How to make your own fun
What comes now that we all think we’ve quit drinking? It’s still 8 30 and there’s still nothing to do, but the utterance of one decocts the Great Morel. We take it in our Pepsi cans, and it goes to our heads. Follow me, see what I mean. [“And the Sun with its Brightness”]
Or just ask a few in whispers, “What is the most haunted place in Oakland county?”
In that matter of pursuit, we were lucky, or as “lucky” as an orderly universe does permit any man to be. Shortly, importantly, we got away by means following to that particular end with undesirably low probability. I dare not so soon suggest which we should view as fixed and which (if either) as flexible. [And the Snow with its Whiteness”] Shortly, importantly, we got away.
How fitting and how mocking it seems by daylight that such dreadful things should occupy our high anteroom, so as to disguise it beyond all recognition. Those were all we saw when we looked through that great threshold of planar permitivity: all the wooden staffs and golden-rimmed hawks were dead with the year. [“And the Fire with all the Strength it hath”] Distant streetlight alone revealed a fragment of torn rope hanging fatally still from the stone arch. A radiator clicked on under a high-tension tower bringing daemons to our heals. Our whispers carried for miles, and our minds, much further than that.
And those are the things that little boys dare not suggest during those moments when speaking them could make them be. Or, for that selfsame reason, dare not deny that they impend (assuming that their arms and legs and mouths still work by their minds). Thinking this alone makes us hope we are permitted to take back our thoughts. Sometimes it doesn’t work that way. It always depends on who’s making the rules at night. [“And the Lightening with its rapid Wrath”] We get to at school, unless too many bad things happen. But not when it gets dark out and well into the early hours of the morning when all the last ones who pretend to keep us safe are compelled to relinquish consciousness to the same horrible weight that has become our nemesis (and they do it in peaceful willingness).Not until the Morning Star peaks over the earth-edge in the eastern sky. [“And the Winds with their Swiftness along their path”] That’s how things usually go.
And now, I think I’m starting to feel just the slightest bit teary because the green numbers are telling me all the different kinds of horrible things that I don’t really want to know. We have whispered also in similar moments of silence. The flashing is telling me I’m much too hot. [“And the Sea with its Deepness”]
But now, there are cigarettes and soft lies, because we’ve long since run out of cold pizza and movies to watch. There are high arches and chills; dark caverns to explore and cruel jokes to tell with juvenile bravado that dissolves at the sound of one, serious, sustained scream of agony or mortal terror, and a statement, most matter-of-fact, “It’s time to go.”
So we scuttled like the ants on our skin up the sides of the infinite ravine, [“And the Rocks with their Steepness”] tripping over protruding rocks and tree roots. And the sight of it brought us down paralyzed, as it had before and will again. It brought us to the ground; it brought us to cower in hiding under hot, heavy blankets. It rolled over; rolled past the entrance to the descending path; accelerated down to the end of the block. The police car passed us by. [“And the Earth with its Starkness”] The dark which held all the unknown and unspeakable and all the fabric of the illusions of the Morel...that dark had kept us from other men. Shortly, importantly, we got away.
[But the whispered words once quoted in that tone by an 8, 9, 10 year old boy (who I had left for dead in an atrophied corner of my mind), came back to me last night. “Between myself and the Power of Darkness”]
Or just ask a few in whispers, “What is the most haunted place in Oakland county?”
In that matter of pursuit, we were lucky, or as “lucky” as an orderly universe does permit any man to be. Shortly, importantly, we got away by means following to that particular end with undesirably low probability. I dare not so soon suggest which we should view as fixed and which (if either) as flexible. [And the Snow with its Whiteness”] Shortly, importantly, we got away.
How fitting and how mocking it seems by daylight that such dreadful things should occupy our high anteroom, so as to disguise it beyond all recognition. Those were all we saw when we looked through that great threshold of planar permitivity: all the wooden staffs and golden-rimmed hawks were dead with the year. [“And the Fire with all the Strength it hath”] Distant streetlight alone revealed a fragment of torn rope hanging fatally still from the stone arch. A radiator clicked on under a high-tension tower bringing daemons to our heals. Our whispers carried for miles, and our minds, much further than that.
And those are the things that little boys dare not suggest during those moments when speaking them could make them be. Or, for that selfsame reason, dare not deny that they impend (assuming that their arms and legs and mouths still work by their minds). Thinking this alone makes us hope we are permitted to take back our thoughts. Sometimes it doesn’t work that way. It always depends on who’s making the rules at night. [“And the Lightening with its rapid Wrath”] We get to at school, unless too many bad things happen. But not when it gets dark out and well into the early hours of the morning when all the last ones who pretend to keep us safe are compelled to relinquish consciousness to the same horrible weight that has become our nemesis (and they do it in peaceful willingness).Not until the Morning Star peaks over the earth-edge in the eastern sky. [“And the Winds with their Swiftness along their path”] That’s how things usually go.
And now, I think I’m starting to feel just the slightest bit teary because the green numbers are telling me all the different kinds of horrible things that I don’t really want to know. We have whispered also in similar moments of silence. The flashing is telling me I’m much too hot. [“And the Sea with its Deepness”]
But now, there are cigarettes and soft lies, because we’ve long since run out of cold pizza and movies to watch. There are high arches and chills; dark caverns to explore and cruel jokes to tell with juvenile bravado that dissolves at the sound of one, serious, sustained scream of agony or mortal terror, and a statement, most matter-of-fact, “It’s time to go.”
So we scuttled like the ants on our skin up the sides of the infinite ravine, [“And the Rocks with their Steepness”] tripping over protruding rocks and tree roots. And the sight of it brought us down paralyzed, as it had before and will again. It brought us to the ground; it brought us to cower in hiding under hot, heavy blankets. It rolled over; rolled past the entrance to the descending path; accelerated down to the end of the block. The police car passed us by. [“And the Earth with its Starkness”] The dark which held all the unknown and unspeakable and all the fabric of the illusions of the Morel...that dark had kept us from other men. Shortly, importantly, we got away.
[But the whispered words once quoted in that tone by an 8, 9, 10 year old boy (who I had left for dead in an atrophied corner of my mind), came back to me last night. “Between myself and the Power of Darkness”]