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This story, in accordance with "short
story competition" rules and regulations,
is originally fictional. It was not written,
but fragments of human consciousness and
mind's overwhelming vomit were gathered
from the streets of Bournemouth (UK) and
put together, for your personal perusal.
It is perhaps unfortunate that names like
"Isolani", "Eadon"
or "MadPole" feature here. But
that was intentional, those are not the
names of real people, and their quotations
are fictional. The only way to make "fiction"
functionally fictional is by making reality
fully real, I discovered, while going
through very painful motions of writing
this story which is not story at all.
All pictures are copyright of moton who
kindly and generously gave me the right
to copy them.
|
Little
Madhouse on the Prairie
Path VII: 'The ICC Prophecy'
|
It was an abandoned house on the
outskirts of town and it was located at
the very edge of the Green Belt.
The Green Belt was an idea invented by
clever humans, and like most human ideas,
it had very little practical value.
It was supposed to stop the joyously merry,
dancing and singing suburban conglomeration
from spilling over onto the green prairie.
It was supposed to be lungs of the city.
It was probably intended to persuade
any wild animal, which had happened to
have ventured that far, that it
should perhaps re-examine its natural
instincts and sense of direction.
It was filled with stress, suffering and
discarded human emotions. It was
littered with quiet leftovers of rock-n-roll,
McDonald's wrappers and abandoned condoms.
No animal, however dumb, would have ever
voluntarily strayed here, save for the
creatures disorientated by a serious bout
of rabies. The grey sky was filled
with smoke from the nearby factories,
and even Eadon could not have convinced
me that it was anything but an illusion.
|
It was an abandoned house... |
For it was Eadon, my spiritual Guru, who
was the very reason for my bodily formation
occupying this particularly unpleasant
co-ordinates of space-time continuum.
He had told me about this new spiritual
movement, this new Church without branches,
on several occasions over the years.
He had mentioned a lot of rooms swarming
with all kinds of people; they would often
spontaneously, and unknowingly, hum, exhale
and violently worship their gods and goddesses
The idea was crazy enough for my liking.
But how many spiritual movements can one
follow in one's somehow limited life span?
How many re-births can one safely afford
without ending up in a mental hospital?
Chatting to Angels, embracing one's inner
child, repairing one's aura and unblocking
one's chakras is all very well, but only
after one has found a practical
implementation of Time Relativity Theory.
Sadly, I had not. Consequently, I was
busy, far too busy, with my "very own,
little, private way"; busy training my
stupid mind to be wide open..
|
For it was Eadon, my spiritual Guru..
|
It is easy to be open-minded when one
sets one's own path and defines one's
own surroundings. Eadon had
never pressured me, he had never
insisted that I should join and experience
this particular gathering of human souls.
But he did plant the seed in my head and
was attending to it with the care and
love of a discriminate gardener.
"You should open the ventricles of your
heart" he told me once, without referring
to anything in particular. "God
created time and all matter and all space"
he mentioned on another occasion, and
his implication seemed to me that by following
my own path I had been missing
all of the challenges and godly
opportunities offered to me elsewhere.
Then one day he visited me, a sniggering
smile upon his face, his hands resting
casually in the dark corners of his pockets.
?I am going to give you a teaching? he
said, nearly choking to death with laughter.
?Got any beers??
He was studying a piece of paper when
I returned with a cold can of Stella lager,
which I had miraculously found in the
fridge,buried in a pile of rotten vegetables.
"What can you see?" he asked me, exchanging
the piece of paper for the lager.
It read:
'ICC'
"This is a spiritual teaching, right?"
Prudently, I was not prepared to
commit myself to the investment of any
of my mental efforts without first
assessing the potential profitability,
and, indeed even of the rationality of
anything that Eadon held in his hand.
Right!" he chuckled, spitting some of
the beer onto my newly washed tablecloth.
"Well... I see 3 letters, which probably
represent some Holy Trinity or another,
the 2 Cs are in an imbalance with the
single "I", which probably represents
"I" - that is me or Ego in general, and
the double C suggests a power struggle,
or duality of life. One of the Cs
probably stands for 'Christ' or 'Cosmic'...
I mean I could go on and on...."
"Wrong!" he was rolling on the floor laughing.
"You see it - for you told me already
what the answer to this puzzle is" he
added when he had once again regained
his composure ."Yet, you don't know it
yourself! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" and he
burst into maniacal laughter again.
"I give up", I said hastily for I already
knew that Eadon was a high-risk
venture, which had so often generated
losses of exponential proportions in regard
to any amount of mental effort invested.
into it. I had never forgiven him
for trying to convince me that the sky
is red, and that only my ignorance
and arrogance prevented me from seeing
it as such. Not only did he fail
miserably in that particular quest of
his - I had no interest in red skies and
did not wish to see one, but annoyingly
enough, I had never been able to get the
idea out of my head ever since.
"Oh come on! Look! Look! Don't allow
your dumb, stupid brain to speculate!
Tell me what You see, not what You think!"
he shouted encouragingly.
"Damn!" I thought "Too damn late! Let's
try to get out of this as gently and quickly
as I can..."
"I see letters I, C, C, what about them?"
I tried to force him to get to the point.
"You still don't get it, do you?
You thought you could read but I am just
about to prove you wrong!" he stopped
giggling and became dead serious. "Give
me this piece of paper back!" He appeared
to be angry.
Relieved, I submitted to his request
He scribbled something on it and gave
it back to me: "Read it again!"
It read:
'I see C'
"I see..." I muttered "but...."
"There! There!" he cried, performed his
little dancing ritual, and was gone. |
| |
Gandalf once said that although the
seeds of trees sprout rarely, they carry
life in them for years if not centuries;
one cannot tell when they will suddenly
decide to manifest themselves more visibly.
The seed planted in my mind by Eadon was
obviously of no tree kind; or if it was,
it must have been subjected to some heavy
genetic modifications, where BSE hormones
were most likely involved. "I can't
get you out of my head..." sang Kylie
and I felt the same now. I stopped
reading any written material: I
could now only see letters where I had
been able to see words and meanings before.
I caught myself giving the same treatment
to any verbal expressions too, converting
them to letters, and then, not unlike
mathematics, making mental shortcuts and
logical bridges between them: "See
You tomorrow" work-mates would say to
me every day. "CU2morrow" I heard, or
rather saw. It was only when I had
spent the whole weekend in desperate attempts
to convert "morrow" to something visually
more meaningful that I realised that I
had to stop, that I just could not afford
to be indiscriminate towards any growth,
particularly when my sanity was at a stake.
I had to accept my failure in order to
become liberated from it.
Eadon was not around so I could not offload
the frustrations he created in my life
on him: he might have been mad - but he
wasn't stupid. I needed an antidote;
I needed somehow to terminate this terrible
monster which was growing inside my head.
And what is the better antidote than the
offending substance itself? "If
you can't beat them, join them" a
famous proverb says. Slavs came
up with a practical interpretation of
it: "Alcohol is your enemy - shoot it
in the gob". I began to feel relieved,
I could see the light at the end of the
tunnel. It became obvious to me
that since I could not discuss Eadon's
stupidity with him I simply had
to visit this "I see C" church myself.
I could already feel the embarrassment
and sense of compassion towards people
who would go as far as creating an
entirely new spiritual movement in order
to worship some madman's moment of pathetic
mis-inspiration.
|
I could not offload the frustrations
he created in my life on him... |
So here I was, facing the very house and
my very fears and discomfort, my excitement
and the hopes of my final
liberation. The chimney stuck out as an
erect penis, trying to remind me of my
short-comings. The door was loosely
arranged around its frame, resting heavily
on its last remaining hinge. The contrast
between the proud, orderly and somehow
sexually explicit posture of the chimney
and laid back, 'could not care less' attitude
of the point of entry felt somehow humiliating
and threatening. It had 'this is
the story of your life' written all over
it. It tempted me with the
promise of all the pain, suffering, failure
and internal conflicts of which I was
already so familiar. Careful and
deliberate rejection could be felt in
the air.
I rang the doorbell.
|
I rang the doorbell |
The bell buzzed instead of ringing.
This wasn't what I expected. I bolted
and was just about to perform "run Rabbit
run run run" routine, when the door opened
with a terrifying "shhooom!" sound effect.
I was in!
|
I was in... |
I was immediately blinded by the spotlight,
or rather it's opposite. I could
see a lot of people but nobody could see
me, or if they did, they certainly made
it known that my presence was not
noticeable. My hurt and scared Ego
immediately switched to "fight or fly"
mode. My flying skills lacked
quite a bit at the time, so going for
a fight was the only choice that
I felt Evolution would approve of:
"Hi Everyone!"
I said.
|
My flying skills lacked a bit...
|
This place was definitely weird, weirder
than Eadon himself. It looked small
and insignificant on the outside, but
infinitely limitless inside. There
were thousands of people here, and yet
I could not see a single soul. There
were hundred of rooms, corridors, bars,
toilets and yet I could not even see my
own surroundings. I wasn't quite sure
how to behave and what was expected of
me. I seriously doubted that
anybody here had any expectations of me
- however unexpected.
Words, strong feelings, images - they
were all swarming, swirling around me.
I was watching my own mind, but from inside.
This was overpowering and making me dizzy.
The never ending stream of nonsensical
statements, fragmented sentences, feelings
which haven't manifested themselves yet,
emotions which desperately tried to find
some outlet. The muddy, turbulent
waters of human consciousness, coming
and going with a rhythm which was natural
and yet totally unpredictable.
|
Words, strong feelings, images
|
"So you have finally made it! Welcome
to the Club! Welcome to Hell!" Eadon's
words appeared in my mind.
"What the hell is this place?" I shouted
back to him
"HAHAHAHA! It is just that!
Hell! Global consciousness!
Ugly business! HAHAHAHAHA!" he shouted
back.
"But how, why..." I had so many questions
to ask that I could not think of any.
"Take it easy Brother!" he seemed to be
in a cheerful mood "You have a lot to
learn - take it easy!"
I took few deep breaths in. "Why
am I here?"
"We have a lot to chat about as You will
discover later" Eadon was unusually patient
"But let's say that you have been given
an unique opportunity to observe your
very own mind. To witness how your
silly ideas and confused emotions are
born. To examine the source of your
own stupidity and suffering. In
action! HAHAHAHAHAHA! I have to go now,
I will chat to you later!"
Chat? Eadon never chatted to me,
as far as I can remember. Shouting,
screaming at me perhaps, but chat?
Where did he pick this new terminology
from? 'Brother'? Has he become a hippie?
I was yet to find out that in this Particular
Church (or 'Club' as Eadon called it)
humans did not discriminate.
In this particular Church people would
misspell, mispronounce and misinterpret
words and others' emotions as if there
was no difference, as if they were just
dirty underpants, full of skidding marks
and visible signs of indigestion, hidden
at the bottom of the laundry basket and
shamelessly exposed to fluorescent light.
In this particular church humans would
be so humane and compassionate as to go
out of their way to expose the challenges
the God prepared for one in one's next
life.
|
In this particular Church humans did
not disciminate... |
I found myself addicted straight away.
This was worse than crack! This was, despite
the fact that I had never tried crack
in my life before and, quite obviously,
never after, at least as far as
my limited knowledge of my own existence
and habitual addictions stretches.
The spotlights of ignorance dimmed and
gradually vanished. "Hello" somebody
else said. "Welcome" another voice
rang what the doorbell failed to conceive,
acknowledge or perhaps relay?
|
|
The overwhelming feeling that I am at
'home' nearly paralysed me. I joined the
flow. I suddenly found myself being
a 'dick', 'fuckwit', 'idiot', 'stupid
bastard', and many many other personalities
I always wished to explore but never found
time for.
"Haha I got newbie written all over me"
exclaimed Sonhouse humbly or perhaps proudly
before I could even follow my very own
train of thought. This station surely
was a busy traffic congestion facility.
Every church, be it Christian, Catholic,
Buddhist or Islam, has it's own rules
and timetables. The topics are prepared
in advance, the times for revelations
set carefully, gongs and bells go off
at predictable times. But this place
did not have any set rules, any time-related
events. The mass was going on for 24 hours
a day, or did not take place at all -
it was impossible to tell and therefore
subject to one's own judgement.
"Knightrunner takes out his special afternoon
menu featuring legendary White Mocha,
LadyofKnight Vanilla Ice Cream., autobot
cappuccino, Mocha with a Quote,
Snowbeary Shake,Toto's Munchkin cookies,
Boggleburgers,Heavenly EYES icecream,Cinderella
Truffles & Ged's finest Havana cigars!"
came the announcement from PR speakers.
'What the hell ...' was the only thought
I could manage and before I resisted it,
it unfolded itself: 'What the hell is
going on here?!" my mind screamingly demanded.
'So much for my open-mindness' I thought.
|
I sulked. I was on my knees most of the
time without even realising it.
I was cruel and outrageous. I discovered
that I could push boundaries of my own
self in order to please others. I begged.
I cried. I crawled. So far
in my life my Ego was in balance, in line,
with my own surroundings. But here,
in this place, nobody would give as much
as a monkey's bottom about my Ego.
It did not exist as far as others were
concerned. That generally is supposed
to be liberating but I had no idea how
much of my Ego was actually 'me'.
I was exposed, ripped to pieces, forced
to realise that I am nothing but Ego and
nobody had time for that. I felt
lonely and rejected. I was cursing
Eadon for exposing me to this challenge.
I did not see any point in this sadomasochism
but the very gentle, quiet voice at the
back of my mind insisted that there is
nothing painful about the situation, that
I, myself, make it so. 'Bloody Eadon
and his bloody stupid ideas' was my desperate
cry, but I could not cheat myself anymore.
What was happening had nothing to do with
Eadon and I had to bravely admit it. "Bloody
Eadon!" I desperately screamed.
|
I was cruel and outrageous... |
I found myself in a state of bereavement.
Some parts of me were dying rapidly, some
had already ceased to exist. Was
that 'good' or 'bad'? I never found
out, for the 24 hour streaming consciousness
was damping more information, more coded
spiritual messages on me. 'What the hell
is going on here?' was my automatic, repetitive
reaction, but I had learnt not to submit
to it, not to follow it further, in logical
terms at least. I never had time
for analysis anymore anyway anytime. I
figured that as long as I kept asking
such questions I could claim or at least
pretend, appear, to be 'open-minded'.
Answering them would shut me down, would
prove to others how limited I am.
But who was I? Who were "the others"?
Who were "they"? The questions
seemed to multiply themselves like a stoned
rabbits with a bad case the sexually-maddening
munchies, but why did I have to suffer
suffering of some sex-crazy, full of disease
animals?
|
I found myself in a state of bereavement
|
Isolani was my saviour. He arrived
out of the blue, white beard and all the
rest, saddled on a huge, pot-bellied pig.
He wore "sombrero" hat that reminded me
of sobriety I always so unsuccessfully
strived for. His name was noble.
His dress saintly white. "Hola Amigo!"
he would shout like a good cowboy or Native
American or perhaps somebody from Portugal?
I immediately felt a spiritual connection.
"Was it a pig, isolani, or an impressive
hat?" I wondered "or perhaps the colourful
accent?". I did not know.
But I sensed that I should not examine
the connection itself, as one does not
follow the telephone cables. I internally
knew that the moment I start to ask questions
and look for explanations - I would destroy
all that always linked us, despite that
we were not aware of each other's existence
ever before and possibly ever after.
Isolani exposed illusion to me.
He would often appear from nowhere, kindly
extend his hand to me in a friendly gesture,
and before I knew it - I would find myself
sitting on his pig - in front of him.
And then we would trot, yes, trot, from
one room to the next. He would always
be what was needed, what was expected
of him to be. Like a drop of a rain
in a river - he would simply vanish in
the mainstream, giving it strength and
power but never identity. "If all guns
were outlawed, only outlaws would use
guns!" was his favourite joke. It took
years of mental effort for wisdom contained
in this simple statement to sink into
my stupid, rotten brain.
"Have you made friends with anybody yet?"
Eadon asked me 2 days later.
"Yes, isolani was kind enough to talk
to me and show me around, you bastard!
Where were you?"
"Oh, iso - the walking dictionary you
mean, hehehehe" his sense of humour started
to seriously get on my nerves - "wait
till you meet MadPole lol! I have a feeling
that 3 of you will hit it off really well"
he said and vanished.
So I did meet MadPole, few hours later.
He was pure bonkers, a proud citizen of
cookoo land. He did fit into the
place well, spitting, vomiting, throwing
up any words which came to his disturbed
mind. The concepts of thinking,
reasoning, deliberation were obviously
some kind of black magic to him, some
bad demons he had to fight and constantly
expell from his sick mind. It was
sad and disturbing scene to watch him
in action. He made an impression
of a man who suffered from 'thought-phobia',
'mental bulimia' - desperately trying
to push out any thought from his head
before it had even arisen, as if the thoughts
he manifested were no longer his responsibility.
"Don't be frighten...welcome...yes...even
if...well....please" he said to me when
we met first time.
|
That was probably the most sensible
thing he ever said... |
That was probably the most sensible thing
he ever said to me. Still, he wasn't dangerous
and it was amusing to play with him:
"Apple" I would say
"Orange" he would immediately reply
"Yellow!" I would yell
"Bus" he would shout without any hesitation
"Make it two!" he would add, as if pretending
that there was some thought process behind
his senseless stream of words. |
Little Madhouse on the Prairie (continued...)
|
The whole experience was gathering the
tempo, momentum. I could no longer
tell what was reality and what wasn't,
my visits to the "I see C" church have
become so frequent, I was no longer in
position to distinguish between it and
my "real life". I noticed that I
perceived every activity, every moment,
every emotion, thought or feeling I had
- through the prism of Church's teachings.
I noticed that I started to notice, notice
my thoughts and perceptions, notice their
birth, witness their moment of creation.
It was pure madness and hence addictive
as hell. My business relationships
with business people were improving every
single day and it was the very Church,
which was the reason for that. The
Church gave me strength of conviction.
The Church forced me to see and accept
the views of others, to get out of my
protective suit and be prepared and ready
to embrace any statement, any idea, any
emotion, any ego driven mindlessness.
That was a winning formula in business
world and the fact that I could not share
it with anybody I found very frustrating.
I tried to tell the Church members how
grateful I was and how much they changed
my life, but they were far too busy with
their words, feelings, general spinning
madness of consciousness humming quietly,
to ever take any notice. Admitting
to my business partners and bosses the
real reason for my sudden success was
obviously out of the question.
|
The whole experience was gathering
momentum... |
So I cried some more, not from the pain
but from shire frustration and the fact
that those, who helped me so much, who
were the source, the very makeup of me
- were denied this knowledge, never mind
rewards and payment back, hehehe.
Why, I even started to giggle like Eadon
- it suddenly occurred to me that I am
not even Church's follower - I became
its faithful devout!
Even Eadon's mad "hehehe" found its way
into my private and business life, and
did wonders beyond my wildest dreams.
"We have Emergency problem here" people
I did not even know would call me at work
"it is a total disaster. We have to do
something about it and quick!"
"Hehehe" I would reply "let me have a
look then..."
"hehehe" became my habitual habit, my
second, and later my first nature.
"My boyfriend bastard left me", "My house
had burned down", "My life is total disaster
and I think the whole world will benefit
if I terminate it now" - we all
come across such situations, trying to
help with burden of others and feeling
desperate failure - for we find ourselves
not only unable to help, but also unable
to admit it, even to ourselves, creating
even more uneasiness and discomfort for
the desperate sufferer.
"hehehe" principle became my guiding star.
The simple way of accessing my ability
to be useful in the situation requiring
my reaction. For if I could not
laugh at whatever was suddenly thrown
at me, then I was of no help, no use,
I would just become burden and make situation
much worse by contributing my own discomforts
and fears, my very own guilt and sufferings.
And so I would simply walk away, defeated
perhaps, frustrated that I cannot do anything,
frustrated with my limitations and raving
mad that world is so cruel, swearing at
God and all Universal Love. But
at least I would not hurt, would not make
the situation worse by trying to do what
I was incapable of doing, hehehe.
It became my secret wish and solid conviction
that Eadon would form "hehehe" Church
next. hehehe.
|
"hehehe" principle became my guiding
star... |
A lot of things happened during that time
and after - and nothing happened at all.
"What time anyway?!!" I found myself asking.
I somehow discovered that my sense of
time, my sense of continuity, sequential
events taking place one after another
was no longer rigid or valid. The
past was no longer set, no longer frozen.
My past kept changing, shifting, shuffling,
and since my past involved other people,
was their past changing too?
"A couple of years ago it seemed always
to be a madhouse" DrStrangelove once said
out of the blue, a teasing statement addressed
towards general public.
"I know what you mean mate!" I nearly
replied but my logical facilities informed
me kindly that I wasn't 'here' couple
of years before.
|
A lot of things happened during that
time.. |
I met a lot of creatures, individuals,
freely flying spirits. I encountered
a lot of emotions, detached egos bouncing
up and down, desperately searching for
a form of expression. The bear like
figure, wearing huge rain-deer horns and
smoking Havana cigars was very popular
in one of the temples. I was scared
to approach it, I gathered he was a high-priest
of the Church, the spirit which has finished
its evolution before I even stared mine.
But one day he approached me, I will never
forget that moment:
"WALE, LOKEE HEEA, EH? WAY I FIGGAZ...SAY
WHAT BE DAT SOUN?" he said kindly to me
and I was overwhelmed with emotions, which
yet again could not find any outlet.
"Dadaduffa!" was all I could nonsensically
mutter.
|
|
We had few lovely conversations since.
I could never understand what he was saying,
and I felt that this particular duffa-culty
is mutual. But somehow it was not
difficulty anymore, somehow the words
weren't important any longer, they did
not matter one bit. I felt being
elevated to the next level of the "Space
Invaders" game, the words themselves were
just means of transport, on the same principle
the food is transport for energy and air
is transport for speech.
More contradictions suddenly made perfect
sense to me, and I was scared, I was trying
to desperately hang to the last remaining
leftovers of sanity in me. I could
see my head exploding into all tiny bits,
my whole existence shattering as if I
was made of glass which was suddenly hit
by a big demolition hammer.
My head was spinning. My mind was aroused,
all the time, heightened, suddenly full
of memories of other people, failed loves,
family members, friends who were still
my friends and yet I was afraid, scared
of meeting them.
|
My head was spinning... |
People, whose existence felt heavy on
me, luggage I did not wish to carry -
yet I could never find courage to eliminate
from my life, for it somehow felt important
to me. People I loved because I
hated them and people I hated because
I loved them. So what did I fear?
What was I concerned about? All
the emotions, which I was uncomfortable
with? Scared even? I always proclaimed
myself to be a "compassionate and passionate
person". So why was I so afraid,
so embarrassed of my very compassion and
passion? Was I a fake, a fraud,
an emotional diplomat?
"We seek the Truth" Jesus looking like
guy announced to me one day.
|
|
He, like isolani, wore white robes, his
hands gathered in praying gesture as if
they were glued to each other. He
had monetary dollar sign visibly embedded
on his forehead, and it was obvious that
he could never see it himself, no matter
how many times he looked in the mirror.
That was too much for me, I could not
accommodate any more of this nonsense,
this Universal Truth, with its ugly deception
all mixed together. It was too much
like my own image of myself. Which, admittedly,
I was not ready to accept it yet. |
| |
Surely this was a warning sign for me.
I was on the edge and I did not know what
was going to happen if I jumped over it.
At least people jumping from high-rise
buildings, jumping from planes without
parachute, taking good measure of arsenic
to make sure that Ambulance and Emergency
services will not be disrupted by their
sudden and planned death- at least those
people did know what they were doing,
were somehow responsible for their actions,
or at least were considerate towards the
wanting-to-live population and real emergency
calls. But jumping from "I see C"
platform seemed like no jump at all, merely
jumping from one square to the next on
the school-ground during the long dinner
break. |
Perhaps humanity always wins against human
emotions. Perhaps opposite is true.
I never found out. There was sudden
rush. "Quickly Everyone! Into the
Tardis!" Some good looking, romantically
dressed soul shouted!
|
|
I heard desperate cries and heavy shells
of spam randomly exploding around us.
It was miracle that there were no casualties
so far, but it was just a matter of time
before somebody would blow up their circuits.
The source of this vicious attack stood
prodoudly on the balcony, armed with heavy
duty double barrelled Spam-o-Matic.
|
 |
There was general sense of panic and confusion.,
shouting and screeming. Some of
us span around, like a dog chasing its
tail. Some found the moment highly
ecstatic. |
| |
Everybody just run, run for it, all their
words, strong beliefs, sexual declarations
became invalid... they found their own
way now...the way of stampeding animals
and they did not have time to share it
with others.... |
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JesusLives arrived just in time to save
us all: "No Wait! It's a trap!"
he slowly and patiently articulated. |
|
But it was
too late...
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| THE END |
Jim adds: For a
mildly irreverent critique on this and
other stories please click here
|
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| Credit: the cartoons
used in Madpole's story are by Moton. |
Please add your comment to this page
 | | | | | | From: |
Ayla | Subject: | 2004-08-04 22:33:35 |
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