[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
Godman, we will straighten you out. Look out for us, Godman. Judas and I are a red-hot team.
You cannot drown us with your dreams....
Her hair swirls like marsh mist about her shoulders and her neck. Its fragrance is cold and fragile a
breath of morning wind would blow it all away with a touch of its self. Her entire form is crystalline in the
clouded darkness such as lingers after dawn, and she flees to her daylight slumbers within the casket of a
dead tree in a stagnant swamp.
She is as old as the stones which mark her resting place. A whole far-away world that is long forgotten
but which never died is hiding in the canyons of her memory. She is sister to the darkness beneath the
earth, and the unlit oceans and the anaerobic fires.
You want me to follow her there, to her rendezvous with the bones of men and the stony imprints of the
passage of the evolutionary procession. You would have me ride upon the frail carriage other floating
tresses, or let her ride upon my own broad back to wherever she cares to spur me. You would have me
share her deathlike dreams and her dreamlike days. You want me to go with her to her distant destinies
and her macabre ports of call. You want me to drink the death that is her life from the same carven cups,
and open wide my embrace to encompass all her multitude of forms, and guard her from all anger and
harm.
You know that I should love to plunge myself into the black depths of her nightshade existence, and
swim in her sea of shadow and shame, to stay by her side whether she was allowed to fly or condemned
to crawl. My mind could always tell the truth, and I could not be deluded by the mocking tyranny of your
bribery. But nevertheless...
She dreams of an everlasting, moonless midnight, lit only by the quiet, careless stars. She dreams of a
cloak of shadows which might hide her tenderness from the brightest lightning. She dreams of the ultimate
end to time, when all is night and desolation, and she is equal with the whole stock of the tired human
race, and the sun is an ember.
I will pass by her then, for but a moment, and perhaps I will offer her small gifts of pearls and diamonds,
pouring them liberally into the ocean of her hair. She would know me even then, and we might laugh
together, and make a chrysalis of our dreams in the blackened ruin that was once the universe, knowing
that long after we are gone it will break and give birth to a new monadic existence.
In the meantime, we might drink strange drinks and build ruined, night-filled cities out of poisoned
memories. And we would not dread the second morning of time. But while there is life in everywhere, our
marriage is not even the stuff of dreams. It is a futile temptation.
Get thee behind me...
I am forced to pass through a town infested by a foul plague. I walk quickly along the sweat-stained,
tear-stained, blood-stained, tainted road, with my collar upturned and my eyes entrenched behind
guarded lids, and my tongue pressed to the floor of my mouth. I pause only once, daring no more, as my
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feet grow heavy, and I watch a young man who cradles in his arms a sleeping girl-child whose body is
marled with the signs in red and black.
Awaken, murmurs the youth, into the ear of the sleeper, breathing on her pockmarked cheek. Slowly,
she stirs, and her dead eyes look into his.
I am dead, she says quietly, and without remorse.
I have healed you, he says. I am a healer of the dead."
Only the dead may heal the dead, may love the dead, may dance with the dead, may pay the dead their
due, quotes the child. Are you dead?"
No, answers the young man, I live yet a while."
But he falls upon the road, and the child runs away to command the driver of the death-cart to bring his
cargo this way, as the darkness eats his eyes and gorges upon his virility.
The child, which was only a lifeless burden, becomes so once more as the driver of the death-cart
reaches down to greet her, and the driver spits on the young man, saying, Healer of the dead, heal
thyself!"
We will never have enough of masks, you and I. They are the moves in our game, the substance of our
existence.
But let me testyour pride, for just one moment. Let me temptyou. Let's not think that because you have
all the power and all the knowledge, that I am completely without talent in this matter.
Think on this.
You have set stars in your sky as stars were set in ours. Can you conceive that it will be acivilized man
who can reach out his hands into the sky and say, These stars aremine "? Could that be a safe man, a
sure man, a military man, a man of the law or ... even this a man of God? [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl exclamation.htw.pl
Godman, we will straighten you out. Look out for us, Godman. Judas and I are a red-hot team.
You cannot drown us with your dreams....
Her hair swirls like marsh mist about her shoulders and her neck. Its fragrance is cold and fragile a
breath of morning wind would blow it all away with a touch of its self. Her entire form is crystalline in the
clouded darkness such as lingers after dawn, and she flees to her daylight slumbers within the casket of a
dead tree in a stagnant swamp.
She is as old as the stones which mark her resting place. A whole far-away world that is long forgotten
but which never died is hiding in the canyons of her memory. She is sister to the darkness beneath the
earth, and the unlit oceans and the anaerobic fires.
You want me to follow her there, to her rendezvous with the bones of men and the stony imprints of the
passage of the evolutionary procession. You would have me ride upon the frail carriage other floating
tresses, or let her ride upon my own broad back to wherever she cares to spur me. You would have me
share her deathlike dreams and her dreamlike days. You want me to go with her to her distant destinies
and her macabre ports of call. You want me to drink the death that is her life from the same carven cups,
and open wide my embrace to encompass all her multitude of forms, and guard her from all anger and
harm.
You know that I should love to plunge myself into the black depths of her nightshade existence, and
swim in her sea of shadow and shame, to stay by her side whether she was allowed to fly or condemned
to crawl. My mind could always tell the truth, and I could not be deluded by the mocking tyranny of your
bribery. But nevertheless...
She dreams of an everlasting, moonless midnight, lit only by the quiet, careless stars. She dreams of a
cloak of shadows which might hide her tenderness from the brightest lightning. She dreams of the ultimate
end to time, when all is night and desolation, and she is equal with the whole stock of the tired human
race, and the sun is an ember.
I will pass by her then, for but a moment, and perhaps I will offer her small gifts of pearls and diamonds,
pouring them liberally into the ocean of her hair. She would know me even then, and we might laugh
together, and make a chrysalis of our dreams in the blackened ruin that was once the universe, knowing
that long after we are gone it will break and give birth to a new monadic existence.
In the meantime, we might drink strange drinks and build ruined, night-filled cities out of poisoned
memories. And we would not dread the second morning of time. But while there is life in everywhere, our
marriage is not even the stuff of dreams. It is a futile temptation.
Get thee behind me...
I am forced to pass through a town infested by a foul plague. I walk quickly along the sweat-stained,
tear-stained, blood-stained, tainted road, with my collar upturned and my eyes entrenched behind
guarded lids, and my tongue pressed to the floor of my mouth. I pause only once, daring no more, as my
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
feet grow heavy, and I watch a young man who cradles in his arms a sleeping girl-child whose body is
marled with the signs in red and black.
Awaken, murmurs the youth, into the ear of the sleeper, breathing on her pockmarked cheek. Slowly,
she stirs, and her dead eyes look into his.
I am dead, she says quietly, and without remorse.
I have healed you, he says. I am a healer of the dead."
Only the dead may heal the dead, may love the dead, may dance with the dead, may pay the dead their
due, quotes the child. Are you dead?"
No, answers the young man, I live yet a while."
But he falls upon the road, and the child runs away to command the driver of the death-cart to bring his
cargo this way, as the darkness eats his eyes and gorges upon his virility.
The child, which was only a lifeless burden, becomes so once more as the driver of the death-cart
reaches down to greet her, and the driver spits on the young man, saying, Healer of the dead, heal
thyself!"
We will never have enough of masks, you and I. They are the moves in our game, the substance of our
existence.
But let me testyour pride, for just one moment. Let me temptyou. Let's not think that because you have
all the power and all the knowledge, that I am completely without talent in this matter.
Think on this.
You have set stars in your sky as stars were set in ours. Can you conceive that it will be acivilized man
who can reach out his hands into the sky and say, These stars aremine "? Could that be a safe man, a
sure man, a military man, a man of the law or ... even this a man of God? [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]