FanStory.com - War, and Yet More Wars by E Lloyd Kelly

The old man saw them coming when at first, they came on down. Sliding squarely upon regular slimy skating gear, as they are known. The juice, my youth, as picked up and brought in from way up there under his walking boots, that is the truth. Too much of such over on that sided shout, so much so that he could not avoid it on the way out. So, he slid right in on them. As for them, those Larried gentlemen? They were never the same again.

They roped him in with their warm smoking chimney, shining beauty, and splendor. Came he not knocking at their window, and hopping in through their wide-open door? Yes, that was it. They would have seen their mighty men and their godly friends, yes, them. They would have seen them again, like, like no more.

"War, war, and yet more wars," was what they heard coming into the car across the notes of the bar player's guitar. "This is war, between the squares and the circulars." The cubes, however, were somewhere in there among those squares on the river. To be fair to them, they were top-tiered children, but. They were sitting there just like always, yes. They had always been sitting there. Cozying up and over in an old rocking chair and savoring the fouled-up musky air.

Not much to do over there other than to screw and unscrew the bottled beer. Just like they already knew that they should never do, yes, my dear. But screwing hard at the screw, that they did. And "pop" came the top of the liquor jar. As they swallowed hard at the bar brawl. Pausing for just a while from singing along to the songs of the pee on no man. He was there playing a gig at the barstool stand. But for a while, he didn't smile.

Neither did any of his raving admirers because they thought he was pausing giving them laughs in fine style and wasting time gazing up at the singing shining star. Those fastened fast to the blanket there, yonder far. But, in reality, it was something quite amazing to him, and me. To the rest of them too, in the end. Because, in looking around, in those places that they did not know before the times of their homely faces. They were to see some possibilities out there. Yes, they did. Out there in those very places near where they lived. There were some trees, the evergreen kinds.

Outer yet further, too, as far as the eyes could see, me through, the scenes. Like, somewhere out there over the shoulder when one turns the head to look at you, son of the Deans. No, not at me, but...

Anyways, there were mighty wooded forests out there, and yet other green trees. A called possibility his lying eyes would have come to see, seen?

"Seen."

"Yeah, man, yardie sin ting, or something."

He was sucked in right away. Like, sucked in to become a wandering form, from that very day on, and hence...

Then, look, over there is the Lars. Shortened and Circular. Just the way they always are, in particular. They too were there gazing, spending many odd days in, and out. Out in the open looking about, and upward bent. You know, like, they were there bending their necks backward. While watching the stars and tracking the herd.

They sure liked to have things staying just the way they already are, like, his way. "My way," so he says, "or no way at all." Yeah! That will take him far you know, because. He's a Lar, and everybody already knows the score that, every Lar is a star. "Ruff and buff," and that's surely going to be more than enough for those Larried Lars and company, but. The first casualty of any war; as it was to be discovered by those from afar, is the truth. The squared one; that brute. Quickly majored in this sphere, true? "True."

Not the youths though. Youths, just the same as you. Like, him too, yeah! I'm pointing him out to you. Can you not see him walking by the old man sitting there in his lone shoe? Yeah, man! That would be him. He, just like all the rest of the Larried family, majored in very little, if anything at all. So, it was the city for squares over there who would have managed to major in there. Majoring in the major things fast and fair. Like, quickly learning and getting to know how to manipulate and twist other peoples' truths.

All of his other fine things are cute too. But he continued doing his studies over you, to come up with several versions of the other man's boot for him and his buddies Booboo. They would have also learned how to create their truthing, by so doing. Like, he'd learned how to pass those things off as something soothing. Or something else could have been brewing. That, too, would have been to their suits Sue Hingh.

Things such as someone else's truths. Even worse than that, he could pass them off as the ultimate truth, no? Yes. They were to quickly notice a tooth, and while the Notice families were there giving ears to the mute. They'd picked up a note that said: People spoke just like Pickney, yes, my child. As in childhood children wrote and read, for the most part. They liked to worship stars and throw spikey pointed piercing darts.

They were rather spiritual too, in the natural arts. The Lars, mostly so, so smart they are. Wink-wink. I'm here thinking of linking up the car to the shining star and going right by him to take a spin over the rim, no? Look at him, a real whim, no? Yes, let's go. So, the squares drew themselves nearer. Then go on out there, to go and out-steer them, and her. To make something up for them, somewhere up there.

"Where, when? You mean, like, like, out there?"

"Yes sir, mister pointy finger."

He makes gods for them up there, somewhere up in the air, and sticks them there to linger. Somewhere between the right and the left ear symbols. Other gods too, he made them all new. Other gods than those of theirs whom they, the Lars would have known and worshiped afore-times, from afar. Out of their godly fear and favors to her. The Squares gave such to them to wake them up. Then send them off to the workshop, and to "wonder-working worship," and they did. Didn't they give good godly gifts? Yes Siree, yes, they did.

Meanwhile, the circulars were there, busily majoring around in a round of beer, on the bar of golf. Gulping down the gullible in believing in such. Like, believing lies, even. Lies chiefly, Ben.

"Why, but why?"

"Why! Did you ask my guy friend? Well, listen up while I sell you a pen."

The bigger the lie bends. The more likely those circulars are going to be in the belief in them. Suits the squares very fine, fren-a-mine. You're certainly a good friend to me and mine, but then. Along with the rest of them, like, with their other kind squared friends. He went out and about, scouting. That was when he'd scouted them out and spent on the wee win, yes, he did. He would have spent the time and the necessary overtime. Creating signs and lie-lines, among other tries and his alibis.

Things like strong and beautiful thighs to show off before their eyes. Tied up in Military things and hung them on a long string. Then neck-laced them somewhere below the teething of the heathens. Then went out further and started building big and scary buildings. Those that were so designed as to get the other wide-eyed void, you know them! Yes, I wouldn't have lied, while sitting down below them on the wrong side. "You mean, those same rounded circulars from the other sides?"

"Yes."

Got them trembling at the knee dem them de de-dum dumb. Dimensions tumbling down, to keep them running and rolling around. With momentum too, like, toot, tooth tooting towards nothing new. Nothing else needed to be done, no need to. They're circular after all, round around there they are, remember? So, the Squares just keep on keeping them in subjection and submitted. Believing in lies unlimited, and believing yet the more, "yuh simi, kid?"

"Yes, I can see you."

Well, nice.

Because, "I've got to be sure," he snores, "to be delivered from the iron ore. This gripping grip of this other odor. The lip-sticking grips of this squared person in proper. Since I can't do it for myself, then, there has got to be someone else, somewhere else, living or dead. Someone from somewhere other than here on these old dusty belts, beneath my bed. Yes, that might be the "someone" personality who will do it for me. Someone more or less like, a good, Godly god-fatherly person, probably.

Even his sweet untouched yet touchable mother, yes, maybe. Since I've already given up on the godly goodness of my forefathers' family witness. Or was forced further to give up and to forget the order. Of all of them, even." So ordered by the other orders that were sent down from the other men in Eden to us, and them. The harder they came, the harder we went. Since I've already done all that. Then, I had better be sure to hold fast to the gods I've got yet bought.

Like, the ones that he has given to me and taught. I must go on believing in them, with all of me, Ben. With my whole heart too, who knew? Yes, "I must believe that he will deliver, rescue, and save me from all my enemies. Just like the man had said to me." He who had given him to me that day on the bed to see.

In the beginning, was the giver. For this very reason, Steven did quiver. "Even after I'm done dead and gone to bed heaven only knows," the old man yawned and said this to his toes. "Forget the forgotten things earthen, heathens are those." There he goes, savoring the rose. After noting that there was nothing left here in the form of a question to pose. He was to find out yet some more of those, like...

He'd found out that, that said "other man" was still there trampling and walking up and down on his, sorry, I meant to say, "our," on our father's eternal possession. Even then, the very same godly incarnations that he had graciously given. "You know! He gave it unto me on that blessed day when - " "When, on which day?"

"On the very day when he was taking those very things away from you and me.

But that's okay I believe, because." That very same God, oh my god! It's he, (or she.) It's that same God who is going to avenge me against that man who has proven to me without a shadow of a doubt left there in his right hand. Or anywhere else left of their best man. Showing it up as proof for me to see, that he's my mortal enemy.

Yet, it is his gods whom he has given who is going to save me, and get me into heaven? Oh yes! I see. This I do believe though. With all of me, Beau. Because belief is all that I've got left of me, probably. In the meantime, though. Look, out there behind the blunt head-bent bow, the beat goes on, on the rows. On the part of that other man too, look, there he goes. He's out there on the square again. Supervising the works of his mighty men who are still on the beat over there, my friend.

Beating away on iron, and steel. Must be how biting teeth feel. They're building strong things over there to eat. Such things are meant to keep them secure in their seats. Or in their newfound possession that they would have taken away from me, like roasted meat. From all the other mighty men too, not you though, because. You're big and strong, bro. So, you must live long, right?

"Right."

Or yet more beating there may be, like. Like how they'll beat you up, all of you. Or maybe, just some of you and your little pup? Yes, that is the truth. Beat you up and take what you have left, if any. Or that which you haven't freely given up to him and Emmy, yet. Even the very last penny, "and what for?" You'd asked her? To pacify him and to get. Like, getting good godly gifts, you bet.

But he will not be pacified. On such things, we've never lied. Or, for you to go out and get a working man's working job. To help him along in the efforts to make and to fab. Like, while he's standing by you and watching his team there fabricating those fabulous things for him to grab. Made in his factories and research labs, the right thing, yeah man, mad. He wants you to come in and help him to build yet more of his very strong things, so designed as to keep him in, and you out, no doubt.

While he was working though. You were there sleeping, bro, yes, my brother. Or talking and singing and boasting and grinning. Blogging, and vlogging, and giving up information unto him, Loggin. How-to information, even. Now, go on in. The door is open so, go. Go on in and give them to him. Those same kinds of things that he uses to build those very strong and beautiful things, to kill. While you're left there with the nothings, still. He, though, continues to build, bro. Yes, building more of his beautiful things, Beau.

He built them with materials that he took not from within, you... you know? Not from within his borders. You already know that they're those very things that you freely gave unto him in proper order. For you to be able to barter. But he was smarter, so, he did cause you to give up the very best of everything, unto him. In the very act of trading the math that evening, while you were left there with the "nothing," still. The trash remains too, and things and ting.

Then, when he was done with all of the good and best parts of them. The best of those things that you were to have given unto him. He sent over the trash, the waste, and the remains. Hazardous waste, even. Where did you want the man to store them, on his own children's playpen? Oh no, not so, that's not how it is going to go, to the end, ever. So, he sends it all back to you, as he must. Pack them in and send them over on the airbus, again. Dump them over on your brain, and the heads of your children.

Then get you to pay him for dumping them within. Then lie to you yet again, and kill you, with it. Then lie to your children after you, and kill them too, oh sheet. Then blame it all on you, rightly so. Then, those that are left of you. Guess what they eventually do? They choose that man, and his children, the best. They choose him over you and yours every time. But. I guess that's fine. Or should I jest off-time? No? No jesting behind will soon find what is to be found dead. Go fund a foundation. Probation as said. Stop that I say. Hint-hint. Obey.