Last Night I Dreamt I Was Paris

Last night I dreamt I was Paris. I dreamt I was that shining jewel of a city, indeed. Last night I was she, a body of stone, metal and bone. I was an ever sighing palace of earthly delights.

I dreamt I was that city, the Métro pumping blood like the main arteries, the cells each human, each animal stray, each insect, bringing me to life every single second of the oneiric fancy. Each step a sensuous caress, each word spoken mounting to a susurrous insinuation of lust that fell silken on my ears. Every corner and angle, each curving beam, each joining buttress, my corpus erogenous.

Though I cannot say I’ve ever been, I know what I know and I know what I’ve seen. Like turgid little appendages, the Barrière d’Enfer stood guard to the old wall of the Farmers-General, the senseless geography that last night was me made me dizzy with pleasure and knowing such glee. The lull of the evening as the darklings there feasted on women and men who had lost all that’s gifted. The rustling of rat-kin who steal and defile, my self-city underbelly seedy with style.

And the call of the old bones, the ossuary tunnels, within them the greatest of secret desires. More bones! More bones! More children defiled! More skin! More blood! More wood for the pyre!

Last night I did dream that Paris was I, and just like the sensuous city at night, I lived on the brink of the edge of forever, but never to see the white light of the fire that sings of the peace at the end of desire.

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Incoherence THaruz

Note: Two things took place this week which prevented me from posting a full short. The first is that the short I originally intended to post is supposed to come with an illustration by a very talented friend of mine who’s been kind enough to prepare a visual treat for my otherwise drab and visually bland blog. Said story is complete but the illustration has met with a slight delay. The second is that, in light of this delay, I began to develop another seemingly short concept which proved to go deeper than I frist thought, hence it remains incomplete, a work in progress, the cursos a-blinking and awaiting my fingers’ commands. For this reason I have gone through the painful – both for you and for me – choice of posting some of my awkward prose. I hope it does not offend.

 

Sleeper deep the well is filling
Nightly whispers heart is healing
Breaking skin the wolf has fallen
Moon is free from its pursuit
Lightly kissing worm-ridden bed
Enter the head of the ones long forgotten
To the bitter’s end the boat must go
Dreamer foretells peaceful smiles
To the bitter end the fool must row
Hanging on the ice floe
Spans of giants the hills have made
Now in truth the fallen grow
Reaching further up the sky
Swollen core infects the sty
Primordial soup of pure emotion
Bifrost bridge lies further North
To the bitter’s end the captain calls
Dreamer foretells wistful nights
To the bitter end the fool must stall
Hinting at the fall
Spires onirical into ruins turned
There, below, the molten wall
Reaching further down the line
Intravenous desire unwinds
Allusion to the love ad hoc
Prurient, sleepless, thoughts amok
No embrace but the earth mother’s
Or the oceanic maiden’s, our flesh to devour
Itching to burn, burning to fire
Sightless, salacious; the vigil deflowered
Tortures to visit upon the most dire
To the bitter’s end with wind in sail
Dreamer foretells unending plight
To the bitter end the fool lest he fail