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three of cups reversed
Sep. 5th, 2003 10:08 amsuperfluity. repression.
--
"Quickly, quickly! We have little time."
The small man tugged at my elbow, brow furrowed, hands ablaze. Having nothing better to do and disatisfied by the Markets of the Dead, I stood, stretched, exchanged inquiring glances with my companion-- she declined with a wave, dismissed us like so many mosquitoes--and moved out, ducked into alleyways, rounded corners, clattered down cobbles and clamored over low walls. Until we stood silent before a wide open square. Yellow and gray walls surrounded us, open windows glowed above and the distant voices of women, children, and chants hung in the air like so many motes of dust.
He ran ahead of me then, toward a ring of standing stones in the square. He touched each one in turn, followed a pattern unknowable to me, muttered to himself. I slowly walked into the square.
"Sit, sit."
This repetition wore me down. I sat. Sat. He traipsed away: another clatter of feet on stones. In time, the moon came over the top of the far wall. Behind me the murmur of voices grew louder, the window-dwellers picked up their pace and volume with the rise of Luna. Idly, I considered my situation. Thought also of the impact of hips against hips, groans in ears, the angular space between a woman's mouth and the tip of her nose.
"Fraenum"
I knew better than to start at the voice. I continued, sitting, silent, immobile but still tracking in time. The mist came from behind, surely better than the last fumes, it roiled slowly into the square. I imagined behind me that it issued from the mouth of the unseen speaker, like smoke from the gaping earth. I couldn't conceal the sudden burst of sexual tension inside, the rise of desire in my chest and groin.
"You sit there, I'll come to you. I come in the guise of chaos," the Man spoke. "I wear the clothes of nationhood to minister so justly to you."
Finally I spoke, "What then? Will you have our mysteries? Will you seize our hips or our limbs and our extensions: toes, eyelashes, penises, throats?"
For a time, we exchanged over my shoulder the muttered language rained at us from the satellites, the memory of sweating horses and the reflections of Luna. Watched: the windows, silenced at last by our conversation. Each of us pummeled by the other's voice, we rise, alone every moment and small upon the floor of the square.
--
"Quickly, quickly! We have little time."
The small man tugged at my elbow, brow furrowed, hands ablaze. Having nothing better to do and disatisfied by the Markets of the Dead, I stood, stretched, exchanged inquiring glances with my companion-- she declined with a wave, dismissed us like so many mosquitoes--and moved out, ducked into alleyways, rounded corners, clattered down cobbles and clamored over low walls. Until we stood silent before a wide open square. Yellow and gray walls surrounded us, open windows glowed above and the distant voices of women, children, and chants hung in the air like so many motes of dust.
He ran ahead of me then, toward a ring of standing stones in the square. He touched each one in turn, followed a pattern unknowable to me, muttered to himself. I slowly walked into the square.
"Sit, sit."
This repetition wore me down. I sat. Sat. He traipsed away: another clatter of feet on stones. In time, the moon came over the top of the far wall. Behind me the murmur of voices grew louder, the window-dwellers picked up their pace and volume with the rise of Luna. Idly, I considered my situation. Thought also of the impact of hips against hips, groans in ears, the angular space between a woman's mouth and the tip of her nose.
"Fraenum"
I knew better than to start at the voice. I continued, sitting, silent, immobile but still tracking in time. The mist came from behind, surely better than the last fumes, it roiled slowly into the square. I imagined behind me that it issued from the mouth of the unseen speaker, like smoke from the gaping earth. I couldn't conceal the sudden burst of sexual tension inside, the rise of desire in my chest and groin.
"You sit there, I'll come to you. I come in the guise of chaos," the Man spoke. "I wear the clothes of nationhood to minister so justly to you."
Finally I spoke, "What then? Will you have our mysteries? Will you seize our hips or our limbs and our extensions: toes, eyelashes, penises, throats?"
For a time, we exchanged over my shoulder the muttered language rained at us from the satellites, the memory of sweating horses and the reflections of Luna. Watched: the windows, silenced at last by our conversation. Each of us pummeled by the other's voice, we rise, alone every moment and small upon the floor of the square.