Wednesday, December 14, 2005

Hymnhum. Suckmarrow [ashtory next chapter]

[This to the lord of the void.]
I submit meself in thy puppetual servitude—A Sonsinking dreams of a patern with velvet wavelets and shimmering darkness—semper in angaria, Of Slavation that beasts upon thesires, haramonizes infinite nymphs within a single rhapsody and all creation hymns the song of solomoan. A metamorphic metaphor in search of themeaning in an impassable impasse, the words and mazes, stretches its implications from pestilence to damnation. This fading façade will soon disappear love and there’ll be nothing left of me, nothing but the carving on that wall [eia, quis me amabit], where you stand and watch me dig holes, souls. And you hymnhum litanies of your god’s love oblivious of the luciferous waltzes of those forsaken souls… Of one soon I’ll be. Who will then cherish the memory of embrace, of hands in hands, of bodies pressed into eachother, of lips inseparable for that moment that lapsed eternity, and travel on wings of abaddon? What death this life conceals in its lap, shroud, enigma and mythology?

[But this again is a story, only a story…]

We slashed our palms, blended bloods, and farewelled, up till the moment of readiscovering, with healed scars and charred faces, clothed in paper—suicidal notes written in each other’s name. And curled us into a homogenous conglomerate, annuled individualities, abandoned for an embrace—for ambrosia.
Please believe there is no falling apart.
Please… Believe … These rivers of fate on my hand, this palmystery doesn’t nourish a judas within its depths.Ma chere, you were of faith, remember? I was of little; I needed to touch the flesh to believe. And how you resurrected me, sundered me from Thomas, inch by inch, limb by limb… What isn’t a story, you and me as functions of time and space, the age old question of form and substance, written by the mighty creator on pages of eternity?


Majaz said...

All's a story..

And thank Heavens you're marrying me for my story telling.

But I am glad you believe, O'King.

Chrysalis said...

I love schism. I was surprised to see that in your blog.. the lyrics lie somewhere in my earlier blogs as well :)

This is beautiful. you two are special..

Madnas said...

*slightly raised brow* (something I can only manage in text)...

Am I expected to comment on this?
On the "metamorphic metaphor" that skips all sense but one sense?

This is not a story.
In the author's own clandestine words, "There wasn't any, never will be..."

Majaz said...

Oh thank God, lostoasis thinks we're special...!

.. and that she doesn't hate us for completely going bonkers on her blog!!


And Madnas... Barooq's gift is to turn nothing into everything, water into wine, horseshit into literature.

He can do pretty much anything. ;)

Chrysalis said...

You are NICE! :)

Majaz said...


Actually. You are too kind.

Majaz said...

About time you continue this on, Mr. Variation of 23 Letters, Assumed.