[LAS T LA UG H OU TOF ZYD A CODE CI TYL I M I TS:]
November 07, 2003, 23:11

{dawn}
I must surface through ruins of sixth grade essays and convex contacts. ]
Melancholia hangs low in the air, yet no matter how this fruit is dissected
One can only agree on it’s subsequent victory.

[Vienna and the Brown ballot:]

In the middle of pillowcase decadence, I am informed by various sources of a surfacing plot. I keep in mind that all sources are to be kept in the valor of light humor and not as law. One can never tell what is rumor and what is actual law.

A scandal gripped me by the roof of my mouth, sending scolding shocks into my Molars of modern day martyrdom (which are currently being appraised as “priceless collector’s items” by internationally acclaimed firms in the field; while art enthusiasts expect their value to “exceed the ‘arms of the Venus de Milo’”.) 
“ASSASINATION”
This of course was referring to the controversial partnership between Karma control and the questionable organization known as The Brown Ballot. I first came in contact with the Brown Ballot in my aforementioned [Viennagram:] [REFERENCE: “seen the dawn at the wheatfields of kiev?”:] when my aptly named “vigilante karma campaign” caused the Ballot, a then fledgling associate, to seek repercussion. Months had passed and I had remained inactive to their twin engines and assumed my karma payment had been ignored or lost in a sea of intricate turnstiles deep in the bowels of the karma complaint chapter. 

[REPLICA:]
ASSASINATION

Yet who would be the one to do it? How would they plan on the snuff? The Brown Ballot was not a technically clean partnership, and although obscurely affiliated with Karma Control, they were nothing more than a ‘white van’ organization. 

The Ballot had passed and any intervention on my part would result in direct repercussions. No dog was worth a visit from the cats, besides, this canine was nothing more of a ghost buoy; a mannequin of stretching spine; 
Feed him to the ‘pedes, his soft soul has calcified in his last lap. 
My dear friend has become nothing more than a bone marrow slave. 

[NOTE:] My original request for taxidermy was denied, yet I am confident that the Brown ballot will present me with nothing more than a canister of canine ash and soot. I shall ration my dear friend in centuries of smoking pipes. 

{midday}

[TELEPHONE WIRE:]
“an invitation from me is not only flattery, it is command. make haste mousier.”

Pheramone’s are my July and all red lights are ecstasy. 
one doesn’t come all the way from Denmark to visit museums. 

{sundown}
I can’t always spot the lips of liar…but I can always smell a rat
With her tortoise shell ears, alabaster neck, blue marble eyes
She shall insist in rewriting history.

{dusk}
LA S TLA POUT; 
last laugh out of zydacode city limits 
the period is our sentence. 
we finally found our old friends,
except the riddles they speak 
our drowned out by our screams 

how could we fly away from skin colored comrades? 
defy the sirens of a guilt free bufett?
turn back the tides on our consolation constalation 
skin the seasons for warmth as we trace your treason back to birth
period signifies end of sentence; plagurism is alive and well;
award the copyrighters of fate, for insist on first place.

the last trap for a bone marrow slave
a last clap for our world as a stage
deploy the black stampeed to polish out our dying breed
st. peter’s gates have drowned in asphalt oceans… 
so we pawn our mistakes for a last breath of zydacode city limit gases… 
our last lap in the zydacode city circuit. 

{twilight}
I mustn’t say much but it was like the last supper in Vienna manor. 
And the stripper asked me: 
STRIPPER: “What color do you want your deathbed?”
(I replied, with quivering throat, realizing the significance of the upcoming death ); 
VIENNA: “Clear”

[END VIENNAGRAM:]