Shattered Silvered Slivers

A needful caterwauling awoke a desperate longing in my soul but I couldn't reach out of the burning fire to grasp the howling of the fog. I stood and watched as the hour fell upon the moonlight spear, carven from desolate oak in the midst of a burning empire, then turned my back and left, disappointment clawing bloody strips from my chest.

Into the broken leaves I wander, outstretching my hand to each thing I see. The rainbow scales like jewels on the foggy coast twist and turn under my touch, transmuted into fanciful birds which scream and turn on each other, just as cold and beautiful and heartless as the jewels they had once been.

Carbonated cogs exploding into significance along a quantum angle of pernicious morality. Finding oneself confined inside an endless mousemaze of incomprehensible confusions and complexities, what is the appropriate response? Reform, remake, reconstruct? Remake, recut, re-know, unknown? Can we ever know beyond the limits of our own esteem?

Cry in futile amazement, you soiling kings of the soiled earth, ruining and wretcheding your way through life. I will find you and then we will see who wears whose crown.

Into the insane abyss the tiger stalks, creeping, crouching underneath the World Ash Tree, World Oak Tree, world all tree, everything comes from the source of the pain underneath the world, everything bad oozes out from that pernicious pestilence, and you will have to find it. Undiscovered, uncovered, the ugliness seeps forth, and something must be done about it.

You have to take the sheath, the knife, and step forward, driving it down into the ugliness, if you ever expect to see beauty again. You have to open yourself, allow the red glory to touch you, to caress you, to slide equally down your spine like the kiss of a lover's hate.

Every now and then the firing need becomes overwhelming and I wonder, why? But the wondering always takes up the time, or I find reasons, and somehow it goes away. Until I reach times like now and it seems trivial to control, distant and easy.

Yet, I know better this time. It will be back, and it will be, I will be, as a sand castle before a tsunami. It will someday overwhelm me, and I will lose. But I want to be prepared.

In the sudden eventuality that I should find you and kill you, the police should perhaps be called. But this would be an unfortunate disruption to my hunting pleasure. Would you object to abstaining? In return, I promise I'll only kill you if you want me to. Maybe we can fulfill each other's needs.

Something tells me I'm going to regret ever speaking to you. Get away from my cloud.

Something is bothering you. I can tell. What is it, little cactus bloom? Why are you running away from me? Don't you get the signals I send? Don't you feel how good it is, how much we need it? Why are you letting their petty rules emasculate you? Run forth and be free, like they say you have the right to be. What right do they have to punish us for being what we are? Just because we were not born cows or sheep or goats to be easily lead and guided, to be happy living in a barn on empty food?

I want to rip into bodies and eat their muscles, their hearts. I want to stab them, over and over, feel the slick reception of the blade by the flesh, feel it slide home so gracefully, cleanly, feel the thunk at the end, feel it tear free to go again.

I want to wallow in gore. I want to rip into the minds of all the holy rollers and expose them to the Hell they have created. I want to prove to them that the afterlife is their reward for surviving this one.

I want to prove my dominance, my superiority, and yet I know I have nothing to prove, for I am one with the Ways, or at least I know OF the Ways, which is better than most can say. But I am sundry caught with my wits about me and it never seems to work right. Even now, it doesn't work.

It never works.

It never did.