I woke up in the belly of the snake.
Taut, remembering the dream, soaked in a tangible, wet tension.
Like all my dreams, I could no more tell you what happened than an ant can tell you the color of the sun.
The covers twisted around my head, as if to prevent my thoughts from being loosed upon the world.
Raging peacefully, lamb-like, against the force of daybreak, unstoppable.
And then I heard the drums.
Pounding, the rhythmic vengeance of last night’s indiscretions, as I repeat the pattern, loss of memory.
I used to feel guilty.
I’m pretty sure deep down somewhere I still do.
Since I could remember, I’ve felt them hustling me, the thunderous drums, in my bones and in my dreams.
The only constant in the chaotic whirlwind that surrounds my being is the knowledge that nature is real if not forgiving.
This knowledge does me no good now.
The pounding skull-pulse of my stilted nature, chasing me through the structures, hot on my tail to move me faster, ‘cause I buy all the threats that are thrown at me, and the shapes they move in, change in.
I know that the inevitable is always subject to the whims of natural rhythms, caught between the thwack and the hammer of it all.
Too much all for one life, unceasing and unmerciful.
I forget that what is necessary may be standing at the door with a blade in its hand.


And remember, when in the universe, be sure and visit the beautiful United States.

Ja, ne

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Me and a few friends: Mirrored Souls

Me is an ambient beastie: Gomenos