On how I became a Megalonychidae and its Positive Attributes.
Frozen fingertips sway hesitantly over my head. I emanate flames, passionate flames of desire, ravenous flames of a dwindling body. In long, resigned, painfully slow strides, making my way through a cavernous dungeon, once an irreverent isle of ambiguity. Silently exclaiming, mute expressions of pleasure or pain. A catastrophic end; a steep rush upward into a gaping, fleshy liberation followed by the flow of consciousness reestablished over my flaming veins, extended over a silky, rotting sheet.
I am molten. Molten like the entrails of the land. Molten like the exasperated blood, playfully filling and rushing through every end, betraying reason. Flooded in flames and chained by the treacherous grasp of an icy conscience.
Painfully laid out in a bed of rock, playing with every thought as if they were palpable. Living and dying and being born again within the dream: quick, flavorful, delightful. But it all sums up to pain unyielding, comforted by a dream of pettiness. A speck of burning gravel upon a speck of burning dirt, within the incomprehensible ghast of reality.
Drops of sweat break through my skin; floating away through a crest of blue flame.
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
The Dark of the Matinee by Franz Ferdinand
“I charm you and tell you of the boys I hate
All the girls I hate
All the words I hate
All the clothes I hate
How I’ll never be anything I hate
You smile, mention something that you like
‘Oh! How you’d have a happy life if you did the things you like’”
Relevant.
