Crease woke up tonguing another face in the sandstone. His cough, like the braying of a autistic donkey, protruded to lift a murder of dessert birds from their vigil. They had perched, he surmised, for the better part of the morning waiting for him to regain consciousness. His tongue was swollen and soar when he tried to speak.
"Flech eateen philisthines! Dont eefen have the dethenthy to eat a man while heeth too numb to notith!"
His helpless flailing, big and awkward like that of something to heavy to support itself, fell short of frightening the birds. In the emptiness of their cackling he could skry laughter, malevolence, enmity. They circled once. He tried to to stand and did a sort of ragdoll summersalt instead. He hoped someone was watching him. Possesed of a constant need to feel abberant, he started to piss and cackle like a hyena, just in case. Like Hemmingway said, he thought, no one can stand before a bar with dignity. Fuck if I can't have it here though.
"C'mon you thtupid dino'th!"
He knew they had him this time, lemming that he was. Fuck, he hoped someone was watching.
Showing posts with label Birds are scary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Birds are scary. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Saturday, May 17, 2008
BIRDS are scary
The child runs in that shimmer-heat, that beastly burn that comes up off the oblong rocks distorting things- the landscape seen through dusty water. The child trips, flips, slides, scrapes, cries aloud and gains its feet, welts rising on its legs, soon to flood with soothing blister-sacs.
The child holds dear against its shirt a small, bright thing cupped like a cricket- sure and tight.
And runs.
Fissures spit out sloughing steam about the child, steam to slip the muscles from your bones in dead white shapes. Arenal is quite a hillside, quite the active cone of spitting smoke above the long cool lake below.
The birds are onto the game, though. The birds are hep, and start in shapes toward the child. They do not caw, or call, or beat; They slip like knives behind its feet.
The child can feel them driving the burnzone below, pressing upward in a bubble of bad intent. They come in thousand-color blades, in clouds, in eerie silent purpose up the face. The child tries to push, increase its pace.
Not near enough the lip a fissure spits the child up, and down, and the birds fall upon it there. Each beady creature drives its beak into a piece of meat and holds, drawing gently from the archbacked child, too stretched to scream, its hands still clasped in rigor vivis round the precious thing at breast.
The birds begin to flap; Those parrot, toucan, raven, sparrow, pigeon, cormorant, chrometipped, redtit, brighteyed murderous skystains beating wings as best they can enmeshed against their beakstuck cousins; flap, and flap, and spread their mouths inside each driven wound until they lift off in a prune-shaped, maddening mess,
And disappear over the long cool lake.
The child holds dear against its shirt a small, bright thing cupped like a cricket- sure and tight.
And runs.
Fissures spit out sloughing steam about the child, steam to slip the muscles from your bones in dead white shapes. Arenal is quite a hillside, quite the active cone of spitting smoke above the long cool lake below.
The birds are onto the game, though. The birds are hep, and start in shapes toward the child. They do not caw, or call, or beat; They slip like knives behind its feet.
The child can feel them driving the burnzone below, pressing upward in a bubble of bad intent. They come in thousand-color blades, in clouds, in eerie silent purpose up the face. The child tries to push, increase its pace.
Not near enough the lip a fissure spits the child up, and down, and the birds fall upon it there. Each beady creature drives its beak into a piece of meat and holds, drawing gently from the archbacked child, too stretched to scream, its hands still clasped in rigor vivis round the precious thing at breast.
The birds begin to flap; Those parrot, toucan, raven, sparrow, pigeon, cormorant, chrometipped, redtit, brighteyed murderous skystains beating wings as best they can enmeshed against their beakstuck cousins; flap, and flap, and spread their mouths inside each driven wound until they lift off in a prune-shaped, maddening mess,
And disappear over the long cool lake.
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