Eruptions

I once had a dream. I was a seagull, on a first class tour of the clouds and mountaintops of a set of lush, coastal islets.

This land, remote, was pimpled green, and the tips of the great hills and mounts oft charred and exhaled steam, the air smelling of seawater and steam and fog. The isles curved around like a lowercase j, with the largest of the mountains dotting like the top, looking down on the rest of the chain.

At the bottom of the ‘j’ were many smaller ones, and atop each one sat a different person. On my tour, I flew past the first of the pimply hills, surveying the inhumanly large men and women sitting on the various tips of these mountains. Savages, they might have been. As I flew by, they hopped up from their roosts, muttering and puffing up clouds of smoke and curses into the air, and the hills ‘rupted to ‘canos. Lava sputtered into the air, gushing Earthblood. It sputtered and stuttered out. The lava missing me well enough. Anytime I closed in to see these men, they took back to their feet, hopping around, fists pumping, cursing with lava and plume.

Unsociable, they seemed, so I continued on down to the larger ones.

The middle section of the isle, I reached a modest sized volcano. On it sat a giant warrior, clad in iron, honor, and fearsomeness. Circling the spout of the mount was a large buzzard, unseemly with a large white circle around one eye and displaced feathers balding his head. His shouts reverberated, a long whistle, bouncing between the rolling hills, and some of the shrill being scooped up into the valley between. He cried out repeatedly to the warrior.

“FREEE– FREEE!” sounded his whistle. His words piercing into my thoughts.

The warrior stood still, sentry atop the slit of the slope. His eyes showed he heard, but he kept silent.

The sounds of the buzzard calling seemed to change to a more shrill tone.

“SHRIEEK! SHRIEK!”

The buzzard saw me approaching and glanced my way. We made eye contact, and in that instant he was whispering inanities to the mind.

Seagull, Seagull, we can save them from themselves. We can incubate them with the fumes of the earth, and rule this island as our own. We can save them.”

I hadn’t yet noticed the crooked grin of his beak. I gave no verbal response, but it seemed he read my mind. The buzzard’s shrill changed shape again.

“FREAK! FREAK!” His piercing whistle darted at me like missiles in the sky. What an insufferable creature. I pressed on. A few minutes later, the sky behind seared with an eruption that made the volcano’s of the savages seem but a child’s sneeze. Moments after that half of the island had been swallowed by pillars of ash unfurling like a giant rising to his feet.

I was not far from the end of the chain, and the mountain at the end, a massive, intimidating spectacle of mass that even at distance appeared to dwarf the size of the earlier hills up close. As I approached, I spotted the very average sized man, seated on the lip of the great mouth, large enough to swallow the earlier hills. He was naked, peering down into the mass of black and hole, his tan skin littered with burns and scars upon burns and more scars and black.

He looked up and called to me. “Bird. Come closer. Talk with me. Company is scarce on my piece of the world.”

I hovered a good 20 feet above him and circled.

“What brings a creature out here other than his own foolishness? Do you not fear me, bird, as the rest of the world does?”

I looked at him innocent and pure as my white feathers covering my body.

“You’ve seen what lies beneath, pus, fury, hate, have you not? I have to sit here bird. I alone. It is up to me to hold what destructive power in this giant cauldron I sit. It is my power that you see below. Can you believe it?”

Everything about him deceived the eyes. A forgettable face, a mismatch in stature and demeanor, even his voice was calm, quieted, hard to catch its waves amongst the deafening rumble of the great mount. He looked at me and smiled, barely, but smiled.

“You’re no fool, bird,” as we accepted mutual understanding of who we are to each other, “this volcano was not meant for the witlessness of the savages, or feigned dignity of the red-blooded warrior. I sit atop this fearsome gash in the earth because I can and only I can.”

He quieted for a spell, as did the volcano beneath him. Arms crossed, he sat in silence, once again looking down into the void.

“You’re like me bird. Quiet and calm and..”

“HEEE! HEEE!” I heard the shrill cry grow behind me. The buzzard must have found the courage to approach after following me out to the end of the range.

The buzzard looked past me, bearing that wily grin upon his crooked beak.

The man, perking up, called back to the buzzard.

“Wild one, join us.”

“HEHE! HEHE!” The buzzard’s long cries now a snicker.

White splattered his face as the man’s reflexes rubberbanded his expression to a shut face. He sighed and looked back down to the void. The entire island rocked, but he patted the volcano lip and mumbled some words in too dim a voice to be heard from above.

The buzzard, again, whispered thoughts to me I’ve since forgotten.

Then, he¬† intercepted me, batting me down, proclaiming, “FREE! FREE!”

Disoriented, I sunk into the dark. The buzzard’s dishonor had not been unknown to the man, as the last image I saw was the now visibly upset naked man springing to his feet as the Buzzard began to fly away, and then all I saw was black.

I saw it.

I felt it.

From pitchest of blacks, to a yellow filling my face, it tingled of warmth, but instantly continued down the color spectrum.

Orange, to red, to white. From heat, to inferno, to nothing.

I barely felt it, but heard no eruptions.

I woke up instead.

Leeches

Leeches. Leeches everywhere. Not covering every centimeter of every surface, but everywhere I go, I always see a few.

I walk to the bathroom and there are two on the counter top. Flip up the toilet seat and there is one on the other side. Back in my room I find them hiding in plain sight on my computer monitors, and behind clothes and other things disorderly strewn about the floor. I don’t find any in my bed.

I make a point to visit as many places and rooms I can just to see if I can find any leeches there. My car, the garage, I check the refrigerator, not for food, but for leeches. Everywhere I go, I am greeted by the presence of a few leeches preceding my arrival.

They don’t seem to move. They are like movie set props, maybe they only exist in their own reality, but I know they are real. I don’t dare touch them. I don’t disturb them, but I don’t trust them.

In my backyard I can see them, those little black dots on the trees. They are lined up in a convenient path. One tree, one leech; onward they go into the vanishing point of the forest, and I follow their trail for over an hour until the woods’ dominion ends, giving way to a house with washed out yellow siding, dehydrated moss, and speckles of dried mud.

I walk in and I can hear something toward the back end of the house. I walk up the steps that bear a deceptive familiarity, and enter a large bedroom with two partially blinded doors that appear to lead to a balcony. A little bit of light slips into the room, enough to see that none of my companions are with me in this room. I don’t remember seeing any leeches since I’ve been in this house. The sound of a repeating, almost grumbling motion is coming from beyond those doors, so I beyond them.

We are on a deck, looking out, fifty feet above a canopy of treetops. While out there, everything is soaked in green, up here, everything has a yellow tint. There is rocking chair in front of me. It’s a drunken device, and it can’t make up its mind on its balance; continually threatening to keel over in each direction. From the back, it almost appears that a giant leech is slumped in the chair, but as I approach it and swing to the other side, I see an old man instead of a giant leech.

I stand directly before him, and we look at each other. I’m not sure if he sees me. He has two tiny leeches on each of his temples, and another where his neck meets his chest. I can’t seem to maintain eye contact with him. My eyes act like an enraged bee, swooping in at all different angles, but breaking off just as our pupils touch. I eventually drop my gaze and climb up to his several times before I manage to hold it. As if it were the draw bridge to my mind, the lower half of my jaw drops. I’m gaping as if I’m about to say something, but I know I have no words. Still I try to muster, but as I motion for speech nothing is heard except the sound of birds and their chicks chattering in the distance.

I keep trying, but I can only produce distant chirping. An exposed window, my mouth stays open, and I realize I can’t move my tongue. I feel something there. Just as I’m about to try to swallow my hand in an effort to rid my tongue of what constricts it I look back to the old man. The chair remains, but he’s gone. Meanwhile, half my hand is in my mouth, and I don’t know where I am.

Leeches. Leeches everywhere.

to take a pill or to drown

Often I sense I fear sleep.
A knowledge resides deep within.
The deep, not of any hidden, buried feeling,
But rather something that is secure, undisturbed.

I’m tired, but my eyes hang on just long enough
and when I take to bed, I go under just for a moment’s passing
until I pop back up, gasping for life in cold and sweat
as if I had just momentarily
ducked under an oncoming wave at sea
as to avoid the brunt of a force larger than myself
but foolishly deny what is nature around me.

Resurrect Golem

My am rocks
Pile am
Pretty woman visit
Magic woman from trees

My from cave
Whisper at my
Rocks live
Resurrect Golem

Rocks am Golem
My am rocks
Golem living
Pretty magic woman gone

Return to trees
Cave alone
Golem stay cave
My am golem

My know rocks
Rocks and cave
Not like Golem
Another one come

Am my rocks
My am rocks
Rocks am golem
Rocks again

Varicose

Out of place like varicose veins

Trying to stop blood flow

The pressure only rises

Swept away, Sun, Tsunami

Only seeing red

Varix, varix.

delirium strikes

For years, they tried to fool proof myself
Scientists in a lab

The coats
The computers
The spectacles

I, The Spectacle

When I wasn’t blinded by
The pervasive light overhead
Softly spoken schematics
and directives overheard

A dark room and haze
Filled in around me
I could feel it
Compressing the air surrounding

It whispered

I murmured

As my skin boiled
my brain prodded
my lungs inflated
my eyes twitched
my teeth rattled
my tongue flapped
my bones fractured
my spine curled
my glands secreted
my nostrils retreated
my hair wilted
my voice dried
my lips desaturated
my nerves faded

Coarse leather straps and a metallic buckle,
The coldest thing in the room,
Slid across a molting layer of skin

“It is complete.”
Were the only words spoken

Later, I stood.

First step
Engineered
Bullet proof, air tight and
The miracle of science

Second step
“Plit, plit”
Red splatters visible
In front of my feet

Third step
My perfect hand
To my chest
Evident, indeed.
The scientists forgot to patch
A single leak.

Fourth step
Non-existent
The miracle of neglect