wama

24.08.06

a nightmare. I don’t even want to look. I cannot look.
Some crawling, nightbug, dragon-like thing that has eyes only for the deepest, darkest, wettest earthen home pops its ugly head to the surface. S/he has horns and claws and smokes a cigarette. No s/he breaths fire. The smoke angles up from its snout. Its jaw like another claw snapping open and closed. It is open screeching a piercing call to others like it to rise from the depths. Its tail rocks forward as it wriggles free of graveling soil.

Our only hope is on the otherside of things -- if we dig that hole to china -- we wil find a bright light glimmering in a holy place. It is so far away, so distant that it looks like a picture postcard. But it floats on a dusky, red sea beckoning us. Light curls above it ornate in a language we do not know but that we crave. And showing us the way is huge leafy oak tree who is sometimes a talking lion. She rests in a field of wildflowers. Animals gather to her skirt and wait for us. They can’t wait for us to find another way and they know a shortcut.

But the swamp between the nightcrawly dragon clawmouth thing and our lush green tourguide deters us. We cannot trust what we see on the otherside of things. we cower and sink.

posted by la kara @ 06:16