There be monsters here. These great ferocious beasts, with
wild teeth biting and sandpaper tongues lapping at our sensitive parts, circle
and hunt our little clan of pilgrims.
I’ve been in their lair. I didn’t lead the way – I just followed the
path of innocent dead. I’ve seen
things nonetheless – horrible things, and remarkable things but of course the desiccated
bodies of dreams moaned in the gutter and sold me coffee. In the lair of monsters there is no
history there is only myth. I tried to find out though – I searched and asked
and dug and shoveled and poked and prodded and pleaded and begged, but monsters
must preserve the myth. That’s the only truth in the shiny cave of vanity –myth
must triumph above all else. I asked my guides how they managed to navigate the
land of beasts and they pointed me toward a box. A box divided horizontally many
times and then divided again vertically many more times. They told me many
stories about the vertical divisions and how those divisions also divided the
mind. Expanding the compartments of impression and prejudice, taste and touch,
sense and sensibility. You can tell the monsters from the skin-walkers ‘cause
the monsters aren’t vertically expanded. I said “oh. I might not be coming
back.” They said there are ways to deal with the beasts in their place of power
– “vertically divide and you may be insulated.” I told them I am happy to watch
the show but I won’t be staying for the encore. The weather was there but I wish the monsters were
beautiful.
