Galaxies

For all those legends we have lost this month.

"I'd love to party but my hero just died!"

"Which one?"

"It's too soon. Why are you asking? You know what it's going to do to me."

"How would I know?"

"You know how people react when someone important to them dies."

"Dude, everyone lost someone like that this month. Come on, getting out will do you good."

"I'm not ready yet. I'm going to stay home and mope."

"You didn't even really know them."

"Do you really think that's important right now?"

"It's important to me. Wouldn't your hero want you to go out and live your life? Wouldn't you honor them more by celebrating than mourning?"

"Maybe, probably, but death isn't about the one who's gone. It's about the living. Everyone knows that."

"Okay, now you have to tell me which one it was."

"Leave it alone."

"Will you tell me if I guess?"

"This isn't a time for children's games."

"Don't you think your hero would want you to party? I mean, he liked to party right?"

"I guess so. Depends on what you mean by party."

"Well, he was about challenging the status quo."

"In their own way they were."

"So, sitting at home and moping is what normal people do. He would want you to live a life less boring. Do the unusual, get out there. Come with me and honor him."

"They might agree, but doing what you want is conformist as well."

"So I'm close."

"Why do you think I even know what you're talking about? You are making a lot of assumptions."

"Well... there's going to be a band there. This hero supported artists right?"

"Artists normally do."

"You know how I mean, like really advocated for them."

"I just want to be left alone. Again, artists normally do."

"Yes, but this artist, this hero, he supported artists, always?"

"I'm not even sure I know what you're talking about. Heroes support other artists forever."

"But yours really soared."

"Now you're just stretching and still trying to get me to say something I don't want to. Leave me alone with my grief."

"You're an idiot."

"And you're an asshole. Go to your damn party."

"Fine! I'll leave you alone to wallow in your misery!"

"That's what I've been asking for."

"Bill... don't do anything stupid okay? Call me if you need to talk."

"Why can't he leave it alone? He missed a couple, and he missed the point. Why does everyone think a hero wears just one face?"

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Reflexion

I swallow the bitter liquid and close my eyes. I wonder if my love has downed her own remedy. Sheets of lightning course through the space between my eyes and their lids. I have finally captured it inside of my body.  I inhale one of the last few breaths I will take. The stale smell of stagnant air offends my nose, but there are worse scents. At least it is not the odor of the showers.

The light fades in a pulsing blue flash and I am terrified to open my eyes. I know there is no other world, no paradise of the sheep or punishment of the wicked. Still, for a moment my heart trembles. Now I smell air that moves, it is not trapped but filled with the stink of too many people. Before I look I take stock of my body and the space around me.

I am taller, that is wonderful. I am thicker but not fatter, this is good. My scalp feels colder though, my hair must be thinner. That is less good. It is almost time to open my eyes. First I grip the podium in front of me. I am making a speech then, this is normal. Expectant sheep murmur, not violent approval and agreement. Have I arrived in England? These are not my people. The crowd stinks like mongrels and culture destroyers.

No more time to waste. I feel eyes upon me, they are waiting for my answer, so they must have asked me a question. I open my eyes and things look so different I know I am in either the future or the past. A quick look to the camera reflecting my image and I know it is the future. That is acceptable, I have always adapted quickly. I see in this image that while my hair is thinning it is the right color, and so are my eyes. This trip has turned me into one of the master race I love so much.

The people though. They are sickening; overfed, weak, imperfect. For all of that there is anger there, a willingness to shed blood, the ability to go to war for no reason beyond being disillusioned. They are my people. My first people were no better when I swayed them. The leaders of the sheep, those at the table, look at me expectantly. I cannot ask them to repeat the question. That would be weakness.

I look to my right and see the dark skin of one who should not be allowed in public, much less a debate. I can look no further that way. My head jerks left. Three ugly men and a woman who does not know her place. I look back to the crowd and know what I must say.

"We must keep the Jew from gaining power and destroying our great nation..."

I have more to say but the crowd erupts in applause and shouts. Just like before.

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Infernal Metamorphosing Raven

Don't ask me where this came from. I think I'm reading too much Kafka.


Toiling with form ten ninety-nine extended, due on time and un-amended. I pondered with a heart so leery, an interminable existence grown quite dreary. My head did bob, nearly napping, when suddenly there came a tapping as of someone gently rapping, rapping on my front room door. Drunkenly lurching I vehemently swore to throw it open and find my best friend Lenore. Unusual attire I inspected as some ruse may go undetected under the scandalous thing she wore. A patent leather string bikini covered in steel studs quite unseemly, only this and nothing more. To my hand she a long sword extended. “Come with me so your family life not be ended.” Mysterious and womanly was that bitch Lenore.

Extending her hand, which had offended, spoke a word and space was rended to emit a fiery infernal door. With laws of physics so transcended, to the top a sign appended by imp or succubustic whore. Words in Latin quite outdated my scholarly mind at once translated, “Fallen angel express portal, abandon hope to enter mortal.” The legend this damned egress bore. At Lenore I expressed a hunch, this vile journey would cost me lunch. Though my scorn be gently born her eyes upon me wished flesh be torn. With wit acerbic and quite quick she thus expressed I was a dick. “I owe your family a settled score. Thus you are an ass and nothing more.”

Pack animal could I be, when need arose, thus I descended with my hellish rose, into a world of enigmatic throes, watching for any sign of an exit door. Though my terror be quite extended, by the copious sweat and blood Lenore expended she walked on stoically as if all were a bore. Through nine levels she did dance, my own survival was mere chance, eventually I spared a glance and understood how little she wore. Little armor was imparted from the souls both damned and departed but instead shielded her from a hefty bill of drycleaning off, after the kill, the black and ichorous gore. For in truth her hair and skin with fluids be lathed her simple outfit was almost saved. A truth unshared by me, I witnessed with horror.

Through fields of carnage we two fleeted and it was to the devil justice was meted. In middle battle grown quite heated Lenore’s arms were soon depleted and to her I passed the sword I bore. In pitched battle I was uneducated, that simple act my guilt abated, I was simply squire and thus not sore. To this day I still wonder, why my family Satan chose to plunder, there is a whole world to be torn asunder. I must confess, my family frivolous, but as for sins… they read not even Gor! In my declining years grandchildren listen with intrepid fears to the courting tale of I and my Lenore. Were you not afraid, asked in voices staid. An avenue I will not explore, “They were my family, nothing more.”

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