Thursday, January 10, 2008

The build-up to the Landing in a 19th-century brothel with a view to the Airships

Over a hanging bridge clad in black, rotten creepers, we two ventured into the impossible part of the forest on the forbidden side. I had devised a plan and disguise, we were dressed like birch trees, young and proud; and on the path to open sky we came across a colleague who was lost in her mind.

We exchanged experiences telepathically before we parted ways; she was going back across the bridge, seeking refugee from her memory and comfort from her love. Awe, no fear, took hold as the opening proclaimed by the rumours flowed onto our eye balls like a deluge. We drank the immense and endless horizons of un-ended woods over hills curved like resting bodies like thirsty travellers.

'Behold the view' my good friend said; twas he who brought me here, he who'd seen it before without losing pattern of thoughts.
The distance to the bottom below us was incomprehensible, and as I bend forward I felt the sentrifugal curse foretold in childhood fairy tales; I took air and plunged into endlessness.

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