asklepiades (asklepiades) wrote,

  • Music:

and there is powere here

whatever you know i know
and whereever you tell me to go, i go
in all these things i lose myself
drifting through these spiderweb-like dreams
breaking slowly through these barriers into you

there were no people in the world that day. for miles and miles around, blackened earth. vibrant schemes of orange and darker orange, pulsing, a directed flow. mountains, maybe. maybe not. but something to block the sky. youre not looking up. its not looking down. ambient light. fake light. there just is light, no source. thats one of the things that brings out the powerful flow of the scenery, brings it to prominence, and we start to move with it, begin to pulse, to beat, from one vertex to another, like a coaster ride, slow around the turns, but out of them with velocity; its mechanical; all physics, and everything is dreamlike:hogs, or maybe not, theyre large and they are come upon suddenly, in the middle of the blackened earth that pulses with orange these hogs are waltzing, large furry hogs, like some tundra yak, or something larger still, and their is sadness in their waltz. their waltz is slow and they move in and out, dragging along in patterns awkward and disturbing to their form..symmetry and fractals, but its almost repulsive to watch; this is their dance. their steps resound with the pain of the earth, the wretchedness of the earth, the shame of a planet raped; an immortal planet. and as they dance more and more hogs continue to rise out of the charred terra, spiraling outward at the slow unsettling pace of their waltz until they recreate the nature of the environment. there is no atmosphere here, and as ive said, there is no sky. this theme park stretches out endlessly. there is no horizon, and with perfect clarity and perfect vision it does not end. and these hogs fill it all, writhing, twisting, spinning and turning. and in a single moment you realize the finite nature of that world, in the infinity of the plane, the timelessness of their and, theres no sky. theres no sky and you can feel it all so tight, so close, so closing in around you and the hogs are spinning, and this landscape takes you on its ride, theyre spinning youre turning, the soil pulsing, and there is no up. just down. no horizon. the hogs are spreading, spiraling, up down, left right, until theyre on all sides, thousands of them, as if they form a hollow sphere, and you are at its center. and they dance. they mourn the passage of life from the world. the mourn the past existence of life that stained the world and stained itself. and suddenly you can hear them, your rollercoaster now has sounds, and you listen to their cries in a foreign tongue. to their lament, and they dance. they waltz. they expose, and theres no hiding from it. theres no hiding from a truth, and
you arent even there. you were never there, never in that place. for their were no humans in the world that day. you look around. you see the people you know, see trees and landscape. there is a sky, and the people are moving back and forth, stopping, talking, and life continues. you see a house, you see dimensions. there are limits here. there is no infinity. and in these borders you regain freedom of though, freedom of perception, freedom of movement. and move you do. first one foot then another you bring to the ground with a heavy 'thud.' and then a third, and then a fourth. you shake your long, and matted coat obstinately about and throw your heavy tusks from side to side. with a lamenting low, deep and guttural, you begin turning to the side, and your hooves come down again. thud, thud.


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