Tales of Captain Bob

Locked in the capsule with Captain Bob, i’m his jump seat bitch, we nick stuff from other ships as we zip around the Big Black.                                                                                                             

He gets pissed off sometimes and likes to swing the axe around, then i lock myself in the Transformer room until he calms down. He loves the DreamMachine he is an Oxford academic and cycles around the Oxfordshire countryside, in his Oxfords. I have watched him sometimes through the AdJunct program, keep an eye on him, he’s the only one who can interface with the ship….Bob loves it, 1930s English countryside, the DreamMachine, he loves it.

We saw SkyMaster a great golden figure as wide as the ship, genetic engineered by E-DnA mites, to be an immortal God, and float around the Cosmos. An errant asteroid had punctured his eye, the mites were repairing it, the remains of it formed a halo around his great golden face….Bob was laughing about this, and the Great Golden Master wept great golden tears….and this made Bob laugh even more….

We robbed an unmanned freighter, and Bob dressed in his Pirate costume and wanted to swing into the void between our ships, he came adrift and hung floating in the void wheeling around the Hartmann field from the engines….the parrot on his shoulder was opening and closing its beak, but there was no sound….in the vacuum. Once we eventually got to the ship. Captain Bob was pissed off..

It was full of fastenings of all descriptions, gravity bolts, shit like that. Bob started slashing at the few defunct robots milling around making pirate noises. This cheered him up, i enjoyed punching them in the face until Captain Bob told me to stop…

We sold the metal screws and bolts and nails to a group of faceless traders, Bob stayed in the control center, he usually made an entrance, grand and dandy, extolling poetry, and stories…but not today…

We fly you see, between stars, and have seen such sights, ship protects us forever, you see….we fly between stars, we take what we want, and will live forever, we forget where we end and the ship begins, in this darkness. But….we cycle Oxfordshire country lanes, between pubs where we laugh and get a little drunk and cycle to the next pub.

Strong Hand Wields Well

At the beginning  there was an invasion of the valley and…It was unbidden and the horde advanced and there was no thing to protect the sacred place and the horde were a thing of filth and they trampled the beautiful things. These hordes were made by the sacred place and expelled and were coming home. And they built shelters in from of the wall and would mock the wall, “give us the sacred and the precious” they would whisper at the wall.Not knowing they were the sacred and the precious in their ignorance

Yet still they grew until the multitude were so many they broke through the wall and into the area behind the wall which was a vacuous place. Here was the nothing except the cleansing place and they defiled it with their filth until it came. The silver hair of that particular angel knew no mercy and cut them from the cleansing place until they were gone and repaired the wall of granite allowing a culvert to wash the filth away into the valley. She could do no more and so from the mountain tops strode the ageless one with spear in hand and he stood upon the battlement and gazed at the filth and depravity below then further East and the deserts. The filthy called to him and mocked him but he never withdrew his gaze from the desert of the East and the mouth of the valley until one of the filth so elected as “The Traveler” stood upon a rock in the valley and shouted the three words of denial at the ageless one and behind the Traveler one known as the “Twice sent” who goaded the Traveler to more extents of filth directed at the wall, the ageless one and the sacred place. The Ageless one drew back his spear hand, eyes never wavered from the East and casually threw the spear aloft and the filth regarded it in silence as it arced through the sky slowly in a great loop until it fell and impaled the Traveler and the Twice sent together, and they fell from the rock dead. The Ageless on recalled his spear by Sigil and magic and it did rend the bodies of the filthy in its return to the hand of the Ageless one. The filth flew from the valley treading the dirt into a mess as they returned to the desert of the East. The culvert water washed the filth away and made a strong soil soon to be laden with the greenness  of Apomthamom.

The Valley

There is a valley here, high cliffs upon either side, unclimbed, too steep

In the valley it broadens out into a desert an endless place

At the end of the valley between the high peaks a choke point

A wall built out of solid granite, pink granite, hard as diamond

Upon it two men, one without age a warrior and the other a criminal

The warrior always stands cloaked upon the battlement

looking out into the desert and the valley, hooded he waits spear in hand

The criminal idles upon a chair, feet upon the wall.

Stuffed in his belt two silver plated revolvers, engraved and etched in symbols

He idles but still watches.

High above them six giant golden eagles sit in eyries

They watch the desert and preen

In front of the wall a beautiful garden of flowers and trees

The criminal suspects it a hidden place and watches it close

The warrior watches the desert, he knows if they come they will come from there

Every few days a sigil breaks through the clouds and energises them

The warrior takes his sustenance with silence

The criminal whoops and shouts, the chair falls

They never take their eyes off the valley floor

At the head of the valley a sacred place

They protect it

Life of Calvert

They knew you were a threat in a leaden suit

A twice taken refugee a clown in a lockdown

You shooted for the stars and the stars didn’t want you

So you bust straight through, full blowing jet engine

You knew it was a crime, you knew it was for time

They broke you on the wheel, intense brake fade pantomime

However did we miss, that sick end hidden by a crack

The bastards knew you were there, hidden overhead

However will we tell, the stupid bastards

Knocked down, elastic fun, bidden farewells

The crux of the matter was….an end to an end

But still we fade, and wander lost, the end until

Brake fade, brake fade, simian plastic fantastic

Locked in a capsule of glittered benevolence

End to end corridor of locked and bolted doors

When you get there man, tell them you sent me

You made the skeleton key, the locked doors open

you knew the score, the endless bile, the sickened meat

The show will row on, the subtle dance, the paper held tight

The end never in sight, a dashing Prince, candle held tight

In this sand blasted place, Apache helicopters race

Depleted humour rounds, sad face clowns, bitter food

In the lock, the tumblers click, an effort of will at your behest

Taken from the womb, cast out and shattered, this thing

Again we churn the butter pail, lessen the grief inherent in…

the sickness doesn’t creep it pales and dies

On Somerset lanes, the stink of diesel and the gloss green paint

The disciple enters, a soft refrain of giggling schoolgirls

Sun dappled straw hats and razor pleats

Hedgerows of Hawthorn and Alder, small leaved Lime

Shatter past the windows to Salisbury

I become the chrome handle the leather seat

They surround and whisper, an end to an end

A bitter drink swallowed, tube in veins and yet…

In the end a bus ride calls

A blasted bed of twisted sheet and gentle caul

This show must go on of course, in a sleeping bag

a subtle kick, I crawl deeper, protection, a donkeys punch

Instead I take your hand, tight, I wont let go

You know the score man, you have been there, show me

Angry disciple lost, a plate of sweet refrains

An altar burned, a place well worn by countless knees

A thing presented never needed, a hollow thing and still…

Hold tight to me, this is a fogged thing this path

You know man, you know