She sat, was smiling, the sun shone and danced upon her skin. Water and rocks rushed up and met around the shore beneath her feet. She knew it was coming, could feel its breeze, taste its breath above the trees. Whispers swept and whisked away and blue pulled the pillars away. Forests waved in wild abandon, stately, tall, and wide. They fly, those trapped, across the land, their darkened mouths are flung and lost and blown away.
Yes, the religion story is going, is gone. The fairytale lie, Grimms and kings, emblazened shields won’t block the sun. Soon will be gone, the troubles of this world. The boys will fall too, whether they like it or not, suits and shirts and drooling thumbs, fingers on their belly buttons, spinning down. The women should stop, being so pretty princess, the dresses dragging on the ground like old blood and kleenexes and tombs. We are not there. We ain’t goin there. We are already some place else. We are here. They don’t know that, at least, they don’t want to know that.
They are used to this, this dragging kings around, game. This lie that has rotted the place so badly I cannot believe that my words don’t refresh, the women, at least. But they are selfish, the women. They see that fairytale, they hear those dresses dragging along the ground, and they want that, that sound, that light. As that eye, penetrates, and penetrates, and penetrates, tee hee hee. Gurgle, gurgle, ga, ga, ga. Wedge heels.
Music, that sounds like revolution in the streets, an ecstasy game danced to oblivion in electronic clubs that no not whether it is day or night. A pill to keep the pace – light. Keep your eye on the light. Dance, yes, babies, dance. Spin, my girls, my princesses, lots of them, queens, spin. Everybody, down now, everybody down.
Everybody down, now, on this ground of darkness. Let’s stay there. It’s easier. Funk. Let’s stay. Down. Not a spell anymore though, but an awareness. An awareness that we can’t do this anymore. An awareness exists, an awareness is there. It’s the sky, I think. May be the ground, living, beneath my feet, beneath these mountains of marble stones and crumbling archways. Walking, no spell, not Jesus.
See, we’re not doing your military world, not spinning this plan. The special ops, flying, breaking out, away, sky more real than they. This hypnotized world has gone away and GI joe no longer swings through the jungle, dirtied, equipped.
The cow’s gone away with the dish. Truly the moon floats across that sky, through, the man no longer waves there. No symbols, but stars, breath and fire, there still. Grass and sand, along the shore, slopes still, though Jason has gone. Masks broken, crumbled, and dust, and breeze, and gone. No more the roar, the ocean now sings and rolls. They are gone. Flesh, no more than mine, mind, too old to stay, shifted with the wind and’s been swept. We are here still. I knew this all along. We would live through this. We have already lived through this.
Kingdom gold, croak a frog, from basement walls, dungeon cells, you heard its crown, tumble and fall. Ting! Waste across the floor, it bounced, but not the frog. The frog breathed, remembering, it was a frog, and the man, he cringed from overhead. He didn’t make it, didn’t become king, as the castle piled in around his head, a balding crown trembled and cried.
He shook his mouth around his fingers, timber like wood, cracked and groaned and weaved. There was dust everywhere and his whitened beard grew heavier still, with filth, and stealth, and pleas. He tried to stroke but couldn’t pull his fingers from his trembling drying mouth, couldn’t push his bones through the dust, ashen, and fine, and heavy.
Above, twinkling through dark, electric blue moving sky appeared beyond the dome, rolling too, like the ocean, dancing, smiling wide.
C. Villeneuve
Mottyl's Whispers 