wb :

All I remember was the earth yelling at the top of her lungs. I doubled over, felt the biting ozone give way to... what? There was nothing. No, there was light, pretty, unbearable light, attractive like the glow of an angler fish's beckon, only turned on to full. My win - what the fuck happened to my wings? I was walking, leather straps in my hand and destiny in my gut, both too big for me to handle. I remember a loud, fiery sigh, his flesh burning me, simplicity, irresistability, dadaist. No, it was a whinny.

BANG. FATHER!

Eyelids parting, revealing Scene 1: INT. DAY, a temple, hangover gnawing at my skull. I rub my head... no tired locks. My hair's all gone... where? I hear tok tok tok tok ding ding ding ding, stench of iron and sweat inescapable. It's the turn of the century, the age of repression, where the hurried naked feet try and find release from the wheel.

BANG. MOKSHA!

My eyes are getting used to the light. I'm too tired, there are so many people. I can see green, yellow, blue, red, purple, and a lot of golden thread. Everyone's looking at him and screaming his name, the next thing you know he might be crowd-sailing. Backstage passes into the puppetshow in heaven. There are so many people. My job is to dangle the Carrots of Prosperity, Knowledge and Sex in front of their oversensitive, detestable noses.

BANG. 1/3!

All I can think of is that man. I need to get him back. "What is your name?" he says. No. He saith.

"Have you got a name for me?" I answer. He looks at me funny. I know my name. My name is

My name is Icarus.

Labels: prose