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Lust Games: An Essay on Honor, 58, 000 words, an examination of power, honor, the will to conquer, to endure. Time, passion, bloodlessness; concepts of survival, integrity, victory, two lovers, a muse........Knowledge is good, understanding sublime. Honor is to be cherished, defined, fought for, worked through, taken as prize, as gift. Honor is to be handled, recognized, acted upon against all powers, all odds. Good and true becomes good and true.......Power hungry bastards, cynical chiselers, low rent power plays, high rent power vacuums, parades of fools, saps, territorial battles in abundance. Lust driven temptresses, dream driven suckers, inherently weakened dunces run around for fun and profit. Worlds in flux, merciless masters, useless strivers, besotted clowns. Striving gnomes define their way........ The guts of daily battle. The guts of blood and guts, blood and tears, sentiment, pretense. Life on the lam. The guts of the price of admission......... Heathens more wonderful than words trip the light fantastic. Things good and true, right and sublime embrace the noble soul. Worldly playmates, worldly playgrounds, muddled motives bring stars to the party. Conflict, grace, achievement ride to the ends of time. A story of wit and romance, mystery and challenge........ Cynical, tough, resplendent in awe. The hero. Wary, beauty of the night, femme fatale, too smooth for words; friend and confidant, charming creature, protagonist and antagonist. The heroine. Ecstasy and economy. Enemy and lover........ A heathen's home, paradise lost. Whims wished, worlds in play, mothers' milk. Honor; the wicked master. Time, the wicked mistress. Crippling legacies. Wrenched saviors. Redemption, a tough and unforgiving act. The fun in the journey........“I offer you sleep at night, warmth in contemplation, dear boy,” Amy said. “I offer you stunning charges to be made by rancid outlaws and fairy princesses,” she said. “You could be the backdrop for the haunting sides of viral poisons careening through times and weak demeanors,” she said. “Limber up the rewards for action, play, being, purpose, dear little boy blue,” she said........ “I'll dance to the piper,” she would say. “I'll dance and I'll blow him a damned kiss,” she would say. “I'll blow you a kiss, too, baby,” she said. “A nice to big kiss, baby,” she said. “Just for you,” she said. “A nice to big kiss,” Jo said. “I love each and every one connected with this farce,” she said......... There are rewards for the rancid, the exemplary, choreographing movement, action, yearning, drive. Territories are up for grabs. The finish on the edifices of hope and story dries slowly, sloppily, drips in puddles of toxic waste.......Useful pawns, iconic creatures. Walking iconic traps for all manners of lust, craving, envy, foam dripping fools. The beat beat beat of relentlessly primed virtue and want, desire and thrill........ “Tears were what I offer,” she said. “A trade among new friends is always brokered. Your killers kill, your owners own, your breakers break and if that were not the case then,” she said, “you would be just out of the ordinary,” Jo said........ “Smooth over negligent strains of endeavor and come up working easy, always easy, little Stephen,” Amy said to me. “Set the sun on wry killers and deal with them in good stead, Stephen,” she said. “Sometimes not,” she said. “The simple and easy plays, the simple and easy setups ride the cresting waves of forbearance Stephen,” Amy said........The road to hell is paved with sour intentions. The foils of the game game those who are too damned tired to really give too much of a damn. Cynical, snide rules the game........ Happy little gnomes scamper about the rivers and eddies of rancid muses, fallen idols, Pharisees of honor, decrepit absences of godly wonder. Panoramas of endless beauty highlight the emptiness of standing, the mirage of talk, the grandeur of lust.