We were Dreamers once

[Sekot]

She sat upon her throne, a plain chair of stainless steel that was as rigid as she was insane. In all of its imposing glory, she stood out as a fiery maiden with a dress made of rainbow feathers. A vast plume reached upward behind her and above her, shimmering and shining against the glittery stage. She smiled at them, waved. She spoke and they were enraptured. But as the evening was winding down, they paid less and less attention to her performance, grew more and more strained. And she laid back in her seat and observed.

Her eyes alighted upon Rave who had stepped off of his perch and found an attractive woman to dance with. She found herself smiling again at the sight, at the upswell of memories. Rave's partner leaned forward and the pair shared a kiss. Her smile faltered, faded. She leaned her head onto the palm of her hand as she watched. "Dream, precious boy, as the nightmares gather."

One acolyte neared but she shooed him away with a brush of her free hand. Dejected, he melted back into the crowd. The gesture had not gone unnoticed and an uneasiness spread like wildfire. She refused their whispers and stares, instead her attention held completely by Rave who noticed nothing. The light played tricks on his messy hair, casting sideways and upwards neon blues and radiant violets. "We ran into the depths to escape the perils of a world hostile. Who we were was what we were. Nothing else mattered."

"You ran too far."

The voice came from beside her but she made no motion to look. "Impossible. There is no such thing."

"Your bitterness will not shield you."

She balled her hand into a fist, her artificial nails digging into the scale-flesh implanted in her palm. "We are not yet ready for the crushing tide. Hollow voices still ring loud and they lack conviction."

"Have you sent him yet?"

She raised her head upright and clasped both hands in her lap as in prayer. Rave broke away from his toy long enough to look up at the stage but recognized nothing different than the usual. "No."

"They will not wait."

"How did your part proceed?"

"She has been warned."

"I am frightened."

"Liar."

She smiled and pushed herself out of her chair. She stood above them all, a tower. Slowly the lights all faded and there was nothing. The crowd quieted, pushed close to one another. Held each other. Above them a sky opened. Twinkling points of light appeared and melded together to form a stream of light. Some grew larger, forming distinct multi-colored points of reference. The sky grew until it encompassed the entirety of the space. A space that had no limit. An effective window to a world these few had never known. "Born in darkness, born in the underworld, they know of no other place."

"Will you bring it to them?"

"If they are willing."

"Will they know a star when they see it?"

"Does a child know its mother?"

[Sekot]

"Who we were was what we are. Nothing else mattered."

She turned from the window and her children that danced beneath. Her purple eyes burned intensely. She took a step, a rippling shimmer running from crown to tail in her rainbow-feathered gown. The headdress shook and trembled as her head came around completely to look at her visitor.

"We have run far enough. Heavy has our head become underneath the weight of the world."

She spread her arms, opened her hands and lifted her head upward. "The god themselves looked upon us and named us foul."

Her arms dropped back to her side.

"And we accepted."

The visitor shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "For my part, I will never walk with these lucky few into the silent halls. I am condemned to wander and act as a guide. That mantle I wear with pride, for I long ago forfeit my life.

"But still she tries. Still she marches forward, onward, to bash down our doors and invade our souls. She has stirred up the storm and now seeks to control it!"

She neared her prisoner. She eclipsed the sole blacklight in the room, a neon halo surrounded her. "They have foreseen it! And so gave unto us our requiem. Dear child, do you know my name?"

The prisoner nodded.

"Wait!"

The voice came as a loud clap of thunder that stilled the pair. The feathered creature stopped and stiffened.

"Stop this. You accomplish nothing!"

The voice was silenced by a wave of her hand. "We have prepared long enough."

She grasped her prisoner by the throat and lifted her out of the chair. "Shall I proclaim your sentence?"

The prisoner said nothing.

"May the message I am about to send be swift and effective. The storm is coming. The monster underneath that lies under the bed has awoken."

[Sekot]

Have you listened well enough came the voices out of the thick darkness. The walls came tumbling down into piles of ash and smoke that lifted upward out of the cracked earth. Tumbling end over end they all collapsed in massive heaps.

"There was a story once upon a time of a city that sinned so heavily that great volcanoes spewed fire and smothered them in ash while fire rained from the sky and created seas of salt. There were cities made of whores and cities made of gold. Such towering collossi that bespoke of civilized people imagining beyond their means. What are we now but at a singular construct, a singular whore and a singular towering volcano. We are waiting in the streets to be swallowed by the crushing tidal wave of soot. As we suffocate we cheer our demise."

He saw a city that stretched in all directions, a never ending thing. He saw from his crown a reaching desert of steel and light.

"All the citizens of this parched and drowning city have turned their heads away from the womb and look instead toward the tomb that looks back through incandescent mirrors. And yet here we are encapsulated in the place between worlds unable to do much but watch. Be warned and take our words for what they are worth: we are all liars and hypocrites and we that perch in the ceiling more so than most. You, the Angel of small deaths, you are a broken man a weak and foul thing that brings the tide of misfortune. You are nothing."

Their voices were a choir that rang out of the nothing. Even so many years gone he could still hear the intoning and the countless voices that spoke as one. Those many countless spider eyes that gazed from a ceiling that did not exist. That city outside the window were now their eyes, so many countless visions all staring up in reverent silence. They all watch in anticipation, waiting for him to act. Waiting for him.

"At the crown of the world you will find her. End her quick, she will not give you the opportunity. In this slight moment of lucidity we warn you to turn back. Quick. Take heed. Never go forward only look back."

"You have arrived."

He turned, not sure what to anticipate. And there she was. A goddess draped in white cloth that billowed about her as if caught in a storm. Tattered clothing ripped and tore and snapped in the breeze-less air. Her raven hair did the same, shrouding her face from his view. "Hark, a vagrant. A beggar come to collect his pittance. You flew too close to the sun child, not even your gods will save you now."


"We have lose it now a quickening spinning tide has swallowed us whole. We warned you that this way lied madness and we are the chattering skull children."

[Sekot]

A god atop the world, multitudinous reign from on high. We few wanderers caught within the confines of eternal undercity are blind to all but the brutal arm of their law. Even if they manage to penetrate the rickety vators and unassailable stairs they will only be swallowed by the mountains of trash and rivers of oil that choke this home. Down here in the remnants one can see the first girders and upon them the first graffiteed words, the first manifestos of the progenitured miscreants.

Down here we worship the drug and the drink, we sacrifice our minds on the altars of others bodies. We taste the sweet nectar of life hidden behind the deepest halls. And in our tasting we are finally letting go of the last remnants of stability they Above so desperately cling to. Each breath is a small death, each step a quick prayer as we descend. Ever running ever searching deeper and deeper. We alone know what dirt tastes like, we alone ravage ourselves in its unclean glory. We bathe ourselves in our own fluids and mix laughter with coughing fits.

We've made our beds in our nameless graves and we make our own music as we lay ourselves to sleep. The organ pipes are long since trampled, replaced with synthetic bliss and electrified choir. We abandon ourselves at the threshold, forget ourselves at the bar, and regain what we lost on the floor. An endless circle that grows tighter and tighter, that grows quieter and quieter. Until, in the end, we pray for our forgiveness toward the mother, find ourselves at the altar seeking forgiveness.

And at the end of our ritual we slip away. At the end we give in to the madness. At the end we are clean.

[Sekot]

He sat, cradling himself in his arms. Shivering against the cold, he stared out the sole window, more broken hole than glass, and gazed out at the winding of the steel canyon. What light penetrated these depths was artificial and hollow. It lacked the warmth of the yellow lights below. It made everything appear sterile, outside of itself. His skin glowed an unhealthy pallor. There was a soft background murmur as functional air cyclers operated from unseen places. If he strained, he could hear the familiar sounds of people, of their steps and their chatter as a constant hum and click. But it was so easy to weed them out, to ignore the cyclers and to bask in something so unfamiliar: silence.

He heard his heart beat in his chest, knew that its beat was his life. Knew that it acted out of fear for trespassing into the unknown. Through the portal was a fullness of space and yet a sensation of distance. He could see nothing but constructs and he could see the distance between them. There was a vastness to the chasms that held no end, as there was a vastness to the towers that rose to impossible heights.

The urge to step outside the space once more overwhelmed him in the form of a wave. It rushed from the hole in his chest and flooded his body with energy. All he need do is step outside, past the barrier that kept in breathable air, and out into space. Freedom, then, would be his.

[Sekot]

He screamed at her, tears just beginning to slip down his cheeks. He balled his fists and he bared his teeth. His throat ached, his heart ached, his hands ached. He screamed at her: "What would you do if I died today?!"

Furious, animated, lost and hurt he turned upon them. He devoured himself in his rage. Sat in the puddle of filth and wallowed in it. He pointed wild fingers coupled with wild eyes. A darkened sky, nightfall, lit up only by the off colored orange of street lamps. Wind roared through the trees, old and dead leaves tumbling through the frigid air. Ripped from their homes.

She looked at him, her own face blank. Merely fueling his hatred, he rushed toward her. He continued to scream and gnash his teeth even as he felt his cage closing around him. Visions blanked and merged together to form a tapestry of past lives. Of arguments and shouting matches and storms of frustration. He felt her hands close around him, felt her chaining him. He struggled, but the more he did the more she fought back.

"What would you do if I died today?!" he screamed, turning from her.

His mother looked back at him, watched him leave. "I would die tomorrow," she replied.

[Sekot]

He clutched at his face and pulled away the flesh. Hidden eyes looked out from underneath, a cluster of blue irises staring. He scratched at his neck and his chest. His mouth opened, agape he professed a sin. The lights flickered. He smashed his fist against the wall until his knuckles bled. He screamed and raked his nails across his neck once more.

And in the mirror the multitude stared back. They burned in their intensity, and from the vision's mouth came whispers of those sins he kept locked away. He held back his tears, bit at his wrist to keep from sobbing. Powerless he listened as his reflection expounded upon all of the mistakes and miseries.

Screaming. He searched for his name. Those whispers seared him, lacerated him. He clutched at the sink as a fit of coughs wracked him. Blood spattered onto the porcelain counter. His blood?

He stood. Staring at his reflection. Every manner of his dying flashed before him within the confines of that glassy space, a portal to possible futures. He wished for a window to the past. He wished for a crown to place upon his head, to banish this abomination. He wished to devour his shadow, to turn upon himself and expunge the thick black bile that clung to him.

He stood above the crevice, writing on the sky a story. He clutched at himself, wanting for warmth. A cold wind blew from the emptiness at his feet, rustled through his hair. In the clouds he saw a thousand eyes. A body for each.

He wanted to wake and never sleep again. He wanted to start his run and never cease. It was never enough, could never be enough for that...that was death. A certain sort of death. An end. A finale he refused to accept. Change. Burn it down and make it new. There was no window, only a mirror.

A certain sort of death.

[Sekot]

He whispered quietly to her. Told her a story of a person committed to a journey. She listened, nestled against his chest. Such sweet gentle lovers underneath the tall trees full of golden leaves. Precious life delicately balanced at the world's end where all that was left was a sky full of stars. The vastness of the silent ocean spoke of ancient wishes and eternal thoughts as it lapped gently against the feet of the earth. He held her close and offered up his warmth to her. He smiled as his eyes glazed over and his lips ceased their movement. A quiet peace descended like so many curtains upon the grand stage. Gently his head fell backward to lie against the thick bark.

She closed her eyes and listened to his heart beat fade. She sighed and pushed herself away from his quiet body. Leaning forward she placed a kiss on his forehead and with her hand she shut his eyes. The sea ceased its movement and lay still and the stars above grew pale. A swift but gentle breeze rustled through the network of branches and raked free a handful of delicate leaves. Deftly she grasped them before they were sullied by the ground and delicately they were placed upon his head in the fashion of a crown. A prince of an island, of a lost land. Of nowhere. Of no one but her.

She stood and looked out across the nothing. She wanted to offer a prayer but with no one to hear she debated the worth of it. Instead she walked toward the water and bathed her feet in the ice. Deathly cold creeping into an unquiet soul, she shut her eyes and walked further. Enveloping her in the expanseless arms, she waded until submerged and there became apart of the vast.

[Sekot]

The bells rang in their lofty perches. From great heights they rang in a range of melodic sounds and screeches as they swung. Harder and louder they sang to make themselves heard, and all heads who could listen turned upward at the sound. A great many smiles and cheers were lifted. Dancing in the streets frantic and hurried as the lights began to fade one by one. All that was left was the light of the streetlamps burning intensely in their orange glory, casting fiery reflections upward on the snow toward the steely buildings.

Openings in the street were lifted, piles of snow falling backward from black metal grates. Hands reached up from the thick darkness, grasping at the frigid air in all its gentle purity. They climbed out, fragile and pale bodies, and met the crowds with wide-eyes, their limbs shaking and smiles spread wide. Around them snow continued to fall, to accumulate and shroud the mechanical things that lined the pathways. Above the darkened night sky glowed a solid yellow, a muted orange.

They exchanged their gifts and spoke of times ahead and times gone. They shared with another their lives in the briefest of moments.

[Sekot]

Who are you he asked to me and I responded. A handsome face lost to time. A face lost to emotion and distant eyes. (have I lost the touch the poetic flow?)

Who am I but a child? Wandering through distant darkened halls touching upon the heavy doors with many names. Chasing him through the wicked labyrinth in hopes of landing upon some unspoken truth.

It is not enough to weep for such misplaced sorrow would only fall upon salted earth. Those gathered clouds cling to their perch in sheer desperation, providing a comforting shield for he who lays below. That revealing sun they hide would do more harm than the whippish lightning and crackling thunder. Though the false night is long and horrible, the true day is a reified nightmare.

I heard from my own little room the cries of a lost soul trapped in a land of snow. I lifted my head and turned toward the empty window from which came that haunting call. A plea of sorts wrapped in miserable laughter, a clawing wretch of shadow climbing out of the freshly opened tomb. What darkened cloud I was, what monstrous nightmare I visited upon him.

Over the horizon I grew, bold and terrible. I spread across the sky with my many fingers and smiled as I felt my great form relax. My bowels tightened and my muscles stretched in rolling waves of pleasure. He was there looking up at me with some glint of wishful thought written across his forehead.

What horrible things must I have visited that night, a liar and a thief entering in the dead of winter to shatter the walls. What monstrous creature was this that grew furious at hurried protection, at a refusal. Such pride and arrogance.

Vampires make poor therapists.

[Sekot]

And the choir serenaded me in my rumbling destruction. They uplifted me on their righteous song even as I wielded the weapons of our mutual downfall. We are the devourers, the constant movers and shakers that have given birth to a terrified planet. We brought to its knees the reality here before us and reconstructed its face to one we would never recognize. The choir is screaming even as I raise the blade against their naked throats, high pitched squealing sounds. The blood makes a pretty pattern.

Raw bone against stainless teeth. Manicured hair adorning decrepit craniums. Decadence. Sheer unironic vitality placed upon an elaborate stage. Rumbling fear tears through the endless spires. Written upon the walls in ash and grime, in cream and sugar, is a letter of requiem to those too sharp to turn away. The ignorant could continue eating, slicing away at those thick steaks and scratching their plates clear with gilded forks. Others sat rigid in their chairs, staring across the empty space where the words moved in mysterious ways, sentences spelling out their demise.

Locked in a cage all they hear is the screaming. From the mist comes the stalking dreams. Men with melted faces chittering toward them, fingers twitching with spasms. Mucous drips from their slack jaws, dripping in giant rivulets onto their coats made of moving forms. From them come the screams, the constant cries of pain. They crawl forth, tripping over themselves.

[Sekot]

City burning bright. Atop the pyre she watches. Her dress flutters around her, glinting in the reflected light of the myriad flames with such intensity that most had to look away. Her jaw and fists clenched, the muscles in her neck bunched, she whirls about. One finger points accusingly at him and the words she speaks are like thunder. He stands there as she screams at him, taking it all in in stride and waiting patiently.

She stops, her body and attire coming to a still. The flames dance around her, pulled inward by the vacuum her moods created. "You created this."

He merely bowed his head in agreement, only to raise it up a moment later to return her withering glare. Her thin brows twitched as she attempted to calm herself further. "You did this," she said again, the fury drained from her voice to be replaced by weariness.

She stretched out her hand, gesturing outward toward her surrounding ruin. "How far will you go?"

He refused to follow her hand, instead keeping his attention only on her. "Forgive me," he demanded quietly.

Her eyes visibly widened in shock. She opened her mouth to speak but hesitated. "What?"

"Please."

She lowered her arm to her side, her shoulders slumped and her posture tilted slightly. She crossed the threshold between them, entering the quiet stillness of the expanseless room. Halogen lamps flickered on above, but only enough to cast an unnatural paleness about the spartan space. She floated like an apparition, her feet never once touching the cold stone of the floor. The fire was reforged within her, he could feel it. Just the air around her felt warm, stifling.

"You cannot save him," she spoke after several moments of silence.

"I do not want to save him."

"Do you expect me to sing your litany at your funeral?"

"I expect you to celebrate with the rest of them."

She looked to him like a pale, fragile swan caught in a cage. A vicious, insane bird that held a fantastic beauty both physically and spiritually. Both aspects now quelled as she lay trapped. "Promise me that you will not return."

He bowed once more, "I will not."

"I will never forgive you."

He left her there, in her cage. Strangely, he found himself, for once, not wanting to immediately return.

[Sekot]

Three days I sat choosing carefully the words I wanted to write.

How to imagine a scream so terrifying, so awefull. It echoes and vibrates. A lamenting cry of sheer terror, of bitter anger.

Weapons made of colored steel. Black and gold, red and silver. Long forgotten items of war, long blades and leathered hilts left in hands of zombie men. Flashing steel and roaring hearts, real bravado on the coastline.

A monster like me, as me, a mirror. Broader, meaner, terrifying.

And never once could I create the image. Missing some connection, some line to that mysterious place where words are created and wrapped together in sentences that beget meaning. Somehow the center of symbolism has become fractured and meaning has lost its place.

They clutch their heads as the sound echoes within them. They too cry aloud but it only strengthens the vibrato. Upon the voice images are carried. Fire that raises itself atop pyres of almost abandoned homes. Of arachnoids breaking out of cages and crawling with their infinite legs upon the strapped bodies. Of mentally ill screams letting loose in the middle of the night in a foreign bed and a foreign place.

[Sekot]

Heavy eyes and a tired heart. Dark rooms and cavernous spaces. Peace upon the water. Electric sensation at the touch of a finger. The complexity of life all of it a room full of piano strings. One pluck and the resonation. it is enough to create images of lovers, of loved ones and forgotten ones. The feel of a hand against your neck, gently caressing. Of a hand brushing across your cheek.

The quiet stillness of an evening forest. The cold just before the sun rises.

[Sekot]

Tearing walls and crushing hearts. Flickering lights and snapping tongues. Shimmering movement, water over glass, liquid fire. Heavy bass thump, crushing thunderous clap clap clap. Heart beat clicking clacking galloping sprinting. Electric touch, glowing finger tips and twitching tongues.

Rage. Twisting fire twister, devil's tongue. Screaming. Clutching at your face and peeling back the skin unveiling the monster beneath the scream heard around the world. Unshaken unbroken resilient force, the shield to bear the weight of his sins. Dance till his body ache.

Hair aflame. Wild and raucous, unstable and shattered. Erratic and unbelieving, prostrate before an altar of desire. Charms and love potions, dolls and toys, faces and parts arranged in circles. Decorating ourselves in the sacrificial ornaments of symbolic meaning. A chained beast let loose, kaiju rampage, earth shattering bone smashing concrete tearing gnashing of skyscraper teeth.

Red eyes, blue eyes, black hair, blond hair. Throwing fists and insults. Kick slide dodge punch thrust kick high low. Hit parry miss. Tik tok of the effervescent bomb. tik tik tik tik boom.