched away like a man standing proud atop Mount Olympus.

​

And no less did the candle lights glimmer in the cavern.  Wanton flies funneled joy into the surroundings like a new moon of daffodils.  David was electrified and pumped to the hilt.  Nay, and let that be the same to all ye who beckon a chalice to their souls.  Powder to the right people.  Powder to the true and almighty powder kings.  Like a saint upon a pulpit, David appeared before the young maiden and grasped her rapturously in his arms.  “I feel at one with the cosmos!”  He cried adoringly before touching his lips against hers.

 

“You’re like the pillars of my fountains!” she replied, launching herself into his embrace.

 

“Will I ever find a better maiden,” he murmured, as if pleading with her soul.

 

“Well let me promise you.  You absolutely won’t do!” She cried in reply before smothering her lips against his skin. 

​

What is wrong with a bit of cavorting in the shadows you say?  For bastion Saint Claude had anointed himself up upon the pedestals.  Rich with the licentiousness of the eagles in the sky and burgeoned like a banished wolf against their souls.  These young fleabags had set their sights on a kaleidoscope to a faraway land, which they decried lest they make steep headway against, unbeknown to them the richly decorated liveries of virtue would shine brighter than their furthest merry fucking dreams.  And so they collapsed onto bed together and made love, fathoming somehow that they were blessed under the night caverns; the slowly creeping reaper of their inadequacies crawling proudly towards them.

​

 

*****************

​

Malmuk was a certain type of guy.  He did not have usual pathway into the reigning bastions that governed the land nor did he trace his success to the frivolities of the day.  He was a studious sort, almost austere if you will, who harked back to an earlier time when men’s hearts were far warmer.  Noble, noble, noble for sure.  But do not question his leadership might either.  For it was a twisting juggernaut battering against the ramparts. 

 

He awoke one morning, as he was accustomed to do, and scanned through his Santa’s list of duties like a man of a high order in some intergalactic strife.  Whimsical pleasantries looked the theme of the day, except for one that seemed of particular note.  Looming over the hallway of his office, he picked up his notepad and pondered over the screen that gleamed in front of him.  Standing tall like the specters of the sky, it appeared in black font with the following words:

 

“Interrupt David Clausmas in his ongoing struggles.  Speak to him with haste and enact Article 17 of the indoctrinating protocols.  It is of the utmost importance.  He cannot be left to weigh boat around like the fool any longer.  This is a command of the order.  Prepare yourself Malmuk!  Prepare yourself!  MoonJudd over and out!” 

​

It seemed to him proud in its pledge.  The swaying revolutions of reason lay plain to see in the onerous few lines.  Blackbirds sitting upon a tree top had spoken nothing less of their sincerity those years before, and it was unbeknown to him what beguilement would unravel if the cogs became unchecked.  Perhaps a mutiny aboard a ship, but he couldn’t be sure.  Nay lest he ignore this token of gratitude, for the crows might gather among the hierarchies of the order.

 

But he stared at his computer screen one more time.  It seemed strange and unearthly, as if it could not be fathomed through the ways of the order.  It felt like he had seen it before, many years ago, and he was destined to meet his match in the depths of the battlefield.

 

Interrupt David Claus?  Why good heavens… today he had thought of nothing of the sort.  Those young folk were always on crack and he found it whack.  Alas.  One sprightly robo rain and he would knuckle down to the task at hand, as he always did, nothing more and nothing less.  He flicked on his computer and began to sift through the identification software scanning for young David.  Gees, he thought to himself.  I’d take one ounce of this buffoon’s specimen, and dandelion the rest of his nostrils.  Ignoramus!  Ignoramus!  Poor old Cum Claus - he had finally found him on his computer screen and he had found him good and proper.  “Stay where you are, young sir, if you please,” he said aloud to himself.  “It’s gonna be a rodeo today and we will undoubtedly come out victorious!”

​

 

*****************

​

Meanwhile and far away, unaware even of the eagle about to stupefy in his way, young David was frolicking around among the inner hub dub of his local dwelling.  A spot of dropping pound coins on drinking establishments, a spot of gliding through the jovial respectable kind of people like the scumbag he was.  Little did we know.  Nay, this guy is a fucking fucking cunt.  Go ride a donkey you young fool and leave the left righteous pricks behind or else anoint the man’s finger.

 

Touché, but is the furthest man not the man untoward himself.  He is not bound or broken by the crooks of yesterday but knows only the mixtures of gold.  And yet here we are.  David was genuinely frolicking around with his young girlfriend.  He was, I’m afraid to say, lost to the pillocks of the nevercut wasteland.

 

“David, David!”  Cried Julia.  “Come over here for a second and look at this flower petal.  Why… I say!  I can see your reflection in its very form!”

 

“Don’t you worry yourself about such fanciful rubbish!”  Uttered David in reply.  “I only want to talk about pretty things like your blessed smile!”

 

“Don’t think I won’t remember your affection when I’m lying gently in bed!”  Laughed Julia delightfully.  “I want to show you the mademoiselle I’ve always wanted to be!”

 

“You’re like my own mother, delicately setting me up with women!”

 

“Why a girl’s got to know she’s with the right young fella!”  Cried Julia jubilantly.  “I know you’ll always be my steadfast company!”

 

“We’re like two honeybees in an old willow tree!”  Exclaimed David in joy.

 

“And you’re my cuddly young rhinosaurus!”  Ridiculed Julia sarcastically. 

​

They had met their match in the dancehalls of love.  They strove no longer to emancipate their citizens in freedom nor ensnare the beacons that light up the world. Rather they strove for a certain kind of bastion.  Nay they strove for a soulless wreck who searched endlessly and wretchedly in the shadows.  What do you say to these rabbit dung cunts?  What ounce of courage befalls their kennels as they clamber into the temples.  How dare they?  For it is written in no less than the scriptures of those by-gone years that freedom from the nights arrives unto no man – it is not until they have learnt it in their furthest imaginations!

 

And yet they were.  My friends, they were kissing and cavorting openly under the night sky.  Like the harlots they were!  They stroked each other’s hair and snuggled up across their naked chests.  Look at them!  David casually put his arm under her waist and groped her buttocks as Julia serenely ran her hand through his wavy hair.  A moment here, when David pressed his lips against her cheeks and moment there, when Julia kissed him passionately.  The moon that adorned their shame uttered only one cry, that the bastion wolves had surrendered to the grim reapers of the dawn!

 

Malmuk knew he had to do something.  Standing outside the Shakespeare tavern, he knew sure enough that this place was rich with licentiousness.  How to approach this brothel without giving himself away?  He had learnt his ways through years of servitude to the order.  Yet time keeping didn’t come easily to him and he had lost his way about the world somewhat over the preceding three months.  No, he said to himself.  It is paramount that he finds David Clausmas and enacts Article 17 of the indoctrinating protocols.  He must get to him sooner rather than later and warn the others before it gets too late.   

 

“Do you know of a certain young lad called David Clausmas?”  He asked the bar maid as held out a tankard and leaned over the bar.

 

“Why certainly,” replied the bar maid.  “He comes in here quite a lot and always buys two bottles of coke.  One for him and one for his girlfriend.”

 

“Is he here this evening?”  Pressed Malmuk energetically.

 

“Why yes,” replied the bar maid again.  “He’s sat over there in the corner.”

​

“David!”  Proclaimed Malmuk as he lunged across the room in front of him.  “You must listen to me with the utmost urgency,” he exclaimed fervently.  “I have come before you now to liberate the toils of your mind away from your clutching elephanting!”  He paused and stroked his beard like a wise philosopher.  “You are living untoward no one at the moment and it is wretched like the shadows.”  He slammed down his tankard and looked at David proudly.  “We have seen the surface of the moon as the gods arrive untoward no man, women or creature.  We have seen the eagles of heaven!”  He stretched across and knocked David’s coke over onto the floor.  “Take a look at this video,” he said gleamingly.  “And you will understand the indoctrinating principles that bind us all!” 

​

​

*****************

​

Before the eyes of David as it came before him now was a labyrinth of intertwining animals.  There was a polar bear perched up upon a cliff face while a flock of seagulls flew calmly over the other side.  In the centre rested a proud moose who glistened across the snow-capped mountain scape.  They seemed unhinged from the earth they adorned, solemnly like the poets they had taught themselves to be over many years.

 

But the moose had other ideas.  He had toiled for thousands of years, levering soot from the dusty workhouses that ravaged the earth like a tenacious cancer.  I beseech you!  For he was not bound or broken by the inadequacies of his kind, nor did he awaken at any man’s treasury.  Like an infinitesimal prophet, however, the moose proudly dropped his head and antlers down to the ground, before launching himself upwards with an unearthly clamour. 

 

And so the birds flocked!  They came in their thousands!  It was a tempest of all kinds, a whirlwind of all their conurbations! They swept across like a plague of locusts, swarming like a spherical bastion.  They knew not how to control their conniving, nay only how to tower over the sun in darkness.

 

Yet through it all came one man.  Suddenly, a man in a long dark cloak appeared ahead of the moose and arrived at the forefront of the picture.  “Weatherbrook!  Calm yourself!”  The man uttered austerely.  “We are a brethren here to reckon with you.  To change your solitude and anoint you in the bastion of the order.”  He picked up his long wooden staff and encircled David deviously.  “But we are a brethren to be reckoned with!”  He said again.  “That much I can assure you!”

 

He lunged over to David and grasped his arm around his shoulder.  “Here,”  he murmured kindly.  “You must see reason and give up your frivolous ways.”  He wrapped his arm around David tightly and ushered him across the snow.  “Let me take you to castle county,” he continued fervently.  “And show you what it is to walk aside the cosmos!” 

​

David felt like he had no other option.  It was a winter in his heart and he had no other choice. But he wanted to go.  He knew that fore well.  Two sides of the same coin were floating up and around in the air until they dazzled down onto his fingertips.  

 

And so indeed he went.  He strolled soldier like into helm’s deep.  Very fine, very fine, touching tree tops left, right and centre and no less for the riches belying the throne!  But wait.  Suddenly a man appeared before him and approached him astutely.  “You see Cum Claus, we’re a certain kind of brethren,” he cried aloud.  “We see between the cataclysms awakening on the surface of the moon.”  He looked at David ponderously.  “But do you not want to know the secrets of our kind?”  He peered at David’s finger studiously.  “So young, so young I see,” he murmured.  “Have you ever felt the love you’ve always craved?”  He reached over and touched David’s hand.  “Like crystal showers with limitless power?”  He arched back and grasped a chalice in his hand.  “Now tell me,” he uttered solemnly.  “Tell me how you feel!  Tell me how you feel!”

 

He drank it.  He drank it whole and proud.  And he was motherfucking there!!!  He was in the zone!  Glorious glimmering scarlets kissed him like the blowing trees!  He was rich upon infinity. He was beautiful and perfect!

 

He began to hear a voice murmuring in the shadows.  Look at yourself!  Look at yourself!  Look at where I found you!  Look at what I’ve done to you!  You’ve got one shot in your life at the big time!  Right over there is a door ready to glide you into the sunset!  Like a motherfucking pterodactyl!  Look at where I found you!  You were nothing but rags cowering in the darkness!  Look at you now!  What I’m talking about is something far greater than the revolving pedestals matching at the equator!  I’m a motherfucking blue bird spunking on kingdom come!   I’m firing a trebuchet at every god damn prick known to man!  Right here right now!  I’m fucking the true and almighty, one and only invincible Cum Claus!  I’m the richest man who has ever walked this planet!  I will rise until infinity!  

 

And there destiny came.  He burst into flames upon his pedestal from where he stood.  It was a blazing fire pit scarring the sky.  He was one and anointed.  He was the king of the brethren.

​

From thenceforth David was reunited in the order.  He no longer looked for love and cherished his moments acquainted with the favourite drink that took his fancy.  He lived his days in solitude but always with a merry and joyful esprit.  He was a true and anointed brethren.  That is the end of the tale and I wish you all farewell.  Goodbye!

​

​

THE END

​

​