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the-everlasting-downpour · 2 years ago

Text

I. – Exilen.

«And I, and this whole world – we are nothing, but a dream of someone else.» Omon Ra, Victor Pelevin.

It was sweltering in the cabin. The closed windows offered a view of the moving picture of the road, the blurry white stripes of markings, the road signs flying past, the quirky shapes of the cars, the endless forest, the blue August sky and the equally August sun. The exposed parts of his limbs were pleasantly warm, but that was what made M. awake. His tilted head was staring into the fuzzy grey surface of the cabin ceiling; he lowered his head (his neck was unpleasantly sore from any action), straightened in his seat and, so as not to disappear into today's reality, began to rewind time in his head.

At the beginning of August, M., who was rereading his «The Manifesto» for God knows how many times in the light of the desk lamp, was suddenly distracted from his homemade little book. Shifting on an office chair with wheels from the desk, where the lamp was still on, lighting up the black cover of «Manifesto», to the window, in it he saw only a black sky, whose blackness was slowly moving in space, and orange trees (due to the specific light of the street lamps only); there was no moon, and in the distance small buildings were rising out of nothing. A man walked through the streets, wrapping himself in his coat, trying to protect himself from the wind. And it was then, watching the movements of the black sky, the silhouettes of the buildings in the distance, the movement of the leaves of the orange trees in the night wind, the people going somewhere in the chilly August night – and it was then, when M. finally realized that his path was false, and that he had to change everything.

More accurately, M. had noticed this for a long time – since his birth – but it was only now that it had reached the peak where it would no longer be possible to ignore this fact. He told his brother and father what he had noticed, what disturbed him and what conclusions he had drawn. For his father these conclusions were rather devastating, for upon hearing them he simply covered his face with his hands and wept silently, crying out to his eldest son and praying to God for his salvation if his «crazy idea» happened in reality. His brother, however, had no complaints – although he called his conclusions «crazy», he hoped within himself that M. would venture on such a journey, allowing his brother to discover a new milestone in his life.

M.’s brother was almost eighteen, he was already well known in the narrow circles of avant-garde artists (he had over twenty different exhibitions to his credit, but he had always hid behind the pseudonym «Der Körpenbrenner», and he called himself that because he loved the German part of Paradise culture). Moreover, there was a detail, that made both M. and their father proud of him – he had a fellow artist and a girlfriend named Bella; her face M. could not remember with all details, though he noted her pleasant and benevolent (as he himself called it, truly Christian) character. M. liked his brother's paintings – they conditioned his ideas and philosophy.

With his two only friends, Eugene Sezrelsky and Lord Reekis, he devised a plan, and this plan, as Eugene recorded in his notes, was the grandest and most ambitious outing the average resident of their city could imagine. Having amassed enough money, they put together a total budget that exceeded twenty thousand jsabs. With this cash they bought a lot of things that were required for such an adventure, and by the end of August they were ready.

Having gathered his belongings, bidding his brother and father farewell, wishing them a good time, promising to visit them in the summer, M. left his parent' house, with a heavy bag on his shoulder and a silhouette which his brother had transcribed on canvas in a two-tone manner and gave it a simple, yet profound name – «Der Mann». It still hangs in its spot – on the wall of the living room of their house.

All the time he had spent in a state of flashback viewing, he sat with his back bent, his elbows resting on his hips, his hands clasped in his fingers, his gaze drooping. His hair fell to the sides of his eyes, but it didn't bother him. The moment he finished flipping through the book of his memories, the phone buzzed on the glove compartment in the heavy light of the sun. M. looked up sharply, straightened up again, picked up the phone and checked the notification that had arrived. It was a message from Iorn, the mystic author whose book M. had the honour of publishing; it was written in paradisian and reads as follows:

The time of this novel is coming to an end, when Dodsfall is succeeded by Livetta in an endless dance that has turned your head three-sixty. But don't rush to leave, don't rush to close it, burn it, drown it, throw it in the bin, pass it on to a friend, mother-in-law, brother, cousin, stepfather, for it is he who looks forward that falls. Atom the price of your problem if you think modernity is the smooth surfaces of designer interiors, the red foam of special, craft beer, the gilding on your phone, the silicone linings in your girlfriend's breasts, losing her virginity to you as well as to four other personas. For even the smoothest and most beautiful will become cracked, mossy, mouldy, corroded – it will become awful, for it is not perfect. We are the servants of the crack, the incision, the seam, the underside – we choose not the heart but the appendix! – and plant pebbles in your shoes and make you reread the pages, so that you torment the hero, the sufferer, even more than before you could have imagined. He wouldn't love you if he were alive, he won't even say hello to you – he'll take your hand only to have a razor blade knife plunge into your arm and pierce it under your skin, slicing through your veins from within. «Manfix»

After reading this message, M. wrote back to him:

is it from your new book?

Not expecting a reply, M. turned off his phone and looked out the window. There was the same moving picture, consisting of the broken white stripes of road markings, the cars moving at the same speed, the blackened coniferous forest, the blue sky and the disk of the Sun hanging on it, whose rays immediately blinded M. as soon as he raised his eyes to it. He turned away from the window and looked to the left – and noticed Eugene, holding the steering wheel with a firm grip and concentrating on the road.

— Did he write to you again? – Eugene asked. Still, M. thought, disproving his theory that his friend hadn't noticed his awakening.

— Yes, – M. answered with a sigh.

— What did he write to you this time? – Eugene asked. There was a note of irritation in his voice, M. noticed, as if he hated the figure of Iorn, though he had never met him personally.

M. glanced at the switched off screen of phone; in it he saw only his reflection with unbrushed hair.

— A huge fragment of his upcoming book, – M. answered, glancing at Eugene who was keeping his eyes on the road. – He never shared his WIP works. That’s… unusual, to say the least.

— I'm surprised, – Eugene said, – that it doesn't annoy you.

— Would it annoy you? – M. asked.

— Of course, – Eugene answered. – By the way, Reekis is still asleep.

— Oh, really? – M. asked in surprise and turned to the back seats. And indeed: shrunken as an embryo, Reekis lay on the wide trio of interconnected seats, his face against the seat, unable to hear their conversations. His head, thought M., must be in some deep spruce forest again.

— Yup, – stated Eugene, when M. returned to his seat. – So, in my little competition you are the winner.

— Really? – M. asked with a smile.

— Yup, – Eugene stated, and then sighed and continued, quietly, to himself: – You have to entertain yourself, somehow.

M. didn't answer, just shrugged and put the phone back on the glove compartment. He started looking out the window, but he couldn't last a minute – his newly awakened mind, though it had withstood the scrolling of memories, the awareness of the message and the test of talking to a friend, couldn't handle a simple moving picture, so he just started looking ahead, into the windscreen full of streaks, where the picture was more or less static. After five minutes he got bored with it, so he opened the glove compartment, which, in addition to his documents, contained a full nicely looking pack of cards, a pack of Marlboro cigarettes, some technical documentation and a book. M. took the book out and examined its cover.

The cover was colourful, the main colours were shades of red, blue, navy blue and pink, and there were vertical circles on it, as if on a pond, in different directions. At the top was the title of the book: «Centre of Gravity»; at the bottom was the Latinized name: Alexey Polyarinov; in the corner was the rating of the book – 18+ – which in no way frightened M. with its two digits. The book was weighty and thick; above the thickness of the pages there was a black brush of his bookmark; at the back the book possessed a description and a couple of clippings of reviews by paradisian writers and critics – they said nice things. M. opened the book, pulled out the bookmark between the pages and, setting the bookmark aside on the glove compartment, began to read.

The road went on and on. It dwindled down to part of a line on the horizon that continued to the right and left, trapping the viewer in a circle. The cars next to their jeep drove at almost the same speed – seldom did one press the gas to the floor to overtake them, even though there was no speed limit here, making this highway look like the German Autobahn. The cars behind the kerb made of thick blocks drove as if at the speed of light, suddenly appearing and disappearing out of the corner of the driver's eye. The only thing that was truly eternal was the static sky with its sun reflecting its light off the windshields.

Reekis opened his eyes and lifted himself up, however, confusing his location and resting his head against the ceiling. Resting his head against it, he shifted the lower part of his body and assumed a sitting position. M., who had managed to read a couple of pages, was distracted and turned to him:

— Are you awake, my sleeping beauty? – he joked, with a snide, shameless smile.

— How about you bite your fuckin’ tongue out, ah? – Reekis said. – Not my fuckin’ fault I have sleep issues!

— I'm joking, come on! – M. said, becoming more serious in the face.

— Maybe it’s yours, who knows, – Eugene commented.

— What made you to think so, big guy? – Reekis sneered.

— Ok, now shut it, – M. said. – Both of you. Eugene – concentrate on the road, and you, Reekis, – get back there and remain silent.

Reekis only snorted and went back to his place. Eugene glanced at M. approvingly out of the corner of his eye, and after a second returned his eyes to the road. M. returned to his reading, but not half a minute later, the car, with only the hum of the engine and the sounds played by Reekis in the cabin, gave a steady beep of the fuel warning. Eugene looked at it with anger in his eyes, then said, in Russian and to himself:

— For Gods’ sake, can we at least have five seconds without this fuckin' thing?

Reekis tried to look at the fuel gauge, but because of Eugene's size he couldn't see catch a glimpse. Eugene, glancing at M, said:

— We'll have to make a detour.

— Well... – said M., putting the book back into the glove compartment. – If that’s necessary, then sure.

Fortunately, the nearest sign indicated that a gas station would be in five hundred meters; her figure was visible in the distance. Having switched to the rightmost lane, Eugene went into the gas station and stood at one of the petrol stations. A man in an orange waistcoat with a company logo on the back took a gun without any further words, opened the gas tank and inserted it inside; the flammable liquid poured out through the rubber and metal. Eugene left the car and went to the gas station building to pay for a full tank and at the same time to get a couple of things. M. felt a strange pain in his bladder and also left the car, heading towards the building. In the end, only Reekis was left listening to the filling of the tank, but he didn't show much interest in the sound.

Once inside, M. wasn't surprised by anything: low racks full of snacks, water, sodas, alcohol and essentials populated the entire space of the building, saturated with two colours, red and white. Eugene was standing by the fridge, looking at the cold water; behind the counter in some distance a cashier – a shape – was reading something, and his face showed that he obviously wasn't interested in the book. M. did not go into details, walked between the racks and entered through the door simply marked: «Toilet».

If the main part of the petrol station building was a colourful place of capitalist dreams, the toilet was its bleak reality, hidden behind a make— up of sales figures and pretty advertisements. The tiles here were covered in a layer of age— old dust and dirt; the paint was peeling off the walls, leaving behind deep concrete scars; a pair of fluorescent lamps buzzed furiously; the mirrors were battered, the sinks, thank God, were still intact, and M. wanted to know nothing about toilets. There was also a man sitting against the far wall, with his arm around his legs and his head looking upwards, into an invisible point on the ceiling. Perhaps at the bluish smoke hovering beneath him.

M. walked slowly to one of the stalls, yanked the door open and closed the latch in it. The toilet also looked dignified, which couldn't have been more satisfying. M. unzipped his fly, pulled out his cock and pissed; the gurgling piss merged with the sound of the buzzing lights into a single thing. Having finished his business, M. flushed the water, tucked his cock back into his trousers and left the stall. But just as he reached for the door to push it open and leave this sodom of the gas station toilet world, he was stopped by the hoarse voice of a man sitting against the wall:

— How many roles does our life have?

M. glanced at him, then lowered his hand and turned fully around. The man's face was shabby, but his clothes were clean. Probably, thought M., his car broke down and he found nothing better to do than just waste his time in the toilet, smoking cigarettes and buying new ones – because he wouldn't get to his destination anyway.

— Three, – M. said, walking slowly along the sinks and tracing his finger along their edges. – Seller, product, buyer. It's vulgar to be a seller, boring to be a buyer, and disgusting to be a product. There are also producers, but who is to say that one is one? And anything else that falls outside this scheme is the very «not to be» that our rebellious young men encounter.

The shape suddenly stood up, staggering about on the level ground – he was obviously drunk, M. thought.

— I see... – he said hesitantly. – It seems, I’ve found my place in life.

He staggered towards M., throwing an unextinguished cigarette into the sink at some point. The paradisiac suddenly darted towards him with outstretched arms, grabbing his T— shirt.

— Oh, father... – he mumbled, exhaling smoke in M.'s face.

M., without thinking, punched him in the face. The shape fell first on the sink, then slowly (and somewhat artistically) to the floor as if he had been knocked out by that single blow. After looking at the shape, M. quickly left the toilet, leaving him lying there, listening to the song of the lamps, staring at the dirty ceiling on which this text had been written, until that moment.

M. quickly left the gas station and jogged to his car. Opening the door, he climbed in and made himself comfortable. Eugene, who was looking through something on his phone, was distracted by the panting M. and asked:

— Did something happen?

— No, nothing, – M. said.

— Then something did happen, – Reekis said.

— Yeah, you're the one who knows it better, are you? – M. turned round to him.

— Don’t start it, – Eugene commanded and put the phone back on the glove compartment, next to M.'s phone.

He yanked the keys in the lock and started the car; soon the car left the gas station, rejoining the stream of other cars moving towards the capital, which was beginning to rise from behind the skyline. Eugene concentrated on the road again, M. took a book out of the glove compartment, examined the cover (as if he'd seen it for the first time yet) and started reading; Reekis settled down somehow and continued leafing through his social media feeds. And the sun’s orb in the sky, inured, leers mindlessly.

The city greeted them with a maze. A huge capital, whose high— rise buildings, the number of which was always more than ten stories, towered up to the sky, forming a collage of miniature Babylonian towers, and its evening streets, when the sky was rosy and the Sun was disappearing behind the houses, waved from side to side, along which people walked – a huge capital made one crazy with its high— rises and streets. Eugene joined the other, capital's stream of cars moving at a low speed, noting at once their small number; M. put the book back to the glovebox and started to look round – to look at the houses to facilitate his forthcoming acquaintance with the capital; Reekis did not care either about following the car ahead standing at the traffic lights or about the houses identical by their internal structure – he sat at his phone swiping the finger down for an extra second to get an additional portion of new content released few seconds ago.

Eugene, apart from the road, was also watching the navigator on his phone. Every turn brought them closer to the goal – and then, having turned another corner, they saw a huge bridgehead of an empty car park, where there were at most ten cars, if not less. Next to that bridgehead was the underground, which (as M. remembered) connected the capital with other cities, which, in theory, made the capital much larger – its roots went further into the ground, and the stone buildings loomed higher than ever before.

Eugene pulled into the car park and stopped in one of the randomly chosen spots. Turning off the engine, he said:

— And here we are.

He left the car; M., who took the phone from the glove compartment and a couple of things (including a book) from inside of it, and Reekis, who somehow got up from his prone position, followed him. They all stood by the boot, and Eugene opened its door. Inside were bags, stuffed with the things of each of the members of the trio. Eugene and Reekis immediately slung their bags over their shoulders; M. was a little taken aback, putting his book in the bag and his phone in his pocket, but he soon slung it over his shoulder as well. The door closed and the trio set off towards the building.

«Shajar Home» – read the sign in the distance. It was a huge complex, allowing you to find yourself a flat – something that looked like a hotel, but wasn't entirely one. When they reached its open door, the trio stopped. M. said goodbye to his friends, separated from them and went on his way, occasionally reading the address on a piece of paper in his pocket and looking at the tables with the names of streets and houses. Eugene and Reekis, on the other hand, went inside and went straight to the receptionist behind the counter.

— Sö, – Reekis said, peering into the kitchen, – do you mind if I play my guitar? I need to get ready.

— No, I don’t mind, – Eugene answered simply and sternly, looking around the kitchen.

Lorde Reekis returned to the sofa, where his guitar was placed. On the coffee table next to it there was a small amplifier. He sat down, picked up the guitar and, remembering the melody of A Grand Declaration of War, began to play. He didn't miss a single note – he didn't miss a single mistake Blasphemer had made. The pick moved smoothly, striking the right strings; the fingers of his right hand gripped them in the right places; the result was the right sound, which Reekis listened and played with his eyes closed, immersed in the resulting Nordic mood.

Meanwhile, M., walking through the streets amongst the people who sometimes turned to him, had already reached his destination. It was one of the high— rises on Såghn Street, a stately, twenty— one storey building, no different from any other. M. went to the door to its entrance, dialed the number of the flat on the intercom and waited, listening to the monotonous sounds of the call. After a couple of seconds the ringing stopped and a loudspeaker went off:

— Yes?

— John, it's me, – M. said, – open up.

John did not answer in any way – he pressed the button on his side to unlock the door and then hung up the intercom. M. hurriedly, yanked the heavy door open and stepped inside the entryway. It was cool and nice inside. M. climbed a dozen steps up the stairs, reaching the ground floor, then walked to the lift, the stairs twisting like a snake about a sword around the concrete shaft. He pressed a button and the lift opened its doors with an unpleasant creak.

The inside was clean, but this cleanliness, M. realised, was temporary – there would be a boy who would spoil even that. He stepped inside, stood facing the doors and pressed the fifth floor button. The doors creaked shut and a second later, clanking cables, the lift pulled itself upwards. It was also chilly inside the lift, and the clanking of the cables, coupled with that chill, brought unpleasant thoughts of the lift crashing, M. had to shake his head, waving his hair around to get that out of his head.

The lift arrived and opened its doors. M. got out of it, walked to the right steel door and pressed the bell button. M., listening, caught an animated, approaching shuffling sound at the door; it soon stopped, but instead the lock clicked a couple of times. The door opened and, leaning towards M., John, a shape in a T— shirt, looked out of the flat and smiled at his friend.

He stepped back and M. made his way into the flat. They hugged each other, rejoicing at this meeting. John left and M. took off his shoes and went into the living room. It was spacious and bright: there were long shelves on the wall to M.'s right and an entrance to the kitchen, on the wall on the left there was a painting and under it a plasma TV; next to it was an entrance to John's room. At the front was a balcony with a view of the streets beyond. John turned to M., repeating the motions from some romantic film, and said:

— So, what do you think of the capital?

— It's huge, – M. said. – And I can already feel its hands wrapping around my neck.

— You're always going to find something that looks like this... – John said somewhat chagrined.

M. walked over to the sofa, put his bag on it and sat down. The only thing he could see in the television set that wasn't working was his faint reflection. John sat down next to him and said with a sigh:

— We should have moved north. Away from here, – he glanced at M., who was fiddling with his bag. – I've been living here a long time. And... you're right – it can suffocate a man.

— It's not just the capital, – M. said, stacking four books on the corner of the coffee table. – Whether you go north, south, west or east, – it's the same shit. Here you can just feel it more. Sharply you realise you suffocate between these buildings.

— I see. By the way, – John leaned over, put his forearms on his hips and looked closer into M.'s face, – do you need a job?

— That would be nice, – M. said, closing the bag and leaning back on the back of the sofa.

— Ever worked as a bartender?

— Never got the opportunity

— Well, they'll teach you, then. I'm a bartender myself now, but I'd like to quit, and you're here, so I thought I'd give you a chance.

— Why do you want to leave? Being a bartender is quite nice.

— It's good, but... the socializing, – John squeezed his eyes shut as if he was disgusted, and exhaled a second later. – It’s not for me, you know?

— Oh, I see. I get it.

— Let's go right now, while the bar's open.

— All right, then.

Without even having a cup of tea together, without any more talking about this and that, John and M. packed up and left the flat.

Walking along the streets, M. and John soon came upon the bar they were looking for. M. glanced at the sign – Sixth Lynch, next to it was a drawing of a skull with a snake wrapped around it. Everything was made of glowing warm brown and white tubes. The glass was tinted – no matter how much M tried to look inside, there was nothing; there were only hazy silhouettes and images. The rest of the exterior was made of wood and looked beautiful and somehow natural. Having finished their inspection of the exterior of the bar, M. and John went inside.

It was empty inside – there was not a soul, which was strange. There was a semi— circular stage by the far wall, on which no one was dancing, playing their obnoxious jazz. By the murky window to the outside was a counter with chairs so people could gawk at other establishments or moving people while sipping their light unfiltered. No one was seated at the tables, which held four or perhaps six people each, either. The tables themselves were gleaming. Nor was anyone sitting at the bar, face to face with the barman, thinking about lost time and lost love.

Behind the bar stood, wiping down his glasses, a man – a skinny Paradisian in a shirt and apron; his clothes seemed to hang from his body. Behind him there was a wide assortment of different liquors on shelves in the wall. Even higher up was a joint of five small boards on which the names of the cocktails and their prices were written in white school chalk. The shape, with only his mouth on his face, raised his absent eyes and smiled at his new visitors. M. was in no way surprised by this strangeness.

— John! – the shape said in a friendly and cheerful voice. – What wind brought you here?

— A tailwind, as you can see, – John said and sat down at the counter. M. sat down beside him.

— Even with a friend? – The shape looked at M. and said.

— Yeah, – said John. – And, look, there's one bad news and one good news.

— Well, let's start with the bad news, shall we?

— I quit. I got some trouble, you know that yourself.

— I do, – the shape said with a sigh.

— But here’s a nice one, – John said and put his hand on M.'s shoulder. – My friend will be my replacement.

— I don't think he'll replace you, – the shape said sceptically as he placed the cloth next to the empty sink.

— He will, you won't even see the difference, – John said.

The phone rang. John took his mobile phone out of his pocket and politely left the bar to answer it. When the door to the bar closed, the shape moved towards M., wanting to talk to him more personally.

— I am J, – the shape said and held out his hand.

M. introduced himself and shook his hand.

— I see, – J said. – Pleased to meet you. So, you want to work here?

— At least, I need to get a job somewhere.

— That's true. Any experience?

— No, but the concept is familiar to me.

— That's only a half of it, – J said, looking down, thinking about his words, and then back up after a few seconds, – and that's good. I won't have to suffer like I did with John.

— And what about John?

— He had a hard time being a bartender, – Jay said, folding his arms and resting them on the metal bartender table. – Socialization issues. A chilly feeling, when you look at drunk people's faces. I know how he feels.

— Well, I don't have these problems.

— Alright then! – J said excitedly, straightening up and putting his hands in his pockets. – You fit the bill.

They talked some more and then exchanged contacts. Suddenly, M. got a phone call and, after a polite goodbye to J, he left the bar and took the call.

— What happened, Reekis? – M. asked.

— Listen, I got a deal, – Reekis on the other side. – You know that party I was talking about the other day?

— I do. Well?

— Can you come with me?

M. stopped talking and thought for a while. The receiver sounded like a murmur, like the water flowing through a faucet.

— If you are uncomfortable with this, – Reekis said, – it’s fine, I’ll...

— I’ll join you, my friend, – M. said.

— Now we’re talkin’! – Reekis said joyfully. – The party will be over in forty— five minutes. You'd better hurry up.

The call is over. At a brisk pace, M. headed back home.

Reekis continued to play the guitar. He was concentrating on melody after melody, only now instead of black metal he was playing thall, which he liked just as much. M., in his turn, was sitting in the kitchen and was talking quietly with Eugene, listening to Lord playing. On the white table there were two mugs half— filled with hot tea; in the middle of the table there was a small bowl with all sorts of sweets. It was getting darker outside the window and the sky was getting blacker and blacker. M. unwrapped a second candy, chosen at random from the bowl, took a small bite out of it and, munching on its chocolate, took a sip of tea, which broke out in his body in a warmer, more natural way.

Reekis peeked into the kitchen. He was panting and his hands were shaking. He took a small glance at the scene that had developed in the kitchen and asked M:

— Why aren’t you getting strapped?

— I'm always strapped, – M. replied, glancing at Reekis.

— Well, – Reekis looked away and shrugged, – you know better.

He returned to his seat, chose a new song and started playing. M. left his mug in the sink and left the kitchen. Walking over to the sofa, by which his guitar was lying in its case, he sat down on its edge and, after watching Reekis play, just started to wait, looking around and checking the time on his wristwatch. The living room, apart from its size, also possessed a warm, pastel hue that the walls around it had. It warmed the soul, and M. began to look around more often, stopping to think about the time.

Reekis stopped – suddenly and abruptly, in his spirit. He checked the time on his phone and, glancing back at M., told him:

— Come on, time is running out.

M got up from the edge of the sofa, picked up his guitar and hung it behind his back. Reekis closed his laptop, unplugged the amplifier from his guitar and placed both of these things in their respective cases. Clasping the guitar case, he hung it behind his back, picked up the amplifier with a skein of rapidly twisted wires, and motioned to M., who was already standing by the exit.

— Don't you have an amplifier? – Reekis asked.

— I always have it with me.

Reekis didn't answer, opened the door and shouted at Eugene in the kitchen:

— We're out!

— Have a nice party! – Eugene shouted back.

The two guitarists left the flat, went to the lift and summoned it by pushing a button. As the lift rode, clanking cables, M. looked around. These corridors, where he was now standing, had at their core the same pastel— like colour that the walls of Eugene and Reekis' flat had. The doors, which had a dark brown, almost black, hue, were for M. not just doors to flats – to separate worlds of strangers to him. Quietly working lamps illuminated everything around them. Nearby stood a flower in a simple white vase. The carpet here was the same as in the hallway on the ground floor – pale pink, with a repeating fractal pattern that could drive you mad.

The lift arrived and opened its door. The friends stepped inside and pressed the button for the floor they wanted. The doors closed and the cabin went upstairs.

— What is the party like? – M. asked, after a short moment of silence.

— A simple get together of guys and gals, – Reekis said. – Soda, games, talking, and so on and so forth.

— A simple get together, you said? – M. said with suspicion in his voice. – If it had been a simple get together, we, or at least you, wouldn't have been invited now would we?

— You're right, – Reekis said, "– but please put those questions aside. Parties in Nördpeak and in the capital are different. Just like people!

— That’s a point… – M said.

There was a short silence. The ropes clanked, and the lift continued its measured upward motion.

— Can I at least have a smoke in there? – M. asked.

— Well... You'll have to ask the organizer. I'm a friend with him, so I'll ask him about that, – Reekis said. – What kind of smokes do you have with you at the moment?

— Marlboro, – M. said and showed the cig pack he had in his pocket.

— Shit, I smoke Muratti’s, – Reekis said.

— Well, forgive me, Jesus, but I never saw you smoking. Ever, – M. said while putting the pack back in his pocket.

— «Just because you have not seen it doesn't mean it does not happen».

— You got me to taste my own medicine, alright.

The doors opened. The guitarists left the lift and headed down the corridor to one of the flats.

— Well, anyway, you'll give me a couple of cigarettes, won't you? – Reekis asked.

— Of course," M. replied, trying to keep up with the fast Reekis. – Look, are there any non— shape people in there?

— Well, I guess there gonna be at least one, – Reekis answered.

— And that would be me, – M. added.

— Exactly! – Reekis laughed.

They went to one of the doors. They had a view of the evening city, which was shrouded in darkness. M. took one look and was taken aback for a second – he was at least twenty stories off the ground. Even without much fear of heights, his heart skipped a beat. Reekis, meanwhile, knocked on the door.

It was opened by a shape in a dark shirt and trousers; his head was flat, unconnected to the rest of his body, as if levitating, having an invisible anchor point in the stump of his neck, and possessed the shape of a vertical rectangle; his face had one large eye with a black white and red pupil, with an eyebrow that had either an incision or something else – at any rate, there was a line. His skin had a dark gray tint.

— Reekis! – The shape said cheerfully. – How good to see you!

— Likewise, Greg! – said Reekis, stepping inside and shaking his hand.

— Now you set the right mood! – Greg continued, then turned his gaze to M. who simply held up his hand, palm forward, as a greeting. – Even brought a friend! That’s amazing!

— Find us a place and get us connected to the equipment we need, – Reekis said. – I already told you that.

— Sure you did! – Greg said. – Come with me.

The guitarists followed Greg. There was a commotion in the large flat, and the people involved were distracted for a moment when they noticed the people with the guitar cases behind them. The guitarists and Greg soon arrived in the kitchen. The clean table caught M's attention with its shine.

— And this is our place? – Reekis asked, pointing to the table, hinting that he had expected more.

— I’m sorry, alright? – Greg said guiltily, scratching the back of his head. – I checked – it's the best place. Such are the circumstances, you know.

Reekis, looked around, sighed and then said:

— Whatev'. – He moved his gaze to M. – Be my guest and get the equipment ready.

M. nodded and began to prepare everything for the next game. Meanwhile, Greg and Reekis went to the balcony and, with a whiff of tobacco from Reekis, talked about life. People, most of whom were sitting in the living room talking about things, noticed that something interesting was being prepared. Slowly, everyone who was then in the living room came and became a free observer of the preparations.

Soon, everything was set up and ready; the whole procession didn't take more than a couple of minutes. Reekis was back when he heard the first sounds of a guitar and the sounds of a sparse crowd cheering. Squeezing through, he sat down next to M., picked up his guitar and checked the sound work. Someone got incredibly wound up and whistled throughout the flat, summoning everyone here in general. The crowd grew even larger; those in the back pulled out their phones and raised them to the ceiling with their shaking hands to record the performance.

When everything was ready, the duo agreed on a list of songs and, sitting back, holding their guitars tighter, looking sharper into the soul of the crowd, began to play, shattering the silence that had overtaken the flat with the distorted sounds of the guitars. M., playing, thought that the sounds weren't just spreading to the flat – they were coming out through the reinforced concrete walls and plastic windows, reaching out to the black sky to deliver the news of what music was in vogue in space these days. Of course, not all of this is true – M. himself realises this, as no matter how long the wave is, it will never reach the surroundings of such distant stars.

Minutes turned into an hour, into an hour and a half – time went on and on, and Reekis and M. kept playing and playing. People went back to their seats, and the duo played a quieter style of doom metal, post— rock and stoner instead of hard thall or death metal. Their music became a kind of background, which, though in no way surprising in its technicality or speed or anything else, was still a joy, purely because of its presence.

From the room, previously listening through the closed door to the ruckus of the crowd and guitar tunes with his family and his lover, Tri emerged. Right from the threshold he was attracted by those lingering and lyrical guitar sounds emanating from the kitchen, but first he decided to walk slowly through the living room – to see how the people who had become listeners for the duo were behaving. They, in turn, simply continued to enjoy the party, picking up where they had left off to listen to a couple of guitars – only now they were enjoying themselves somewhat; probably the effect this duet was having on their souls.

Interest boiled up in Tri's soul. He tried to hold back, strutting around the living room as if he had forgotten something. Soon, however, the interest in the duo finally boiled over, evaporated and turned into condensation on the polished surfaces of his mind. He came into the kitchen and became the sole observer of the duo, no longer caring if anyone was watching them or not.

The tune soon came to an end, and M. and Reekis put aside their guitars. Their hands, jerking up and down, and their fingers, holding the plectrums and pressing the strings, were quite tired. Feeling almost nothing in his hands, Reekis picked up the phone and tried to find something in it, barely moving his fingers. M., waving his hair and tucking it behind his ears, noticed Tri, whose name remained unknown to him. He immediately noted a few details to himself: Tri was a shape, he had a flat triangular head with what appeared to be a single left eye, his skin colour was mustard yellow. Three was wearing a plain light grey sweatshirt with a particular patina on the left sleeve with a patch of the South Korean flag on it, and plain brown trousers; under the sweatshirt was an equally plain black T— shirt; with plain black trainers on the soles of his feet. M. noticed that everything looked so ordinary that it was unusual.

— Is there something you wanted to tell us? – M. asked, looking at Tri.

— Ah, it’s nothing. – Tri hesitated. – I just wanted to say – you play exceptionally well!

— It's a pleasure to hear that, – Reekis said, in a tired voice in which you couldn't tell which mood he was in.

Three hesitated more than ever. He wanted to ask them for a favor, but he was too afraid. M. noticed this, so he stood up and took a step towards him. Tri's heart skipped a beat; he was apprehensive, but after a couple of seconds, as if under the influence of a soothing aura, he took a full breath. M. asked:

— Do you have a request for us?

— No, Tri said and shook his head. – Why?

— I can see it in you, – M. said. – Ask anything you need, we won’t beat you of no reason.

Three hesitated, glanced around and, not wanting to tolerate M.'s steady but calm and somewhat friendly gaze on him any longer, said:

— My friends... in one of the rooms thought of inviting you to join us. That you could play in our surroundings. We'd get to know each other, talk, listen. The whole thing. What do you think of that?

M. looked at Reekis, then looked back at Tri.

— Are they crippled? – M. asked in passing.

— What?! – shocked, Tri said. – No, not at all! What do you mean by that?

— Then why aren't they coming to us? – M. said. – We don't bite.

Tri looked away, then nodded at M. and moved back to his room. M. sat back down and just listened to people arguing in the bathroom. Even Greg appeared for a moment, walking to the bathroom, rolling up his sleeves to resolve the dilemma of those in there. Reekis also turned his attention to this heated argument, whose volume allowed him to listen to the inarticulate remarks of the parties merged through several walls.

— What do you think, – Reekis asked and glanced at M., – is going on down there in the toilet?

— A verbal shanking, just like in East London, – replied M. without thinking long.

Three soon returned to the duo, bringing in a group of new faces: a girl in a black dress, with a pentagonal head, one eye on her face and green skin, named Penti; a girl in a skirt and jumper, with a round head, one eye and orange skin, named Circle; and a guy in a lime coloured hoodie, with a voluminous spiky head, dark pink skin, two eyes (that look more like eyeless sockets) and smiling mouth, named Lycan Tropi. Their names (as well as those of the duo for them) were still unknown. They stood beside the duo and began to wait. Lycan examined M. with his quick and precise gaze; the main detail was that M. was not a shape.

— Not a shape you are, – Lycan stated, speaking in paradisian.

— But a human I am, – M. responded, also in paradisian, and took a glance at him. – Just like you.

Lycan remained silent, only nodding, slightly surprised at this answer in his rebellious soul. Having finished examining the guitars, the duo began to play. As they played, Lycan noticed one interesting detail: in this duo of guitarists only Reekis was moving; M. was sitting almost static, only occasionally turning his head finely to follow the movements of his hands. He also noticed that the guitars joined at the tip of their heads in a single broken line – M. played with his left hand on an inverted guitar, his appearance reminiscent of one musician, while Reekis played with his right, with a standard arrangement of strings. A strange symmetry appeared in Lycan's mind, as if Reekis and M. were connected to each other – in the same broken lines as their guitars were connected.

When the duo finished playing, when the sounds of the guitars gradually subsided, the group only applauded their skill. M. glanced at Reekis and said with his gaze all that he thought of them; Reekis only nodded, not quite understanding his stare.

— Oh! – Tri said. – Since we're here talking pleasantly, why not get acquainted?

— Yeah, why not? – Lycan said yes. – I am Lycan Tropi. This is Circle, – he pointed to the girl with the round head, – this is Penti, – he pointed to the girl with the pentagonal head, – and this is Tri, – he pointed to the boy with the triangular head.

— I am Lorde Reekis, – Reekis introduced himself. Then he introduced M. as well.

— I've never heard of that name before. But it's a good one, – Tri said.

— I don't know in what book did he found it, – Reekis said. – He says people call him that.

— It would be nice, – M. cut in, – if that's the name you’ll call me.

— Ain’t a problem, mate! – Lycan said, smiling broadly at him.

Circle, who had been intently watching M., listened as he spoke. She gave a large portion of her attention to pronunciation, accents, accents, dialect words. The aggregate of all the (albeit sparse) information she received allowed her to make the following assumption – M. was from the north. All that remained was to ask.

— Sorry for this out of the blue question, – she said, – but are you from the north, by any chance?

A satisfied smirk appeared on Lycan's face; his face said: «It's about to happen all over again».

— Depending on what you call North, – M. said.

— Well... – Circle said, thoughtfully. – Cities like Nördpeak, Sannur, Arämyrjahn, Göldensturm... Somewhere around this area.

— And that is North to you? – M. asked.

— Yes, – she said, confident in her answer.

— Then I'm from there, – M. said.

Circle, demonstratively, rejoiced at her succession. Lycan only hummed and looked away. M. got up and, without any preamble, went to the balcony.

— Leave me a couple, will you? – Reekis said loudly at him.

M. replied with a raised hand with his thumbs up. Reekis turned his gaze back to the new group of friends and continued talking to them.

At the same time, Blixter came out of the bathroom. He did not look well; to become an unwitting observer of a heated argument was not everyone's pleasure. Moving through the corridors and rooms, he soon reached the balcony, where he saw M., who was only a stranger to him – one of the figures; nevertheless, he was interested in him. He paused for a moment, looking over his figure. He was looking up into the sky, a cigarette burning in his left hand, and the figure stood with his hands far away from each other, touching the pretty concrete railings, as if with outstretched arms, welcoming the new Moon.

Blixter quickly ended his observations of the stranger and returned to the drawing room, where the discussions went on and on. Immediately upon arriving there he heard a guitar whose tunes he could hear even there – in this loud argument its quiet sounds soothed his agitated mind. He moved towards the sound and soon saw the following picture: at the counter, facing a group of his new friends, sat a shape— guitarist whose guitar was shimmering with different sounds. His friends looked very interested.

The first to notice him was Lycan, who decided to turn around, sensing someone standing close behind him. Blixter asked him:

— What's going on here?

— As you can see, – Lycan said, – we’re watching a guitarist.

Blixter noticed that there was a second guitar beside Reekis, who was strictly following the movements of the fingers of his left hand, but the second guitarist was nowhere to be seen.

— Where is the second one? – he asked.

— What? – asked Reekis, stopping his playing and glancing at Blixter.

— There's the second guitar, – Blixter said, pointing to the lone guitar. – Where's the second guitarist?

— Ah, – Reekis said. – He's on the balcony.

Blixter realised that the person he saw on the balcony was the second guitarist. He nodded briefly to Reekis (who continued playing without even noticing his nod) and moved back to the balcony, where he arrived after a couple of seconds of quick, fidgety walking. On the balcony, he slowly, cautiously approached the railing and looked up at the sky. It was black; stars could be seen on it; the epicentre of attention was the bright white moon, blinding like the sun.

Having finished inspecting his surroundings, Blixter shifted his gaze fearfully to M.. He was dressed in a white longsleeve, a black sleeveless shirt with a carbon pattern, cargo trousers, and what appeared to be trainers. His hands were already red from the wind and cold of the August night, and his eyes were fixed on the moon. His hair was long enough to reach his shoulders; his beard was thickening. In his left hand, as Blixter had noticed earlier, a cigarette was burning out. He took one last puff, extinguished the cigarette on the railing and tossed it into a nearby bin – fortunately it was very close by. Generally speaking, M. was to him like Jesus Christ in modern times and without the crown of thorns; or at least like someone who might think of The White Flower.

Blixter wanted to say something, and he even opened his mouth to speak, but M. beat him to it by saying:

— The view that death is the end of life, and the view that our lives themselves are finite, are wrong and misleading. Life is eternal – and death is only a space between its dots.

Blixter was struck by such of a statement. All these words that sounded from his mouth as a matter of course, sounded to Blixter like some kind of mystery, like the Ten Commandments of God. M. looked at him and his gaze penetrated the cortex of his mind like two obsidian spikes.

— Is something wrong? – he asked.

— Ah... N-No... Nothing... Don’t mind me. – Blixter said in confusion and slight embarrassment, glancing at the objects around him and scratching the back of his head.

— All right then, – M. said and returned his gaze to the Moon.

Blixter had calmed down, but he was still confused by the mystery that hovered around his unwitting interlocutor.

M. turned his head, looked him over briefly and continued watching the scenery, sipping his cigarette. Blixter hesitated slightly, the thought crossing his mind that he had no time to talk right now. He has a hard time trying to understand him. Strangely enough, he finds him interesting. It’s weird for him to just suddenly think about it, especially since this is the first time talking to him. He realises, that he shouldn’t get too curious, as it will end up killing him, yet it’s just seems difficult for him to just leave the balcony.

— By the way, – Blixter said, ending his thoughts, – that’s a nice uniform you have. I like the sleeveless shirt best – the carbon pattern is pretty. And your... hair. I don't know why, but I like it a lot, too.

— You're not bad yourself, – M. said as he looked at him. – The clothes fit straight, without any excess. And the face of yours, it’s clear and pleasant.

— Oh, thanks! – he said with a small smile on his embarrassed face. After a while he asked, changing the subject: – You are not from around here, I see?

— Depending on what one understands by the word «from around here», – M. remarked. – Are we taking the whole country or the capital?

— The whole country, – Blixter clarified.

— Then yes, I'm not from here, – M. said and lit a new cigarette. Speaking to himself, he added: – The North has changed me, still.

— And speaking in terms of the capital? – Blixter asked.

— I'm not from around here either. Four hundred kilometres and three days in the car with friends. Just got here today.

— Oh really? I'm from Las Void, – replied Blixter. – And I just arrived today, too.

M. didn't answer, just nodded and returned his gaze to the sky, to the moon and the stars in the black beside it. Blixter also looked at the sky for a second, almost in the same place where M. was looking, and started counting the stars with him, but stopped that activity after the third star.

— Do you play the guitar too? – Blixter asked to keep the conversation going.

— I do, – M. replied. – You can play something on it, if you feel like it.

— No, I... I was just asking. But thanks for letting me do it anyway.

Here Blixter noticed: every time a smile appeared on his face, it disappeared rather quickly. Blixter himself couldn't figure out what was wrong with M. that made it disappear – he didn't look dangerous, he didn't look drunk, he talked normally; but even with that, there was something that made the smile disappear. Understanding it was beyond his intellectual capacity.

— My friends have settled in here, – M. said, – Apartment «1907».

— I see. And where do you live?

— I don't think that's the kind of thing you ask strangers about.

— Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.

M. nodded silently and continued to stare at the moon. After a bit of silence, Blixter remembered what he wanted to say.

— My name is Blixter. You can call me Blix for short. What's yours?

M. looked carefully at Blixter and said his name. Blixter smiled and said:

— It's a beautiful name. I like it.

— It's one of my names, – M. said

— Do you have more than one? – slightly surprised, Blixter said.

— Like forms, – M. answered.

— What do you mean? – incomprehensive, Blixter asked.

— That I overcame death. I have no true form, and what you see does not mean that your friend sees the same. He might meet a completely different person.

Blixter did not reply. They both stared at the moon, attaching stars to it with imaginary lines.

...my new path, a new exile - once - planned, now - executed... ...i am surrounded by skyscrapers, dumb- founded, absolutely. ...once i was in rural shadows, and now i am in light... ...and what to await? remove my weight! unfold my wings and fly!

my thoughts flew to the sky and as i turn my eyes to baby blue i shout to god in endless triumph: «oh, my lord! embrace thy wicked son!..» as from the ground i blew. and as i fly, with my cold gaze i shall set the world ablaze.

To the Table of Contents. / To Ch. II.

#jsab #just shapes and beats #fanfiction #fanfic #The Everlasting Downpour

2 notes · View notes

brandonwayneb · 2 years ago

Text

ˈzelətrē

Bee Hive

Bird Sky Dive

Brandon W. Burdett

Irish: zealotry

English: zealotry

Arabic: alhamasa الحماسة

Russian: fanatizm фанатизм

German: fanatismus

Spanish: fanatismo

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⛪️ Prayer for both ABOVE ⛪️

🤘🏽⛪️ BELOW prayer for both ⛪️ 🤘🏽

📚 📚 📖 📖 📚📖📖 📚 📚

📯PSA 🗣 ESP 🧠 PSY 🔮

🕵🏻‍♀️☝🏽Truth 🙏🏽 Justice 🦸🏻‍♂️🦸🏽🦸🏾‍♀️

✊🏼✊🏾✊🏽 🙏🏽 Soul Missionary 💪🏽💪🏽

😇😇 💘 🙇‍♂️ 🏹👼👼

🧑🏽‍❤️‍💋‍🧑🏽🧑🏽‍❤️‍💋‍🧑🏽👨🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏽👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👩🏽🧑🏾‍❤️‍🧑🏾🧑🏾‍❤️‍🧑🏾👨🏽‍❤️‍👨🏽🧑🏽‍❤️‍💋‍🧑🏽👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏽

Pagan Wicca Nature Divine Celestial Warlock Witches Wings Saviors Swords ⚔️ Words Tomes Books Ghosts Mediums Bridge 🌁 Clouds ☁️ Castles 🏰 Beyond

Skylore and Paige

Beez and Batz

Palestine

Kentucky

sol jinns

zinith.

knights or gnats

56, maps

57, slay

59, no

Red Dragon

Emerald Willow

Kiwi Snakes

🧡 💚 🇮🇪 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿 🇮🇳

Red, okay

Orange, okay

Teal, team

Rainvow, go

Rainbow, go

Crimson, Red

Jasper, Red

not blue boo cast per purchase casper

orange juice lizz

emo gothic rainbow cupid

sniper baby bottle

hoyt, archery

bow, archery

💗💗💗💗💗💗💚💚💗💗💗💗💗🖤💙💛🧡💜🖤🤍🤎❤️‍🔥💖💓💗💕💞❤️❤️❤️

🧑🏼‍❤️‍🧑🏻🧑🏽‍❤️‍💋‍🧑🏼👨🏾‍❤️‍👨🏽🧑🏼‍❤️‍🧑🏻🧑🏽‍❤️‍💋‍🧑🏼👩🏽‍❤️‍👨🏽👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👩🏽👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏽👨🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏽🧑🏼‍❤️‍🧑🏻🧑🏽‍❤️‍💋‍🧑🏼👨🏾‍❤️‍👨🏽👩🏽‍❤️‍👩🏽🧑🏽‍❤️‍💋‍🧑🏼👩🏽‍❤️‍👩🏽

🏛🏛🏛🏛🏛🏛🏛🏛🏛🏛🏛🏛🏛🏛🏛

🧞‍♂️🙏🏽🙏🏽🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🤲🏽🤲🏽🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🌈🌈🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧞‍♀️🧞

🦍🦍🦍🦍🦍🦍🦍🦍🦍🦍🦍🦍🦍🦍🦍

🌲🦄🦄🌲🌲🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🌲🌲👁‍🗨👁‍🗨🌲👽😇🌲

🌈🌈Gay Angel Saviors🌈🌈

😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇

🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

🏛🏛🏛🏛🏛🏛🏛🏛🏛🏛

🐜🐜🐜🐜🐜🐜🐜🐜🐜🐜

🍇🍇🍇🍇🍇🍇🍇🍇🍇🍇

👁‍🗨🙏🏽 psssssst

🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍

💁🏽💁🏽💁🏽‍♀️💁🏽‍♀️💁🏽‍♂️💁🏽‍♂️

🤫🤫🤫🤫🤫🤫

✨✨✨✨✨✨

s. s. s. s. s. s.

s s s s s s s s s s

s. ss. s s s sss s. 👁‍🗨🙏🏽🗣psst esp psa psy

sk sk sk sk sk sk SZ SZ SZ SZ SZ SZ

s: snake

S: big snake

z: pose

Z: big pose

sk sk sk sk sk sk sz sz sz sz sz sz

t: Cross. the Holy cross

st st st st st ststststststststs

l, L: a sword, a line light from God

Sl Sl Sl Sl Sl Eyes Slit.

Sl Sl Sl Sl Sl Eyes sLight.

Twilight Twine Red Wine

Twilight Twine HERbal Divine Vine

Zenith

Sky SK SZ. Skeeze. Ski Zi.

st, stat

st, star

st, stick

st st st st st st, street

st st st st st st, streak

sk sk sk sk sk sk flat diSK chainsaw

Snake Sk Sk Sk Sk Sk Sk Skin

Skin sk sk sk sk sk sk

BEST WORLD 🌍 BEST NEWS 🗞️ EFFORTS 💥 PSY 🧠 PSA 🗣️ WORLD EARLS 🤴🏽 EARS

World Ordeals World Organizations World Or Again Gain Ordeals

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🦩🦩🦩🦩🦩🦩🦩🦩🦩🦩🦩

🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮

🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰

💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓

FayFamFlowFoRIch For Rich Formation Flamingos 🦩

FayMenGos; Gay Gargoyle Garden’s

Aries ♈️ Fairies 🧚🏻‍♀️

Libras ♎️ Library 📚

Taurus ♉️ Tours 👁️

Virgo ♍️ “V” Go ⚔️

Gemini ♊️ Gym 💪🏽

Cancer ♋️ Can Sir 🖖🏽

Sagittarius ♐️ Nature Sage 🌿

Leo ♌️ Say Loud 📯

Scorpio ♏️ Score 📈

Capricorn ♑️ Count 💸

Aquarius ♒️ Equate ⚖️

Pisces ♓️ Pray 🙏🏽

🧠 isp asp

🧠 Psy

🧠 Scry

🧠 Spell

🧠 Derive

🧠 Invoke

🧠 Project

🧠 Séance

🧠 Remote

🧠 Procure

🧠 Conjure

🧠 Conduit

🧠 Enchant

🧠 Channel

🧠 Telepath

🧠 Manifest

🧠 Summon

🧠 Divination

🧠 Clairvoyant

🗣️ Free The Free All 💕

🥋🐉🍀📿🎃🦓📯

🤍💚🧡❤️🤎🖤💗

🧘🏻‍♀️🧘🏻🧘🏼‍♂️🧘🏾‍♂️🧘🏽‍♀️🧘🏿‍♂️🧘🏼‍♀️

🏳️‍🌈🇰🇷🇮🇪🇮🇳🇮🇹🇳🇬🇬🇧

ProLife99. 24/777 🍀 ☘️

411 Free info Highway

11:11 Make Wishes

4:20/20 Weed 70’s Hippies

Anti Corruptions “KKK and www”

“Life Blood Internet”

VVV. Dot Victories

Brandon Wayne Burdett

🦩 Birds & Bees 🐝

💪🏽 Ray Ran, Way, & Done ✅

💪🏽 RA RED 🍀

🧘🏼‍♂️ Aura Or Ra 👁️

Amen 🙏🏽

Omen 🙏🏽

🌹 Red Rose Vines Lines 🌹

🍇 Grape Telephone Vines Lines 🍇

🙏🏽 Prayers & Hearts

✨ Stars & Planets

🦜 Parakeet Flocks

🕷️ Spider Hives

🐝 Bee Hives

🐜 Ant Hives

🦴 Fossils

🌋 Lava

Bats 🦇

Cats 🐈‍⬛

Rabbits 🐰

Ladybugs 🐞

✌🏼 Victory Violins 🎻 & Irish Harps

🇮🇪 🍀 Save The Irish ☘️ 🇮🇪

🙏🏽🌎 Fran & Frank 🤲🏽🌟

🧚🏻‍♀️🧝🏽‍♂️ Elfie & Alfie 🧝🏽‍♂️🧚🏻

💚🍀 Amy & May 🧡☘️

🤗 Hug & Honor Trees 🌳

💪🏽 Keep Strong Tools 🧰

🎶 Sing to your Keys 🔑

🌹Roses In Your Backpack 🎒

🏰 Keep Healthy Thoughts 💭

🌏 Planets & Life Schools 🏫

💁🏽 Don’t Lose to Fools 👀

🥋🐉🍀📿🎃🦓📯

🤍💚🧡❤️🤎🖤💗

🧘🏻‍♀️🧘🏻🧘🏼‍♂️🧘🏾‍♂️🧘🏽‍♀️🧘🏿‍♂️🧘🏼‍♀️

🏳️‍🌈🇰🇷🇮🇪🇮🇳🇮🇹🇳🇬🇬🇧

🧘🏻‍♀️🤍🐰🐇🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️

🧘🏻💚🐲🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉

🧘🏿🖤🐈‍⬛🐩🦓🦝🦍🦏

🧘🏾🤎🦔🦩🐸🐛🦖🦕

🧘🏼‍♂️🧡🐈🐰🦊🦜🦧🦌

🧘🏼‍♀️💗🐕🐱🐝🐿️🦫🐡

🧘🏾‍♂️❤️🕊️🦚🦙🐫🦘🦗

🌈🔑🌈🔑🌈🔑🌈🔑🌈🔑🌈🔑🌈🔑🌈

☄️🪀🪀🪀🪀🪀🪀🪀🪀🪀🪀🪀🪀🪀🦜

🌈🔑🌈🔑🌈🔑🌈🔑🌈🔑🌈🔑🌈🔑🌈

☄️🪀🪀🪀🪀🪀🪀🪀🪀🪀🪀🪀🪀🪀🦜

war

1. spell shield

cast sword

2. bazooka or

candle wick

3. hoty, archery

bow, archery

4. athamaay, dagger

Hiiz

I’m a rainbow 🌈 OG 💪 Hippie 🌻🌹

jettblack infinite soul 🖤 Warlocking 🧙‍♂️ to usher Utopia era of mankind.

🤘🦸‍♂️PERfect World 🌎 vs dOom world 🧟‍♂️

🙏 Wicca 🕯 ✨

🧙‍♂️ Warlock (Male/pronouns)

🇮🇱 Jewish 🇮🇱

🇮🇪 Irish ☘️ 🍀

🌸 Gay 🌈 🏳️‍🌈

Jinn 🧞‍♂️🧞🧞‍♀️Soul Jinns

Allah🙏 & 😈 Devil

✡️💟LOVE ALL LIFE 💟✡️

💜🧡🖤💛🤍💚🤎💙❤️

Taurus ♉️ haha 😂 🐂😈

Long term relationship ��

📚✨🧐🤓🤓🤓EVER-re-th-in-g!¡ 😉😎

Investigative Journalist ✍️ 💻

Blogger 📱

My ~eomji list~

👋 Hii 🙂🙃

💯 I’m 🌈 gay, proTRANS 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️OG 💪🏽Hippie 🌸 Genetic 🧬 Hybrid 👽 👾 🌻🌹 Romantic 🌹 poetry ✍️ 🕯

jettblack infinite soul 🖤 Warlocking 🧙‍♂️ to usher Utopia era of mankind.

🤘🦸‍♂️PERfect World 🌎 vs dOom world 🧟‍♂️)

🙏 Wicca 🕯 ✨

🧙‍♂️ Warlock (Male/pronouns)

🇮🇱 Jewish 🇮🇱

🇮🇪 Irish ☘️

✨ Fairy 🧚‍♀️ 🧚‍♂️ 🧚

🌸 Gay 🌈 🏳️‍🌈

Jinn 🧞‍♂️🧞🧞‍♀️Soul Jinns

God 🙏 & 😈 Devil

✡️💟LOVE ALL LIFE 💟✡️

💜🧡🖤💛🤍💚🤎💙❤️

🌺 May 6th 1990’s

Taurus ♉️ haha 😂 🐂😈

Moon 🌚 🌝 💞

Fairy 🧚‍♀️ tales 📚 📕

📚✨🧐🤓🤓🤓EVER-re-th-in-g!¡ 😉😎

I’m 🌿💖Vegan🌱🧚

🦸‍♂️🦸‍♀️🦸 SSSuperHero!💪 🌍 ☄️

Non-MaterialistiX 🙅‍♀️🙅🙅‍♂️🤑💸

🐰Bugs Bunny 🥕🐇

Alien 🛸 👽 🧐🥸🤓 Study 📖 🛸

talking to me =

Crew Psy Fix

Zi Zenith

TA TA

SO SO

SOW

SOL

SOWUUEOEWL E EYE O NEW NOT OLD

FAITH

HEAL

HEALTH

HEALTHY

THEE

THY

THOU

THYME THEE TWINE

PRAYER ALTAR

AVA

VIA

NYE

NAY

ESP

XXO

666

999

ABC

12:12

5:56

XYZ

101

#allah #brandon #bwb

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