Month: April 2012

And the child’s first year in its new home continued primarily in this regard, with celebration and solidarity among the people of the village and the child began to walk of its own power, its plump and shaky legs moving deftly from the rearing mother and her arms outstretched to other women in the candlelight of the hut, for the child hardly left its abode, it was brought to it all essentials including food and drinking water as well as gifts from the people in the village, gifts piled up in its hut as signs of respect and offerings not only to the child but whom the people of the village trusted as the child’s true father, the everlasting, and so the child hadn’t too much room to maneuver upon its quivering legs, but maneuver it did, smiling at the odd sensation of muscle and bone and other tissue at work in its small body. As was customary in the village the rearing mother would cradle the child in her arms and feed the child milk from her breast until the child’s constitution was mature enough to eat solid foods and the rearing mother did this well into the child’s second year, and also customary among these people was to settle the child during lamplight by softly rubbing the child’s genitals, a gentle massage that the rearing mother found arduous, for not only was their holy child dually equipped but as it continued to grow its genitalia grew and matured along with it, the penis in particular which seemed at times to the rearing mother to be obscenely large and dangerous, especially as it reacted to the mother’s soft stroking and stimulation of it, for the penis secretly frightened her in many ways, not only for its sheer size and virile nature, its unspeakable power, but also because she knew it would continue to grow as the child grew in years and it would doubtlessly become a product of gossip among the young women in the village and ultimately the focus of their licentious weakness, just as she was afraid the same might happen to herself, for she could not admit in all honesty that she massaged the child’s erection simply out of motherly love alone.

The living people of the Earth, they’re lost without their swords, their giant shears sticky with the dried blood of enemies and hunt, and how do they sharpen those swords if not on the bones of the next dead? How could they conceivably lose something so valuable to them, something that, though the nature of the tool appears to be destruction or protection, is more or less a chisel or paintbrush, for it helps them render their lives into the fashion they desire? The living people of the Earth, the truth is that they are nothing without their minds, for their swords and stones are tools and nothing more, while their minds are the true weapons continuously at their disposal… 

For the stone throwers and the sword wielders are as primitive as their ancestors and the ancestors of their ancestors, toiling in seas of blood and upon rolling hills of flesh to remain alive, to survive, which is their ultimate state-of-being, their highest conceivable honor, an achievement, but ultimately, their most enduring failure. Man is a mortal creature; this is one of the few things we can actually attest to knowing. So while the stone throwers and the sword wielders ache and kill and burn the people of the world as well as the world itself, the thinking men resurrect the spirits that came before and had also failed, the spirits with blood on their shadow-hands and in the ducts of their eyes, blood in the hair and caked upon their faces, blood forever adrift in their guts, for they as killers and hunters were largely unable to translate into language the narrative of those innumerable hunts and kills, their bloody and authentic histories, their failures, and so those spirits must now rely on posterity to conjure them back into the realm of the living so as to pass on their bequests to equally indifferent hunters and killers and the few enlightened souls who must transcribe for them.