"Well all you need is just one more excuse" - Faith no more, the gentle art of making enemies
You were standing by the bridge, the three of you, deeming yourself a terrible trio as the bubbles of air stopped appearing at the spot where rasputin sank. You feel high with murder and for the first time you feel that something different is on the wind, an alternate plane of reality which you've unlocked as you killed, the solemnity of the grave touching you with its truth and it feels good for the first time in a funeral. You proceed down the bridge and over into the streets, heading for an illegal pub you all know where you drink and toast to the health of the czar.
You are invited to a masquerade by the czar and the czarina, venetian in style as they have made their venetian ballroom in their palace with the last remaining pieces, the windows, arriving one day before the feast. You flirt with the lovely ladies of the court and mingle with heads of state and people who just like to give head and as you listen to their introductions with their defensive stances as to why they are here, you feel untouchable as the lies exit your teeth, the coming revolution and every republic in the world will not stop the hierarchy of monarchy. There is indeed an invisible brotherhood and your trio, it's presidents.
Monarchy, a bolshevik philosopher muses, can never be rooted out. The republic itself is doomed or in a wrong time for people remember who did them good, who did them bad and everyone knows that the apple don't fall too far out. We will be made to forget with an iron fist understands george orwell in a dirty room in a cold attic in paris while aldous huxley sees that the ultimate control is the seemingly lack of control or a society so free that it doesn't really matter.
As it didn't matter when you heard the porcelain drop and shatter on the floor, white innocence stepped on by the muddy shoes of magic as the dead have walked again and will once more and the torment of your eyes is not the torment of three individuals but the torment of generations to come as we clamour to understand that the world is nothing but mud and flame.
oh the obstacles in life
slick paragraphs
the transition between the last 2 was killer
not that it matters