Reading Horror

Let’s try to find a way out of this mess. When the severity of your trauma could only be rehashed by the temerity of your long-playing LP, her eyes opened ala Andelou and out poured a variety of ants, from the humdrum to the mythic. But that was the day before the sickness that is raging in your head came to light. On that day you woke up feeling cold, eyes dead to the world, with a mouth cold, harsh, dry and sticky. Where was the water? But the day carried on. There were walks in the relentless sun; and walks in the relentless moon. There were howls and horns, destroyed minds and fragile kindness wafting like the pulsing heat-wave in your mind.
Oh well, that was then, and yet here we are today and this needs to be done. Let us start by going to the exhibition. There will be paintings there you know, and you are to chew each one of them carefully….till you get the colours tied up to you…till all you become is colour and bits of gilded wood. There be monsters in the closet-haunted dreams of crashing pirate bones and grinding sea ice. But the colour is there. It will always be there…and the sun the horror the beauty of the gilded throne.