These are the days that don’t mean much
while you live them, but when they are gone? Well, then you know your
salad days. As we eat and laugh, Elise slips her hand into mine and it’s
the first sign of affection she has shown that isn’t a prelude to aggressive
sexuality. It startles like a lightning strike.
Outside the sun goes low casting a hazy golden light. I’m being
called by the wilds. Leaning over the clutter of pizza boxes and crushed
beer cans, I brush aside her raven dreads and whisper invitations to
Elise.
We pass the rock where Cathleen saw the dwarf, its surface cool green, moss covered, and moist looking. We aren’t talking and
have no plans; we’re just moving, and drinking in the solitude. I can
tell she wants to say how beautiful it is and that she understands
how profane human words would be. I take her up to the throne and we cool out on the stones. Still and quiet; getting swallowed up by
that golden summer light. Soon the roses and violets of twilight
will blossom.
The hour grows late and the bats come out. Still, neither
of us makes a move to leave or utters a word. Hours pass like days under
the dancing stars of the Milky Way, and in the span of those few
wordless hours we grow old and die together. “Have you ever wished the
sky would swallow you up, just fill you....consume you”? She asks.
“Have you ever asked it to?” I reply. She gives me a weird look. “I’m
being dead serious Elise.” “I guess not really” she says, her voice on
the verge of laughter. “Well, you never know until you try.”
Elise
looks up at a sky which has grown dark as her bed sheets. “Eat me!”
She yells, and then collapses, sorrowful. I lift her head to
the night sky with one hand under her chin and press my lips to her ears, ”Now try it like this.” I start to squeeze her throat. “Trust me Elise”,
and with those words the tension begins to fade. “Look into that
darkness and call to it with all your passion and all your pain.” Her
words are like stream of consciousness poetry, like prayer. I keep
squeezing tighter and tighter urging her to let go with whispers barely
audible to some but loud as thunder for those with ears to hear such
things.
She slumps back into my arms. I release her throat and
hold her as the woods grow darker than I can ever recall. The night
opens up like the maw of some great beast and swallows her whole. Her
eyes are open now, but seeing things I cannot. Up above the trees,
above the fight of bats, I make out the silhouettes of angels even
darker than the sky. The moon appears casting a baleful
eye. Time is frozen like a river in winter. She sheds
tears the way the virgin Mary bleeds.
The angels are gone now, and Elise is back. I kiss words
into her ears, “I only helped you open the door, whatever was behind it
was only for you.” “What was that?” she asks as she turns to face me.
“Magic” I answer.
With hard rock at my back she pushes me into
earth, and I reach up and touch sky; round, soft, and dark.
The
return of the great beast Choronzon is imminent. Lest you know the
proper evocation you will certainly never make it to the Ziggurat Of
Dead Shibboleths. 40,000 Ephraimites have preceded you. 40,000
Ephraimites have died. Participate in the Mass Ov Choronzon, cast your
ego into the infinitude to request Inferni... you most certainly deserve it!
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