Shab has lumbered along for nearly three days not even stopping at the babbling streams nor accepting any of the boiled chrysanthemum wrapped in pig crackle the pilgrims offer as they walk beside behind and ahead of him.
He is migrating like a lower beast. This is the season and the moment to simply magnetize toward his lord, the Begging Rajah.
Shab sometimes believes that Ilyn is the Begging Rajah even though Shab's saddle has not been filled for many seasons, and even though Ilyn always rides instead behind him in the square wheeled wooden cart. Ilyn's bed of marigolds is only dust at the bottom of the empty cart now, but Shab still bears his yoke patiently, knowing that our surface is tilting once again toward the miracle.
Soon Ilyn will be spotted wandering out of a canyon or lying as if dead by the side of a road wearing nothing but his scars and the markings of marigold paste the pilgrims have stopped to anoint him with before moving back toward the hill caves to smoke the vine and say shiv throughout the night.
Ilyn and Shab would pay their official visit through each town in turn to thank them for their faith and offerings and help to celebrate the cycle of destruction.
It seemed like everyone has rings on their toes and as they gather the dusty floors glistened with tin, cadmium, and peridot. Some of the villages have diving competitions to honor Ilyn's sacred moment of glory at Mthyuh's Diving Board. Some of the boys even set their hair afire before jumping just as Ilyn's long red mane turns to actual flame as he plumets toward the boiling pit of lava.
The fields orchards even varmints will go dormant until Mthyuh is paid back for her bounty so that she does not send her Mouths to prosecute their debt.
Still, as Ilyn prepares to dive, it is customary to shout eat me first! Missy has taken to circling this ceremony coasting on the foul volcanic gases and listening for the cries to strengthen in fervor and therefore in terror.
I looked toward the heavens and asked what
I looked inside at my conscience and asked what
Aloud, I asked the room, which was empty, what
like a puppet's hands if the strings had knots
to open up is can't, not to not want
these unwelcome growths mark time and effort
thus stories have been told by peoples not
wanting to forget but in recording find
that media as memory is more vulnerable
than a memory that has built its capillary
knots cranial cathedrals dying kings
there are the last knots ending in fringe
there are hair knots ironically created
when attempting to impose order on
the sort of chaos that guarantees a knot
you can roll a knot on the tip of your
finger with some spit, a knot that can
hold the entire construction in place
Then of course I had to take myself aback, listen to what I was saying with a critical ear. And doing this, I felt ashamed.
Then I started plotting out how to call the MPS on the flekes while they are still there, in Jansdaad Park, with their K's off leash, without them being able to guess that it was me who called.
Then I began to wonder how long it's been since a Jan was ever even present at Jan Jansdaad Park, maybe not even since the ground breaking way back before The Crack got opened. For years it's just been gypsies and now that the gypsies have been driven out or terrified to go outside, the flekes are filling the vacuum.
The Ks have even more right historically to be free on this surface. Letting them off leash is a symbolic act aimed at the rest of us and probably lost entirely on the pathetic "reimagining" of the former kings of the planet. They glop around on rubbery feet, and their once mighty wings are token bone and skin flaps that only create eruptions in the sweat glands beneath them. Mini-K males feel permanently ready for a fight, but they don't know why. Of course their teeth can still tear flesh, and their tongues can pin down a varmint even if it appears a spear's length behind them.
I've ended up taking no action at all. I'm glad I've discovered the power of own-brain dialogics.
by Tom
my instincts bubble over and I'll scream
at the critters who live in the hollow knobs
by Lager
Suspected but never before recorded:
Patient's brain attempting to halt processes of other parts of same own brain
Bio-dialogic processes using symbols and sounds of host's own language that actively change cell production, synapse strength and number, direction and intensity of cerebral blood flow
Who is taking the various sides of these arguments, and how do they win or lose? Do they attempt to come to a consensus/ compromise, or is brute force a deciding factor?
Example language within and between brain parts detected and decoded:
stop...stop or i won't stop singing...you were tripping...look around
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