Wednesday, December 29, 2004
Stream of consciousness, x-mas 2004I proclaimeth that I am the Sun.
In a brilliant thunder of a whisper I refer to the issues at hand with the slight nod of a world leader that could mean anything, but all those supposed to know know exactly what my words do tell. Thus I begin the legend of man, and abhorrant creature pacing slowly with a fixed gaze on the toes on his feet and where they are pointing.
To him the past is but footsteps.
Ina golden carriagte drawn by three white horses encrowned with white feathers sat the Lord, an obesity of physical and psychological nature; a monstre it is said by some, those who may not admire him. To me the Lord was fit rightly to the scene, his gross body melted in the splendour of his while court who bowed to the paw of the penney - an uncrowned topped his mysterious smile that only the madman would interpret correctly.
This scene to another, fades in green, red-dressed carpenters are executed for neglectance and a stonebridge is raised so that the Lord may pass the river untouched. And the smile yet again.
Night fell on two centuries ahead, and a spring willow's birth had commenced and fully completed without miscarriege. In the frostly night of an indifferent moon ran a naked runner whose skin was covered by pulsing beads of sweat and tears reflecting the horrors that light beholds when man's asleep.
Trapped by his heart he was, and desperate to save his soul he ran and ran to reach his end so that his spirit might escape; but dread blurred the sky for his eyes and tears distorted truth to lies, and naked runner met his doom by the feet of his mother his very own womb.
Thrilled to joy by carpenter's toy the fiddleman played a tune of lores, and the Lord took note of this gruesome display, and wed him to his harem for all to save.