I sat, dormir in calm meditation, at first, on the floor of the quiet suburban parent’s home after repetitiously shadow boxing a kinky opponent, the sweat just beginning to form, and I considered the feeling.
What kind of control do I have over my body?
I thought about a hot summer day with infrared visible ultraviolet beams focused on impact point, radiating off her crochet bikini, didn’t do it. The thrill of a fight with a larger opponent, didn’t do it. A demon incarnate—a flying beast, didn’t do it. Speaking in front of a panel of judges didn’t make me feel like sweating.
Hurling headfirst into the Portland Zoo lion cage, didn’t do it. Stare at Alex (the lion [dream of the 90′s]), for a moment as he growls in excitement and I didn’t break out into sweat.
Alex’s eyes glance sidelong at zombies emerging from the ground, and my only hope is to engage with my surroundings. It is easy to slice zombie heads with a naginata. Even after repetitious sequences and vectors of muscle energy percolating into the back of my eyelids, I am not sweating.
Moving gracefully through the cemetery of zombies striking with precision, I’m sprinting towards Alex on the ground roaring in tire and dripping sweat. His jaws clench in soreness and muscles tire from too much work not enough sun basking. The horde subsides yet drums or vibration signal the culling of the three trolls. Standing at the mausoleum entrance the trolls expand into enormous beings of demon zombies with muscles. The first sees me and is instantly set into pace. Mind reeking of indecision, I grasp onto American style One Hop Kuen Do and perform a defensive roll back to short metal cat stance as a clenched fist slams the ground, pulverizing earth. As the troll’s knee bends as shock subsides, a piercing pain shoots through it’s gastrocnemius. No sweat.
The other troll had attempted to smash me while I was climbing up the first’s calf.
Don’t break concentration, breath normally, adjust your focus to your repose, the first troll is on the ground laying on it’s back with me, a small point of existence climbing up the mid-line of the troll skull. Gathering energy, push momentum up with a wisp of hair onto the forehead of the reposing troll demon who is yelling at the first troll just as it brings its free hand down to smash me on it’s own forehead. One sidestep and jump and I am balancing on the backhand of a confused troll. So I make eye contact with the second troll. Still not sweating.
The hammer came down on the poor first troll and we can only imagine the seething anger of in-directed stupidity of the second. And the third who is furiously speaking under it’s breath...wards. A control demon. I’m trying to think of a way to counter a control demon and even the thought of having to defeat it to open my eyes is making me want to just sweat already.
Come in with a quick decisive blow, that’s the way to counter a mage, right...Find two shuriken in the bag around my neck, striding with naginata whose blade had broken off and is now a bo staff, Alex is eating the corpse of the first troll while the second is dashing in a diabolical craze towards me. I throw both shuriken in flow and they deflect off what seems to be an invisible cloak. I scream at the caster as the second troll approaches menacingly. It laughs and with a malicious spell I am leviosa’d high in the air thousands of feet into it’s mouth. Not sweating.
The tongue is strong, but I am steel and wedge between his top inner mandible and the slimy tongue. I have one chance to roll and hope he has a dry throat. I can feel the tongue using all it’s slug-like energy to crush me against the jagged molars but I find myself sliding between the hard palette and the slippery tongue, thank goodness it’s mouth was dry from those incantations. I’m down the esophagus and find myself able to hang for a moment bo staff jabbed in the flaps but I still don’t seem to be sweating.
Well now my lack of counter spells doesn’t seem so overwhelming. As I consider whether to open the sphincter into the stomach or to escape through somewhere higher, my options fade with a swallow. A few more contractions and I kind of am getting my balance but the saliva stinks and drops like rain heavy with contaminants, causing me to lose grip and slide into the stomach, I latch on. I consider for a moment all the possibilities but then a ralphing noise echoes through the organs. I am frozen as the pressure increase and velocity slows, trapped between folds with bile soaking my feet and pressure ripping me upwards, aiming for the base of the esophageal sphincter I feel the beating of the heart nearby. Use my stuck stick hand to slide the splintered staff into the wall, the pressure subsides, I can feel hot air rush by me as oxygen rushes in from a sharp intake of breath. I am still not sweating even.
Jabbing just through the base of the sphincter would reveal the cardiac muscle. Sinking bo staff strikes into the cardiac microorgans and pulling apart mucous lining is really messy and I meditate for a moment while the heart drains into the stomach, the bo staff wedged between striations intensifies the bloodway. Sure sign of exit was when gravity shifted. I crawl out the throat and stand once again eye to eye with the sad stupid troll. And behind him Alex who looks ripe from ripping apart the remains of the first troll. Alex strikes first, troll turns, existence of consciousness careens through the air and sliding forearm like a canoe through the canaliculus, I pry the eye out and I don’t even break a sweat.
Alex and I run away with a troll eye and in warm fields he licks all the blood off me and I nervously am shifting around his jaws. I open my eyes and decide that i’ll try again later.
Then touch myself and break it.
