I met him one morning in an alleyway, I was startled by a face I seemed to recognize, a god like showdy figure shaped as if it was carved from Italian marble, a waist line so small almost beast like. He was ranting quietly, his voice echoeing through the dark rusty brick walls, as if he was mauling the mind of some imagined ear, as I got closer, without making eye contact or changing his posture, as if I hadn't arrived, he said to me “I have no desire to theorize language-- I was raised like royalty and have sinned unspeakably. I would rather waylay and stay away from Getbig than eternally destroy those whose voices molest me.”
I was frozen, as his godly voice ushered through my ear drums I saw a bright flashing light and my soul felt as if it was being lifted.
Galeniko took a further deep breath, as the air of a cold misty morning in London filled his lung, he muttered “Sometimes I feel like withering the storm, but other times I say I would rather waylay and molest the beast that has imagined and pent me here.”
As the falling rain trickles amongst the cobbled stones, Gals memories come bubbling out. It’s as if the rain had pierced his temples streaming through a chiselled jaw line then drop by drop falling onto his striated chest. Chaotically comes further memories. The reedy voice of the gimmicks hounding him over and over. He clenches his fist, veins surge and rise like mountains, and he violently punches a hole through the rusty brick walls and gurgles "Skorp, I bow down to no mortal man, not in here, not in the parking lot not anywhere"
True story
