I saw her once in a dream. I was a boy. Sixteen maybe. Fucked but not contaminated. Guess that’s all perspective. I was scampering from sentries always keeping off the streets.
Sentries. Patrols. Can’t call em cops though, since they aren’t human.
We took to the woods
And one gun. And one bullet each. The world was not yet undone. If we had known, it would have been three.
In the dream, this is a dream kids, so I thought, so it was, rocks beneath my spine sand in my teeth from dinner, so we called it. A near death Squirrel and an engineered peach. And goddamn foliage.
But I descended here. And here was so much soft fog and luxurious light. I could never forget how, she smelled like summer. The way I remembered it. Enormous amounts of lotion on the banks of the Willamette. Dust and humid moss mist and a the sweet scent of my stolen whisky breath. We were torrid up in the woods, all running from one cave to the next, strung out on Rhomasil, thinking we were invincible. We were like animals in the Amazonian-like Forest Park.
The sentries left us alone out there.
We were apprehensive to head out. The landscape of the world was becoming frightening, and what we thought was rational, quickly became irrational. (To include the presidential order to allow voting to be cast while “incorporated”, plugged into the complex.)(within the complex, you become a perfect avatar of your human self.) (you’re an interperatation of yourself)><(you are an elite interperatation of yourself. And you carry that knowledge and wisdom into the natural world. As goes with Polititians. But in these landscape, many of their memories and ideas and decisions they consider wisdom, are generated. Mock itenerary.
Ivy was only evading a war. Invading soul was necessary. I understand that now.
I know because this night, I fell into a kind of deep green canopy of a sleep. Deeper in deeply into immaculate sleep we fell together into a kind of cavernous keep.
We were in a hazy irridescently lit room inside a kind of deep set cavern. Light glistened on the slick black cavern’s walls.
There was a kind of liquid elation in the air and I was hard like a monument.
When she came to me, as though she emerged from smoke, she smiled. As though she knew me from the ground up and adored every scratch, she smiled.
She moved close with catlike reflex, softly striking. Nuanced.
Her eyes electrical, sparkled like a spectacle of crystal light basking in blurred hues.
“I’ve experienced a spirit like you.”
…she seemed to say.
“Who are you?” I asked.
And the rest is another story.
And I looked and waited for her to come for me. I was sure. But when Ivy plagued the billions of humans, driving us all insane.
Earth needs fearful men with lips of vengeance, through which every whispered word stirs premonitions of dread and evil.
Not just “evil” men.
I am what I have to be. I don’t want it, but the fury is what I have. My God is gone. My mind filled not with blood but shrill silence.
Enslaved on this ship heading east, into the cities, through the canal. There, the steel and cable skeletons of once majestic towers, skyscrapers, now bony spires, reaching up from the black water that swallowed the island finally.
And then we mutinied.
I caved in the captains head where he slept, and took his place. We were several miles out, and the waters remained dreadfully still. We stained our sails black and found the darkest shadows of great scrapers. We became the night. A rabid claw of the unyielding inhospitable night.
I slept in his chambers, upright on a footstool as I used to for nights in his chamber, telling him my stories of the sea and the plagues of America. Before we killed the world. He told me his stories, about when Australia got grotesque, and how he lost everything.
But I remained a slave to be sold. And slaves are killed like cattle in this brave new world.
I was reminded, for months with the lost boys, that I was an outstanding piece of property. His honesty almost spellbound me, and now his body decays in the ocean, as we now sail to Tanna. The island we call Carcass.
In that blackest of nights, when the shrieking of folding steel and the beasts of the sea, DARPA’s denizens, were deathly silent.
I slept upright, and in that sleep before sleep, she came to me, clothed in hard shadow and soft light. And she watched me. It was for what felt like hours. Before she moved towards me where I sat.
“You know me,” she said.
I did, I meant to say, but I was silent in sleep. Only the part of me that watched her from outside my self. My spirit’s child. Inner child, perhaps. It watched from within, but from beyond me as well.
She leaned in and her scent was like sunshine. A day at the pool. Sunshine and chlorine and coconut oil and sweat. Strange scent of summer vacation. And she kissed me.
Like an eruption, every part of me was part of her. I could feel every nerve in every finger laying like oak in my lap, and every nerve in hers as she gently caressed my face and pressed it against my chest.
I was lifting away, out of body, more and more fully absorbed into her, almost erotically.
And then the cold like blue ice bit my toes and began to consume me alive like some tremendous iron snake.
I opened my eyes into hers, horrifically emerald eyes, peering so deep inside she’d deconstructed me. Like a god, in my mind, removing me.
And then she ripped it free. Broke my gaze like shattered crystal that showered to the ground like fairy dust. And it was a shadow that shimmered irridescentally, like mother of pearl. And I thrust my arm and plunged my hand into the heart of it and clutched it with all my strength.
And she, with all her strength, its strength, all shadow now with those green calypso eyes, ripped it away. All but that shred of my inner child, that boy that she came to, and lured me to promise this to her. I’d given myself to her, I recalled. But that was the only recollection I had of her. And it was only because of this final shred in my cast iron clenched fist.
I could feel it, knew it, vibrating in my bones, should I let even a finger free, I’d forget her forever. Completely. And I could never get it back. All her passion, my capacity for compassion. Gone.
So I fight it, encapsulated in a fist.
I’ve fashioned a a binding, and a hook to replaced the bound hand. I wear it on my iron fist, so that soon, when I find the pan, when it comes for the rest of me, I can take its heart from it’s chest.
With my Hook.