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T-Minus One!
Aug. 30th, 2007 12:28 pmLook...
they're out there.
Waiting.
Watching.
Getting ready for us. Orbiting around us invisibly from their online secret identity satellites. Signaling from secured frequencies and locked posts. Broadcasting landing times, contact numbers and invasion strategies to one another.
It won't be long now...
In Tennessee, the Carolina's, the Wilds of Alabama: Suitcases spread open across unmade beds. Stacks of well folded capes tucked tightly between wadded up panties and balls of socks. Comic book flavored spandex body suits flattened between a pair of jeans and a pile of black t-shirts. Domino masks slipped discreetly into toliet kits along with a handful of condoms for luck. Last minute arsenals of violet wands, ray-guns, accupuncture toys, disguise kits, rolling papers, bottles of massage oil, trip-toys, hand-cuffs, utility belts and extra packs of cigarettes shoved into zipped up side pockets.
They're on their way...
From Michigan, Florida, Illonis and Parts Unknown: Black velvet vampire children pour into the diners that are peppered along the shores off 85. Leaving behind lipstick stained silverware, a 20 percent tip and a stirring of repressed sexual urges in the locals. I-285 where you'll find Starship Captains pumping gas into station wagons while anime ninjas rifle through the candy aisles of Food Marts. Cruising up 95 a Time Lord, a Jedi and a masked vigilante burn one with the windows rolled down with speakers blasting Electro beats into the wind behind them. Meanwhile off the wrong exit a mutant assassin and a armored witch sit on the top of the trunk to a broken down Toyota desperately waiting for the JL-AAA to arrive.
All of them...
From the slums of Hollywood, from canceled tv shows and cult classics: An army of grown up child stars, well weathered 70's icons, former wookies, graying action heroes, poorly aged mad scientists, "industry legends", has been robots, erotic horror novelists, B-movie s/cream-cheese cake sirens, sequential artists and the faces behind a thousand forgotten guilty pleasures land off their mother ships into Hartsfield-Jackson dying for a smoke and bitching at their agents loudly from their cellphone tricorders.
Can't you see them...?
From Athens, Savannah, Saint Simons and just down the block: The zombies are preparing for a march, Stormtrooper scout squads arrive in downtown, battle suits are given a final inspection, DJs are booked, canceled and rebooked. Promoters make last minute hustles. Old friends arrive at open doors. Internet couples prepare to meet for the first time. Costumes hang patiently in the closet waiting to be brought to life.
Gathering around us
Somewhere closer than you think: Two lovers make time for a quickie to inaugurate the landing. Naked they wear only each others fantasies. He becomes Captain Mal, Captain Sparrow, Han Solo and that guy she saw dancing at the club last night. She in turn becomes a one woman panthenon shifting roles rapidly from bisexual leather elf to electroamazon dominatrix to submissive super damsel in distress. Thrown up against the wall, crawling on the floor or huddled under a shower nozzle spilling protean fantasies off each other with abandon, a thousand hides of skinned wishes pile around the wake of their needs. Meanwhile a cat sits on the dresser watching with curiousity the strange mating habits of it's human pets.
Look up in the skies, our wildest dreams are about to reach escape velocity. Are you ready?
they're out there.
Waiting.
Watching.
Getting ready for us. Orbiting around us invisibly from their online secret identity satellites. Signaling from secured frequencies and locked posts. Broadcasting landing times, contact numbers and invasion strategies to one another.
It won't be long now...
In Tennessee, the Carolina's, the Wilds of Alabama: Suitcases spread open across unmade beds. Stacks of well folded capes tucked tightly between wadded up panties and balls of socks. Comic book flavored spandex body suits flattened between a pair of jeans and a pile of black t-shirts. Domino masks slipped discreetly into toliet kits along with a handful of condoms for luck. Last minute arsenals of violet wands, ray-guns, accupuncture toys, disguise kits, rolling papers, bottles of massage oil, trip-toys, hand-cuffs, utility belts and extra packs of cigarettes shoved into zipped up side pockets.
They're on their way...
From Michigan, Florida, Illonis and Parts Unknown: Black velvet vampire children pour into the diners that are peppered along the shores off 85. Leaving behind lipstick stained silverware, a 20 percent tip and a stirring of repressed sexual urges in the locals. I-285 where you'll find Starship Captains pumping gas into station wagons while anime ninjas rifle through the candy aisles of Food Marts. Cruising up 95 a Time Lord, a Jedi and a masked vigilante burn one with the windows rolled down with speakers blasting Electro beats into the wind behind them. Meanwhile off the wrong exit a mutant assassin and a armored witch sit on the top of the trunk to a broken down Toyota desperately waiting for the JL-AAA to arrive.
All of them...
From the slums of Hollywood, from canceled tv shows and cult classics: An army of grown up child stars, well weathered 70's icons, former wookies, graying action heroes, poorly aged mad scientists, "industry legends", has been robots, erotic horror novelists, B-movie s/cream-cheese cake sirens, sequential artists and the faces behind a thousand forgotten guilty pleasures land off their mother ships into Hartsfield-Jackson dying for a smoke and bitching at their agents loudly from their cellphone tricorders.
Can't you see them...?
From Athens, Savannah, Saint Simons and just down the block: The zombies are preparing for a march, Stormtrooper scout squads arrive in downtown, battle suits are given a final inspection, DJs are booked, canceled and rebooked. Promoters make last minute hustles. Old friends arrive at open doors. Internet couples prepare to meet for the first time. Costumes hang patiently in the closet waiting to be brought to life.
Gathering around us
Somewhere closer than you think: Two lovers make time for a quickie to inaugurate the landing. Naked they wear only each others fantasies. He becomes Captain Mal, Captain Sparrow, Han Solo and that guy she saw dancing at the club last night. She in turn becomes a one woman panthenon shifting roles rapidly from bisexual leather elf to electroamazon dominatrix to submissive super damsel in distress. Thrown up against the wall, crawling on the floor or huddled under a shower nozzle spilling protean fantasies off each other with abandon, a thousand hides of skinned wishes pile around the wake of their needs. Meanwhile a cat sits on the dresser watching with curiousity the strange mating habits of it's human pets.
Look up in the skies, our wildest dreams are about to reach escape velocity. Are you ready?