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Babbling incoherently in mangled prose form.


Submitted:Aug 3, 2008    Reads: 145    Comments: 5    Likes: 5   


The road has grown so long, so quickly. Another day and I must break through some barrier. Be it, what it may be. From the depths of a lion's mouth to the pinnacle of the perrigrine's gaze, I shall taste this bitter-sweet, from tower to trail.

I suppose you could say it's a normal day. Normal for me in all of it's transitions of consciousness and awareness, and consumption of the sustenance in which the earth bequeaths me, and tremors that beseach me. My will is not my will, but merely the mechanisms of a confused alien, ailing from vertigo and amnesia. Yes, a normal day.

You see, the power has gone out of my life machine, and I am disconnected. And with no emergency backup system to keep me running, I am stuck. Stuck in the furrow of my own plow. A half-cracked seedling with intentions of sprouting, but no means for rerouting. No synapses firing. A seance with out the guest of honor.

Inside this cold, hard block of condensed matter is an intensly vibrating idea. Burning with the need to be recast into a form more suitable for this incongruous atmosphere. I need to be reformed by the hands of a master to quiken the souls of my new neighbors. To dilate the pupils, increase the heart rates, tighten the grips and salivate the tongues. I need to metamorph myself, before I can even think of catalyzing the minds, bodies and spirits of this spiral species.

And just as my vitals dissapear and my life force ebbs away, the power grid levies itself from slumber. Tense with new electricity, I am jolted forth through time and space, and into pure alchemical miracle. The unmentionable magick of the moment at hand.

That was how the evening began.





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