*** WILDLY MISREAD's "The Devil's Kennel" Jumpstarter --- (Spilt Ink/Excerpt) by Randall Johnston    From the first day I was in tune with reality. There was a larger-than-life sun above. It had control of the plant life and ripped the leaves off the top. Brandishing them to the ground. The only awe defying gravity physic, unimaginable grief for me as the effect was happening to me as well. Shaken and stirred, the leaves quickly tear apart and disintegrate as they rise from the roots of tree branches. The darkness below where your eyes met what's left beneath the surface of the forest canopy. The trees are screaming along with me, my psyche fracturing. Darkness enveloped that which should be seen but is and never will be for anyone worth knocking the fuck out. My mind was disoriented from the nauseous spinning of the environment around me, kicking up dirt without the forest to covet my eyes further. Ending with it joining the treetop and my sight of the sky. A min...

Wildly Misread's The Ridge By Randall Johnston (Story As Is) Excerpt - Anvil An Anchor on The Ground   "Sink so I may see you do the same, anvil." I'm waiting for the crushed sarcophagus to break apart from the pressure. "You have been gone a long time." My eager waiting is weighing my mind down because of impatience. Startled abruptly by the small enclosure. At a touch, immediately knowing the surrounding encasement is brittle, the water will get in. "You have been gone a long time." Matches, damp. "Shit." It sparked, then sizzled burned out to carbon. Leaving me with the clear visual of a downed hope, "Okay, I've been drinking." Where the fuck am I? "Curious, you'd choose a frigate to cross the ocean." Kicking my enclosure for the coffin tin to open. "Hey, this isn't funny. I got fucking claustrophobia." I'd rather die than meet my old friend. This might as well be a trash receptacle rummagi...

    After the storm abated, FNM+ had been vindicated of all except one... gleaming off the death he had incurred years before he's still there today like a burnout image of someone who had sat there before. He was the original owner of the venue, he wanted to have a club, tattoo parlor. Working out on the north east end. He had bought a building out in the drylands. Here there is a very different type of temperament here. I couldn't get use to the fact he always had the better instinct. Tornadoes. The "FNM+" originally called Steel Gate acted as a fallout shelter. I wonder if he will ever be here again...  I step out to the unfinished east side of the complex only to see for a moment someone smoking. I have sweat in my eyes from staying in the mosh pit too long. Wiping the slight singe off of my eyes, I gaze through the haze for someone no longer with me. Still I stood alongside him and had a smoke. 

RNDM THOUGHTS! When you want to throw your thoughts in the trash, you just do it! See below for example. If my heart was wrenched in my chest I'd find a way to spit it up and marvel at how little it looks like charcoal. I'd skip coal across the frozen lakes above us to the north and remember that elevation doesn't mean shit when you take in the grand revolving sky above us on an axis that hadn't been noticed to us for 800 years. All those stars and no lights upon the brilliant volatile rocks that surround them. Thermal readings always pick up stars where they're not. Just as fish get plucked by spear where you missed because of the deceptive surface of water and shine of the big flashlight in the sky.  Spelling out the word labyrinth would be easy if I hadn't gotten lost in the puzzle with no meaning other than there was an H or an I before I had my dad take the last step and finish my rubic's cube before the disaster of me rearranging the stickers on it so ...

Wildly Misread's "THE DEVIL'S KENNEL" TANGENT By Randall Johnston (Story As Is) Intro: A Book We Found In The Fire Pit, Might As Well of Been In The Middle of the Desert. - The written account of John Kennel. I n a forest around the edges of a fire pit, we found a book burnt like someone trying to burn it out of their life. Excruciating how painful the imitation of the spine is. It's a falsehood for the brittle work that ends up too familiar and eludes nothing from anyone else's hide a stash book attempt, though something strange still. It was in full print when reading like a journal. My friend had picked it up and was enthralled but also high. He didn't know yet. Somehow I do. That copy is a handwritten copy of a confidante with no exit strategy for who to tip-off. That is Tangent's story described by us and accounted for by the document as a counter insurgent military tactic, with so much riding on it that this will seem the most ridiculous attemp...

 Careless and carefree, fuck this reality. Life, dreams and nightmares, rushing into the black only to fold, constantly costly for readers to flip and scroll through blank pages of a journal never written in, posts with dog tags for the rampant digital disrespect of the transparent delusions that never make it to another's partition, eating away at every weary wary of many wheezing weights too heavy to drop anything and let go.  Nothing but footsteps spat teeth and languished notions brewed over coffee. Craving just the best ignorance, a shortcut to bliss, keep that craze and I'll stay stable, shock my mind awake, well... that'd be a mistake.  Crunched wooden chips breaking even easier, with all in all no matter unminded by the misguided,  crashing into the collected climactic spilt ink, by every heart willing to be in context, you were without and not trying to stay in. Clashing with the notion there was never a connection.  Nothing but footsteps spat teeth and...

 The strings of his vocal cords stretched thin from the blood bath that had ensued. Ripping off Tangent's vocoder from his technological suit made by the Darland chemical company, a subsidiary of StillLife that focused on the extenuation of living organisms. Offered access to Dev's immense archives detailing heavy implants designed by "The Phenom of Technology" still after many years of being KIA during the Suicidals' attempt at destroying their only focused enemy, Dev. The winged bat is dead. At the hands of his carefully placed mimic. His iris and pupil inverted to the outer brim of widened and stretched skin. Exemplifying the only difference other than a ripped-off jaw displaying where the device needs to reconnect what use to be. Raising it to his face, electrodes convulse the parts veins, and muscle tissue contorting the splayed mouth of the mimic till it reconnects to the new physiology of the angelic body, Rev. A figure approaches slowly ensuring each step ...

 The melting pots below, I have lived here a thousand years talking with the dead and known no end. The water compounding the silver nitrate, and consistent carbon used to further our understanding with the lives of inferno. A spectacle for the two to emerge as solid rust upon our skin, us as the slow statues of a long life waiting on our ambition to finally reach a destination, our still and chilled lives. Reacting with the chemical, we disperse, the thought from the body. Aligning the souls with a displacement of the released sojourn, amidst we slowly decay and rapidly regenerate, the low level to our sea vats boiled in GeForce to shockingly hold us to the ground. This state is about to have us all looking up. Our bodies cremated rock around curdled blood wrapping up the coil of the predisposed architecture of our analyzed coding embedded into the treatment of the vast and hidden section of the facility. The alarms blaring above us. A driven obstacle underneath the water, we pani...

 "Hey, we're the Hellion Hosts. Only one of us isn't high. Try to guess which one." The bassist speaks into the microphone with tenacity. Kicking out a fast riff. His guitar warped buzzing on the strings. Double picking with a metal cut coin. "Anything for distortion." Patches exclaim, delighted by dissonance. The bass drops, and the drummer hits the kick and slams out the bass tom, shaking. Pins laughs, "Well it's not the drummer." Even the organ player is jamming out an adrenalized tune. The bpm drops, "Did they just switch the time signature?" Patches shouts are barely heard over the amplifiers. Pins, looking at the guitar being treated cruelly exclaims, "It's the guitarist. It's the fucking guitarist."  "Oi, compensate. You'll drag the whole song down," says Ethix in the middle of the performance. Pins claps his hands, "I knew it, it's the guitarist. He's blitzed."  "Quit it, ...

 "Seer for your sight, singe for what you sought." says the residual half-life clinging to the outer haul of our over-embellished rotation out of the Lunar Light gravitational pull. "Did you happen to try that astronaut food?" says our lead engineer. We're bound to the trajectory for which we will fall and make a harsh impact. All for a planet to facilitate some such strike of a match. Each of us gets wristbands this time depicting us by numbers and bar codes. Fuck that sucks. "Hey!" says Three with a face flush devoid of nothing other than pale flooded skin. "I feel like I'm going to vomit." If this bitch throws up I'm going to stick him something reassuring. "What? Not in here!" He keeps pointing out the window, I finally look and there's something weird, something weird for sure. "Oi!" Raps the window. "Hey, you look like a freak. Are you coming with us? I'm sure you fry at the morning star." T...

The Ridge by Randall Johnston (Starting Intro)  The Breaking of Wine Glasses and Bells Ringing from the Livestock - Excerpt  So this is a Callous remark of how I've shrugged at the night sky, figuring the lights are already out. I must've known the person that had paced towards me because they marched towards me with a stomp for each heel. She pulls me around by the shoulder and exclaims in distress, "Why are you so calm?" To which I responded, "It's just the end. At least we're here for the last one." He pats his dog's head. He seems so very calm right now. I take a swig of my wine and walk to the backyard, gazing into the dark night of our sky, out at the most magnificent thing I had ever bewildered come true. Soon there'll be no light. The girl had already whimpered off crying. "Wonder what's happening on the other side of the planet?" Throwing his glass at his house, he'd spent so much time and effort to procure only to ...