Thinking of November 9th

[bec_87rb]

Standing on the escalator, grinding slowly and mechanically skyward, emerging into the morning, I felt the shadow of Death on my neck and shoulders. I haven't felt that in a while, I thought. It floated across me on dark broad bat-wings. In my mind's eye, I could see the way the skin stretched between its bones as it skimmed past, but I didn't

Comments

[bec_87rb]

Every so often I'll have the odd sense that it is there, not literally a bat or a bony hand or whatever, but a miasma, an exxxxtra density in space, like an electrical field, something you get a sense is there and then thins away. It is 100% non-rational. This time, I had the fancy that I was being over-flown by Death as a creature, that is was looking for someone, wheeling above us. You know, that's 200% non-rational, now that I think about it

[bec_87rb]

There is nothing more dangerous than a desperate soul in the depths of an ether binge.

Perhaps I shall go home and drink lightly.

And, mm, on the way, compose a love poem to Death. Or not. Might just veg while pretending to read the Washington Post.

Good luck shaving the dancer.