Suicide Diary of Princess and the Mudfish

There is always the mutt, her sword, the noble, and his castle. A girl, an impotent weapon, a fortress, its territory of command. An authority, killed in cool passion. Sometimes: cowardice, retreat, a girl becoming the amphibian dog-fish, a thing of the slime and shit.

“dagger-nosed whelp try to run away
wasteland built up in her skull

after the oceans crashed back down last century
bore-whales feast deeply on the sierra
-9,999km well burrowed into the fatty dirts
there, at its richest depth, favorite of cowards

the mudfish slumber in pathetic retreat
eyes shut afear the circling bites
of looming weapon-sharks
kitted out in their deadlies”

Carter took mudfish to the firesmith market today, amber-coated trees invading the route, Dying crown of thorns on top of shot-up road signs. the fish stuck her head out the window and bark loudly into the wind, take it out take it out, she spat mad&horrible curses into atmosphere’s overhwelming body. Carter has a lot of death inside her head too and the convo drifts between infrared pornography and nethackers out for their blood. mudfish describes a dream to Carter of laying in a casket made of iron powered with cheap electrical components, a diesel powered tomb, the Cuckoo Wolf appear above her, grabbing fistfuls of wires out of the casket’s open guts, spitting power and hot signal all around her body from the rainbowed tentacles. Then, the Cuckoo Wolf shoves the cables on the fish’s soft teeth. Body spasming against the cold metal, chomping down on transmission bolts bouncing between her molars in zigzag patterns.

“you must lend your body freely to him,
but you dont owe the world any image, bandit
i’ll live below the buried ocean
i’ll carry the saint to his castle
i’ll kill & fuck in the bombarded grayland
and gladly nothing else”

“where we’re going fangs will dull
bleeding a heresy, lock our horns kindly
you babble so brightly, degloved of any words

lie with me, allow
the curling spear jutted
from your forehead
caress my cheek, a soft slice”

Mudfish met a man named Weapon, and they bonded over both trapping hunters in the great central-east, her old territory. he told her that she had a strong handshake for such a quiet girl.

Marking down of passing container ships. a rare sighting of Barrel breaching on the horizon flaunting with terrible bellows making her cover her sensitive, wide-ranging ears. Documented along the way: crouching tigers, a trap for snagging thunderbirds, greymarket for brine-soaked War gadgetry, myself looking back from a glass behemoth. next day was the equipment bazaar. one poorly armored carriage goes there each morning. mudfish bought boots with powerful fangs inset on their leather grin. and later coming across a meet-up of men shouldering automatic weapons smiling big and stupid into their cheeks resting on bloodied stocks useless trophy optics High on High violence and one bandit punching a spiked blade against the legs of a lone prisoner. She continued her documentation diligently, day 99 of 2719.

Tan-painted harvesters devour and belch thick charcoal mists in the dirtfields west of my trailer. Their iron-lined cylindrical stomachs satisfying with poppies spiked regalia and composite as icy breath. I thought of them coming over, flattening my trailer, continuing down the road to Dull Sword’s thoroughfare, clearing a glorious gory path in front of Feudal’s Museum, the Concrete Beetle, and Carter’s place leaving a thin coat of red finish. Perfect food for the day. gnashing blades, terrible death-industrials mulching any pedestrians. Pistons pulverizing bone and making paste of me. Grand tusks of steel rising from nuke-salted dust to pierce all of us.

They’ve designed a new weapon and I’ve been chosen to test its capabilities personally. A long cylindrical casing with a crown shaped like a rifle cartridge, tall with a dull point. While I watch from the stern-side seat, they raise up the weapon and fire it into the sky. We reach the target and the weapon lets out a roar. great blade typhoon sleuce through the low orbit. A garden of chewed steel and carbon fiber and vulgar plastics, glow reflects blooms; my meager blood clung to polymer, 251.00 kilometers above.

Horns brandishing tall and Sparkling pikes from my forehead, puncturing the world’s skin before them. curled keratin pillars with records of old battlefields carved in their grooves. you the Frightening daughter of the Ghost rockets. It made me want to go out there. Onto all fours and bursting out my door, wolven-sprinting into cold night, on my way to maul and rape any other beast of similar perverse instinct. Outside of the window, I saw myself, Dogshit, black-tint hounded spirit, two discs of pulsating grecian fire wielded. She turned away from me, towards the dumb void of another bodyguard assassin, one part of an immense single-file procession, familiar smile. chained layer Predator stared through the glass portal like unsteady camouflage. Grin coiling along her cheeks with treacherous pride.

Dogshit covered in gaping holes, Over-Exposure to outside contaminants (people, their words, their thoughts, excrement of their mouths) leads to painful red craters forming on her heart. Lengthy fire arrows decorating the wax figurine’s insides. Outside her fort too long. The hydrophone operator needs to take over. Replace the sand with 1,000,000 merciful pounds of pressure. Flatten the wax into a vulgar seal, family of psychopathy. She would have shot up the academy if he showed up earlier. AhAhAhAhAh ah ah ah Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ahhhh………… the whines of kicked dog. Bitten dog. Puppy with her tongue cut out, replaced with fashion weapon, vanity lethally for the dick that commands her, winter sunset pierce her ear, surface scatter and disco leaks from the maw, always flailing like a deathworm, gluttinous black fucking parasite of shit. Squeeze her blind for the pack’s sake.

the last rain is coming in and my body knows the price. The mud begins to speak and I let the breeze take my head. A special blade for you, fair cleric. The ground and sky rippling into glass, I know this war jungle. apocalypse society lives here and it’s within me now too.

The dog always falls into repetitive patterns. Deep tracks inside her head caked with early morning puke, numbing powders, parfum de la mort of released control. Reopening the same wounds over and over for 17 years. She’ll never leave Feudal’s feet, always talking to herself, full self-break, submarine dive to a lesser pain. Repeating his creed: “My doggy whore, open your mouth, taste my bullet and relish my poison.”

17 years. I’ve been of service for so long. The angelchrome tongue in my mouth settled in comfortably now. soon I’ll begin gnawing my own fucking face off at this feet. Calling myself by all sorts of retarded names. Holding in my bark until my head blows chunks of fat hot brain all over his knees. 10 pounds of royal demolition as the dog’s final medium.

“I dreamt that I was traversing an ancient and deadly place.

Lonely traveler for this repulsive world.
Bronze walls dismember me,
my gaze creamy and dull.”