Established Marvel : a Monk by Abbreviation

68. I TRIED TO START YOU BUT I COULDN'T REACH:

There was nothing going backwards but words and the cage and I'd already tired of that so I attempted putting you in the picture frame by the random window but quickly realized you'd never fit and we had flowers in the flower pot and some orchids by the window west - nomenclature had failed us as I recall on the twelfth of Never (it was once called) which is different from 'it once was called' in a conditional way - and it ended up not mattering anyway because the pilfered lampshade had come tumbling down and the air-fighter-pilot with the message-jacketed lightning rod had just started talking and the curtain rang down : lights camera action was all the rage while the astronaut in the diaper was the current image of the newest art to be seen - five men in a red sedan three corner dogs in ersatz tiaras barking with a smile (yes the dogs not the tiaras) and someone was heard to say 'let's run to Jersey City' while another person grimaced at all the bother for it's easier to ride anywhere like that than to run and Journal Square holds nothing anymore anyway any dollar store you want any Aztec two-step mongoloid any Asian rip-rap food frenzy mama holding out her loins for all to see but they went anyway in a fifty-seven Ford Fairlane of the sort never seen like some dentist's assitant car all pink and white reminding me of gums or bleeding gums anyway and breaking the speed limit - always an impossibility in that heap - though never an option still sounded like a good idea or what's the turnpike for and I watched from some obscure hilltop as they crested the Elizabeth crescent and bent over Bayonne's hump to land right there in Sip Avenue and come up to the city from the bottom (legendary great idea) but the cymbals were clashing or the symbols were crashing (I never knew which) while the church on the hillside ablaze and afire was burning its Mexican clergy (Jesu Maria Mon Dieu and all the rest) Father Diego Carmellano Miranda Lopez Diaz himself - clapping hands with the Devil singing songs in a trance blessing the bosoms of mothers and girls putting the crucifix in Don Carlos' pants - but it was ALWAYS like that in the locus of plain Paradise to come and no one could speak any faster than that.