Raise up lights. An old signal using a flint, atop a watchtower. Power hour. Our our (hour). Doorves. Smelling like a small man on a big day. Party tank. Ovens over Tuesday mining drove alep shmoo. Oiv. Was. Billbank and Sherman Butt, family name was once Bute now Butt. Sherman Butt and Billbank Butt are friends and brothers, they share their lovers and they love beer. They listen to Radiohead but they aren’t stupid, they went to college and never listened to college rock for longer than a few minutes because it wasn’t their scene. The Butts were epic and needed epic music, out in the rain in the gray city darkened by supernatural night. They’re the ones to rise up, to save the day… Billbank and Sherman.
Eyes like sushis, and eyes… and plants, too, flora like both sushis and like eyes. To some, it’s a land of horrors. Not hell, exactly, but a nightmarish place. A place not reached in sleep, but through the other, less known horrors of reality. Falling through codes. Beyond the geometric structures. First, he wakes to a slapping sound, but it’s important to note that he does in fact wake- thus it’s not a dream. Oilive. Gruz. Myep. That was the end.
Two peach pits!? Sherman Butt was ecstatic. Nearly hysterical. Surely this was the end of days or a good omen or some nonsense. Not even on the internet had he ever heard of a peach having 2 pits. No one had even attempted to fake it with photo-editing software or grainy old found-footage. The idea was apparently so inconceivable that no one had ever conceived it. Yet here it was, in Sherman Butt’s hot little hands. He felt the urge to get somewhere, but he didn’t know where to go. Holden’s house? The bank? To where prostitutes stood? His mind was on fire. Sherman hadn’t lost reason or control, but he was in some sort of lucid reverie or psychotic breakdown…
Gold Bond. Your name is Gold Bond? Like the stuff? The stuff? Cream. I’ve never heard of that, no.