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Having died, swung outside in,
I walked the bonehouse of our sin.
From tip of toe to knoll of skull,
delving the clay among old steeps,
my brainpan moaned, my legbones whistled,
whines came wailing over tholing hollows:
roots were hard against my feet.
I stumbled, scrambled over bonerings,
over kneeknob, over shin,
slid the lank of rick and ricket,
trod the link of broken fingers,
ran with maggots in the marrow
and smelt the mouldy rug of hair.
I clambered, hobbled, reft and riven,
cracked with rack of rib and riddle,
clinging tittering on the roof
where, in a blab and wraithly gibbering,
gusty litter crucked and crumbled,
duffed and muffled in the hearded dust!
She is dancing, dancing. Dancing in the scent of red blossoms, the delicate buds of pale yellow-green, the sharp air in the branches. Rise up, rise up, springtime. Rise up, wake up, the sun is high and the clouds are ready to rain.
The air is still cold, the ground still blanketed with slushy snow, the lake still sheathed in ice. But the air smells of promiose, the unmistakable scent of green. Deepening by the second, spreading out, and for all she's worth, Room dances.
March 24 2006, 00:06:10 UTC 6 years ago
Belial lies still too. He is unmarked, he lies with his eyes open to the promise of spring filling the air. Though he is not breathing, he will stir again when his host comes back to him.
The slushy snow does not touch the bodies, neither the whole nor the torn, and Jack's face and front and as much of the damage as possible is modestly hidden against the chest of the thing that is no longer Satan.
March 24 2006, 00:25:42 UTC 6 years ago
Things will never be over for those two.
Satan doesn't fall this time, he's making his way down on purpose, moving faster than the eye can see for all his size and still dragging the encased Frost after him in his prison of flame. Wind whistles and flames shriek as they whip trough universe after universe, retracing earlier steps.
It should be obvious when they've arrived. Things are very hot all of a sudden.
March 24 2006, 00:38:22 UTC 6 years ago
lifting, floating in the sullen mood,
hidden in a maze and dizzy wombing,
poked and wary, toom and gidden,
Room is untroubled by this.
under the wind where the weave is,
so slim a lie down under slum,
so soft a wriggle, a little welter
of whipple and heave, a little whelm,
The dance will go on, as it always has, as it must, year after year, for all eternity, even after time ends, after there is no more world and no more seasons and no more time to measure.
flimsy in a film of fine foam
rocking, soft rolling, so blissfully sleeping,
dreaming the doom and whying the when
in winkle curl, in whelken screw!
The dance is.
before the gristle, before the frame is,
freighting and wriggling in the swoom
of water - seep and slimy whirling
that wash and dree their wanion tide:
It creates its circumstances.
where I felt the stir between wench & wink,
when in the dark flood an eye opened
and red lips lifted and a mouth gupped
and teeth gleamed in the floory mere:
It is ever-changing, and the dancer is its bearer.
where I felt the sweve between stream & strumpet
where lulled the wildness of thwarted hunger,
in lovely sweetness between wist and weeping
that sighed and sucked their wash of sleep:
She twirls into a swaying pause, rocking side to side, one foot to the other.
where I felt the leap of want and wanton
that took to madness in the tail,
that thrust and stung and stirred the mudlift
and filled the mouth with mick and dung:
Diamonds of too-bright fabric and tattered rags swirl around her in the wake of the arrival.
where I, the bagget, fleamed the wombworld,
fishing the flow of needy flesh,
while wistfully wrapped my poor wraith wept
through-wind-laced at the door, waiting!
Bright eyes watch, their depths an empty void no being could see an end to. She barely seems to see THEM at all. Whatever she is looking at is carried in their wake, but not a necessary piece of visible reality.
March 24 2006, 00:52:00 UTC 6 years ago
Because Frost iswasshallbe
A mighty battle soon ensued, in which the spark,
Now a universal roaring Flame
Flames soared and as they did and the moment his prison was let go there was a crush of cold and as he was created to do because we must all have a purpose even if we forget it, even as the knowledge came back to him Frost screamed and then screamed with memories.
Which filled the sky with many soaring tongues,
Tried to melt the Cold's Spirit and devour it complete,
While Cold its icy Spirit blew,
Its cold wet breath into the Flame;
But it only turned a portion of the Flame
Into cold white ash.
And even as he spoke the words, it was so.
March 24 2006, 00:58:35 UTC 6 years ago
Fire spits, again and again, even as he takes his true form once more. He's secure here, nowhere safer, cannot be beaten.
March 24 2006, 01:04:52 UTC 6 years ago
I knew Body and understood Bearing.
I knew Bearing and understood Bending.
Something on end is the beginning of a Bend!
I stood firm, strung as a bow,
and knew my Bent since I knew my Bond.
The longlasting of a Bond is a Band.
the wholeness of a Band is a Bond.
the fullness of a Bond is a Bundle.
I knew my Bundle when I found my Bent!
Thus by knowing Bending I found Bearing,
by knowing Bearing I found Body,
and by knowing Body I found Being.
She sees them glowing, shining, forming, being. And her own form begins to melt, to blur, and yet to become at the same time more solidly present. She Becomes the earth, the lake, the ice, and the sky. She begins to reach out her existence to very, very slowly
begin
to become
them.
Uninvasive as of yet. Unintrusive. Merely a seperate kind of awareness, unaware except in dreams. She begins to understand their Being as she does the Spring, and springs into a hopskiptwirl with an echo of laughter as she experiences their forms in her air, in her presence, in her awareness.
March 24 2006, 01:09:00 UTC 6 years ago
So the battle rages on.
Frost lunges, grasps, hurls towards the epicentre and the creature that killed his child dared to fight him.
March 24 2006, 01:28:06 UTC 6 years ago
You are in my kingdom Frost. Do you not understand? There will be no end, I am forever. You cannot hurt me, here or anywhere. The fires burn for eternity and not you or anyone will change it, you fool.
The lunge is met with...nothing. He's not there anymore, having shifted to be behind him and send a wall of shimmering heatwave, like the haze over distant hills, rippling towards him.
March 24 2006, 01:33:59 UTC 6 years ago
""He died an old man with hoary hair!""
She stretches out her hand.
My mother sobbed as she lay on her bed.
""I quicken anew with a man that was dead!""
And the world stretches out.
My mother screamed as she heaved on the floor.
""I bring forth a bairn that was buried before!""
Around the heat and ice, a garden writhes, wallows in the warmth and the water. Beneath them,
beneath them all,
spring.
March 24 2006, 01:37:52 UTC 6 years ago
No words to launch before he flies for him again, claws outstretched though he still has not created anything resembling hands.
Imprecise and frigid waves of fury.
March 24 2006, 01:42:59 UTC 6 years ago
He stands, unafraid of claws. Untouchable, in his realm. If he's cut, he'll heal.
March 24 2006, 02:03:11 UTC 6 years ago
look how well my pretty coat fits!
There are two bodies that lie by the lake.
over goosepimples where the cold creeps
furling a noselength over the fold,
There is a dance that will never end.
slinking over skin, the fell of flesh,
the ripple over ribs, the frith under bosom,
There is a death that must be undone.
hale over belly, tight under thigh,
wave without wrinkle, sleek without slack,
There is a hand of a vine between Jack's shoulderblades.
over the axle of the shoulders,
over the fallow of limb and link,
Water nurtures, heat brings life, draws breath and beat and body into being and PULLS--
high along headland, snug in the haven,
over the bladebones, down over hinterland,
--into lungs, expanding, the hand spreading, the body bourne up off the hot-cold expression of potential, the host, Belial who is not hers to touch.
over the dunes where gathering stormlings
thunder the rumpbole, threaten the boom!
"Take a breath, little shell, call you back..."
It's almost time.
The battle rages and her hand lies upon the stillness of Jack's form. Unmoving, but she has stretyched her being into him, given him POTENTIAL, equalled him with herself, with her spirit, with time, with birth. Her shadow kneels beside him, breathless, seperated from her body, the blurred form hovering some ways away, stepping nearer, nearer, nearer, and when they join--
breath.
March 24 2006, 02:09:08 UTC 6 years ago
This lunge for Satan is aborted with a cry, not quickly enough and the momentum carries Frost forwards.
Ubalanced. On his knees suddenly and staggering up to his full hight though his mind is split.
One further attempt and he reaches up with grapsing claws to tear at putrid flesh.
March 24 2006, 02:15:12 UTC 6 years ago
And the tone - though only heard in the mind and the air, and not through ears that don't exist anyway - is jubilant when it speaks, the pride evident because he has won and he knows it.
You are a fool of a creature, Frost. You will never win.
And he leans down, so the ugly face and vacant black holes for eyes are level with the beauty of Frost's face.
Your puppet is gone, you've lost him. I could bring him back for you, but I won't. And mine? Mine waits, for the time I choose to collect it. Because I am not limited as you are, you weak and pathetic animal.
March 24 2006, 02:34:10 UTC 6 years ago
with nod and shake of yea and nay,
for truly the Name is under the nose
with ""snip, snap, snout"" to tell it out!
She is fully within and without herself now. He is fully within and without himself now. The form that steps into the shadow has no face, no gender, no shape that stays for longer than the blink of a butterfly's winged eyes.
In brotherhood of lung and lip
the breath blows and the liss comes,
lifting the lief and laden wind,
the warm wind and the lew-warm
through the leet and through the throatball,
along the tongue, against the teeth,
hale and hollow in the mouth,
to lilt the song-speech from our lips!
And all at once, there is a Wholeness over all, a joining of shadow and shape that creates life. The breath PULLS--
--and being is birthed from the cracks in the earth and she is she again, and he is he, and all are all.
The eyes of the universal Fool stare up into the battle.
Alas! that ill should come of this.
The endless wordstream of this world
so gabbles and yells about our ears
the One is split and split again,
thralled and bawded, withered & weakened-
since men are taught and men are threatened,
their skullpans crammed with cribs and bits
to feed the chatter of their jaws!
But blessed is he that spells the Whole,
whose word comes runely out of the deeps:
and blessed is he that spells the All,
his word comes loving out of the light.
Who knows the spell that builds or shatters,
rathes or withers, heals or kills,
he wimbles the midst of wit and wed
and taps the truth of nave and knowing!
She stoops beside the snowdrop's body and takes him into her arms.
"New year and joy and birth be with you. Wake, Jack! Wake up! The holly's in the heather and the ice will melt away unless you follow."
And from her head, inside the folds and steeples of the jingling hat, she takes a crown of thistly evergreen, perches it upon his breast, and waits
for it
to
freeze
burn
LIVE!
March 24 2006, 02:38:07 UTC 6 years ago
Not an animal.
A force.
A force trying to destry in an inaticulate sort of jealousy because this THING should not be allowed to return to his body when the Frost is not and if he could kill him, in that moment he would.
March 24 2006, 02:43:58 UTC 6 years ago
The column of flame erupts once more, just as it had in that other place - but it's silent this time, blazing away while charring nothing at all and making no noise.
And there's no sign of the Devil either, no wings or ugliness or hollow laughter.
Just a dark Irishman, lying on the cold ground and blinking. And then smiling, as shades appear over his eyes once more.
March 24 2006, 02:50:39 UTC 6 years ago
Frost's anguish is, suddenly, over. With a sigh, the ice goes, so all there is is a little gasp. Then Jack moans softly, pulls himself up to sitting, then blinks twice. His nose is a scant few inches away from Satan's.
The first sound he makes is a shriek.
March 24 2006, 02:59:01 UTC 6 years ago
and tread the life we hold most dear.
Room GRABS him away, wrapping him in strong arms, stern and safe, like limbs of an oak, like vines of holly.
I go under gold with its silver twin
looking for a door that will let me in:
She backs them away from the fire with swift steps, holding him to her very, very present body.
a rain of light in a moated flood
with an iron quick that will heal the blood:
a neb, a lift, a sweet lissing,
a dearling maid that is sweet for kissing.
She is herself again. The form Jack knows best: the silly long purple robes, the loose, tangled ribbons that hang nearly to her booted feet, the stiff gold crown lined crimson and silver.
It may be late or it may be soon,
I shall lay me down in the midst of the moon:
This scene is ended: their play is over. It is time to bow out of this stage, to part as partners with reality reborn. They begin to sink into the air with a sensation like being swallowed in smooth, cool mud.
as I cut off a finger and kindle a son
my God bless the bed that I lie on!
And the fire is left alone, lying in a bed of thistles and juniper sprouts.