Posts
{"I knew love, and I knew evil :
Woke to the burning song and the tree turning blind."
- Muriel Rukeyser NIGHT FEEDING.}
{Samuel Clemens here. When I was alive, I thought I knew so much.
When I became a ghost, I learned just how little I knew.
It seems I know less and less the longer I drift through the Shadowlands.
The pages of Roland's journal turn now with a life of their own. We last left him, having made the decision to try and save the life of McCord,
a fictional character his Lakota blood had brought to life.
As last post ended, he was entering the Door of Nasah, reputed to be the portal to the end of all flesh. I will let Roland take it from here....}
I watched the fiery hailstorm pelt the black sands in front of and beside the strange city. But none touched the walled city itself.
Maybe a courtesy from one region of Hell to another.
I didn't know, nor did I want to. The weird city spread across the smoking hills in a maze of turrets, parapets, domes, and intricate towers.
Structures, seemingly designed by alien minds and hands, flowed along the slopes and valleys stretching back and across the steaming black sands.
Physics-hurting arches, glowing with a blue demon fire, spanned across the city’s center. I glanced up and winced.
My eyes seemed to slip off the sky above as if they could not hold the truth of what they were truly seeing.
No longer midnight black, it was a brooding blue as if fallen angels had hurled out a blanket woven of lost souls across the heavens.
What passed for the sun in this dimension hung in its center like a molten ingot of gold. I could almost feel the heat of it. Almost.
The hurricane had become like something blown off the surface of dry ice, so cold it burned the skin.
The cold desert winds cut through me despite the false illusion cast by the bloated sun.
A misshapen cloud formation, darker blue, edged with fiery hues, reached out across the horizon like a giant of Ragnarok,
flinging out its massive arms and screaming out its hate of all living.
I knew that if I turned around, the sky would still be midnight black, covered with clots of flames, rolling thunderously overhead.
Not instinct. My ears. I heard them. As I heard the one voice I definitely did not want to hear here.
DayStar's.
"I knew love, and I knew evil :
Woke to the burning song and the tree turning blind."
***
Woke to the burning song and the tree turning blind."
- Muriel Rukeyser NIGHT FEEDING.}
{Samuel Clemens here. When I was alive, I thought I knew so much.
When I became a ghost, I learned just how little I knew.
It seems I know less and less the longer I drift through the Shadowlands.
The pages of Roland's journal turn now with a life of their own. We last left him, having made the decision to try and save the life of McCord,
a fictional character his Lakota blood had brought to life.
As last post ended, he was entering the Door of Nasah, reputed to be the portal to the end of all flesh. I will let Roland take it from here....}
I watched the fiery hailstorm pelt the black sands in front of and beside the strange city. But none touched the walled city itself.
Maybe a courtesy from one region of Hell to another.
I didn't know, nor did I want to. The weird city spread across the smoking hills in a maze of turrets, parapets, domes, and intricate towers.
Structures, seemingly designed by alien minds and hands, flowed along the slopes and valleys stretching back and across the steaming black sands.
Physics-hurting arches, glowing with a blue demon fire, spanned across the city’s center. I glanced up and winced.
My eyes seemed to slip off the sky above as if they could not hold the truth of what they were truly seeing.
No longer midnight black, it was a brooding blue as if fallen angels had hurled out a blanket woven of lost souls across the heavens.
What passed for the sun in this dimension hung in its center like a molten ingot of gold. I could almost feel the heat of it. Almost.
The hurricane had become like something blown off the surface of dry ice, so cold it burned the skin.
The cold desert winds cut through me despite the false illusion cast by the bloated sun.
A misshapen cloud formation, darker blue, edged with fiery hues, reached out across the horizon like a giant of Ragnarok,
flinging out its massive arms and screaming out its hate of all living.
I knew that if I turned around, the sky would still be midnight black, covered with clots of flames, rolling thunderously overhead.
Not instinct. My ears. I heard them. As I heard the one voice I definitely did not want to hear here.
DayStar's.
"I knew love, and I knew evil :
Woke to the burning song and the tree turning blind."
***
