Horcrux

Horcrux
-to Venus Anadyomene

There's danger in handling Samsara's diary; gambling with fictions. And what, afterall are the odds here of waking? Ardor loaded in the thurible roulette, Desire's consuming centrifuge -death hidden in the chamber. Reduced in the crucible of hours, sentenced to this cannibal casino.

Saturated in the febrile pretension of sleep, locked in the ordeal with the Dakini. She is real. Real as dynamite & she will rock your world, Methusaleh. But the pillow is a damp stone and swamps drag behind, encroaching. Never under-estimate the prowess of the goblin.

The Rot set in. Maldoror & suffocating. Avails thee not try though strike a light against the blot. And She at the end of all things who ignited our dreams combust, just a waterlogged matchbook with "for a good time call" scrawled across the inside cover?

Behind the masque yawns the abyss. May sanity set your shoes along the endless roadside dancing. Seek there mind the spark & secret seed.
-9/26/09

Autumn Equinox, 2009

Promethea #31 -Alan Moore & J.H. Williams III

"One cannot bear to spend a Season in Paradise without crying out in instant nostalgia: never will we have the strength to endure such intoxicating agony a second time. If we had what we will never have - time to live this day over again - there are so many others desirable and each is the most beautiful one. It is superhuman torture. We do not know how, simply, to bear it. We weep for joy."
"Write on what is alive? But up to now I thought of myself as writing on paper. Sometimes the paper was thick enough, in fact, for me not to feel the blood flowing under the skin, under the paper. […] I warn her: ‘I am writing on you, Promethea, run away, escape. I am afraid to write you, I am going to hurt you.’ […] But rather than run away, she comes at a gallop. Through the window she comes, breathing hard, and alive as can be, she flings herself into the book, and there are bursts of laughter and splashes of water everywhere, on my notebook, on the table, on my hands, on our bodies..."
"I loved you in the darkness at the center of the light"
-Helene Cixous: Promethea

revery of an express check machine

Poinsetta Muffnutkin and her Shadow lurch forward, drooping laudanum goth droplets across the swath of confessional drivel strewn in the booth. She whispers something about absolution... honey, this ain't no closet of the weeping bard.

Pardon me while I have a strange interlude...why, you couple of baboons!...what makes you think I'd marry either one of you!...Strange how the wind blows tonight... It has a tintity voice, reminds me of poor old Moslin. How happy I could be with either of these two if both of them just went away! Here I am talkin' of parties. I came down here for a party. What happens? Nothing. Not even ice cream. The gods looked down and laughed. This would be a better world for children if the parents had to eat the spinach.Living with your folks. Living with your folks. The beginning of the end. Drab dead yesterdays shutting out beautiful tomorrows. Hideous, stumbling footsteps creaking along the misty corridors of time. And in those corridors I see figures, strange figures, weird figures, Steel 186, Anaconda 74, American Cane 138...