January 19, 2008


A creeping and a crawlin, a jibbin and a jivin. They come on rollin and a bowlin, runnin and a gunnin. Simmer, shimmer, shake, bake, they come and come and come. Wibble wobble. Trippin all over each other to get to us. Tribbles, troubles, hephalumphs and woozles. Grignacs, grognards, and even a jabberwock or two. Fissssst, fummmmmph. Ughhh. They push and tug. The wall, she stands, but she don’t like it.

Here I see eyes, there I see legs. Noses, snouts, and ears. Horns, claws, and everywhere teeth. Big teeth, little teeth, shiny teeth, black teeth, but each and all sharp teeth. Some are long in bits, arms, necks, legs, and things I ain’t never named before. The long snaky ones get close, but the tiny crawly ones get closest. The wall don’t mean nothing to those that can climb, which is why we got another wall, and a bit of flame atop that one.

Some day we’ll meet ones that don’t burn.

January 12, 2008

Toby on the rock

Toby slithered out onto the rock, belly down and head up. He grasped the edge with both hands and stuck his head out into space. The chasm below curled with fog and even here, as high as he was, he could smell the damp air. The rock was cool, but warming in the sun. A breeze kicked up, pushed his long hair out of his face, and then pushed it back again. He tied it in a tail behind his head as he regarded the valley below.

The clearing fog revealed a river snaking towards a clear lake, fields of grass rippled away. Whitecaps dotted the water’s surface. Here and there a rock jutted from the field, poking sharply through the green fabric of the valley floor. The sun poured into the valley lengthwise, flowing in the same direction as the river. Trees emerging from the grass became visible for the long black tooth shadows they cast upon the ground.

January 05, 2008


She does not know what she means anymore. She cannot. Those words must be . . . wrong. I cannot accept that truth. Not that one. The Oracle has lost her powers. How long, I wonder has she been without? Am I the first to recognize her error? She must know her strength is at an end. She must know her powers have waned and that the words she spews – foul venomous words! – will soon do the world more harm than good if she continues. Or is she unaware? Did the power depart, only to leave its certainty behind? Is she babbling on with every confidence, unaware that it is now lies she tells? It matters not. The flow of words must be seen for what it is, but I dare not announce to the world that her Truth has fled. The questions they would ask, my own prophecy to be revealed? Never! That blasphemy shall never again be spoken, it’s only grace is that it has revealed to me her error. I wonder if this is what she wants? Is this why she uttered so false a phrase, to inspire the recognition and urge me to do what I must? It must be so, she knew, and so knowing welcomes my next act. Barbarity, savagery, others will call it thus when they see the result, but she will know. I act out of love. I do this for love of her.