More Pretentious and Strange Shite
unki
Exhausted, freezing and shaken by the near miss, Silvo walked towards the
ladder loading up into the cloudcraft’s hull. He could now see the brass
frame on the inside of the access hatch at the top of the ladder leading
into the safety of the airship’s metal womb. He could sense the warmth contained
inside the hull even though there was little difference in coldness between
the interior and exterior sections of the great flying machine. But to Silvo,
the interior cold was somehow more desirable to his saturated being. As Silvo
climbed up the gangway, he hoped that his brother would refrain from giving
any more tasks to perform on this moonlight night. He was now so very, very
tired and longed for his bed. The winds had now died down, and misty clouds
began to envelop the exterior of Silvo’s only home and his brother’s only
kingdom. By now they were moving towards the outskirts of the great city.
The buildings below were now not as tightly packed together compared to the
dense streets and alleyways surrounding the great stone church Silvo had
been so awed by earlier that evening. The clouds around the cloudcraft grew
thicker as Silvo walked further up the gangway. Regio was now unable to observe
his younger brother through the deepening mist.
Balanced and uncluttered, Silvo’s thoughts now turned to sleep and to the
dreams that filled his nights only to be forgotten upon waking. The nocturnal
hours were long at these latitudes during the early winter months. Likewise
was Silvo’s slumber. A break appeared in the clouds surrounding Silvo as
he paused in mid-ascent up the gangway ladder. His legs were like tree stumps
freshly felled by the lumberjack and heavy with sap. There, in the gap in
the clouds, was the constellation of Orion, the hunter of the northern skies.
Orion had a belt of three stars. Silvo had a belt of tattered leather. Then
as Silvo gazed through the gap in the clouds, the Dog Star Sirius twinkled
brightly in the black sky between the misty blanket surrounding a world belonging
to Silvo and Regio alone. Two brothers drifting in the night sky above the
planets and stars in between the celestial gods and terrestrial strangers.
As he placed his damp and increasingly heavy boot on the final rung, becoming
more fixed on the salvation of sleep, Silvo turned around one last time to
examine his work. The girder was secure for now. A proper repair would need
to be performed with a bolt of iron and not an old rope soaked in the juices
of animals. The cloudcraft drifted higher into the upper reaches above the
clouds. The air became thinner and stillness filled the sky. All the heavenly
illumination filled the night around Silvo, now uninterrupted by clouds.
Silvo could now see that they were being taken by the winds towards the North
Star. There would be long cold nights to come. He felt depressed by this
prospect, but it was nothing new. Once again, Silvo felt compelled to look
at the carcass of the butchered horse. He was unsure why. He just did. The
butchered animal was swaying to and fro with the gentle motion of a delicate
timepiece on its chains in the night sky. It eclipsed the stars directly
behind it, including the stars in the constellation of Pegasus, the Winged
Horse.
Weary and now feeling much colder, Silvo turned back around and entered the
hull of the cloudcraft by pushing the access hatch above open. It looked
so much darker inside than out there under the full moon, wandering planets
and frosted stars. Silvo, now inside the cloudcraft, looked down through
the hatch to the clouds below before closing it shut. From this great height
the tops of the clouds below formed into mountains of grey-blue cotton; a
great blanket covering the sleeping world below. This fluffy vista filled
Silvo with calm.
Some nights, when his dreams punished him he would get out of his bed and
go stare out the porthole window in his quarters and ponder the tops of clouds.
It didn’t have to be a full moon illuminating them from above; a crescent
moon could create the necessary shadows as well. Silvo could study such clouds
for hours on end, interrupted only by his hand cleaning away the misty coating
left on the window glass caused by his warm breath condensing on its cold,
transparent surface. Sometimes he would see faces in the clouds when the
angle of the bloated moon was just right. These would always be faces of
people Silvo had never met and would never again encounter once the drifting
visage had floated off into the distance. Now, only the man in the moon remained
as the only familiar and constant face in Silvo’s world since Regio had locked
himself away permanently in the control station. Silvo hardly noticed his
own face these days. In the mirror, a stranger now stared back at him, but
the man in the moon remained his most familiar companion. Silvo allowed gravity
to close the metal hatch with a cold, hard slap.
The storeroom at night was a place in Silvo’s world that he disliked intensely,
as it was in darkness either day or night once all the doors were closed.
The full, brilliant moon outside which would light up the whole world was
unable to illuminate this place as there were no portholes to let the lunar,
or any other light in. Fumbling around in the dark, eventually with some
difficulty, he made his way to the far wall by running his hands along the
icy, pitted interior. Then the room filled with a yellow, flickering glow
revealing everything, including Silvo’s right hand, which was several inches
below the hook he was searching for. Regio had held up a candle to the eyepiece
of the viewscope in the control station. The lens on the other end in the
storeroom intensified the luminosity of the naked flame via a long conduit
of prisms and refracting and concave lenses, but never to the same degree
at which the lens magnified Regio’s stare.
Hollow, metallic banging resonated constantly throughout the cloudcraft,
even during the slightest breeze. The older the great airship became, the
louder its hulk amplified the sound of its every ache and strain. This background
din of off-tempo drumming and creaking was louder in the cold, dark storeroom
than in any other part of the cloudcraft. Sometimes it would almost scream
in agony at the forces placed upon its overlapping copper-plated walls -
which were now completely covered in the pale green coating of two decades
of corrosion. But on rare occasions, when the air was perfectly still, the
giant flying machine could be silent. One night a few years back, Silvo recalled
several hours of sweet, massive silence as he lay on his balmy bed. It was
for once on the cloudcraft, completely and intoxicatingly silent. He could
hear his own heart rhythmically thumping inside his sweat-covered chest.
Silvo usually had great difficult finding sleep during hot, humid nights.
No matter how hard he tried, or how exhausted from his work, a hot, sticky
night was always a battle against consciousness if his arms, chest and legs
were coated in perspiration. But during the night of that great calm, Silvo
was swallowed whole into the world of unconsciousness, guided by the steady,
satisfied beating of his heart in the airborne tranquillity. That night,
he listened to the perfect silence that filled the universe around him. That
night, it was so quiet that he felt as if he was the centre of all things
and that the stars and plants shone out from inside him. The beautiful serenity
of that magical night when he could have heard a pin drop on the surface
of the moon.
However, tonight, like almost every night aboard the cloudcraft, would not
be like that night. But Silvo reminding himself that it wasn’t hot either.
He could keep himself warm by lifting the woollen blankets and animal hides
over his head and using his lungs as an engine to fill the enclosed space
with his hot, deep breath. At least he could get warm, unlike on hot, humid
nights while lying in his bed there was nothing he could do to keep cool
except for him to dream about nights such as this one.
Silvo hung the worthless remaining few inches of excess rope on its hook
in the storeroom. Regio removed the candle from the viewscope eyepiece and
Silvo was plunged into darkness once more. Regio had his eight inches of
rope returned to the storeroom safe and sound inside Silvo’s coat pocket.
Silvo didn’t mind doing this meaningless task, as it was a small price to
pay for his brother’s quick thinking while draining the ballast tanks. Regio
had saved his younger brother from the clutches of the great city.
Silvo opened the wooden door, its three brass hinges squeaking in perfect
unison. He entered the long corridor of the cloudcraft’s long hull. All other
rooms and compartments, including the entrance to the main balloon overhead
with its hydrogen-filled cells, lay along above or below this narrow, straight
corridor. At one end was the control station while at the other was Regio’s
private quarters which was called the stern regardless of which direction
the cloudcraft was pointing as the wind moved it through the skies. There
was no viewscope in the long corridor, but there was a speechtube, so Silvo
paused in the middle of this corridor and waited for Regio’s voice.
His conditioning gave Silvo his purpose; there was nothing else left for
him. His personal desires were too deeply buried inside his cells. So Silvo
continued to wait as he had always done and would always do.
With still no sign of Regio’s monotonal voice from the speechtube after several
minutes, Silvo walked over to the porthole window to examine his hands in
the moonlight. He wondered if he still had them in the wake of the previous
traumatic events of the evening. He looked closely at his veined and wrinkled
limbs, rotating them slowly in the blue light. Other than the memory, there
was no damage to his hands, arms or any other part of his body. Perhaps the
morning would reveal some secrets that his body was hiding from Silvo at
this moment. However, he noticed that there was a fragment of rusted iron
under the index fingernail on his right hand. He took the knife from his
belt and started removing the corroded shard. Silvo was startled by his brother’s
voice, which came unexpectedly from the speechtube.
“That will be all for tonight, my brother. Return to your quarters.”
Silvo put his knife back into his pocket and then pulled the balaclava off
his head. The cold air made his head feel relaxed. The throbbing veins on
his temples began to relax. Silvo sighed. The moonlight continued to stream
into the corridor, lighting the way to Silvo’s bed. His boots resonated around
the floor with each footstep. Silvo knew he would sleep well tonight, knowing
that his body was still on board the cloudcraft and not dead on the streets
of the great city, now many miles away in space and time.
He walked up to the starboard door that led to the outside ladder, which
allowed access to the top of the balloon which carried the weight of the
cloudcraft’s hull through the skies. Silvo took advantage of this door to
relieve his bladder before going to bed. He turned the handle and swung open
the door. The cold air poured in, making Silvo’s desire to urinate even stronger.
He opened the top of his trousers by opening his belt buckle before taking
out his penis. It became shrivelled in the chill. Silvo emptied his bladder
on the clouds below him. As the sensation of relief moved inside him from
his groin up into his stomach, he watched the droplets of twinkling piss
dance in the moonlight. His mind returned to the repair he had done on the
girder. Silvo was unhappy and uncomfortable with the work. How could a length
of rope tied in a knot hold a girder? Regardless, this was what Regio ordered
him to do and apart from this there was little else that could be done to
fix the girder. There were no spare bolts in the storeroom. Metal fabrication,
other than minor cutting and filing was impossible on the cloudcraft. Silvo’s
instincts and common sense told him that the rope would fail eventually.
He could see that the two plates of the girder had already moved apart since
the bolt dropped out. The two holes in each girder were no longer aligned
and the rope was running through an oval opening instead of a circular one.
The rope would fail if the two sections of girder moved any further off their
engineered location. This is what Silvo’s instinct and common sense told
him, but should he always take heed of instinct? Silvo’s father constantly
warned his sons about; to maintain vigilance against instinctive actions
and instead to formulate solutions based on careful speculation of the problem
at hand. And yet, there were no spare bolts. Silvo had difficulty in finding
that borderline where instinct ended and rational thought began. Besides,
any solution to a problem could only be determined by Regio, who had the
final and only say on such matters. The rope was what Regio wanted, Silvo
imagined silently to himself, that something like a crowbar inserted through
the hole left by the missing bolt and then secured with the rope would be
more reliable. However, despite this doubt, Silvo had concerning the repair,
he still trusted his brother’s judgement. Perhaps Regio was working on a
more permanent solution and the rope through the hole was a temporary fix.
Maybe instinct is as their father told them, a biological anomaly that causes
problems while hiding solutions. Silvo just hoped the rope would hold long
enough for Regio to come up with a proper solution. If in fact, that’s what
Regio was doing?
As the final drops of urine were trickling from Silvo’s penis, he recalled
from his childhood when he family still lived on the Earth, going to a christening
at the church in their village. He remembered the baby screaming in protest
as the priest poured the holy water on its bald head. The last droplets of
steam emitting piss were shaken off the end of his penis. Silvo removed his
right hand which controlled the operation and his foreskin slid forward into
its natural position. He now did up his trousers, fastened his belt buckle,
before slamming the starboard door shut until the brass latch clicked into
position.
KateH
> Exhausted, freezing and shaken by the near miss, Silvo walked towards the
> ladder loading up into the cloudcraft's hull.
SCI-Fi, Unki? :)
Kate(cool)H
John Sheehan
Eddie Wall <ed...@wall.ie> wrote in message
news:rq250u4oukr4vs6bt...@4ax.com...
> On 26 Nov 2001 16:36:12 GMT, "unki" <kfuz...@tinet.ie> wrote:
>
>
Silvo removed his
> >right hand which controlled the operation and his foreskin slid forward
into
> >its natural position. He now did up his trousers, fastened his belt
buckle,
> >before slamming the starboard door shut until the brass latch clicked
into
> >position.
> >
>
>
>
> I had managed to remove your persona as the author ( to be objective )
> and was quite enjoying the first and this section until the
> alabastered, shiny buttocked Unki once again, triumphed with piss,
> penis and foreskin.........
>
> Eddie
Hold on - he "did up his trousers" and "fastened his belt buckle" and also
"slammed the starboard door shut".
Had he been doing a number 2 simultaneously? And why a brass lock - was he
homophobic? - perhaps others had designs on his fabled derrier?
We need closure on this.
John
Turlough
John Sheehan wrote:
> Hold on - he "did up his trousers" and "fastened his belt buckle" and
> also "slammed the starboard door shut".
Com'on now, John, a little reading comprehension please.
"...its natural position. He now did up his trousers, fastened his belt
buckle, **before** slamming the starboard door shut until the brass
latch clicked into position."
Our author is a very delicate and sensitive, almost huggy type of a guy.
Criticism such as yours could send him into a psychotic tailspin and
undo all of the confidence building and positive re-inforcement we've
been feeding him since the time Robert Wilson logged on and deftly
stepped on Unki's dick. The dick pressing wasn't as bad as the fact that
he then stole away practically all of Unki's female fans. It was a heart
wrenching thing to watch, I'll tell ya. Boston Kate was the only one to
stand by him, if memory serves.
Turlough
KateH
> Hold on - he "did up his trousers" and "fastened his belt buckle" and also
> "slammed the starboard door shut".
> Had he been doing a number 2 simultaneously? And why a brass lock - was he
> homophobic? - perhaps others had designs on his fabled derrier?
> We need closure on this.
"Need" ......is a mighty strong word.
KateH :)
unki
>>As the final drops of urine were trickling from Silvo’s penis, he recalled
>>from his childhood when he family still lived on the Earth, going to a
christening
>>at the church in their village. He remembered the baby screaming in protest
>>as the priest poured the holy water on its bald head. The last droplets
of
>>steam emitting piss were shaken off the end of his penis. Silvo removed
his
>>right hand which controlled the operation and his foreskin slid forward
into
>>its natural position. He now did up his trousers, fastened his belt buckle,
>>before slamming the starboard door shut until the brass latch clicked into
>>position.
>>
>
>
>And you were going so well..........
>
>I had managed to remove your persona as the author ( to be objective )
>and was quite enjoying the first and this section until the
>alabastered, shiny buttocked Unki once again, triumphed with piss,
>penis and foreskin.........
That's nothing, in the original draft Silvo had a gee.
unki
You should see the next chapters. This last one was Walton Mountain by comparison,
there is some real whacky filth coming next. But you won't get to see it
as I'll be gone before I get a chance to type it up. But you would have enjoyed
it very much.
unki
Turlough <turlo...@excite.com> wrote:
>Our author is a very delicate and sensitive, almost huggy type of a guy.
>Criticism such as yours could send him into a psychotic tailspin and
>undo all of the confidence building and positive re-inforcement we've
>been feeding him since the time Robert Wilson logged on and deftly
>stepped on Unki's dick. The dick pressing wasn't as bad as the fact that
>he then stole away practically all of Unki's female fans. It was a heart
>wrenching thing to watch, I'll tell ya. Boston Kate was the only one to
>stand by him, if memory serves.
I've got loads of women waiting in the wings. It's an endless supply of babes
in Unkiworld. And besides, they always come back to me in the end. Boston
Kate needs me to take care of her so she doesn't fall in with the wrong crowd
and get pregnant or start talking drugs. She's a good kid all she needs is
love and understanding and my hand up her skirt.
unki
H.G. Wells meets Larry Flynt actually. I finally found my niche in the world
of literature. I can’t wait until the Hasbro Cloudcraft (made by 9 year old
Burmese sweatshop girls) is the hottest Christmas toy next year. The Micro-Machines
Silvo and Regio Sodomy Station will be a collectors item of the future. I’m
well sorted. I’ll take you out for dinner sometime with all the money I make
Kate so no worries.
John Sheehan
> >right hand which controlled the operation and his foreskin slid forward
into
> >its natural position. He now did up his trousers, fastened his belt
buckle,
> >before slamming the starboard door shut until the brass latch clicked
into
> >position.
> >
>
>
>
> I had managed to remove your persona as the author ( to be objective )
> and was quite enjoying the first and this section until the
> alabastered, shiny buttocked Unki once again, triumphed with piss,
> penis and foreskin.........
>
Hold on - he "did up his trousers" and "fastened his belt buckle" and also
"slammed the starboard door shut".
Had he been doing a number 2 simultaneously? And why a brass lock - was he
homophobic? - perhaps others had designs on his fabled derrier?
We need closure on this.
John
KateH
> You should see the next chapters. This last one was Walton Mountain by
comparison,
> there is some real whacky filth coming next. But you won't get to see it
> as I'll be gone before I get a chance to type it up. But you would have
enjoyed
> it very much.
Nope, I'd like to read the non-whacky-filth chapters, but if the filth gets
too whacky or the whacky gets too filthy............I'm outa there.
Kate(I-am Suzy Homemaker, after all)H :)
unki
"KateH" <hock...@innw.nospam.net> wrote:
>Nope, I'd like to read the non-whacky-filth chapters, but if the filth
gets
>too whacky or the whacky gets too filthy............I'm outa there.
>Kate(I-am Suzy Homemaker, after all)H :)
The other night I made an apple pie from scratch. I even cleaned up all the
dishes and bowl and left the kitchen spotless before I went to bed and slept
with my hands above the covers like the good catholic boy.
I am not doing anymore writing so you are safe from the wacky filth.
PS: How’s yer garden? The flowers are still blooming over here and it’s
coming up to Christmas. Yesterday was the first real cold day we have had.
All my shrubs are flying along and about 80% of the cuttings I took during
the spring survived. It was a great year in the Unki garden I must say. A
lot of the flowers in my garden are named after SCI-women. I am very pagan
in some way despite the plastic OXO apron in a Victorian costume drama kind
of way.
KateH
> PS: How's yer garden? The flowers are still blooming over here and it's
> coming up to Christmas.
We're deep into global warming here......I had flowers (bright orange
Calendulas) up until last night and still had lettuce and parsley out in the
garden. I'm thinking we had a pretty cold night though and it's probably
gone at last. My garden is usually well over by Halloween.......this is
certainly an odd year.
Yesterday was the first real cold day we have had.
> All my shrubs are flying along and about 80% of the cuttings I took during
> the spring survived.
Yep....I'm going to put my Christmas lights on the hedge today, even if it
DOES still have leaves on it!
It was a great year in the Unki garden I must say. A
> lot of the flowers in my garden are named after SCI-women.
Okay......what flowers and which wimmin?
Kate(we could get you in trouble, yet)H :)
Terry McT
>
> The other night I made an apple pie from scratch.
Good grief. I misread this to say that you'd made an apple pie from
Scotch. I'm sure psychologists could make a lot of that.
Terry
Pete
Eddie Wall wrote:
>
> And you were going so well..........
>
> I had managed to remove your persona as the author ( to be objective )
> and was quite enjoying the first and this section until the
> alabastered, shiny buttocked Unki once again, triumphed with piss,
> penis and foreskin.........
Perhaps more graphic than what I read in the living room (in front of the
family), but it made Silvo more real to me, more defined as a character. Less of
a shapeless, grey entity... It also, to me, emphasized the crudeness of his
existence on a (supposedly) higher tech vehicle. Cavemen with computers, eh? I
say keep it in the final draft.
--
Pete
unki
It's also set in the 19th century and Vaseline hadn't been invented yet.
John Sheehan
Turlough <turlo...@excite.com> wrote in message
news:3C02A6B5...@excite.com...
>
>
>
> Our author is a very delicate and sensitive, almost huggy type of a guy.
> Criticism such as yours could send him into a psychotic tailspin and
> undo all of the confidence building and positive re-inforcement we've
> been feeding him since the time Robert Wilson logged on and deftly
> stepped on Unki's dick. The dick pressing wasn't as bad as the fact that
> he then stole away practically all of Unki's female fans. It was a heart
> wrenching thing to watch, I'll tell ya. Boston Kate was the only one to
> stand by him, if memory serves.
>
>
>
> Turlough
Of course. It was insensitive of me (and very insensitive and careless of R.
Wilson). Stepping on his dick explains the dribbling and I think it best to
draw a burka over the matter at this stage.
Incidentally Unki used the slang "gee" (meaning vagina) one of his last ever
(sob) posts. Brings me back to my days in Cabra! A kiss was a "wear" and
anything beyond a wear was a "feel". "Gees" we knew about, but only by
reputation, and there were several schools of thought as to their existance.
God knows what they got up to in Ballymun - us Cabra boys were well reared.
Pity he's gone all the same.
John
Turlough
> Incidentally Unki used the slang "gee" (meaning vagina) one of his last
> ever (sob) posts...
Oh my, I'm glad you mentioned this. I've always used the term *gee* to
describe a goofy guy or an ignorant country bumpkin. Maybe it does
translate, now that I think about it.
> Brings me back to my days in Cabra! A kiss was a "wear" and anything
> beyond a wear was a "feel". "Gees" we knew about, but only by
> reputation, and there were several schools of thought as to their
> existance. God knows what they got up to in Ballymun - us Cabra boys
were well reared.
Thank God Goldenarse isn't around to read your last sentence. Declan's
was a Christian Bros. school, wasn't it? :>))
Turlough