- June 21st, 2010
- Write comment
A plague upon your house – roasting inside the debacle, splayed humidity eats away at the once strong ice across the severed moon.
Watching the stampede of tengu across the zones – watching the individuals sitting in a tribal semi-circle as they are watching you. Watching him as well, though you dont automatically see that.
Watching you watching him watching them watching him watching nothing.
He looks barely alive, you think, (whisking it away with a simple transmission to a secured metawork is all he needs).
He takes the Nodes from its slot, licking at the nutrient slip of viscous mucus at one end, and jacks it up inside his nose.
Connection: Relevance@LOADING – - – - -
He plays the plague like a locust across the land, eating away at city, after city, after city. From the night, the glaciers come, their sheets of ice beating a path across the smoothened surface: those milling around begin to shiver in anticipation of the death throws…
Somewhere in the twentieth year before the birth of some saviour(?) the Node compresses, releases.
The black splotches caress their limbs, the blood, like tears drips down from the defined sockets like so much milk in a bowl. Kittens lick at it, and play stick ball with the remains.
He looks so tired, you think, as he takes the Node and gently licks at the kittens eyes. So cold and restless.
The feet around the room shuffle, and move. They file outwards, rubbing their hands to take out the glacial chill that pushed itself up from the concrete floor.
Up through their asses.
Up, into their bones.
Humidity – unknown presence-pre – begins falling as rain upon the ice-sheets. He looks alive, you think, as he flees across the plains, feet scattering upon the ice.
A plauge upon your house, you decide.
The node swings from his escape: