Home * About * Subscribe by Kindle
Writers of the Apocalypse * My Music

Thursday, April 8, 2004


1:20 AM There were five people in white button up shirts, and we were having a good conversation. Then 7:30 AM There was a point in the beginning in which I told myself to record this. I had a companion with me - and as always I could only see a glimpse of him or her from the corner of my eye. It's rough being blind. The story began inside myself, which is to say I was telling my companion a tale. Now that I am awake, I see and understand the metaphors I had to use. Oft I wonder how the other perspectives catch them and how they translate, for there were many visuals. I narrated very little. It was the early American wilderness - swamps - before wooden towns and cartroads - the travellers were crossing into the deepness. There was a young boy who was leading his subculture behind the higher ranked. We could not see the higher ranked in this; they were only known to be there, and they were not even leading the expedition in the end. The boy was leading them all, for all he walked in the middle. He was a slave, and he considered himself to be leading his brother. People crossed bodies of water in flatbottom boats covered in strange markings that were carved into the deep brown wood, and when they reached the tiny pieces of land where they would spend the night, they slept in pools of water (which the mortal part of me thought an odd metaphor). The waters were usually stagnated or filled with baby mosquitos. The higher ranked ones promised that when everyone reached their destinations, the pools of water would be clean and fresh. The boy had short, white-blond hair and a strong physique - he was the stereotypical hero figure. He was a slave, understand, yet he would be lead even the leaders through the wilderness? The slaves' bodies were covered in red tattoos - things I had not thought to see, that old language - and wore red sun-kilts with red disk at the front. More strange markings adorned the cloth; these people loved sigils, it seems. The rest of their mortal bodies were bare. The boy cared only for the welfare of his brother, and near the end as my story began to close, the party crossed the swamp waters to another island where water sat in one of those vinyl pools for toys. It was filled with baby mosquitos, silver fish and another animal that I cannot remember nor name. I said, "Let me clean this water." The boy had disappeared, and it was I that pulled down the side of the pool to pour the critters on the ground. The people watched, waiting and hoping for a clean place to rest. I grabbed a waterhose and took off the spraygun to thrust the running thing into the pool. Someone approached me... one of the leaders... and somehow I was called Wonder Woman, but whether that was from the large one (the leader) or my companion, I cannot say.