Twi-li (Twi lee, Twy Lye)

It was then in the depths of my loneliest lair that I conceived of a notion to riddle with.

Ritalin ridden children ran down the street in hot pursuit, armed or otherwise dangerously clad after espresso machine ice cream truck. Lucky Dan got out of the van later and promised his lover’s mother they’d both come back alive. “And Harry McSally pulled the trigger your honor, not I. Or so help me god!” The gag was set, the team arrived, interference shuffle in progress, watches synchronized for 6:06 am, alibis in place, Plan B, interrogation plans, and the black briefcase ready.

Set: (over a headset to someone else) Ok so look in my inventory for a moment.





















“Nickel quick dime you for gettin’ mi punch back, got me fristy bits wang toodled off at their mother beams. Wanker like your muvver did las’ nigh’ I reckon.” He too had a rather rude attitude in his language, “It’s not you son, it’s your language. By golly, the language!” with a strike of his finger in the air, the old man interrupted him. “Speak softly, and don’t return.” Carry a big stick too… We had waded in in the moonlight, looking mighty nice, like many bumbling mice, making merry music, stumble through the tune, and missing the stop on just one little whole, a fat cat of a note pops out the wrong way, and you’re lookin’ at takin’ a life you didn’t think you’d have to take. Sure we got the bullets for him, and nobody deserved it better than Bill E. Jones Cat AKA: The Club, The Billy Club, The Billy, The Goat’s Gruff, Billy Goats Gruff, The Billy Goat’s Gruff, Billy, Billy Jones, Billy Jones Cat, and The Great Billy Cat.


Lucky Dan pulled the trigger. He looked at us, and pointed it in our general direction. We didn’t blame him, he had a promise to keep after all, and we were all thankful for his spontaneity. “Does this change anything?”

“No, we go according to plan. Men lie down every night, not everyone wakes for day.”

It was decided.

Set: Takes this next left, trust me.

Yes let’s have Po Seh Di Un over for lunch. It’s a children play about a child that interviews different gods and falls for the Greek God of the Sea Poseidon, only he’s still a child,, about ten or eleven or so years old, he’s got like a lisp or something or he’s bad at pronunciation or something like that, whatever you get the point, anyhow it was fantastic, you really need to see it. It’s at the Hammerstein on 37th Ave. in Oceanside.

I have an imagination

I have these spaces in my mind

filled with ballrooms and ballpits

pulpits, pitbulls and pipets and puppets

it’s filled with mysterious goo,

that breeds aliens and arguments

and pesky ideas too

that unfolds a rare species of raptor

philosophical, domesticated, turning red green yellow blue

When we found him, he was well past the brink of insanity, and queerly he rose to offer his prophecies. “Professor, we have something for you.” The briefcase sat at his feat for a moment. Pacing awkwardly we, impatient asked “what is it Professor?” Lucky Dan, looked at me, he’d come this far, but he had a promise to keep, and we understood that, nodding in unison as he backed out of room. When he was gone Harry McSally nodded to us all, and backed out just the same, the bravest man I ever met- a self professed coward. When he was gone it was just the three of us who once had been six… and the Professor…

He stalked about the bag peering into as an ostrich might have before they became vegetarian. He was a crazy endeavor in and of himself. 11:01pm, we had ten minutes until the lockdown, and another 49 until our escape. I pray to god we guessed right. The Professor has become less beast than fowl and nearly pecks the bag before realizing. “Come on Beater, we gotta just bag him and go,” Theodere T. Theatre Beater held the lasso quiveringly, also the bag and gag.

Set: 4 Bogies to my right!”

“I’m on it!” Beater hiss whispers, so as not to disturb his target. I press play on the cassette player. He dodders to the music for a moment. Beater closes in.

“WAIT! STOP!” He cries, and runs toward the bag as though he had just arrived at the thought, and turned and said it’s a Sphere.

“An orb you mean?”

“No, a Sphere, it has no finite or specific mass or volume. It is the essence of the Spheric Existence incorporated into, for the moment, an object, if you can call it that. To say that this is the actual shape is an understatement. It is every sphere that has ever, will ever, currently does or does not, has never and will never exist, all at the very same time. It is a constant function of ultimate space stuck in ultimate time. In a way it is a crystalline byproduct of a space-time oriented relationship. They are dangerous and powerful. And you’ve brought it here with good reason. Forget your plans gentlemen, You won’t be needing those anymore, it won’t help, I can tell you that much. You brought the brisbane I hope, I left instructions for a bottle of brisbane. There is much work to be done gentlemen, oh yes, much work…”


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