Destiny calls the shots in an evening drowned by prepubescent earthling snores, fertilized by dying children drying in the dawning sunlight of yesterday's dawn. I sit upon virgin rock sits upon white snow upon Earth on day one of attack one. Lightning comes first showering the sky against plaid window panes, breaking giving blood read pains and screams down lover's lane ending in a tidal wave of showering kisses.

Day two of attack one, where the eyes stop inside of communistic totalitarian tongues, tingling denial of destiny calling for another shot of tequila, "this one with the worm" he says as he grasps for the table in the sunlit foyer of a mansion room designed by two somethings from the south-north side of town. TV babies call from table right, singing songs about winning their war against the boarders who never did care along with politicians soaking their feet in cement paved walk on the sides alone again, and the lamp is going out.

Becoming day three of attack one, the amnesia wears off, first realisation of happening what: Did the earth sit still as it died away and dyed to black against monoleum marble coated deviled eggs back from days one and two?

Day three already and the people see no color and realize that there never was the color that they thought they saw. I still don't see the color and assuming that I am right, the color isn't to be seen anyway.

Day four sneaks right up and destiny calls the shots for attack two, affecting the minds of those left and roller skating down the street come legions and legions of lost mimes, painted faces black and white no colorr no color. Drowned in oil smells down what's left of the subterranean sewers where I lived so long ago and I wonder where did I ever go? and why still am I alive to tell the tale of day four or day three or day two or day one for that matter?

This journal of blood and tears that is for my glory and will be my selfish glory, Should I be ashamed of myself for what I write: Recording history as I see it while a pitiful man walks across the street in front of me and no tears no tears no tears I cry at the cat who can't find home perhaps the last cat i've ever seen and will ever see, wonder if store I could... milk I buy. Destiny buys the rounds for me this time, "deals to be made, people to hang" says he's responsible as...

Day five comes into play-- day five like a sty in the eye, the one that hurt us so bad that we black and blue soldiers walked the valley of doubt while children on-lookers prayed and hoped that we would be destroyed on our faces of fear and hope that when we were over, we'd be over like a-1 when steak is done nothing at stake left to save.

"I say my boy let me make you a deal" as he passes the drink too stupid am I to ask what could be in it and then I fall away into attack three: the betrayal and it being so dark and lonely in betrayal I stupidly scream out the classic "et tu Brute then fall Caesar" line as I am washed away before I get this last word out I slime across the paper and no one sees me again.

Day six, today.