Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Trip Mckenzie and the midgard serpent

The Northern Lights, dust stars, light years away by the millions. Trapped in our atmosphere, transported acoss universes. Through wormhole cracked space. I stare up and into.

A wing and a prayer on imagination´s back, inspiration fuels their frenzied dance. Colour and bright, try to escape our world.

Briefly I float. So tantalising. Up toward the tears, but one last flash, spectral shift and they slip break away. The tear closed behind them. I drop down to earth again. In the dark alone with serpent and sea.


Weak later I regain conscious.  Whichever I am awake, but unfamiliar. I have never been to this place. What though is it to drift?

It stretches, like the moon but worse.
A league against me, until then I may reach sheer mountain's barrier.
So this plane is where I drifted down and now I am trapped.

Look to the sky, no bearings there. Even the moon is gone, though if this is it then that bears sense.

I hike inland, nothing marks this choice but direction is comforting. As I walk features strike me. The landscape, not as barren as I thought first. It is scarred. Lacerated by gorge and river. Cut deep by the fury of angels wings.

I think of angels, but find no comfort there.
Just a dream, they pass through, cold and purposeful. (and their passing is terrible as angels tend) My mind or this land. The dream refuses to stop or offer a sympathetic hand.

Unsolaced I walk on.
I had not noticed, how?

In the centre.
Standing, sole defiance. No host could drown its beauty, not even a truckload of trumpets. This rock, this fort and monument. Rising sharp from lunar homogeneity flatscape be damned. It just and it cracks, straight up to the sky.

Now purpose is mine. I scramble and scrape, scrabble crawl, run and fall. I must mount this beat, it will bear me, take me away. I can ride this obelisk I say. Right through the tears.

20 minutes, 200 metres up. Maybe a lifetime an insurmountable height. I stand barely, ripped by wind cold as cosmos, sharp as wings.
It is more than I can stand and I press down. Prone. Supplicate, pay respect to the void. At the violent edge the storm is strongest. But now I am here, I look. Our far and deep.

This is it. The crack in it all. I think.
Foolish and giddy, adrenaline and inspiration surge, thrusting me onto my feet.
One roar and I am gone. A twig in a maelstrom. Tossed toyed and cracked. Star dust.

Later I gain conscience.

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