Recent Entries Garion born; thinking of doing video logs - 2012-09-01 I'm married, I'm a prospective father, wow I never update - 2012-05-22 Got the job at the NIA; mother complicates wedding plans - 2011-10-13 Scrawl - 2011-08-05 It's never been better - 2011-06-02
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Blood runes 2002-08-12 - 4:13 a.m. 
Warm. It starts slowly. There is a tiny hole of blackness. I move through it, falling fast into nothing. Gravity rips against my shirt, my pants, uselessly flapping to keep me away from you. The traitors are summarily executed. Head first, diving, wickedly smiling to feel you. Slamming midair penetration to the pores. Oozing into me, the eye sockets, the mouth, slow like bad sex but suddenly thrown tightly shut. I open myself, stepping in. Two as one that was one with which to begin two, flowing back and forth like greedy tongues.Ah sweet rage, filled with the unquenchable desire to feel. Flame fires away, piston stomach sex grinding new-born extremities. I am awake. Emotive carvings glow in the tree marrow. The sapphire-violet intricacies outline restraint, bloodied and heaving in pools. Towers of rock set against a skylight. Red mists press up against the glass. Oozing down. Shattering. Salty. Hey my pants, new hat. I'm in a large studio apartment. Well-carpeted, tasteful ferns, an obsidian floor with rough, finished crests. The walls are rectangular windows; corporate affairs. Blood plays inside a lava lamp like the clouds before a heavy rain. It's peaceful here. I am living flame, revelling in the memories brought with closed eyes: faces then, to come, the inner demons that wanted a spot of tea. I've been a huffy wee shite to myself. I wish I could have an apartment like this...well, windows optional. Myself optional? Too post-modern. My nose is clear again and I can smell the future almost. This place feels like me, somehow. It is eloquent and unpronounced, ancient but passably believable. I've been here before. Not the apartment, its new, but the Mars-like rocks and ruddish canyons just beyond. I describe it a long time ago. I was caged away in a cell. Every time I tried to open the door and walk through, I would be back there. Looping, no escape. Over time I concentrated and finally moved past into the red dunes and sand-blasted rocks below. I guess my sub-conscious has taken to interior decorating since then. Christopher Lowell would be proud. |
