The "victim", disbelieving,
at last "sacrificed", believed in itself,
& it felt ascendancy...

...found its way
to its primary
and expired.

Should I not regress?
With what I might believe in?
Okay, I'm on it.


But not without discontinuing this threadjack:

The woman's reverie was broken by a baby's cry.

She thought of her fucked up life and how it was like an esoteric poem; full of resonance and passion for her, but unappreciated and incomprehensible to everyone else. She then thought of Snoddy and was struck by the similarities between her life and his. Both of them were unappreciated artists, struggling to find audiences for their art, and both of them had noses. It was right there in front of her face. How she had missed it, she wasn't sure, but she knew now that she and Snoddy were meant for each other and that she was in love with him. She decided to run to him and tell him everything - the near murder plot, plotting to steal his muse, posing to be his girlfriend - and she just hoped that he would understand and forgive her.

From somewhere, there was another baby's cry.

Irritated, the woman yelled out, "Hey, shut that baby up!"

A fat man with beard stubble and a tank top t-shirt shouted back from a nearby open window, "I don't have a baby!"

The woman snapped back, "Well, when you get one, shut it up!"

Then the woman ran wildly down the street to find Snoddy and throw herself into his arms.

Running...like a catarrhal nose. The green and brown hues of schnozzart made for a grey world. Red. A tacky but valid color. Blood. An unlimited source of red. Runni kept running...

The critics didn't like it...(They compared it to Georgia O'Keefe)

Of course, they were wrong.

Georgia O'Keeffe, Georgia O'Keeffe, that's all Runni could think about as she ran with wild abandon. She ran past poppies, Jimson Weed, and Bleedin' Hearts. Soon she was devoid of clothing, reaching for her Snoddy - her Stieglitz - the man who knew her like no one else,; or so she thought ....

More babies crying. She realized she was running naked through a daycare district. All of her artsy-fartsy thoughts turned more fartsy than artsy when she also realized something else...she had to shit, bad. The last few yards to Snoddy Stieglitz's house found her running with stiff legs and scrunched up ass buns. She burst through the front door and slammed open the bathroom door and there was Snoddy...masturbating with a picture of Georgia...
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedi..._Corrected.jpg

When she burst through the bathroom door, Snoddy looked at her with a puzzled look. Runni ranted, and she raved, then she ranted some more. When she was spent, she fell to her knees and asked,

"Well, aren't you going to say anything? Are you just going to sit there and say nothing?

Snoddy looked at her through squinted eyes and asked, "Who are you?"

Runni was about to explode on him, when she noticed a trickle of blood coming from Snoddy's middle nostril.

"What happened to your nose? Why are you bleeding?" she asked with some concern. "And what do you mean, Who am I?"

"What do you mean, "What do I mean?"?, asked Snoddy rhetorically and existentially. "The question is What am I...Until now my palette has been excretions but it is time to give my body to my art. My blood. Crushed bone for texture. The yellow green of bile. Pureed liver for browns. Pulverized brain for gray. I am paint. I am paint!...

Snoddy continued, "Runni, you're a magnificent artist. I've seen what you can do. Now I want you to do me. Transform me into a work of art - Your work of art. You can start with my toes and work your way up."

She somehow was not shocked by all of this. Although she had no idea what she was going to paint, she proceeded with the gathering of "supplies". She took a cigar cutter and snipped off his left small toe. An expendable appendage. Snoody cried out somewhat but immediately shouted "YES!" at the loss. She was secretly enjoying it too. She put a tourniquet around his foot and drained the blood into a dixie cup. She peeled the flesh off like a small fruit and crushed the bone and nail in a coffee grinder. She carefully took all veins and capillaries and put them in another dixie cup, intact. The outer skin was carefully peeled off and the remaining dermis crushed with mortar and pestle. A rush ran up her spine as Snoddy had turned his back for a moment and she dipped her pinky tip into the pureed flesh and tasted it. "Tastes like chicken" she joked to herself. She really thought to herself it tastes like human flesh. Funny how one knows what raw human flesh tastes like before one ever tastes it. She entertained the thought how this "human sushi" would taste wrapped in rice and seaweed, with a little soy sauce, ginger and wasabi...

Inspired, Runni scattered the paints across her palette and began to paint, while Snoddy moaned in painful ecstasy. She didn't know what she was to create, she just started creating. Soon, she was out of pigment and had to go back for more.

She had already created a picture of a middling dipshit, but she didn't realize its prevailing mediocrity and was drawn to prevent the creation of anything more meaningful.

Mired in mediocrity, Runni pressed on. With every stroke, the middling dipshit became more and more mundane. No matter how she tried to elaborate her subject, the dipshit remained the same. He was vapid, puerile, and bland. Runni couldn't stop. As her pigments waned she grew even more determined. Finally, and with only the benefit of Snoddy's one pinky toe, she had produced her piece de resistance. A striking portrait of Henry David Thoreau.

On to the next project. No middling dipshit this time. Maybe a diddling midshipman. But she needed more paint. Another small toe. And a different color or two. She got Snoddy good and drunk and drilled a small hole in his abdomen with a large manual egg-beater type hand drill. With a vacuum cleaner's crevice cleaning hose she managed to get his liver to the surface, snip a bit off, sew it back up and slapped a bandaid on the wound. Mortar and pestle produced the rich reddish brown she needed...

As she was busy pestling away,
she realized her grave mistake.

In her haste to achieve the desired shade required,
she forgot that snoddy's alcoholic liver contained other elements
that would taint her desired tint.

The artistic quicksilver brain of hers came up with a plan so bent,
her yoga master would of been impressed.

The yellow jaundiced liver paste would be good for strokes that called for that hue later. But the brown she desired could only come from one place; Snoddy's 3 pack a day tar infested lungs. So with the same drilled entry hole she would use her pincers to travel in and up to secure a piece of blackened treasure...But only after slamming a few shots of Everclear down his throat and one or two down her own...

As Runni collected her biopsy of Black Gold, Snoddy's lung suddenly collapsed and he suffered an immediate cardiac arrest. With the skill and confidence of a really good surgeon, Runni retracted her pincers, carefully avoiding further damage. Then she freaked.

"Oh my God, Oh my God! she screamed, "Somebody help me, Stat!"

"You've committed a crime and nobody can help you," offered those who showed up.
"Maybe we can try."

uh-oh...
everyone involved had forgotten how keen the nose
of a social worker is.

Full of blood-hound lust, they lazily, yet doggedly pursued the easily evident
trail of visceral chaos.

Runni was suddenly motionless.

Deafened by silence as time suspended everything around her, the vein above her left eyebrow twitched and pulsed as the fluorescent bulb flickered in the corner of her dilated and jaundiced eye.

Droplets of sweat surrounding, motionless, like frozen rain, panning...
just like before Trinity kicks the cop in the face...

Runni remembers why she came to the bathroom.

Runni had the runs but squeezed her cheeks all the harder. A deep voice was heard in the room.
"I wish I could help but I'm just a philosopher. An overrated one actually and the pay sucked."
It was Thoreau's painting that was talking. That freaked everyone out but Runni, so they all fled.
"So what should I do, Mr. ThinkMeister???"
"Paint a doctor or something out of guts, bitch!", he retorted.

"You've got to be kidding me," Runni responded. "A:
I'm a guy, and B: I've never used anything lower than snot."

[begin soap opera pause]



[/end pause]

"Oh!", he emoted. "I didn't know there was a director here. I think I might assume he's pretending."

The director quickly examined the cue cards and realized they were the discarded ones from an alternate script that had Runni confused about her gender and short term amnesia about working with Snoddy's guts.
She quickly thought of the first medical person she could and painted them...

Runni failed to realize what would come out..

"Facts are stupid things!", he/she/it, named Runni, roared.

The final outcome of this spectacle, might depend on how well Depends sell
during the next half of the game.

"I shall take nor give no quarter!", became the rallying cry of the dependent
upon Depends faction.

Meanwhile...back at the tissue factory...Snoddy lurked.

...and not without a purpose. His visits to the rhinopractor had convinced him that his third nostril was a blessing, not a curse, so he'd resolved to rid the world of anything that could be used to make good snot into waste-paper.

With Snoddy hemorrhaging from a lacerated liver and gasping for air due to a collapsed lung, Runni decided to take Thoreau's advice and paint a doctor. But who would she summon? Marcus Welby? Dr. Huxtable? Doogie Howser? Quincy? House? Dr. Dre?

Finally, after too much consideration, she decided on Dr. Who. She painted him because even though he may not be able to medically help Snoddy, at least he could transport her from the scene of the crime and away from this confusing world where nothing made sense anymore.

The hybrid progeny of Dr. Moreau and Dr. Who, had been silently,
and patiently waiting in the wings, ever at the ready to spring forth when needed;

they showered those in need with pastel oils..acrylics...watercolors.

It was time for visions to manifest.

Standing ankle-deep in Snoddy's entrails, there wasn't anyone more "in need" than Runni. The mysterious benefactors were indeed generous... but the charcoal pencils were in short supply! Should such malfeasance go unpunished?

"Now that's grist for the mill", mumbled Runni while gathering the art supplies.

As soon as he was complete, Dr. Who spoke and immediately engaged Thoreau in an argument. In the distance, Runni heard sirens that were rapidly drawing near. Obviously, the cops were on to her macabre choice of media. With no hesitation, she quickly painted herself, then picked up a scalpel and cut her own throat, from ear to ear. Now a living canvas, Runni looked down at her lifeless body; at the pool of blood that surrounded her and she thought, ...

"I hope this was all just a silly, silly dream."

But it was not. The cops came in, viewed the paintings of Dr. Who, Thoreau, and Runni, and declared the dead bodies of Runni and Snoddy as murder-suicides. Snoddy, always the innovator, had already discovered that when he painted himself secretly before all this out of guts, his portrait would come alive and come off of the canvas, and he would simply pick up the white canvas from whence he came and carry on.

It is only now we find the courage to take a closer look.

No! Much closer!

Closer even still!

Peer down into the abyss my friends ... examine these depths!

The ghastly contorted planarian faces writhing in the goo are somehow familiar. Slithering ... tearing ... melding .... regenerating ... microscopic screams.

A cruel metamorphosis.

But not to worry. Nothing a decent plumber couldn't rectify.

When the plumber appeared, so did his crack.
The resurrected could not so much marvel as chuckle, although he managed to fix their problems.
Playing by the rules didn't seem to be working.
Runni and Snoddy ran off into the distance.

Runni stopped. "I don't want to live here!" So she reached in Snoddy's abdomen, squished up some guts with her hand, and quickly painted a landscape to her liking on her canvass. They both jumped into the painting and were in the new environment. She really should've titled the painting because they wound up in North Korea...

At first Runni was alarmed, but then she realized that she had never seen a Stalinist dictatorship close up, so what the hell. But Snoddy didn't share her cavalier attitude. Snoddy knew that they were in grave danger. In fact, he knew that the whole world was in peril. Snoddy knew that the secret of his guts could not fall into the hands of Kim Jong-il.

Being Americans, Korea quickly became boring to them. There's only so much kim chee you can eat and visions of M*A*S*H you can stand before your attention span is exhausted. And there's only so much guts a human can spare before totally shutting down physically. So before leaving Korea, the two were able to pick up some electronic body parts that were illegal everywhere else...especially the LiverTek 2000. So Runni painted, sparingly, a place she had always wanted to go...India...

Unfortunately, also, once they got there, they were involved in a strange rickshaw accident and both ended up broken in various places.
Immortal, as all imaginaries are, they got up and carried on, unbroken.

They were however, left in stitches.
Clutching their collective abdomens, hand in limb,they chortled down the path,
strewn with the flotsam of bionic accoutrement.

The flashing neon sign lit their way.

The youth hostel biosphere's sign, flashed, "vacancy."

"Welcome!" said the doorman, which reminded both of them strangely of a spider, "won't you come in and give me something to eat...I mean, have something to eat...I mean make yourselves at home, have a nice nap, I'll suck your juices. I mean, have a nice snack, sucking mine. Ummmm.."

Runni and Snoddy decided to refuse this invitation, and ran, screaming, into the next painting

They found themselves in a relative waste-land:
Once-new posts had given way to the passage of time and all fences had fallen.
Using her imagination, Runni painted a picture of paradise, but this time using more natural materials, like clay. Soon they were there...

lying in a field of clay, smoking cigars in the nude, looking up at the aqua-tinged sky.

Suddenly, a diapered emu ran right past them, startling Runni and Snoddy out of their smoke-induced stupor. They scratched their heads for some time, trying to get the emu feathers that had mixed with the clay out of their hair.

They failed, and realized their hair had BECOME feathers.
Before freaking out, they decided to have sex as birds, because neither had properly experienced a cloaca, previously. When finished, Runni had a funny feeling, and decided it was time to paint a nest... Snoddy thought he'd better cooperate, and provided mucus, as a binder.

It was at this point that this contributor (TC) had to stop and thank the previous contributor for forcing him to look up the word cloaca. TC had always wondered how "birds do it" but had never taken time to research it, being more concerned when he might "do it" next. It also begged the question of how bees and educated fleas did it, so again, thank you, as I will research that too. Maybe. Or not. Anyway....

...Even after experiencing the cloacal kiss and this new aviary way of life, Snoddy reminisced about his life before art. How he had complained about his dull job in a cubicle and how he yearned for some of the safety it had nevertheless provided. On the other hand, he could fly now! That was better than any huge 401K, any worldly pleasure he had heretofore experienced!...

Perhaps best of all, they had become bird-brains, and forgotten how to paint new realities, or even the need to do so. Then the day arrived when runni's huge clutch of eggs began to hatch...

Suddenly, Jesus appeared in runni's toast and said...

"Glad Hosannas to thee! Fear not, for behold the devine genesis of the new Menudo!"

And there were many glad Hosannas.

The two love birds had built their aerie atop a local business owner's building there in Paradise. His name was Plee, and he bought previously owned toupee's and resold them. "Plee's Used Rugs" was just one of many odd going concerns there in Paradise. Of course, the business was just a front for a lucrative Ecstasy trade, which was the logical drug of choice in Paradise.

Of Runni & Snoddy's offspring, half took the ecstatic link to temporary paradise, half of the other half sought carnal pleasures exclusively, half of the remaining one-quarter went existentialist and roosted, and contemplated their egg-borne navels, half of those remaining resorted to cannabalism and resolved part of their sibling rivalry problems, etc.,etc.,etc...

When it came down to the final two, they were Snoddy and Runni as they had been, only better. Runni gleefully snatched some guts and painted a fair representation of Paris...

The two stepped into the canvas and were immediately sitting at an outdoor cafe on the Champs Elysees at dusk, sipping Bordeaux. Runni was feeling savoir faire and laissez faire while Snoddy felt Claire Faire, a young woman who just happened to be passing by. Snoddy with his wine buzz just sat and contemplated all things French......Toast...Fries...Kissing...Ticklers....Mustard....

They noticed simultaneously that all these things had to do with tongues, and started using them.

As their tongues swirled, probed and slathered violently, a new evolution had occured between the two. Mental telepathy mixed with the ability to create with their minds had enhanced the ability to paint new realities from viscera. As they sucked face publicly, none of the local Frenchies took notice. But then the "all things French" took a disturbing twist. The "picture" of Charles De Gaulle came into Snoddy's mind. It travelled quickly to Runni's head. They both became De Gaulle simultaneously. Charles De Gaulle making out with himself at the outdoor cafe. This still didn't impress the Frenchies passing and sitting nearby, as the French are a bored people who had already thought of everything under the sun. But it impressed as well as momentarily disgusted Snoddy and Runni...

They decided that if they were truly going to "see" Paris, they would have to do it with their tongues. Runni and Snoddy decided to have their eyelids and nostrils sewn shut and their ears plugged. Like serpents, they slid along the streets of Paris flicking their tongues to "feel" the sights, sounds, smells, and textures of France.

Within minutes, they both died of massive bacterial infections. After all, this was Paris.

Death was definitely an inconvenience and buzz killer. But the two continued their adventure, although much, much more slowly of course. Decomposition, a concept that should only happen to people like Barry Manilow or Marvin Hamlisch, was next. It was most distasteful. But it did have its advantages. It kept them from winding up on the buffet at the "Foo King Chinese Restaurant".

The joint next door was less discriminating, and after being eaten by others, Runni and Snoddy felt refreshed, and able to carry on. They chartered a plane to Dover, hoping to take an excursion to see the giant phallus on a nearby hillside.
-----Added 31/8/2008 at 01 : 10 : 58-----
The joint next door was less discriminatimg, and after being eaten by others, Runni & Snoddy felt refreshed, and able to carry on. They chartered a plane to Dover, hoping to take an excursion to see the giant phallus on a nearby hillside.

As they entered the plane, they both felt a strange feeling. It was as if they had been there before. Some called it deja vu, but Snoddy thought of it as Deja voodoo, and he quickly glanced around to see who else was on the plane. Runni, thought no more of the deja vu. Her mind was preoccupied with the giant phallus. She had never seen a giant phallus.

Quickly preoccupied, she thought of a different medium.

The medium helped them both, channeling their energies,
so their combined powers could manifest anything they put their minds to.

Unlimited power and control could be theirs if they so chose.

(They chose Barbados, and enough plane or boat tickets for all their
friends and family to come visit whenever they so desired.)

It turned out to be an island somewhere near Barbados, and since they didn't even know where they were, they gave up all hope, and decided to enjoy the rest of their lives anyway.

Fin.

Yes, it was a shark. It made a nice soup, but since it was small it didn't last forever. Snoddy dove in again.

But this time he dove too deep, never to return.
His adventure was over. Perhaps he would return again one day, a reconstituted character in another meandering tale. That was up to The Muses. For now, for Snoddy, for Runni, for El-Ty Spitz, for Zoie, for the hot dog vendor, for Tippy Canoe and Tyler too, this was
The End
La Fin
Das Ende
O Fim
Конец
El Final
That's All She Wrote

Now it is time for the zombies to play.

Yeah, well, I can play as well as a zombie as a living human being. (Just ask the St. Paul Police.) I don't believe this story is over yet, progenitor. So I offer:

He came up yet again, a providential accident, and was rewarded by Runni with more wondrous moistness.

Countess Runni,
loves to knight.

Knee level is perfect.

"My Runni!", Snoddy exclaimed, "This pearl from the sea looks even more wonderful wonderful in your presence, with your essence glistening on its surface."

Runni cannot form true words for at least fifteen minutes,
such is the power of her concentration and focus.

(Of course Snoddy's expertise in linguistics came in to play.)

"Runni, are you alright?" asked Snoddi when he finally came up for air.

She answered in the affirmative, and gave him a very knowing grin.

"Runni, your countenance perplexes me. Are you glowing, or glowering? There is a supremely sensual, yet deliciously wicked look upon your brow. I cannot discern if you want to kiss me or kill me! Have your way with me Runni, go ahead, kill me. Kill me over and over again. It doesn't matter because The Muses have spoken and I have been renewed. Once, I was hanging by a thread, seemingly forgotten and drifting nearer and nearer to obsolescence. But not now. Not now, Runni. Now, I live! I live like I've never lived before. Look at me Runni! I have even changed my name. I am no longer Snoddy. I am Snoddi. Snoddi with an i, because I will not be cast aside. I will not be discarded. I will not be the baby who is thrown out with the bath water. To hell with my progenitor! Praise be to The Muses. Runni, tell me! Tell me what you will. And, tell me why I am speaking this way."

Runni thought for only a moment before grabbing both his ears and resuming, without replying. (She didn't know exactly why he was speaking that way, but she did know what she liked.)

She was thinking...."at least he isn't allergic to shell dishes."

He was thinking, "I'm in heaven!"

Later that afternoon, as Snoddy stepped out of the shower,
he noticed the wet footprints he made on the gray concrete.

He held on to the artistic idea that formed then,
long enough to recreate his earlier vision.

He placed his feet onto a large piece of drawing paper.

Using his favorite pen, he traced the outline of both of his feet.

He then cut out these patterns,
all the while noticing....how much his feet resembled ..WINGS!

"Uh-oh!" he thought, mysteriously remembering an earlier incarnation, & ran back to Runni, who was laying in an endorphin stupor.
"Runni, wake up," he cried, "Does my hair resemble feathers again?"

"I will close my eyes, and ask you to brush your fur or plummage
across my body...and then maybe I shall be able to discern the difference."

Subtle, I am not.

"My goddess, you are brave! And insatiable," Snoddy exclaimed in awe.
"I must thank you for both these things, but as soon as we're done here, won't you please inspect my plumage?"
Then he tended to his task...

Preening?

In a manner of speaking, he was preening his beloved, but his tongue was getting a little tired, and he was still worried about the possibility of feathers.

The feathers were not to come. Runni sighed and asked for something better.

A deep male voice asked her, "What do you desire my child?". Before she could even think of a response, she looked up, and there he was. It was Russell Johnson. With his pope hat on. He turned down the volume on his jam box made of bamboo and coconuts...

& just like the professor on "Gilligan's Island", he made everything OK again.

Except for the wanting more.

Yes, wanting more. As in not being grateful for what you have. The sickness that pervades society, from the drunk on the street to the CEO on Wall Street...

At last, with the voice of reason reinserting itself, Runni & Snoddy remembered what they'd rather be doing, & ran off & did so...
Somewhat more satisfied, they painted a tranquil scene, together, & enjoyed the same Corona.

Unable to discern any difference, they switched to hard liquor.

They chose The Green Fairy. Because what's better than getting drunk than tripping while you're drinking. Thujon or not thujon...that is the non-question...
-----Added 29/10/2008 at 09 : 15 : 17-----
Absinthe truly makes the heart grow weirder...

"Why ask questions?" they asked themselves, and continued enjoying their lives.

But there was one question nagging Snoodi. Although the two of them were metaphysical beings and none of the affairs of the world even interested them, it gets boring sometimes being above the constraints of time, space and other shit. So Snorty voiced his musing aloud..."Is it racist to presume that most or all black people in early voting lines are voting for Obama?"...

Snoodi handed Snorty a tissue, five seconds before his
(generic his) truth came snorting forth,
that happened to coincide with many of his brethren.

Snoodi and Snorty gathered those of like mind and they went out to the
garage.

They cleaned and oiled the two ancient printing presses.

Soon....fourteen thousand eight hundred and forty three copies of,
'The Hundreth Monkey,' were ready for distribution.

It was time for a good soaking,
inside, and out.

So they went and voted, hoping to get their wish, and that prejudice would not win out.
Then they went and had more sex.

They had so much sex they didn't know if they were coming or going. They realized that they had forgotten to vote. So down to the local voting place they went. After having stood in line a very long time, Snoopy made a phone call. "Who are you calling?", she asked. "My doctor of course. Don't you remember the commercials that say to call one if an election lasts more than four hours?!?!..."

As long as enjoyment ensued, it must have been fair. They embraced this as an idea, & continued...

Then they cast their votes, waited for the returns, & got back to business. The randy devils made even me a little jealous.

When they discovered who had won they also discovered something about each other. They had voted differently. At first this caused some erectile dysfunction for Snoddi but Runni reluctantly agreed to wear a Sarah Palin or Cindy McCain mask in bed until he got over it...

Then they switched masks and had some more wild imaginary activity.
Runni got angry, snatched a few guts, and put them both in the vicinity of Barbados.

As the ship approached Barbados,
they caught a whiff of the Wint-O-Green fields,
long before they appeared on the horizon.

Dizzy and stumbling, their sea legs became acccustomed to solid ground
once again.

They built a Yurt, using 25 extra large black flannel sleeping bags.
The hundreth anniversary of the Spark Festival,
would begin at sunset.

It wasn't long before they spoke about how much they missed washing down their butter pies with Ceylon tea sweetened with Manuka honey.

Their multiple appetites were temporarily satisfied, and they reclined on the deck and dreamily watched their destination approach.

"Snoddi!". Runni suddenly cried, "What the heck is that?"
Barely able to focus, Snoddi took several moments to reply...