Infernaut - part two

PART II - HEART


A Moment on Earth

We never left this town. We never took ourselves away from this town. We were loyal to this town, even though we never found either hope or deliverance in this town. We never found a way out from this town. And we lost each other in this town. We lost each other knowing that there would never be anything more for us but this town.

On that last day of summer I saw you for the first time. I saw the shadows of a poplar tree hide your eyes from me as sunshine sprinkled like grains of gold in your hair. On the first day of autumn I saw red oak leaves dance around your head and around your feet like wayward spirits seeking your shelter. On the last day of winter I saw you throw a scarf around your neck and then turn to me. Your nose and your cheeks were painted pink upon the white canvas of snow-covered earth behind you, and your hair fell down your neck and your eyes looked weary. On the first day of spring we ate green plums and we kissed like thieves.

And the years came and went in this town… and every year, on the last day of summer, the poplar trees hid your eyes from me.


1. The Fields of Harvest

And to think,
Eternity could be captured in a moment

Through my own veil of tears I passed into a new realm. What lay on the other side was a blood red earth that stretched out as far as the horizon and was strewn with the heads of men who seemed to be sprouting from the red soil. There were other men who held scythes and seemed to be harvesting cabbages that sprouted out from the bloody ground. But when I looked closer I saw that they were not cabbages, but human heads that were sticking out above the ground, with their bodies sunk and trapped in the infernal soil. The scythe-wielding harvesters were moving from buried soul to buried soul, lopping off heads as they went, as if they were collecting them. I looked behind me and saw the other side of the marble gates from which I'd entered. The gates were still the same imposing height and solid marble structure, yet they were no longer gleaming, shiny and white from this side. They were decayed, cracked and dirty. Through the marble gates I could not see the old path of riddles that I had left behind, but around the gates there was only this same hellish landscape in which I now found myself, and it was stretching back as far as I could see. The sky was red once again. It was certainly a disappointment from the blue rolling hills, the golden stone-paved road and the great blue ocean overhead that I had been traveling through since the whirlpool. But it didn't matter anymore because I knew this was where my destiny lay. Unfortunately, the cephalodrone was also still buzzing and humming around my head. Fortunately, it remained speechless.

I then noticed for the first time a stream that passed right by me and trickled off into the distance, branching off and dispersing water across every part of the crimson land. Its provenance was from the gates through which I'd entered. It trickled from the top of the gates, just below where the inscription was, directly over the threshold. When I stepped on the muddy wet earth, the water mixed with the blood that rose from the soil and filled the puddle I formed with my foot. The squishing and suctioning sound that emanated with every step filled me with a queasy sense of dread. Then in the very far distance I saw a strange shadowy figure moving on the surface. It was a large horizontal shape. It grew longer and longer and looked like a reptile moving smoothly - and rapidly - my way. I didn't think of trying to avoid it, as that would have been futile, considering the speed at which it was approaching me. I simply waited for it to come. As it got closer I could see that it was indeed a giant serpent, and it had a face known well to me. It was the serpent riddler I had encountered. As it wound its way through the fields of grim harvest, the harvesters ceased their toil and gave way to it before resuming their gruesome task. Soon the beast was meters away and I saw those same peacock eyes that were now ingrained in my psyche.

"I see we've become fellow travelers," I said, as if addressing an old friend, for I can't say I didn't feel empathy with the creature.

"Oh no, infernaut, not at all," it answered in its same hissing tone. "We are in fact fellow residents." And the final letter was protracted like a hiss.

"Perhaps you are right. You have been my guide on the most difficult part of the journey. What will you now?"

"What I will is not important, what you will is. I will continue to be your guide if you so wish."

To this I assented and bade him lead the way, feeling somewhat pleased (though not without a hint of guilt) at having been relieved of the responsibility for finding my own way in this horrific landscape. It slithered slowly along as I walked beside it. We passed through the fields of bodies. Human bodies were literally sprouting out from the bloody ground. The blood and the water from the stream were nurturing these bodies. As soon as one of these bodies had sprouted forth its head, the harvesters would lop it off with their scythes and leave them there as they moved on to the next macabre crop. The faces of these bodies, once they were above ground, were expressionless and their eyes were sealed shut. They were the very faces of death. My serpentine guide noticed my interest and saw fit to explain.

"These are the fields where the newly dead are harvested. Once a body dies and is fed to the earth - or buried, if you will - the body sprouts up here and it is harvested by these scythe-wielders."

Before I could ask anything, I saw the cephalodrone flying around in the distance. I thought it odd that that flying nuisance had gone so far ahead, but when I looked up I noticed it hadn't at all, that the one I saw in the distance was a different cephalodrone. Then I noticed there was another. In fact there were a few flying around. I also noticed there were ravens that seemed to be scrounging for food. Just then I witnessed the most bizarre spectacle. One of the heads that had been lopped off in front of us rolled over and on to our path. The eyes were still shut. Then all of a sudden I saw a raven land on the head and stick its beak in the mouth of the head. I thought it would take out some hideous morsel for itself, but instead it just kept sinking its head in, then its neck, and eventually its whole body into the mouth! I saw the head shake and twitch, I saw the cheeks and the eyes move from inside and then all of a sudden I heard a "pop" and from the ears of the head there emerged the wings of the raven. And at that instant the deathly eyes opened and looked up at me. I was so startled I jumped back. The sight was so foul and disgusting that I just couldn’t take my eyes off of it. The eyelids of the dead head winked, the ears and lips twitched lifelessly, the head took on the aspect of animation, and eventually the wings flapped as it took off from the ground and circled once around us before flying off.

"And that is how the cephalodrone comes into being," my guide explained. “They enter through the mouth, they eat out the brain, and they occupy the once-living human head, like a crab that occupies a shell.”

"But... what do they do, where do they go?" I ventured, still taken aback by the strange and sickening transformation I had just witnessed.

"The cephalodrones exist in the minds of the living. They stoke insanity, especially if they are numerous. Everyone has at least one cephalodrone in their mind, but some have more. The insanity of a person is determined by just how many inhabit that person's psyche. Those with few cephalodrones often can pass for normal, especially in front of others, though when alone they are known to succumb to the wavering whim of a cephalodrone."

"But how do they enter the mind of the living? Why do they enter?"

"They are not beings of essence, they are not beings of matter or solids, they are not atomic. Thus they can enter the mind through music, and they most often do, though one can also contract them through reading. They have been known to hide in complex ideas, especially in paradoxes, and some of them can even hide behind a single word."

I thought the serpent must be kidding.

"Like what? ‘Insanity’ or ‘madness’?" I asked sarcastically.

"Oh no, they would be too easy to spot. Many prefer words that are extremely common, in fact so common and so often used as to be misleadingly simple, yet also deceptively slippery."

"Like what for example?" I asked.

"Yes," the serpent replied. "Like 'what' indeed."

With a cynical smile I glanced up at the cephalodrone that was following me. The serpent continued.

"These cephalodrones are immaterial, they are ethereal. They are not only irrational but they are indeed antirational. They feed off the ideas of their host; that is what sustains them. That is also why they never initiate a conversation, but only respond." I realized this only now that the serpent mentioned it to me. He went on: "The more you think, the more they feed and the stronger they become. And the stronger they become, the more vociferous becomes their antirationality. It's said that the best way to temper them is to balance profound thought with mindless distraction..."

"Said by whom?" I asked dryly.

"Oh," the serpent smiled, "who knows? Even you don't know who you are."

"Of course I know who I am..." I raised my voice, aggravated.

"Then who are you?" it asked calmly. Sure enough, despite my improving memory, I was still at a loss as to who I was. And it was not only that I was foundering for a name, but for something more, for an identity, and even more, for an essence. In my frustration I declared boldly, though somewhat melodramatically:

"I am flesh, I am bone, I am blood, I am brain, I am eyes, I am love, I am hate, I am good, I am evil, I am..." I was gasping for air, I was so flabbergasted with the question... "...penis, I am child, I am father, I am everything, I am nothing, I am... I am art, I am destiny, I am oblivion... I am YOU!" I shouted at the end, panting from my effort, looking straight into the peacock eyes.

"Yes," the serpent responded passively. "You are like anyman. But what is this I you speak of?"

And standing there panting, gasping for air, a field of corpses in front of me, a winged head hovering above me, talking to a giant serpent, I was simply left speechless. I, I, I, I...

"Let me guess, another favorite of the cephalodrone?" I finally said with a surrendering tone.

"But of course, the favorite, mostly for its contradiction. I. Simple like a column, yet complex… like a labyrinth."

I was surprised by the serpent’s last word and searched its face to see if it knew and meant more than it said, but the serpent gave nothing away from its cold, reptilian demeanor. We silently continued our passage through the fields of harvest. The blue rivulets of tears that wound silently along the landscape contrasted hauntingly, but not without beauty, with the blood-red earth, the ghostly white bodies of the dead, and the ever-shifting reddish-orange sky above. The colors of hell leave an indelible impression upon the mind of an Infernaut, like the colors of his own soul reflected in the untapped recesses of his imagination. But I will leave you to find that out for yourself when your time comes.

I felt my toes stub against something solid. I glanced down quickly and saw nothing. Then I felt something wet, warm and moist on my foot. It felt like a tongue licking the heel of my foot, where my wound had been on the island of the labyrinth. This startled me, and when I looked down I saw another horrendous creature, even more revolting than the cephalodrone. It was the head of a dead man – like a cephalodrone’s – but with the body of a fat, pink little quadruped, like a pig, and the creature tried to lick at my heel again before I gave it a kick that was especially powerful, galvanized as I was by the disgust that was churning my stomach at that moment. The creature took the blow straight in the middle of the face and rolled over two or three times. But it simply got back on its four fat little legs, licked its own wound, and then proceeded to come back at me like a horrible little nightmare. I felt like retching.

"Ah!" said the serpent, "An adipod. They are pig-like creatures that scavenge for the heads that are not claimed by the ravens. They insert their own heads through the neck by eating and gnawing their way in, and they thus assume the head of a man. There is one now, over there…"

I glanced to where the serpent was looking and sure enough there was another one of these vile adipods slowly inserting its snout into the lifeless head of a harvested corpse. It grunted and snorted as it took a long time to fit its massive head into that of the decapitated human head. But somehow, through pure stubbornness, it eventually squeezed the whole thing in. The superficially human eyes, nose and mouth began twitching - not as if they were alive, of course - and the eyes opened and the nose began snorting and sniffing away, scavenging the land for whatever filth it could find.

"Adipods," the serpent explained, "are slothful and they scramble around like giant rodents. They also inhabit the bodies of men, feeding off vital tissue, muscles and nerves and living in the stomach. The more adipods that inhabit a body, the more bloated the stomach is and the weaker the body becomes as its muscles wither, its reflexes are lost, its eyesight fails and the host enters a state of irreversible ennui. Indolence, sloth, laziness, weakness… that is the work of these creatures. They enter the system through food, drink, smoke, anything ingested through the mouth - or through the nose, in some cases."

We carried on through the wasteland. I couldn't help but notice the harvesters, all the more so because they actually looked "normal." That is, they had human form. They were men for the most part, though there were also some females among them. Their postures were straight, their form athletic, their muscles strong, dense, lean and toned due to the nature of their work. But their expressions were sad, their eyes weary, their spirits awash with melancholy, and their faces lifeless though seemingly alive. They did not take their eyes off their work. They neither made a sound nor spoke. They were concentrated on the task at hand, and the task was to lop the heads off the damned.

"Are these harvesters the lost souls of executioners, assassins or soldiers, then?" I ventured to ask the serpent.

"Not at all," it replied. "The harvesters are sinners, they are from the isles of sin. They are mostly irenogogues or self-debasers, though there are also some biotimorous among them. They seem to be the only ones keen on doing this sort of work. They experience a great satisfaction in lopping off the heads of men. They are happy to gratify this morbid desire that they denied themselves so vehemently during their sojourn on earth. The irenogogues find that inflicting the death blow on others is actually quite satisfying after having to endure an eternity of being eaten and defecated by a great panther that they are forever condemned to confront yet cower from. The self-debasers like seeing others' bodies defiled for a change. And the biotimorous like to get out of the office as often as possible. There are the odd nihilists who like to see that the dead suffer in the afterlife even more so than they themselves suffered on earth by denying themselves their own lives for the sake of an afterlife. But then nihilists like to complicate things for themselves, so who knows what they really like. Then there are also some ego-mongers who do this job out of habit, having spent their lives building themselves up at other peoples’ expense while on earth, cutting down anyone that dare rival their own pretensions of grandeur. As for oneiroclasts, you won’t find a single one of them in these parts. They mostly become adipods when they stray off their island. They help others kill their dreams through sloth the way they killed their own dreams on earth. They scavenge for other peoples’ dreams and that's what they look for when entering the heads of the harvested dead. Of course they find naught but dead flesh, bones and rotten brain. Such are the lives of these sinners. Their work is seasonal."

"Seasonal?"

"Yes, after each deluge some find their way here, washed up on the fields of harvest."

Three cephalodrones passed lethargically over our heads and flew away from us slowly. A short distance from us, four adipods were tearing into the corpse of a body that had already been harvested. The grim, dull sounds of sharp metal hacking through dead flesh and bone could be heard around us as the harvesters performed their tasks with their scythes. A harvester caught my eye at a great distance from us and I could spot that it was a female. Her back was turned to me and her brown hair fell down around her neck and over her shoulders. Her loose white silken dress fluttered gracefully and sorrowfully, even though it was stained with blood and watery tears from the earth she trod barefoot on... I knew then that it was Ariadne! My heart pounded, my blood flowed violently. I stood still in my tracks and I looked out at her. The serpent did so too.

"And Ariadne partakes in this harvest too, my Ariadne?" I asked excitedly, happy to see her again, yet sad to see her plight at that moment. Tears welled in my eyes once again. I started walking in her direction. The serpent didn't try to stop me. I ran the last few steps as bloodied mud sprayed across my legs. I reached her and put my hands on her shoulders. But she didn't move. She had the same distant look as when had I found her on her lonely islet. I looked in her eyes and she was crying. Unlike the other harvesters, her eyes were alive… red, wet, big and alive. I shook her but nothing could break the spell.

"It's me," I told her, "don't you remember me?"

But she remained silent. I turned to the serpent and asked him what she was doing here.

"Why is she with these sinners? Why has she come here? Why is she a harvester?" I asked impatiently.

"You can see she is not one of them, but she believes herself to be. She believes herself to be a sinner, she believes herself guilty. As to how she got here, perhaps you would know the answer to that better than I would."

The serpent spoke as if hinting something, which annoyed me.

“How? Speak clearly serpent, you speak in riddles.”

“Was it not you who took her from her isle? Was it not you who brought her to these shores from the oceans above? Do you not see this stream that trickles through this wasteland from the gates where you entered? Are these not the tears that have led you both here through the gates and into these fields?”

“My tears?”

“She was the cause of your tears, was she not? It was the thought of her that spurred you forth and bid you enter this wasteland. And it was the thought of you that brought forth her tears and bid her enter this very same wasteland. See how this stream trickles through these fields: sad, without direction, without any good or use, except to bring forth death and misery. This, infernaut, is your wasteland. It belongs to you both.”

“THAT’S ENOUGH, VILE SERPENT!” I shouted furiously.

I turned to Ariadne once more and I put my arms around her and pressed her head into my chest, but she was immobile. She pushed herself from me, took up a blunt, rusty scythe and tried to carry out her task. But she just went from sprouting body to sprouting body unable to touch them, unable to cut them, unable to do anything to them. She simply wandered to and fro, lost and helpless. I followed her in the same forlorn state. It was an agonizing sight. I just wanted to take her with me, again.

"You must leave her now," the serpent said in an uncompromising and authoritative tone. But I didn't listen. I tried to pull her away from her path, to grab her as firmly as I could and take her with me. I was pleading with her as I did, begging her to come, to remember who I am, or who I was. But she was beyond all communication. She seemed lost.

"You must leave her now," the serpent repeated in a stentorian voice. I was angry now. I raised my clenched fists and I turned to the serpent and I shouted at it.

"WHY? WHY? WHO ARE YOU, WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!"

And upon my having said this, the serpent gave a massive roar. It seemed as if the whole universe was roaring, shaking, bellowing from every atom in every molecule, from the heavens, from earth and from hell. I fell back with fear and shock. Then a great shudder shook the ground beneath me and I saw that the serpent, great as it was, began to change form, to grow upward. Its tail contracted. Arms and legs grew from its body, assuming the form of a fish, succeeded by that of a salamander, then that of a lizard, and finally that of a man. Its scaly skin became that of soft human skin, its forked tongue became a human tongue; indeed it had the appearance of a human being - except for the eyes.

And I knew that man! It was the same face as the man I had seen in my unconscious state in – or was it after? – the whirlpool. The body, the thin lips, the straight nose, the high cheekbones, the pointed ears – and of course, the peacock eyes. And when he opened his mouth to speak I expected the most thunderous noise to bellow from him, but instead his voice was soft, civilized, almost meek. He gave a little smile from the corner of his mouth as he bowed down and introduced himself with almost comical politeness. His speech was refined, his voice was mellifluous.

"I, my dear traveler, am Satan."


A Moment on Earth

When I first kissed you it was neither romantic nor sensual; it was not sexy, it was not sensational. It was awkward and still, it was silent and withdrawn. When I first kissed you, the only thing I knew was that I lost myself and that it was not wrong.

And when I waited for you, you came. You sneaked into my room with the sunlight, and you crept out again with the night. You wore a black shawl and your eyes were darker than the deepest chasm. Your long brown hair covered your breasts and you never took your gaze off of me. I felt it was the first time anyone had ever seen me. I grabbed you with my arms and lifted you in the air and twirled you around laughing like a madman. And then I kissed you again, and I knew it was not wrong. I took off your shawl, and we took off our clothes, and we looked at each other for a long time lying naked together, without saying a word. We enjoyed looking at each other. Our skin glowed, our teeth shone, our hair was alight and our eyes were sharp and quick, like whips. The touch of our skin sent shivers through our bodies. The sound of our voices together seemed foreign to us, and we listened to each other – to us – as if we were listening to music. And what seemed extraordinary was that there was no beginning and there was no end. When we were together it never finished, nor did it ever begin. There was only togetherness. There was only the solitude of us.

After that day I don’t think I ever did manage to find myself again. But I knew that it was not wrong.


2. The River of Tears

I would forsake everything
Just to see you smile
For when I see you smile
I know I will regain everything

I found myself standing before the Devil himself. He was a striking figure, as one would imagine. No horns or hooves, no tridents or forked tongues (not anymore anyway). The only inhuman feature was really the eyes. The ears were pointy as well, but not so strange as the peacock eyes. I stood speechless before his towering figure. He must have noticed this and so he shrank to human size, still keeping himself a few inches taller than me – for psychological purposes, I imagine. He had an extremely polite manner about him.

“Excuse me, I didn’t mean to startle you, and I don’t want you to strain your neck looking up at me. Is this a good size Satan for you?” he asked, pompously indicating his height with the left hand aligned with the top of his head. He was far from frightening now, in fact he was charmingly droll. I looked at the cephalodrone hovering above my head and noticed that it was frightened, as if it had seen a scarecrow.

“F-fine,” I stuttered, hearing my own voice crack. I promptly cleared my throat.

“Good. You see I can transmogrify at will. It’s one of the great advantages of being a myth: you can assume any number of forms without ever losing touch with who you really are – that is, what you really mean to others.” And he squinted his eyes and tilted his head with affected seriousness as he said this. “And that’s special, don’t you think?” The question was sarcastic, as well as being obviously rhetorical. I was wholly taken aback, not knowing whether to laugh or to remain silent. This was very awkward for me.

“Special, my red ass,” he continued, as if to himself. “Just ask Proteus, that overrated sea-urchin. Even he has a place in the dictionary, not only as a noun but as an adjective. Adjective! It’s very dignified.” He looked away as if he were really troubled by this. “Prooootean,” he murmured to himself under his breath, emphasizing the first syllable with a roll of the eyes.

“W-well,” I stuttered – and croaked – again, feeling heartened by the Devil’s banter. “You do too -?” It wasn’t a question but it came out as one. I continued…

“There’s ‘devilish’ and ‘satanic’ and ‘mephistophelean’, and there are a few names for you too… there’s… let’s see… ‘Satan’ and ‘Devil’ and ‘Lucifer’…”

“Yes, I like that one…” he interjected with a little point of his finger and a nod of the head.

“…and ‘Beelzebub’, and ‘Evil One’…”

“Very unimaginative…” he interrupted again.

“…and Prince of Darkness…”

“oh please, only evangelists call me that.”

“…and Mephistopheles…”

“Hm... ‘destroyer-liar’? Too glum, too literary, too German…”

“And you even have an ‘ism’ to your name.”

“What do you mean, ‘satanism’? You don’t actually associate me with those morons do you?” he asked, offended.

“Well…”

“Ok, anyway, you’ve made your point and you’ve cheered me up too. That should do for now. I have such a bad reputation, you know. It’s very annoying.”

“I imagine so.” I paused for a moment, before adding – almost solely for the sake of conversation – “I assume you prefer to be called Satan? You introduced yourself as Satan.”

“Actually I prefer Lucifer, ‘the light-bearer.’ But you know I still come across many who are ignorant of that name, believe it or not, so I prefer to introduce myself as Satan. Trust me, there’s nothing more humiliating than having to introduce yourself twice while trying to strike an awesome first impression.” He went into a farcical dialogue with himself: “ ‘I AM LUCIFER! – Who? – SATAN, YOU IMBECILE!’ You know, that sort of thing. Very undignified.”

“Yes, I see.”

“Just make sure you never call me Old Hornie. That’s where I draw the line.”

“Got it.”

So we remained in the fields of harvest. Ariadne was still standing there, so near yet so far. The cephalodrone didn’t seem so scared anymore. I was still shaking with nerves as I thought of Ariadne. I didn’t know what to do. I was concerned that if I brought the subject up again, the Devil would assume his horns, and possibly not just as a figure of speech. Finally, I decided to broach the subject.

“Lu…Lucifer,” I stuttered. It sounded very strange to refer to anyone with that name. It was like calling one of your parents by their first name. But I continued.

“You don’t mind if I call you that?” I asked, just to be sure.

“By all means, but I also draw the line at ‘Lucy.’” He found this very amusing and smiled contentedly for a while. Jocular as he was, I noticed that he never lost his sense of composure or dignity.

“Ariadne… I…” And before I could figure out how to continue, he interrupted yet again.

“Ah, yes, the would-be harvester here,” and he looked at her as he said this. “That is your business, infernaut, not mine.”

“But what must I do?”

“What must you do? What must you do? Infernaut, you have come a long way, but now you disappoint me. How can I tell you what you must do? Only you can know that.”

“But you are Lucifer, you must know.”

“You, dear traveler, must have confused me with God! But I do not purport to be omniscient or omnipotent. I am not such a pompous ass as all that. I am merely Lucifer – the guiding light, the morning star.”

And with that he gave an affectedly humble bow. As soon as he had regained his straight posture his hair receded and disappeared, his skin started changing into greenish brown scales, his ears and his nose contracted into his skull, his limbs rejoined his lengthening torso, a tail emerged from behind him and grew until his legs were one with it, and soon he had completed his transmutation back into a giant serpent. There was no longer the smile and the congenial features. There was only the ubiquitously expressionless aspect of the snake. The eyes remained the same all along… those strange peacock eyes.

As the serpent made to leave us, it turned to say one last thing.

“Follow the stream of your tears,” it said, prolonging the final letter with another eerie hiss. It slithered rapidly away from us and disappeared over the horizon. The hitherto forgotten sound of heads being culled with scythes resumed as if louder than before. I saw two adipods approaching us. One of them started trying to gnaw at Ariadne’s feet before I grabbed her by the shoulders and wrenched her violently from her stance and dragged her forcefully with me. Her feet barely made attempts at steps, more as an instinctive reflex rather than from any sense of autonomic will. The adipods trotted behind us nipping and licking at our heels before I turned and dealt one a massive kick in the head. I heard the adipod’s skull crack under the blow. I held Ariadne by the torso, beneath her arms, before I slung her over my shoulders and carried her thus. She was light as a feather, as if she were composed of ether. I followed the main rivulet until it grew and grew and formed a significant river along the banks of which we journeyed on. I thought about my encounter with the Devil, and I must have thought out loud because the next thing I knew my cephalodrone companion opened its mouth.

“Yes, yes, intriguing indeed he is… the Devil that is, intriguing he is, that is, he is…”

“And why were you afraid of him, cephalodrone?”

“Cephalodrone?” it asked.

“Yes, you are a cephalodrone, are you not?”

“I don’t know, am I?”

“That’s what I say…” suddenly this got me wondering. “Actually, that’s also what Satan called you, even though he hadn’t heard me say use that word, cephalodrone.” I was speaking more to myself, thinking out loud as it were, baffled by this occurrence. “And I am an infernaut. That’s also what I say, and also what Satan says… hm… I don’t suppose you have a name either?”

“Name?”

“Yes, a name, for people to call you by.”

“Well, I suppose it depends on the person. Different ones have different names for me. I remember one who used to call me Argus…”

“Argus the Cephalodrone, eh? Or was it Argus the Dog?” I said with a smile.

“The Cynic?”

“The Cynic? Diogenes the Cynic?”

“Yes, the Dog?”

“No, Argus… Argus the Dog! Odysseus’s dog!”

“Argus the Cynic?”

“Diogenes the Cynic, Argus the Dog!”

“Both are dogs. Kunos>Cynic>Dog. Thus Diogenes>Argus>Dog. They’re all dogs.”

“Yes but they’re not both known as dogs. They’re different words.”

“Argus was Greek and so was Diogenes. Both were Greeks, so they were both dogs if they were called dogs in Greek.”

“No they weren’t.”

“Are you being cynical?”

“WHAT?!”

“What what?”

I shut up promptly. It was absolutely futile to share thoughts with this mad hybrid creature. But I was lonely and the horizon seemed as distant as ever, and the river of tears longer than ever. The terrain was muddy, rancid, difficult to traverse. I kept walking until I was too tired to continue, and so I came to a halt, laid Ariadne down, and sat by the banks of the river, regardless of the blood- and tear-soaked sludge that sank beneath me. More than the fatigue, it was the desperation of having no end in sight that made me feel that I couldn’t go on. I was feeling absolutely hopeless. I wanted to quit. I didn’t want to go on with this pointless, endless journey. What was I looking for anyway? What was this “destiny” that I was to reach? Was I not already in hell? What more was there but an eternity of this endless wallowing and aimless wandering? Might not the hope of salvation or escape from my fate be just another cruel hoax instilled in me by the Devil to make my journey all the more insufferable as I search with futility for something that can never be achieved nor ever attained? And after all, despite his seductive and charming airs, was my guide not the Devil himself! The adversary! The destroyer-liar! The slanderer! Was I to trust this being in any way? At that moment I simply wanted to disappear, to be nothing. The fatigue of hopelessness and the frustration of uncertainty gripped me like heavy chains that held fast my body. I put my head in my hands and shed yet more tears as I bemoaned my hapless fate.

I don’t know if I was asleep or just dreaming, but the next thing I know, there came before my eyes the vision of a tall poplar tree there in the midst of this endless wasteland. I was looking across the river and over the fields, standing on my feet, keeping my eyes on the giant poplar tree that looked so strange there, so foreign, so beautiful, so alone. It swayed gently with the wind, and even from that distance I could hear its leaves rustling with the gentle breeze with which the tree oscillated slowly from side to side. I could hear each and every leaf brushing and scraping each and every other leaf, each and every other twig and branch. I could see inside the tree, I could see inside the trunk, inside the leaves, inside the veins of the leaves, inside every branch, every twig. I could see each and every molecule, every atom of the poplar tree before my eyes. And despite the fact that I could see everything in itself, still I always saw the entire tree. It was like nothing I had ever experienced before. The parts and the whole – and even the sounds – were one and the same, and I could literally see everything. Green and leaf and wood and trunk were not all that I saw. I saw helical strands of acids, I saw chromosomes and entire cells, all splitting, reforming, multiplying and growing. I saw cells dying before my eyes. I saw leaves changing color. I saw chlorophyll transforming carbon dioxide and water into energy. I saw light in a leaf. I saw the photons that transported the image of the tree – the whole tree – to my eyes. I saw the nitrogen and oxygen molecules that carried the sounds of the leaves chirping in the wind to my ears. I saw birth and life and death all in the same instance. I saw being and nothingness all in one infinitesimal instance. I saw life captured in a moment. Nothing occurred faster than usual. I saw everything occur in its own time, and yet I saw everything. I never knew until that moment what everything meant. But I was now seeing everything. It was the first time I actually saw something, and it was like a revelation to me. I saw the universe in a tree. I saw the entire god-forsaken universe in the single leaf of a tree.

A significant weight of time must have passed in that state of catatonia. I never remembered sitting back down or putting my head back into my hands, or even blinking my eyelids. I never remembered waking up or dozing off. But when I came to my senses I lifted my head to see if the poplar tree was there, and it wasn’t. There was the same wasteland before me, devoid of life, devoid of sight, devoid of everything. Regardless, I kept staring out at where the poplar tree wasn’t.

I looked over at Ariadne as she lay there next to me. She seemed to be sleeping, lying on her side, her eyes closed. She was so still and silent. Her face looked tired and troubled. After everything she’d endured, after every goodbye she’d heard, after all the heartbreak, after the loss, she was here by my side, sleeping, and I was looking over her. I touched her face and I brushed my fingers through her hair. I was happy. I was happy she was beside me and that I was touching her hair. She seemed to be in the deepest sleep, as if she’d been laying there for a thousand years. Her face was yet glowing, her skin was still warm, her hair was still soft. I leaned over and kissed her. And as I did she awoke. Her eyes popped open and she jumped up. She looked startled. I remembered that she probably saw before her an ogre. I looked down at my hands and sure enough they were the hands of an ogre. My head dropped and my body fell limp and I gave up. I just wanted to lie there. I just wanted to give up. But I looked again at myself and my appearance disturbed me. Rather, my appearance in her eyes disturbed me. I could not give up yet. It was not time.

I gathered myself up. I stood before Ariadne. She looked me in the eyes. I drew her to me and held her in front of me. Then, without knowing why, I raised her up, brought her close to the water and before she knew what was happening, I flung her in. She didn’t even make a sound as she fell into the river. Then I jumped in too. And it felt good. The waters were salty but fresh, alive, vibrant, warm. Its texture was different, as if velvety and smooth. I could feel it brushing against my skin as I moved. I looked at her in the water and I finally saw her smile for the first time. She was happy. We made a big commotion in the water. We were both rejuvenated by it. When I held her in the river she didn’t even flinch. She just smiled at me like a child. I smiled like a child too. I kissed her on the forehead, and she did not flinch. We just floated there, holding each other, smiling like fools. Even the cephalodrone was smiling overhead, almost as if approving of our momentary insanity.

I thought it strange that we were happy swimming in our own tears, in the middle of this wasteland. But then I decided to stop thinking.

When we emerged from the river we didn’t even have to dry ourselves. For a moment I thought I felt something I hadn’t felt since I was alive. It was a sense of emptiness inside me, a sense that there was a void growing in me, expanding. It felt almost like hunger. But it was more like a craving.

We followed the ever-widening river and I felt myself swelling with it. When I saw her look at me, I in turn looked at my hands. They were no longer the hands of an ogre. They were the hands of a man. Finally, she saw before her the man she had once loved.


A Moment on Earth

"Come closer. Come here and put your head on my shoulder."

"I can hear you breathing. Deep and heavy. You sound like you're asleep.”

"I'm just thinking."

"So am I."

"Maybe we're thinking the same thing… I'm thinking of clouds."

"Clouds?"

"Clouds. And they keep shifting and changing, and my thoughts keep shifting and changing with them... I follow a cloud and I lose it and then I find another cloud, and I can never grasp one, not even with my mind. I was just thinking about that. About how difficult it is to think of clouds..."

"I was thinking of a razor blade. It's easy to think of a razor blade."

"Oh my god! Why are you thinking of a razor blade?"

"I don't know. I was trying to think of something perfect and I thought of a razor blade. Solid, hard steel you can hold in your fingers. Small and compact, cold and amoral, thin, sharp and straight, cutting through flesh, bone, hair, skin, paper, cardboard, anything... It's perfect."

"It can't cut through a cloud. Cloud wouldn't even know it was there."

"I guess you're right."

"You know what I think would be perfect?"

"What?"

"Something like a cloud. Never grasped, never cut, never threatening, never threatened, never solid, always changing form, always changing shape, now becoming liquid, now becoming gas, now becoming snow or ice, in harmony with everything around it, with the sun and the earth and the sea, with heat and with cold, with wind and light. Perfectly harmonious with everything, yet separate - its own thing. Adaptable, visible, neutral, unbiased, untouchable, silent, beautiful... A cloud could be perfection. That's what I think."

"....."

"So what are you thinking of now?"

"I'm thinking of clouds."

"Difficult isn't it?"

"Yes."


3. Ariadne’s Story

And when we cried we cleansed our souls,
We took our ablutions from each other’s hearts,
And we absolved ourselves,
Of each other’s thoughts

As we followed the path forged by our own tears, Ariadne recovered her senses. She walked alongside me and below the hovering cephalodrone. I sensed that she too felt the craving that I felt, like a void growing inside her. Although she did not smile, her spirits seemed uplifted. The only change to the melancholy land around us was the widening river that seemed to expand and grow exponentially with our own progress. Then I wondered what had happened to Ariadne between the time of our shipwreck and our subsequent encounter in these morbid fields. When I stopped and turned to her and asked her, she remained silent, and even seemed nervous. The cephalodrone looked confused. Ariadne’s face grew strained and troubled all of a sudden. It looked like she just wanted to forge ahead and reach wherever we needed to reach. She looked like she wanted to avoid an encounter with her memories altogether. Then she lifted her head up to me and smiled again, though it was a sad smile. She held my hands and squeezed them in hers, as if trying to find comfort in them. Finally we sat down and she told me her story.

“When I awoke next to you and the rowboat, under the whirlpool hovering in the watery firmament above, I saw a giant serpent lying in the valley before me. I was afraid of it. It looked me straight in the eyes. It had the eyes of a bird. Neither of us spoke. I felt an imminent horror lay before me. I braced myself. The serpent then opened its mouth. It just kept opening wider and wider until it was wide enough for me to enter. And it then told me to enter, as if there was a voice, or another being speaking to me from inside it.

“So I entered through the mouth of the serpent. I felt I had no other choice. I felt compelled. At first it was dank and humid around me, like you would expect in the inside of a reptile. But as I walked on in darkness, the fleshy surface beneath me started to harden until it was cold marble that I was walking on. The air grew less heavy and putrid, it was becoming colder and colder and I felt a shiver. I made out an object in the darkness. It seemed to be a work of art, standing on a small white pillar, encased in glass, as if it were on exhibition in a gallery. When I was near enough I saw that it was a heart - a human heart. I looked at it for a long time. It was not beating, it was not alive. I walked on with terror building inside me. I came across another white pillar where stood a pair of lungs, once again encased in glass. I hardly even stopped this time. I encountered every organ of the human body within the innards of this serpent: liver, kidneys, a stomach, bones, skin, hair, brain, intestines, skull, every single part of the human anatomy was showcased and on display before me in this hideous, visceral exhibition. And it got colder and colder as I went forth, until I was shivering in there.

“Then I saw something horrific. The last display was a twisted mangled heap of meat and bones. But the difference was that it moved. It was alive. Incongruous and formless lumps of flesh reached out for nothing, tried to propel it nowhere, blindly shaking, dragging, stopping, groping. No hope, no deliverance, no life. It was horrific. The lump made its agonizing way to the glass of its enclosure. It pressed against it as if it knew I was there, leaving a smear of blood and vapor and mucous on the glass. And it said my name…”

Her eyes had been welling as she spoke, and now she started crying. She was absolutely distraught. I brought her near to me and held her. I told her she didn’t have to go on. But she insisted. She needed to face this, and so she continued.

“I shrank to the ground at that moment, screaming. My legs buckled beneath me. My muscles grew weak. I wanted to crawl under a rock. But I couldn’t take my eyes off this thing. My sobs grew louder and louder, echoing all around me as they did. The mangled carcass pressed against the glass casing and kept repeating my name in a meek and pitiful voice. I fled the way I had come, running as fast as I could. I passed all the repulsive exhibits I had had to endure. I ran this time, faster and faster. And I’ll never forget the sound of that thing calling behind me… It was like the voice of a dying baby. I emerged from the serpent’s mouth screaming, screaming loud enough that I might drown out the voice of the creature, with tears gushing from my eyes. But no matter how weak it was, no matter how frail, that voice was heard above all else. It sounded as if it were coming from right inside me, from my very own body, from my very own womb.

“When I emerged I threw myself on the ground. I looked back and expected to see the serpent towering above me, but instead I saw gates of white marble glistening and alone in this wilderness. That revolting voice echoed away from me and disappeared completely. Water gushed forth from the gates and trickled away into the land. And what I saw terrified me. When I looked out across this land I saw the corpses of men sprouting forth from the ground. And each and every one of them had the face of that creature, that heap of flesh and bones. I wanted to destroy it, I wanted to rip the head off all of these creatures. And I wandered with a scythe in my hand, trying to approach these corpses, trying to lop off those hideous faces of distorted flesh, but I was always unable to, and always afraid. More than fear, it was a feeling of shame.

“The next thing I know, I was in a river and I saw your face and I saw your eyes and it was the most comforting thing I’ve ever seen.”

The cephalodrone still looked confused about what was happening. I was holding Ariadne tight and she liked the feeling of security this evoked. I was no longer an ogre in her eyes. We were now fellow travelers, we were companions. Perhaps we shared the same destiny. In fact, I was sure of it.

We segued down the path of the great river, hand in hand, side by side, the cephalodrone with us like a bizarre omen. Despite the travail of our journey we felt more and more uplifted by each other’s presence. I kept watch around us to see if there was anything that might give indication of a destination, or at least a variation to the monotony around us. Then something I hadn’t noticed before caught my attention. Although it was at first indistinguishable from the general landscape, I could soon make out that it was a massive red dome of rock that stretched over the horizon and began to stand out as some sort of edifice far away. We reached a high plateau and looked out at the dome in the distance. Bodies still sprouted out everywhere around us and below. Harvesters hoed and cut away, herds of adipods and flocks of cephalodrones roamed and flew in a landscape that resembled an infernal red savannah when viewed from the height of the plateau. The river of tears stretched out beneath us and flowed into a great chasm that opened at the base of the dome of rock, falling into the chasm and forming what must’ve been a gargantuan cataract.

Our destination was now clear. We were to descend under the red rock.


A Moment on Earth

The road twisted and wound along the path of their thoughts. Faces flashed by without gesture, without emotion. Faces felt the cold winter chill outside and those bitter faces sped past them with oblivion. Lights streaked before their eyes. The airport loomed ahead beyond their sight like an odious dome that would swallow them once they were there at the end of this tortuous final journey. Neither of them spoke, but the communication was faultless. Their mutual loneliness spoke in their stead and they both listened without hearing and felt without touching or understanding.

The bags were unloaded, the passports and the tickets and the money fingered through by many hands, some of them theirs, some of them others’, and it felt like a profanity against the sanctity of their last moments together. Their eyes never met during the whole ordeal. Their eyes shied from each other as if shying from their fate. There were other faces too, others leaving and coming, separating and uniting around them, and their coincidental company was like the company of demons to them in that nefarious juncture. They dreaded the thought that they were one of them, just another couple, just another parting, just another story. They passed into a lounge where they could look out and watch the airplanes landing and departing as they listlessly sipped drinks without taste and saw impressions without color.

He thought of the contours of her neck and she thought of the veins along the back of his hand.

When the time came to depart, they finally looked at each other for the first time that night. Their senses had never been so sharp, their minds had never been so focused, their emotions had never been so concentrated, their feelings had never been so honed, their eyes had never looked so clear as at that moment. They felt like they were the only people on earth, the way only young lovers can.

As he left, she uttered the only words that had ever meant anything to him.

“Think of us when you’re in the clouds.”


4. The Red Dome

…and find fear in a handful of dust…

We eventually arrived at the mouth of the red dome. A chasm stood before us. It was a deep black emptiness into which poured the torrent of the river of tears that led us here. We approached the edge and looked over into the ostensibly fathomless abyss below. The cataract made hardly any sound as the water just fell into space. There was no end to the fall. It was a massive volume of water pouring into pitch-black nothingness. There was no roar that could be expected from such a volume of water. Yet the silence only exacerbated the mighty appearance of the river flowing over the precipice.

We both backed away with trepidation, daunted by the spectacle. I assumed that the only way to enter was to jump. Ariadne must have been thinking the same thing. The cephalodrone had an anguished look as it buzzed over the edge and then back over where we were.

“You should be alright Argus, you have wings after all,” I said, against my better judgment.

“If you think a dead, lopped-off head with wings coming out its ears can be ‘alright’ then I guess it is…” Ariadne answered. She’d changed since her cathartic swim in the river. She was engaging and feisty, no longer passive and lost.

“Aha!” rejoined Argus. “That’s funny coming from a creature that doesn’t even have wings! You, my dear lady, have Wing Envy!”

I thought that quite amusing, but Ariadne wasn’t about to let the little wag have its way.

“That’s right Argus,” she said chuckling, “if only I could stick my beak into the face of a dead man I’d feel complete.”

“Maybe you would,” said Argus, pompously. “But you’d still need wings to make a deal of it.”

We laughed at this last comment, but grew more somber again as we thought of the task at hand. The idea of plunging headlong into the blackness was daunting to say the least. It was a veritable leap of faith.

“Do we jump?” she asked nervously.

“Looks like it,” I said. “What’s the worst that could happen? We’re dead and we’re already in hell.”

We looked at the river pouring over the cliffs, both of us hesitating to take action. But despite our procrastination, the waters were inviting us in. The ripples bubbled deliciously and the water didn’t just fall over into the abyss but overflowed lustily, outrageously, completely, as if certain of its destination and eager to reach it. We felt this as we looked into the waters and found ourselves drawn closer and closer to its shores until we stood inches away from the water’s edge, our feet licked by the lapping waves. The tears shed were drawing our eyes closer and filling our hearts with their own predestination. I took Ariadne by the hand and she squeezed mine in hers. I knew it was time to go back in to let ourselves be taken away by the current and be flung head-long into our destiny, or god-knows-where. Before we stepped in I drew her close. Despite our first timid steps into the river, the waters dragged us below its surface and took us toward the edge with chaotic force.

In the waters my mind was a whirl, confused yet ecstatic. Upon being submerged, the rapid current seemed to slow and I was amazed by the calm below the surface. Everything was as if in slow motion again. The water was at body temperature and it caressed my skin with affectionate warmth. I still held on to Ariadne’s hand and when I looked at her she too seemed wholly at ease. From the corner of my eyes I saw other shapes in the water, swimming by us. At first I couldn’t make them out into anything recognizable, but soon they became clearer to me. They had the bodies of sharks, little sharks, and their teeth were sharp. They had dorsal fins and vacuous, animal eyes, but there was one difference from animals on their faces: they displayed recognizable emotion, human emotions, and each of them unmistakably displayed a different emotion so obviously that it was almost done bombastically. One after the other they swam by, against the current, all of them. They swam closer and closer by us. One had the aspect of hate on its face and it snapped its jaws as it swam by. Another had the face of fear and this one actually bit me on the hand. I drew my hand into my body just as another of these creatures – these piscemots, I thought to call them – came straight for my face with the look of jealousy – or in any case, something between anger and paranoia. I avoided its jaws just in time, only to find the face of sorrow ready to swallow me whole. I gave this pathetic piscemot a push with my feet and then saw yet another one speeding toward me with a massive smile spreading across its face from gill to gill. When I facetiously smiled back at it, it went for my head and I had to duck to save my neck. I saw Ariadne – whose hand I still gripped tightly – fighting off the piscemots with equal fervor. Finally we came upon the point of descent. I saw more piscemots surging up and passing us by, snapping with their faces of guilt, of remorse, of arrogance, of pain, of cupidity and avarice, of stupidity and intelligence, of concupiscence and denial. And still the water flowed ever so slowly, ever so gradually on to the cataract, guiding us carefully yet willfully. The anticipation was inebriating. The adrenalin and the fear within us mixed into one savage concoction that was gaining upon our senses like a wayward army ready to conquer for conquest’s sake and destroy for destruction’s sake. With one last great flow of the teeming waters, we were finally thrust toward the open arms of the void that awaited us.

The fall had commenced. We let go of each other’s hands with the tumult of the fall. Piscemots flew by us snapping and biting at us, and sometimes avoiding us. We were still immersed in the water as we fell. The feeling of freefalling was exhilarating; there was nothing to latch on to, no feeling of security to hold on to. That most primordial of instincts to hold on to something, from when a newborn baby grasps its father’s thumb for the first time to when an old man reaches out for the hand of a loved one on his deathbed for the last time, this instinct was for me unquenchable, and although this made me anxious at first, I soon became accustomed to it. Indeed, it became a relieving lack. It was almost comforting. There was no sense of up or down after a while, either; no right or left, front or back, before or after, no sense of direction no sense of time or space or position. Our arms and legs flailing helplessly, our stomachs in our mouths, the feeling was one of total abandon and the anxiety I felt at first eventually receded. On the contrary (and unlike how I began this journey in hell) I felt somehow freed from the oppression of security, of having to know where, what, how, when. I felt free of the shackles of orientation and the oppression of the senses. And as we didn’t see the bottom that we were plunging headlong into, soon it didn’t even feel like I was falling. The warm waters caressing us, our bodies and our senses in a state of upheaval, I felt a delicious sense of release. The tyranny of mind over body was annulled. It was the most refreshing experience I’d ever felt. It was the overthrow of the oppression of Self over self. It was, in one word, autoanarchy, and it felt good.

The water gradually became sparser around us. Soon there were only faint residual drops that dissipated into space, and eventually not even that. It was pure blackness around us and it didn’t even feel like we were falling anymore. It was like a state of limbo. For all we knew we were still hurtling at hundreds of miles per hour, but it felt like we were perfectly motionless. I saw Ariadne suspended away from me, and she had an expression I’d never seen before with her. She looked absolutely ravenous, as if she wanted to eat the void that had engulfed her, to bite it and chew it and rip it apart before swallowing it and making it hers. A lifetime of compromises and commitments, of promises and hopes, of error and tribulation, listlessness and fatefulness, a lifetime of the shackles of these insipid conventions had finally consumed her and she wanted no more of them. She wanted the void inside her. She wanted the lightness of complete freedom, and having tasted it now for the first time, she was voraciously devouring it by simply affirming it and letting herself go with it.

The silence was broken by a shrieking noise above us that was distant at first but approached gradually, clumsily, until I could make out the shape of the cephalodrone, Argus. It seemed to be tired and grumpy and beads of sweat were streaming all over its face. It had obviously had a rough ride of it, flapping its way down with carefully controlled flight, rather than letting itself plunge headlong – the only way it could’ve plunged really, now that I think of it.

“You look a mess,” I said in my blissful state, slightly annoyed by this interruption, but also a little glad to see our companion having made it here.

“Ha!” it said, obviously peeved. “Do you know how exhausting it is to flap your wings and fly at the pace in which you two were going? It’s a nightmare. Your recklessness was unmatchable.”

“So the wings didn’t help after all, eh? Why did you keep flapping?”

It looked at me like I had asked a stupid question.

“Because I could!” it answered. “And so would you if you’d had wings too.”

“I guess you’re right. Good thing I didn’t.”

“Yes, you would have flapped. Instinct is unflappable, thus you would have flapped!”

“We are the slaves of our own properties,” I thought out loud.

“Do you not walk when there’s a road, just because you have legs? Stand on a road and you cannot help but start walking and keep walking once you do. Why do you not cease? Why do you not stop? Why do you think a road leads anywhere? Why do you think you must proceed, move forward? Perhaps a road leads nowhere and you are best off not walking, not following your instinct to walk, to proceed, to arrive. But you are at the mercy of your legs, and thus you wander on, lost and confused, led astray by your own body. Why do you not stand where you are? Because it is nowhere? But the road also leads to nowhere and comes from nowhere and every place along the path is nowhere. So you are just as well off standing where you are. And yet you walk. You have legs and you walk, always thinking you’ll arrive somewhere. He who has legs always believes in somewhere.”

“ … ”

“Look at this lifeless face of mine. I too once walked like an automaton. I now flap and fly like an automaton, and I remain self-subjugated. And that is hell: the state of never being able to overcome oneself.”

As Argus spoke these words, I felt ground softly touch my back. I rested gently into a small puddle on a soft gravelly surface, as if I were being placed there. I took a fistful of dirt and let its cold comfort ooze through my fingers and drop back into the puddle beneath me. A light sprinkle of drops tickled my face as they fell from the darkness overhead. I saw Ariadne come to rest nearby. We were still in the shock of becoming reoriented, of finding once again our senses, our sense of direction, gravity, body, weight, and it felt like a burden upon us once more. I looked up at the cephalodrone. I looked around me for some sort of destination. I got up on my feet and stood there.

And sure enough, I started walking.


A Moment on Earth

Dearest,

The rain hasn’t ceased in over a week now. The skies are invariably bleak and unforgiving. Last night I was awoken by the thunder. I felt afraid, unable to sleep for hours until it was morning and I had to go to work. You were the first thought that entered my mind when I awoke, just as you were the last thought that accompanied me to bed when I went to sleep. I have your picture by my bedside to remind me of you – of us. Do you remember the one when we filled our mouths full of green plums and we posed as we tried to kiss with our mouths stuffed full?! I always smile when I see that photo. I think you have it too, but if you don’t I’ll send it to you.

I know it’s been months now, but I still feel so down. Maybe it’s the weather – the endless winter drudgery that is too stubborn to give way to spring. Perhaps I’m just tired of this job. But I know more than anything that it’s the uncertainty of us that makes me feel sad. You won’t even tell me when (or even if) you’ll come back to me, and this is never out of my mind. In your letter you said there was so much going on that you couldn’t find time to even think, let alone think about us. But do you really have to think? And does it have to be so hard for us? Darling, there are some things that are known and that do not have to be thought out anymore. We know that we love each other, what else is there to think? Doesn’t this “thinking” imply that there is a choice to be made? And do you think that you and I have a choice to make regarding our love? I don’t believe we do. It either is or it isn’t, and for us it is. Therefore we have no choices to ponder, we merely have each other to affirm. God, I don’t want to sound melodramatic, and I don’t want to cause you anxiety, but I can’t help but feel worried about us, about you, about me. I’m sorry baby, I’ll change the subject…

Your trip sounded amazing to me. I so wish I could be with you. All the places I’ve dreamt about I read in your letter and your postcards! One day I’ll go on an adventure like that too – we’ll go together. You probably wouldn’t know what I’m talking about considering where and how you are, and all the things you’ve been doing. But living here you always feel too close to an end – a dead, mysterious, frightening, dull end. You see it around you, in the faces of the people on the streets, in the bus, in the office, on the screen, and sometimes even in the mirror. You see this faceless, nameless, incongruous End all around you. And it’s not even really death that you see. It’s something far more frightening, something like… what’s the word? Like waste. And you always feel so near it, afraid almost that you’d catch it if you’re not careful, as if it were some kind of disease. Isn’t it strange, baby? I sometimes feel so glad you’re not here to see it, to feel it. I’ll deal with it for you. I’ll hold this evil at bay for you so you never have to see it. I’ll do this for you. You know I’d do anything for you, and I’ll do this for you. I really am so happy for you.

There I go again, I must be depressing you horribly! But let me tell you about something interesting that happened to me the other day. I was going down the avenue behind our old school (remember the one?) and I came across a little boy. The boy was on the side of the pavement looking nervous and hesitant. He caught my eye because he was looking at me. He was a beautiful little boy with big brown eyes and a dark face with black hair. I looked at him too as I walked by and he came over to me and asked me if I had some money to spare. At first I thought he was a beggar, but he didn’t look dirty or particularly poor, just somewhat weathered, as if he spent a lot of time on the streets. I asked him why he needed money and he told me it was for a bus fare to get home. So I didn’t hesitate in giving him enough money for a few bus fares and went on my way. He thanked me and ran away ahead of me. When I was at the bus stop I looked around me and – after waiting there for five or ten minutes – I saw the same boy sharing a bar of chocolate wafers with a little boy even younger than him. I felt annoyed that the boy had taken advantage of me so I went up to him. He saw me from a few meters away and just kept on eating with his little companion, taking no notice of me. I said, “I thought you needed money for a bus fare. Why did you lie to me? I would’ve given you money for chocolate.” And do you know what he said? He said “It’s my little brother’s birthday and I wanted to give him something nice.” I swear I almost cried. I asked him why he didn’t just say so, and he told me that nobody would believe him if he said he needed money for somebody else, let alone to buy chocolate with. I haven’t been able to get the little boy out of my mind since then.

As you can see, the economy gets worse and worse, but I look at this boy and I see that we’re losing something more precious: our humanness. When a boy has to lie to be able to do a good deed, what does that say for the rest of us? I swear, we are all dying, but there are so many walking among us who are already dead…


5. Into the Heart

In my heart there resides a universe,
Of shapes and forms,
Of clay figures molded by blind hands,
And of words and thoughts
Never even conceived by the mind,
Nor ever tainted by sight

But the heart is a deceiver
Before you can see it,
It always sees you

We walked on in the darkness, the gravel slushy beneath our feet, the air growing more and more humid around us. None of us spoke. We all anticipated something ominous and extraordinary ahead. I noticed a weak, rhythmic thudding sound all around us that grew louder and louder as we moved on toward it. It was a double palpitation that occurred after brief, equidistant intervals, like a heartbeat. The palpitations eventually grew so loud that we felt the ground beneath us rattle with the sound. Then we walked straight into a viscous, wet, fleshy wall that remained invisible to us in the dark. We fell back with astonishment as the wall shuddered violently and threw us off our feet.

Before we could regain our composure there appeared a thin luminous crack in the wall. The light poured over us and illuminated the space around us. Still lying on our backs, resting on our elbows, we looked around us and found that we were inside a wide tunnel with a dark red gravelly surface, and that we had indeed come upon a gigantic heart. The opening expanded further as the heart continued its palpitations. The light was so bright that we could not see inside and we shaded our eyes. Argus was in a frenzy of fear and couldn’t stop flitting around frantically over our heads. Ariadne, like me, lay there with mouth agape, immersed in this overwhelming moment. Finally the opening ceased to widen. The intense white light from inside flooded the entire tunnel where we lay as we waited for something else to happen.

The outline of a human figure appeared before us before we could get up on our feet and approach the entrance. This figure came to the threshold slowly from inside the great heart and toward our bedazzled selves still lying in the ground. Soon the figure was close enough for us to make out its features. It had a human form, certainly, but it was most certainly not human. Its face was blank; it had neither eyes, nor mouth, nor ears or nose or hair. It was simply a mass of skin and bone and muscle, without expression, without emotion, without so much as an identity. Yet this golem was most certainly aware of our presence. Ariadne looked astonished. Argus was as frantic as ever. Then the creature bade us enter with a gesture of the hand and made way for us to pass through the threshold of this great heart. It took us a while to recollect our senses and force ourselves back up on our feet. Ariadne came close to me, so close I could feel her skin against me. She took my hand in hers and she never took her eyes off the creature before her. We gained courage from each other’s proximity and hesitantly stepped forth and entered the heart.

Once inside, it took a while before our eyes were accustomed to the light. The air was cooler and cleaner now, and also less humid. At first all I saw was a white haze, but soon I gained perception of depth, distance and form. Before long, I saw a resplendent hall with walls and floors of marble lined with great pillars that stretched so far overhead that I could not make out the ceiling. The pillars stretched out until they could not be seen anymore, fading into an endless expanse above. The great hall also stretched ahead of us with no end in sight. There was a straight red carpet before us that was lined with those massive pillars on either side, before which were lined in perfect order, and equidistantly, the same inhuman, faceless golems as the one that had greeted us at the threshold. The hall stretched out ahead until carpet and pillars were a mere blurry speck in the far distance. The golems were lined up and their faces were directed at us, as if they could see us despite the fact that they had no eyes. We followed our host down some stairs, and along the red carpet we made our way into the inner confines of the Heart. The great thunderous palpitations that we had heard outside had died down, though when I listened carefully I could hear a faint muffled echo of it, as if it was occurring only outside the Heart and far away from us now.

As we walked on behind this creature, I looked around me in wonderment. I noticed magnificent works of art hung on the walls, splendorous paintings depicting mostly scenes of struggle in a romantic style. The figures were fleshy, muscular, virile, voluptuous. One depicted a battle of cherub-faced angels with vicious demons clashing among the clouds. Another was the figure of a warrior genuflecting before an oak tree, as if saying his last prayers before battle. Another was the image of an army drowning in a sea that was swallowing it from all sides. The expressions on the faces of the commanders and the soldiers were not that of fear or dismay, but of defiance. Their swords were raised against walls of water in a scene of abject futility, their eyes were sharp, their gazes were unwavering. They wore steel armor as if it could possibly offer them protection. There were also statues, great marble statues depicting the weight of the world on the shoulders of mere men. One was that of men twisted around and intertwined with each other’s bodies like snakes or vines, holding up a sphere with their branch-like arms. Another was the figure of a cripple stranded on the top of a small pillar, looking down below with fear and longing. Another was just a face, with eyes and ears, nose and mouth – a lone, anonymous human face devoid of the rest of his or her head.

We went up some stairs and continued on our way. The sculptures and the paintings on either side of us now gave way to little marble platforms – like small performing stages – where pairs of these faceless creatures performed bizarre theatrical scenes. On one of the stages, a pair of these creatures acted like they were conducting a conversation, shaking their heads and moving their hands, even though there were obviously no words uttered. On another stage two of these creatures were imitating the act of crying on each other’s shoulders, both of them completely silent. On another, the creatures were going through the motions of a fight; on another they were having sexual intercourse even though they had no sexual organs; on yet another they looked away from each other in opposite directions, as if unaware of each other’s existence. On other small stages could be seen anger, hate, love, pity, jealousy, pride, courage, fear, remorse, cowardice and lust, all acted out by the creatures as if they were practicing how to feel or act in real life. One particularly caught my eye: there were two creatures simply facing each other, without the ability of speech or sight or any form of communication, without any movement whatsoever. It could have been an image of loneliness or alienation, a representation of the hermeneutic distance that can never be breached between two estranged beings (Or perhaps, I thought amusingly to myself, it was just a face-off). And so on every little stage, senseless, blind, deaf and mute creatures brought scene after scene before our eyes and every human condition imaginable was depicted with ridiculous pathos and inane mimicry.

I felt a mischievous streak in me as I watched these ridiculous creatures acting out their absurd representations. It was a feeling awoken by both a sense of disgust and pathos which their pathetic charades instilled in me. As we passed by yet another little stage, I ran off the red carpet, between two of the golems who fell to either side with terror, and jumped on the stage where a pair of these creatures were acting out something that resembled lassitude, whatever that was. They just seemed to be lounging around insouciantly. But as soon as I jumped on the stage, they literally shot up to their feet, all startled and shivering. The one I grab was actually shaking with fear. There was a commotion throughout the hall. None of these creatures ever expected anything out of the ordinary, and this unforeseen behavior on my part seemed to shake the very foundations of their universe. Ariadne was laughing at me up there as I struck a hammed up heroic pose. Argus, on the other hand, was just as baffled as all the golems, not knowing what to make of the situation.

From atop the stage I looked down upon the chaos and flurry I had caused in the great, sterile hall. I held my hand out to Ariadne, who was still laughing at me from the red carpet…

“May I have this act, Milady!” I said, with a pretentiously protagonistic air.

Ariadne ran up to me excitedly, took my hand, and jumped on stage. The two pseudandrons were in a corner of the little stage cowering in each other’s arms. As soon as I had Ariadne up there I twirled her around a few times and then dipped her in my arms and gave her a kiss that was meant to be a parody of soppy romantic love scenes. She played up to it as she closed her eyes and then, after the kiss, lay the back of her hand on her forehead and pretended to faint in my arms. I brought her back up and she pretended to wake again, and put her arms around my neck. I indicated the two golems on the edge of the stage with a quick glance of my eye, and we turned to them, each grabbing one and bringing them to the center of the stage. We began to waltz with our respective partners. Hundreds of creatures of the hall were now gathered all around the stage observing our dance with their blank faces with absolute amazement. Ariadne and I stepped up the pace of the dance and began twirling our partners. They were absolutely uncoordinated and kept tripping, slipping and stepping all over our feet, which made us laugh even more.

“Shall we swap, Milady?” I asked, to which Ariadne answered with pouted lips and pompous accent, “We shall, Milord!”

I threw her my golem and she threw me hers, who stumbled and nearly flew straight off the stage before I caught it and brought it in close to me to continue our ridiculous waltz. Then we swapped again, this time Ariadne and I dancing and swirling away, and the two golems dancing together, like a pair of imbeciles. We were dizzy with laughter. The golems held each other like they were clutching at buoys in the open sea. Ariadne and I were so amused we fell over laughing and began rolling around on the stage. Our laughter was the only sound that went up in the entire, infinite hall, echoing out in the hollow depths for miles upwards and outwards.

I couldn’t remember having laughed this much, even in my living days. It was the laughter of those who had broken a mold and shattered the veneer of stuffy normalcy. These ridiculous golems reminded me of those faceless masses of pretentious bourgeois cattle on earth, the kind that were afraid to do something for fear of standing out, or to speak the truth for fear of showing – and confronting – any weaknesses in their person, in their moral character, their social standing, or their families’ success, competing as they were with their neighbors and “friends” for achievements and status all their lives. Those trite lives wasted on idle gossip and stupid comparisons, whose children in turn were sucked into the whole charade of their mediocre, half-lived lives… those lives were represented here by these charlatan, pseudo-humans, and to jump in amongst them and turn their world upside down was a joy for us.

Our laughter eventually died down and our original guide (I think, for they all looked the same) awaited us on the red carpet once more to lead us on through the interminable hall. Ariadne and I got up and shook hands with the two baffled golems whom we had shared our stage with – or rather, whose stage we’d invaded and occupied. They were still in a stupid daze as we flapped their arms with our handshakes, bowed to them, and then jumped off and followed our guide down the red carpet once more, as if nothing had happened. We looked at each other and smiled, and then started laughing again.

“I think the stage was a little small for us, don’t you?” I said to her as she nodded in agreement.

“Yes, Milord,” she said jokingly, “Next time let’s arrange for a bigger one, gold-gilded, with a big red curtain and an audience of hundreds!”

“Make that thousands, Milady, we’ll have a lot of ego to fit on that stage!”


A Moment on Earth

A cold and hollow boarding room with a bed, a table, a sink, a chair, and a single, lonesome window looking out onto a dreary city. That was all that greeted me when I arrived in this country, to study and write, to work and make something of myself. On Sundays, and in the evenings, the city was like a ghost town. I would go for walks past endless rows of identical red brick houses, gazing at the lights that shone from behind drawn curtains, imagining contented families sitting around lush fireplaces and living cozy little lives. Sometimes, as I passed by, I would see the inside of a living room with undrawn curtains and there would be an old couple, or a family, and sometimes a library overflowing with books, brimming with stories, heroes and adventures just sitting on those shelves, as if entire worlds were waiting to be discovered. It would give me a sense of comfort to see into these houses and these lives that would always remain inaccessible behind brick walls and chiffon curtains. When I returned to my little boarding room I would always feel a sense of melancholy, but I would soon overcome it by sinking myself into my books once more.

I should write to her, I know. She has already sent me so many letters, and every time I received one it was like all the weight of this separation, alienation and foreignness that consumed me was lifted, and I felt I belonged somewhere again. But I haven’t been able to write her, not in months. Things have been going much better of late. I have so much to tell her really; the studies, my published pieces, my circle of friends, our debates and our parties. I have found things going my way. I have found it vibrant and challenging here, even though it has taken a long time to adjust. But still (and especially when I pass those houses on Sunday’s) the sense of loneliness and despair never leaves me. And when she writes me she writes of the same things, there in our home town. Her daily drudgery at work, the suffocating people and the cruel city around her… It seems so long ago that we were still just students without any of these cares or worries that seem to me so pointless, such a waste. I know I have it better here, and for that I am glad. But for her, I feel depressed. I can’t write to her because every time I sit down and think of her I see her life and our city come before my eyes, and it’s everything I am trying not to face here, around me, everything I myself am trying to escape, to alleviate with work, with my writing, with drink, and drugs, and by turning my face away. And I have my escape… but she doesn’t. This weighs on me like a monster. So I look away and I turn my gaze, and I try to hold back the tides of nausea and depression one more day.

Maybe I should write her to just let her know that I think of her, that I miss her, and us, and that I still love her. The pink hue of her cheeks when she blushes, the little sideway glance she gives me when she’s frustrated with me, the way she walks and the way she holds my hand, the way she’s proud of me when we’re among friends, the way she would hang out with me and stand up for me… She’s the first and only girl I have ever been smitten with, and for me there is no other equal to her, even though there are others – but none like her. When I have a good time, when I forget about myself and the world and lose myself in a moment, it’s then that I think of her, because I want her to be there with me, to share it with me, as if she were my comrade. That’s why I know I love her. And that’s also why I know I cannot write her. Because, ultimately, I feel I have abandoned her. Every time I enjoy myself I feel I am doing so at her expense, as if I had betrayed her and left her to her own fate. And so I have shunned her from shame… her, who deserves everything I do not, who struggles every day just to keep her sanity and keep going one day at a time. Sometimes I even pity her, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Nothing is as revolting a feeling as pitying a loved one.

To think I write all this to myself when I am alone and yet I do not have the decency to write her even one line after all this time. Like an ogre, I am afraid my monstrous hands will crush everything it touches, everything that is beautiful and delicate and true. And so the days pass, one after the other, and my lair becomes colder and colder, just as the days seem longer and longer…


6. A Bigger Stage

In every heart there is a theater
In which our fate is forever played,
In every heart there is a theater
Where the actor and the acted
Are one and the same,
In every heart there is a theater
Where the hero and the villain
Both carry your name

The great hall stretched on, but soon the red carpet led our little party to the greatest stage of all, as if we had conjured it up with our own words that were spoken in jest. Even though the hall seemed endless, we eventually found that we were walking on wooden floorboards, as if it were a stage, and ultimately – much to our amazement – we found ourselves in front of (or perhaps behind?) an enormous red curtain, as if we were in a theater! The lush red curtain flowed down from the invisible ceiling above to the wooden floorboards of the stage below. It was a beautiful red and gold baroque proscenium that stretched up with the red main curtain until it could not be seen anymore, lost in the seemingly infinite space over our heads. Our faceless host came to a halt before this red curtain and we stood behind him. I looked behind me and around me and noticed that all the creatures who had been lined along either side of the red carpet were now standing in a big crowded mass behind us, and with equal anticipation as us. Then I looked before me, at my feet, and was astonished to find the pit where sat silent and wholly inconspicuous a whole little orchestra of these creatures each with their respective instruments and with a conductor standing before them, ready to play. The silence had been so complete since we entered the great Heart that I couldn’t imagine anything rupturing it. Despite the little acts, the art, the sculptures, and the countless host of these creatures around us, one could’ve literally heard a pin drop.

We waited for a while but my curiosity got the better of me and I asked aloud:

“Will they play?”

My voice boomed loudly all around us and echoed forever on in the endless expanse above us. It was so loud that the three of us – Ariadne, Argus and I – had to close our ears. The creatures paid no heed. Then Argus spoke:

“The pseudandrons?”

Its voice came up so loud that again the three of us shrank away and covered our ears. I decided that it was best not to speak. So these creatures were pseudandrons? For some strange reason I actually thought that made sense, as if I knew they were called that even though I’d never heard that name or word before. And so the fact that it made sense seemed ridiculous for the same strange reason. Ariadne looked at us chidingly, obviously trying to dissuade us from carrying on any kind of conversation. Then we both waited, anxious to see what was about to unfold.

Then with bizarre alacrity, the orchestra chef began conducting and the whole orchestra began playing their instruments. The only problem was that absolutely no music came out. Not a sound was heard. Yet these pseudandrons continued mimicking the role of musicians with ridiculous gusto. Then the main curtain was slowly raised, and as it did, there was exposed an empty acting area behind which draped down another red main curtain. Our host bade us continue from the apron and on to the stage, but did not accompany us as we did. We turned around and saw the great hall that we’d come through stretch out as far as the eyes could see. The other pseudandrons all looked at us silently as the first red curtain behind us fell slowly back down and finally cut them off completely from our sight. We were alone behind both main curtains. We made our way toward the red curtains on the other end of the stage. I thought I heard a noise from behind the curtain.

Before I could part the curtain with my hand to see what lay behind them, I saw the curtain begin to rise of its own accord. And when it did, we all fell back as a spotlight shone on us and a massive great roar rose up and we were greeted by an audience that had in their thousands filled the most beautiful (in the same baroque style) auditorium we’d ever seen. The audience rose ecstatically and clapped fanatically as we stood there absolutely dumbstruck on center stage.

Were we to be protagonists in our own play? The audience was still on their feet, clapping wildly, whistling and screaming. Ariadne and I looked at each other not having the faintest idea what we should do. Argus however was a different matter. He had never been so happy as at that moment. He had a smile on his face and he flew around and around the stage with an abundance of flattered excitement. I noticed the audience was composed of what seemed like human beings – with facial features and all. As we were looking out at them, the audience suddenly let out an uproar that exceeded even their previous display of raucousness. Then I heard a familiar stentorian voice boom out behind us, delivered as only an experienced thespian could.

“Ah, my guests! Welcome! I trust you have had a nice journey?”

We turned around and there stood in front of us, our true host… of the peacock eyes. He stood in the middle aisle of the auditorium elegantly dressed in a pin-striped suit and a red collared shirt with the top button undone. Before we could answer him or say a word, we were whisked away backstage by two Pseudandrons who took the liberty of dressing us in costumes reminiscent of ancient Greece, or of Crete, to be more exact. Ariadne was dressed as a beautiful princess in flowing white robes, and I had the appearance of a warrior, with a himation thrown over my tunic. Lucifer came backstage, flushing with excitement.

“The Stage! Isn’t it all so grand? I feel in my natural element here. The lights, the glamour, the applause! Don’t you just love it? Don’t you just love being idolized and worshipped?”

“However did you guess?” I answered sarcastically. “Have you built this all up for us? You shouldn’t have gone to all that trouble.”

“Oh, I went to no trouble at all. This is as much a happy discovery for me as it is for you.”

“I find that hard to believe,” said Ariadne.

“And who knows,” continued the Devil, as if he hadn’t heard her, “maybe we’ll discover a whole lot more on the stage?”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “This looks like one of your malicious tricks…” I said probingly.

“Oh please, don’t act all righteous with me. We are all capable of evil, as you well know…” The Devil said this as he looked straight into my eyes. “In fact sometimes we must be malicious, oppressive, tyrannical to get our way, sometimes it is the only way…”

“I would expect to hear those words from the Devil,” I said. The audience could be heard still clapping in ecstatic anticipation of a show.

“Funny,” he answered, “I would expect to hear the same words from you!”

“What do you mean?”

“Tell me, infernaut… do you really think there is any difference between you and I? Do we not inhabit the same realm? Or do I inhabit yours? Or… do you inhabit mine? Are we not perhaps two aspects of the same nature, the same being, the same race?”

“I am no devil, if that is what you mean. I am not of your race.”

“Maybe you do not realize that in fact you are; that in fact we are one and the same; that in fact the heart of every man is as much evil as it is good; that when true interests are at stake, morality has but the weight of air and the resolve of clay; that when put to the test, we are ready to forsake all for the sake of all that is precious to us? Believe me, infernaut, sometimes to deny the savage in us is to deny ourselves our destiny… ”

“Your trickery will not work, Satan. I know I have made mistakes, and I know the shadows of my soul, and I am confronting myself in those shadows every second of this infernal journey. But I also know this: I am no devil. I will never stoop to commit tyranny, atrocity or oppression by the sheer weight of coercive force, by sheer use of power as would an evil tyrant like…” I hesitated to finish the sentence out of a ridiculously paradoxical desire not to be impolite!

“…Like what? Like… me? Like the Devil?”

“Well… yes, if you’ll excuse the expression. But please don’t take it personally.” I knew that sounded absurd as soon as I’d uttered it.

“Oh don’t worry about that… but enough talk! It’s time for the play!”

“Are you serious?” asked Ariadne.

“But of course, chop chop!”

“But…what about our lines?” I said haltingly.

“Ah, don’t you worry my friend, you already know them by Heart. Now let us begin. Break a leg!”

And with that, he pushed Ariadne on stage. Another great roar rose up from the audience. The lights lit up the stage. “ACTION!” cried the Great Deceiver.


A Moment on Earth

Dearest,

It’s been such a long time since you wrote me. My last two letters remain unanswered, and it’s been months since I have had any word from you. Why are you dismissing me like this? Whereas the distance was my most bitter enemy until now, I have now encountered a greater one: Time. I know we are running out of it, and sometimes I fear we already have.

Sweetheart, I was always so concerned that I might scare you away, that I might repulse you and so lose you. Perhaps I wasn’t honest with you, and I know I wasn’t honest with myself. Every doubt in my mind, every fear in my heart, every bit of the love I felt (and still feel) for you in my soul was diluted, hidden, economized, undemonstrated all so that I would not hurt you and frighten you and so lose you. But the time for caution is long past, I fear. We are near the end and everything that terrified me seems so real now. I have had dreams – nightmares – of this moment, and now I am helplessly facing it with all its cruel uncertainty and oppression. I keep thinking that maybe it’s a dream, that the moment of dread seems so real in a dream, just as now, and that this too may well be a dream and that when I awake I will have word from you and you will tell me once again how you love me and perhaps even tell me that you are coming back to me, and that you have reserved your flight for the date of so-and-so! I would wake from the nightmare and such news would alleviate my soul. I would feel like one of these autumn leaves that scatter about outside my window, once wrenched from their branches and blown helplessly with the wisps of the wind, finally settling to the ground among thousands of others of its own withered and sorrowful kind, relieved that despite the loss of what was, I could have my own place, however small, however insignificant… I could have my own little space from which to look up to the blue skies and dream of what is to come.

But here I am and I do not wake up from this dreadful limbo. How do I know? Because time makes no sense in a dream, there is no concept of time in a dream, and yet I live day after day conscious of all the time I do not have anymore, of all the time I have lost, and of all the time that has forsaken me. I know I am not dreaming. And it scares me. I’m so very, very scared. And this fear is starting to seep into my soul. This fear is starting to change me, and for much the worse. I feel I am becoming like those people that are my neighbors and fellow citizens and this human cattle all around me, those people that take comfort in the misery of others so as to alleviate their own sense of worthlessness and waste. I fear I shall start finding solace in other lives not lived, in other chances not taken, in other loves unfulfilled, and in other souls that have dried out and fled back into the murky depths of other guilt-ridden consciences. Please, my love, let’s not end up like those people. I at least owe it to myself not to let myself fade away like a living ghost, like just another citizen (how I hate that word). I owe this to myself, and so I must let you go, even though I know you have already left – and I mean you have already left in more than body. I must let you go the way you have let me go, no matter how cruel, no matter how sad, no matter how callous, no matter how… unilateral. It’s time to pick up what’s left of me and salvage what’s left of my spirit. We are still young baby, let’s never lose that. Let’s never let ourselves die. And who knows, maybe we’ll be the first ones to accomplish it?


6. The Labyrinth of Knotharsis

A Tragicomic Thanatomythology in Four Acts

Dramatis Personae:

Theseus – Son of King Aegeus of Athens, and former lover of Ariadne, returned from his adventures.
Ariadne – Daughter of King Minos; abandoned by Theseus in Naxos, suited by Dionysus.
Minos – King of Crete, Father of Ariadne.
Dionysus – God of wine, fertility and wild revelry; son of Zeus and Persephone, suitor to Ariadne.
Argus as Tisiphone, the Fury – One of the Furies (Erinyes) that seek vengeance for wrongs committed against blood relatives. Tisiphone is the avenger of murder.
Maenads – Frenzied female worshippers and followers of Dionysus.
Satyrs – Creatures of the wild; part human, with goat’s horns and legs, and horse’s tail and ears.
Nymphs – Female nature spirits; young, amorous and beautiful.
Palace Guards
Chambermaids
Pseudandron 1
Pseudandron 2

ACT I

Scene 1: The backdrop is the Palace of Knossos on Crete. Princess Ariadne and her father (her real father), King Minos, are seated in the king’s private chambers. Ariadne is stunned to see that King Minos is her real father. They are completely alone, the palace servants having just been dismissed for the sake of privacy. Ariadne is reclining on a sofa, still incredulous at what is going on. Her father is standing before one of two windows lined with rhododendrons. His back is turned to Ariadne, and he is looking out to the tempestuous and wine-colored sea. On the floor of the chamber is an ornate blue and white mosaic depicting two dolphins swimming among the waves, framed in by red geometric shapes, including that of the labyrinth.

Minos:

[Lets out a sigh, speaks while looking out to sea]

How my heart aches, how my head thunders,
To see you here, only two months spent,
My daughter, once taken from my bosom,
And returned by the same ill fate,
Abandoned by the same dark destiny
That has shaken my home, my realm, my kingdom,
My Crete.

When Theseus arrived, he came as a sacrifice,
Yet he showed the virtue that would prove his salvation,
And he slew the Minotaur that would have otherwise
Sealed my noble nephew’s damnation…
For this son of Poseidon, he was more than a match,
For that labyrinth-bound abomination.

But now we weep for the vice that was his creation,
When he took from this fair isle the fruit of my loins,
The pride of all my royal ambition,
My one and only Ariadne,
My princess…
And now my ill-fortuned perdition.

[He turns from the window and speaks to Ariadne]

And yet you lie, here by my side,
Carrying the child,
Of his vile depredation,
And you too sigh,
With those hollow eyes,
Every moment you recall,
By your hero’s side,
Still longing to be his prey,
Still fighting your way,
To be the first in a heart
That is rather,
A cold and stony prison,
Built only to house the sorrows,
Aroused by his lustful imprecation.

[Minos turns his back to Ariadne once more, fixing his melancholy gaze on the dark sea]

Ariadne:

[With a visage of fatigue, Ariadne remains reclined on her sofa, her eyelids heavy, staring at the mosaic floor as she speaks, never taking her eyes off the image of the two blue dolphins suspended in stone.]

My dear, poor father, my long-suffering liege, my King of Crete,
You who I had once thought lost to me and who I have once again found,
You who suffer with me in this same ill-starred labyrinth that has defined,
Our ignoble fate,
You know as well as I the tribulations of the heart and the trials of the soul,
You see as well as I, that which can take so dearly,
Yet never repay in kind.

You know, my dear father, what it is,
To give all you have, until all you have is gone,
And be left with the ashes,
Of a fire long extinguished
By a spendthrift heart
That can no longer go on.

For the heart is a deceiver, and I do admit,
That I am still deceived,
Against my good Reason,
And against my sound Beliefs,
Those two bold words,
That I have dug from those same ashes,
And buried in my mind like infertile seeds.

But deception is no sin, so do not make me out to be your sinner,
I follow the winding labyrinth of my heart,
The way a hound follows the scent of its bloody dinner,
And I follow my instincts, though they allow me no mercy,
I follow their everlasting flicker,
Knowing that once that flame is gone,
Then hope is gone too,
And my soul will shine no longer,
Surrendering to Hades its final sparkling glimmer.

Minos:

[Minos turns from the window with an angry expression that does nothing to hide the sorrow in his teary eyes. He faces Ariadne, even though Ariadne still stares wistfully at the blue dolphin mosaics suspended in stone before her.]

If your heart is heavy, my dear young lady,
You have only yourself to blame,
For you refuse to see that there can possibly be another way,
You maintain a flame for the paramour Theseus,
Above that which is deserving of his name,
You breed a hopeless yearning,
For a man of infamy and cowardice, not fame.

When you were forsaken, gravid with his seed,
On the isle of Naxos, having been spent,
By his dastardly deed,
Who was it that protected you,
Cared for you, embraced you?
Who was the god who proved he could also be a man,
And not a flaneur, nor a rambling lam?
Who was it that sped you back to our Crete,
And offered to take in marriage your hand?
Who was it that accepted a runaway lover,
Even though still carrying the seed of another,
A lover that banished herself from her own land?

Ariadne:

[She raises her gaze now toward her father, her eyes are open, her expression is plucky.]

Dare you now speak ill of the man whom you considered once to be your son?
Dare you now compare his deeds to the vapid insipidities of a man on the run?
I know you say what you say for fear of any harm to me that’s done,
I know you say what you say because you do not want to see me hurt by anyone.

But I cannot remain faithful to such a pact as this,
Such a pact as betrays love for comfort,
Such a pact as betrays passion for security,
Such a pact as betrays a glimpse of heaven for a handful of dust,
Such a pact as this, father,
That would let life fade shamefully rather than die nobly,
And allow the joy of living to be lost.

No, father, compromise I can not, not on my life,
Though I feel day to day that I whither with my pride…

[She holds back her tears and struggles for a moment, before going on]

But no, father, compromise I will not,
Not until the last sparkle has gone from my eye,
And every path of my destiny has been sought.

Minos:

[Furious, shouting]

To Hades with your pride, Ariadne!
To Hades with you my dear,
May the Devil take your eyes,
As the price for the ignominy,
You have recklessly brought with you here!

[Enter Dionysus – played by the Devil. Seeing him enter, King Minos and Ariadne cease their heated argument, each turning their crimson-hued faces away; the former to greet his guest, the latter to return her gaze to the mosaic beneath her lily-white feet.]

Dionysus:

[Dashingly handsome, he is dressed like a true Minoan nobleman, though he is not Minoan. He has a wide, charming smile on his face. The servant – a pseudandron – chases behind him as he barges into the King’s private quarters unannounced. He is wielding his thyrsus, as always, in his left hand.]

Ah! Your highness, please excuse my intrusion, but I really am in a bit of a rush.
Plans and schedules will wait for no man, regardless of rank and oblivious to even a lover’s blush!

[With those last words Dionysus looks toward Ariadne who also looks up at him upon hearing them, defiantly meeting in midair the implied significance of his gaze.]

Ariadne:

[Rises to her feet, ready to leave the room.]

I fear, my lord, that you mistake a look of anguish for what flatters most your fancy.

Dionysus:

And I dare say, my lady, that my fancy could hardly be more worthy of the flattery such a mistake would warrant.

[Ariadne exits the room, ignoring his last comment. Dionysus bows to her as she leaves.]

Minos:

[Moves forward to greet Dionysus with open arms]

Come, come, my dear half-brother,
Let us drink to our father, Zeus!
Please excuse my little daughter,
She remains forlorn and obtuse.

So come let us drink, for I am weary and spent,
Let us now talk of the morrow’s event!

[Minos and Dionysus raise their glasses and each take a large gulp of their barley wine.]

Dionysus:

[Merrily]

Ah yes, the feast of the harvest, it shall indeed be a marvel,
I shall match with overabundance and fertility,
The overabundant generosity of your highness,
Royalty and divinity will partake of the same wine,
Love and loyalty will cleanse all the vicissitudes of time,
And there upon the altar of sacrifice,
Amidst a hecatomb of cattle and swine,
I shall finally claim what is mine,
Your daughter, my niece,
Sweet Ariadne, princess semi-divine,
So let us raise another cup,
Of our fine barley wine,
And let us drink to the future,
Of our Olympian family sublime!

[Curtain comes down as Minos and Dionysus happily gulp down their barley wine.]

Scene 2: The noble families of Crete are gathered at the great banquet hall of the Palace of Knossos. Upon the altar of sacrifice are strewn the slaughtered carcasses of one hundred cattle and boar, slain as tribute to the god Dionysus, and to his – and Minos’ – divine father, Zeus. The rites of fertility having been executed, the feast is gay and frivolous. Ariadne appears to be the only one who is neither. She is seated on the right side of her father, King Minos, while Dionysus sits on his left. Satyrs and nymphs – followers of Dionysus – have also joined the feast, as well as the Maenads who are especially raucous. After some time, Dionysus stands and demands silence. He is going to speak.

Dionysus:

The awaited hour has come, my sweet brethren,
A new star is upon us, shining its guiding light,
A new path is forged from the wilds and the woods,
And the isles and sanctuaries of earthly delight.

We are no longer bound by the customs of men,
Nor eager to give heed to their superstitious plight,
We are no longer left at the mercy of Titans,
That pillage and plunder our sacred right.

We, my dear brethren, my satyrs and nymphs,
We, my dear brethren, my maenads and Minoans,
My sisters and brothers, my princesses and kings,
We are the new bearers of awesome tidings!

Our instincts are sharp, our minds are as one,
Honed by the hands of Gaia, the great Mother, the One,
Our fates are entwined, our bodies of like kind,
We are the twilight of all that’s left behind.

So let us drink to a new beginning,
Let us shine with the elixir of life,
For this elixir is love, that I will admit,
If only to ask Ariadne to be my wife!

[Roar of applause, guests jump to their feet, happy of the news. Minos is beaming and ecstatic, he turns to Ariadne who looks shocked and bewildered. I, who am to play Theseus, look from the wing behind the proscenium anxious with what is occurring on stage. I have no cue and do not know what to do. Then Ariadne looks at me standing there and her look is beseeching. I decide it’s time to make my entrance. The pseudandrons by my side try and prevent me from going up. A loud scuffle breaks out backstage that is audible in the whole theater. The audience seems surprised, and gasps. Dionysus – Lucifer – looks bemused. It seems this turn of events was unforeseen. I feel I must act. Taking the initiative for improvisation, I declare my own arrival.]

Voice (from backstage):

By the divine name of Zeus, by the royal grace of King Minos,
I declare the arrival of Theseus in the Palace of Knossos!

[And with this autoproclamation, all on stage suddenly look shocked. Minos is visibly upset, Lucifer looks pissed off, the horde of mythical characters start grunting and shuffling with unease. Only Ariadne is smiling.]

Theseus:

[Incipit Theseus, jumping on stage with reckless bravado. Bows before King Minos.]

Greetings to you, great King Minos,
Greetings to all gathered in the mighty Palace of Knossos,
Scarce did I once imagine that another day would see me,
Setting foot on these shores like a pirate returned without oars,
Scarce have I thought that such an island as this,
That has been for me such pain and such bliss,
Could endure to see my foot sink into its sands again,
With all the weight of its past deeds and wanderings,
With all the weight of the memories that have gone amiss.

But please do not deign to rise,
For I know that I am not welcome among such eyes,
Such eyes as look to those of a proud and able king,
But only see those of a hubristic peacock’s,
Lined before him like sycophantic toys on a string!

[These words provoke a collective gasp followed by loud murmurings from the feasting guests]

Dionysus:

[Still standing, with rage in his eyes]

Rich words indeed from my brave and ferocious nephew,
Who shows no shame upon returning,
To the land he plundered of its most valuable possession,
And then deserted to a fate of abandonment and perdition!

Rich words indeed, from a man who shirked his manly task,
And left his former beloved lying
– Even though she carried his own child –
To the mercy of wolves and the ravages of the wild!

Theseus:

[He is noticeably affected by these words. A knot forms in his throat and tears well in his eyes. Nevertheless he rallies back from the brink of sorrow and takes control of himself.]

Speak truthfully now Dionysus, for you are the very god of the wild,
And the wilderness you rule was the wilderness that drew,
My vessel so helplessly away from your isle,
Conjuring storm, driving the currents out for a mile,
You left me no choice but to abandon my beloved - and my child.

Yet here you stand, a liar to king and to even your intended wife,
Here you stand, you great deceiver, yourself a betrayer of life!

[To this the Maenads – who had been growing more and more incensed upon hearing these insolent invectives being hurled at their great god – let out a loud, menacing hiss toward Theseus.]

Your host of ghouls and fanatics trouble me not in the slightest,
I stand here alone and I stand against you and your word, Dionysus!

Dionysus:

[Still furious.]

Behold these words of insolent vanity,
Directed against a god,
In the court of a king,
Before his very guests,
These vulgar cries,
These vacant passions,
Of an empty hero’s pride,
This profanity of lies,
Can only be avenged,
By the blood I will draw from his eyes!

You dare to challenge the gods?
It seems your time has come to die!

Theseus:

If you are a god then I am the son of a god,
And I will take up your challenge,
To this all here are wise,
Even though you are immortal,
Upholding the truth,
Shall be my true prize.

[The maenads are now hysterical and await only a signal from their god to tear Theseus to shreds. The signal does not come. The entire hall is silent, save for the hissing of the maenads. Dionysus and Theseus stare defiantly into each other’s eyes. Finally, King Minos rises.]

Minos:

Enough! Do not try my patience, son of Poseidon,
Though you had won my daughter’s heart,
And though she carries your child,
You have lost your claim to her now,
Having spurned her,
You have spurned the royal house of Knossos.

So enough!
I will not hear any more,
Ariadne is to wed Dionysus,
Thus it shall be written in lore,
Thus it shall be known forever more.

You are in my palace and thus you are now my guest,
But at the end of three nights, you will kindly take leave,
Never to set foot again on the Cretan shore.

[Theseus bows before the king before making his exit. Curtain drops. A loud and excited murmur rises from the audience.]

Scene 3: The setting is a dark and sinister chamber in the visceral depths of the palace of Knossos. The cold, stone walls are glowing with the light of six torches. Dionysus is among his fawning maenads hatching a plot that will see him achieve his ends and dispose of Theseus as soon as possible – and preferably, with much bloodshed.

Dionysus:

Calumny and curses bleed from my heart this night,
This affront they call Theseus has laid before me,
The means to no ends, seeking for my flight,
Longing to dispatch me from these lands,
This affront to my very divinity,
Has cast a shadow over my plans.

If he shall plot my downfall, so I shall plot his,
And you my fair and lovely maidens,
You shall be my cohorts in this,
You shall be the bearers of my pleasure,
The means to my ends,
You shall have his destiny,
Along with that of his scion’s,
In your own hands.

Maenads (In Chorus):

Oh mighty god of laughter and song,
How thou art a whirlwind,
A force of nature, destructive and strong,
Thy wish is our delight,
In this thou art not wrong,
For there is a time for everything,
And the time for courtesies has gone,
Now is the time for killing,
Oh Mighty Dionysus,
Now thy will be done!

Dionysus:

You, my faithful maidens, shall enter the princess’ royal room,
There you shall encounter her,
Under the spell of a potion’s doom,
And anon you shall reach for the misbegotten sire,
And tear it, still living, from Ariadne’s womb.

[Exit maenads amid hisses and shrieks. Enter nymph, graceful and glowing. Much to the Devil’s annoyance, a cephalodrone – Argus – flies over the stage, taking a keen interest in the goings on below.]

Dionysus:

[Bringing his gaze back down to stage and clearing his throat.]

Ah, my sweet naiad, for you I have but one task,
Take this sweet potion and give it to Ariadne,
So that in the arms of Morpheus she doth bask.

And when this deed is done, make haste to the eastern room,
Where the mosaic of blue dolphins lie underfoot,
And where before the windows rhododendrons bloom,
There you shall entice our young hero Theseus,
Assuming the voice and body of his beloved Ariadne,
And in the power of his presence, feign a swoon,
And there you, acting a poor ravished victim,
Shall your true naiad form assume,
And with a poisoned dagger deliver him,
Into the shackles of his own eternal doom.

[The nymph delivers her assent to Dionysus with a curtsy before exiting the chamber. Dionysus is alone.]

So have I plotted for Theseus,
An end to the days when chivalrous he would roam,
So shall I have my Ariadne,
To finally take hold of this sacred Minoan throne,
And rule equal to Apollo and Poseidon,
From my own kingly dome,
To be counted among the mightiest,
Of the lineage of Olympus that is my true home.

[Curtain comes down. End of Act I. Ariadne and I watch from the wing. We both feel something strange upon looking at each other. We feel something that might only be described as the memory of a premonition.]


A Moment on Earth

My Heart,

I know you asked me never to write you again but I couldn't refrain. I know I am not deserving of a second chance, but I want to make amends nevertheless. I have no excuses to hide behind and I won't try and gloss over my insensitivity and remissness toward you. I'm writing simply not to lose you any more than I already have.

More than a year has passed here now and every day I feel myself growing more and more estranged from who I am – or rather, who I was. I lose focus of what is important. I find myself clutching to effervescent ideals that have neither substance nor depth, and all the time I wonder what I came here for. It's neither my country nor is it my home, and yet I'm grasping at it like a stubborn patriot who knows not that the cause is lost and the army has long since left the field, and left me in turn, weakened and alone. First you find the strangeness, then you find the adventure, the mystery, the curiosity, and from these, a tolerance for what is otherwise intolerable. Then comes the gloaming and all becomes common once again, all becomes quotidian once again, everything becomes mediocre all over again, as if you'd never left the place you’d sought to escape in the first place, as if you’d never escaped. And it's precisely then that you cannot leave anymore, it's then that the guilt takes you like a magnet, attracted to a heart that's long since become steel. And you wonder why you're there anymore, you wonder why you are not anywhere but there. And that's where I am now, me dear: everywhere but here.

I tried once to leave, I tried thinking I could leave myself behind with it, but it was futile. I told you about my trip, about my great escape. But I didn't tell you how I never managed it, how I never really did succeed. For whatever you leave behind you always remains behind you, but no farther from you. It remains right behind you, it continues to chase you and it keeps up with your pace. The faster you run, the further away you think you are, the beast is still there breathing down your neck all the more hungrily. And the beast takes everything, it takes your mind, it takes your spirit, it takes your heart and your gut, it takes even your dreams until there is nowhere left to run or hide. I never told you this because you thought it all so romantic. You were so proud of me that I didn't want to shatter this idol of clay that I had become. But that's just what it was, a clay idol that would be broken by the first brave man who could fancy himself a prophet and show a clay idol for precisely what it is: a weak, frail, imperfect desire for an ideal, a desperate attempt for salvation at any price. And here you have it. The prophet has arrived and he has declared me a pagan once more.

But you mustn't think this an onus upon me. On the contrary, I feel a great burden lifted off my shoulders. The truth - no, truth is not the right word - the reality, no matter how bitter, is always easier to live with than the lie, no matter what people say. I sound cliched, don't I? But a cliche is a cliche because we perceive its kernel of truth. And so here I am still living without hope, still clutching at straws, secretly wishing, in my desperation, that I finally pick the short one and so end this cycle of regret and remorse, of mercy and forgiveness, of endless, pointless apologies to myself and others, of countless inadequacies that have claimed the last desire in me and replaced it with a hollow, endless irradiance. A lifetime of second-shortest, third-shortest straws have finally fulfilled their unfulfilling promise. For this I am happy. I used to be hungry; now I just feel I have an empty stomach. But I also used to be blind; now at least I can see that there is nothing left for me to see.

Don't be too alarmed by my ramblings. I realize I act the role of the man; that is, I talk about myself to no end. Forgive my self-obsession. When it comes down to it, all I really wanted to let you know is that I do care, that I do feel, and that you are important to me, more important than anything, and this is why I write to you. I've decided to return. Make of that what you will...


ACT II

Scene 1: Curtain is still down. The audience hears the faint voice of Ariadne cry out the name of Theseus, as if calling him to her. The voice repeats this over and over, each time the voice becoming louder and louder. The curtain rises. There we see the nymph whom Dionysus had charged with his grim task standing in the royal chamber of the first scene in the first act. As the nymph hears the footsteps of Theseus approach, she falls to the floor, behind the sofa, and when she rises she has taken the appearance of Ariadne. The actress playing the nymph now is in fact Ariadne. Thus, Ariadne is acting the nymph acting Ariadne.

Theseus:

[Enters the room quietly, cautiously, afraid to be seen by anyone. When he finds Ariadne standing before him he freezes. He looks excited and nervous.]

Ariadne, my sweet, when I heard your voice I thought it must be a trick,
And rather than run to you, I had half a mind to remain in my room,
Still hoping that this summons might somehow be true,
But rather than risk the discovery of a cruel twist,
I hoped rather to dream that it was really you.

And now I stand here and I see that my apprehension was groundless,
For standing before me I see everything that ever meant anything to me,
Here in the room that was once for us both so timeless.

[Theseus approaches the nymph, trying to take her in his arms. She shrugs him off coquettishly and takes a step back.]

Ariadne as Nymph as Ariadne:

Take care, my dearest Theseus, not to be seen in these parts,
For encroaching on the daughter of a king,
Shall be sure to make you a target of jealous hearts,
So please keep your distance, lest you should be found,
And give me but this chance to tell you,
How my own fate has been bound,
For Dionysus the Divine is my true master now,
And though storms rage violently over my brow,
I am bound by royal and familial duty,
To accept your final bow,
And see you speed away from these shores,
Before harm should descend upon you like a black cloud.

Go! Go now! Do not rest until you have lost sight of Crete,
I warn you, go now, before the sentries should find you,
Go now with the swiftest of feet!

Theseus:

[Apparently distraught.]

My dear Ariadne, your words are like poison,
Would that my ears be deaf and my eyes blind,
To such a fate as this I will not comply,
Having already been cheated once of my bride,
Twice is too much to swallow for my pride.

Stand here I will, even though death shall be my lot,
But to face such a death is more merciful,
Than to face a whole lifetime,
Wallowing in the misery that my flight would have begot.

[Suddenly a shrill, eerie scream resonates throughout the palace, throughout all Knossos, throughout Crete. Then follows the haunting sound of a woman crying “My Baby!” over and over again. It’s the voice of Ariadne. Theseus is stunned and pale as a ghost. The nymph had been expecting the scream. She knows that the game is up and that Theseus will recognize the voice.]

Theseus:

What! What is that! That is the voice of my Ariadne!

[Theseus draws his sword from its sheath]

And you! Explain yourself foul, deceptive crone!
Explain yourself ere I run you through with my sword!
What foul game have you played with my soul,
As to who has put you up to this,
The obvious answer I will spare my breath and withhold.

[Theseus strikes with his sword at the nymph – who is still acted by Ariadne – but misses as she ducks down behind the sofa and momentarily disappears. The original nymph actress rises from behind the sofa, thus assuming her true form. She is beautiful, young and amorous, and her eyes are sad rather than defiant. She speaks beseechingly to Theseus.]

Nymph:

Theseus, you are right to suspect foul play here in King Minos’s very home,
For I, as you see, am not the woman you love,
I am not the one for whom your heart would moan,
I am but a naiad, and with Dionysus and his followers I roam,
I am but a nature-bound emanation,
Who dreams to live the lives she knows she will never own.

I am guilty, dear Theseus, of this deception you have been fed,
But I have rather sought to warn you than carry out the task ahead,
For Dionysus sent me to you so that I would come back with your head,
But I am so in love with you that this task I had undertaken filled me with dread.

So please take mercy upon my miserable soul,
For I know, as you know,
How it is to live a life,
Without the lover you wish to betroth.

Theseus:

[Theseus is touched by the nymph’s sincerity, and he his taken aback by her beauty and her youth, her sylph-like grace. He brings his sword down by his side, but remains alert nevertheless.]

If you have indeed been so brave as to defy your master,
For the sake of my well-being,
I have no choice but to thank you,
For I feel that I know you already,
Though from where I cannot right now surmise,
I know you are a water-sprite, a naiad with green eyes,
I wonder where I have seen you,
So graceful and sublime, despite your lies.

But now I must be off, as you will understand,
I must see what new horror has befallen,
This unfortunate land,
For I fear that my child has become a victim,
Of the ubiquitous and sinister, thyrsus-wielding hand.

[Exit Theseus. The nymph sheds a tear and bids him farewell. She stands and awaits her fate. While the commotion takes hold in the palace, Dionysus and a band of maenads enter the chamber. The maenads are ravenous and growling. Their infanticidal hands are already covered with blood. They are hungry for more.]

Dionysus:

By Zeus, I don’t know what should sting me the worse,
The fact that a follower has betrayed me,
Or the fact that she has betrayed me for the love of an enemy,
What a curse!

And now the time has come, my sweet sylph,
To pay the consequences of your conniving stealth…

[As the curtain falls the maenads set upon the nymph, and from behind the curtain can be heard the frenzied and hideous sounds of the beautiful nymph being torn to shreds.]

Scene 2: The chamber of Ariadne. Gathered in the room are King Minos, Dionysus, various palace servants and two palace guards. Ariadne is lying in her bed. The sheets are covered in blood. She is hysterical and semi-conscious. Her chambermaids are by her side applying remedies and trying to help her pull through. Theseus runs into the room panting.

Theseus:

[He can’t take his horrified eyes off Ariadne.]

Foul and filthy Dionysus, is your beastly thirst now quenched?
Dare you stand in this room, before your fiancée,
Whom in blood you have drenched?

[Theseus loses himself and puts his hand on the hilt of his sword as he lunges for Dionysus. Dionysus remains motionless and calm as the palace guards restrain and immobilize Theseus.]

Dionysus:

You see, King Minos, this affront to your regal hospitality,
This stain upon your royal house and your family,
Has now taken to insulting your guest in your own home,
When it was he who was unaccounted for these past few hours,
When it was he who was presumably wondering the halls,
And the corridors of Knossos, unseen and alone.

Are we to presume that he, in his morbid frame of mind,
Did not seek to tear out his own flesh and blood,
His own child, his own kind,
From the very womb of his beloved,
Knowing he has lost her now for the last time?

Are we to assume that he was going to be content,
With suffering the sight of your daughter finally happy,
Wedded to a god yet still carrying his own seed of infamy?

This man went wandering alone, away from everyone’s sight ,
And death is what he wrought in the dead of night!

Theseus:

Dionysus, your nymph was the one who tricked me from my room,
And your maenads were the ones that saw to my child’s doom,
You yourself are the one responsible for this treachery…
Before King Minos I swear,
You shall be made accountable for your lechery,
And pay blood for blood for the murder you did dare.

[Theseus, with tears in his eyes, tries again to attack Dionysus only to be once again immobilized by the palace guards.]

Dionysus:

Threats and empty accusations will get you nowhere, son of Poseidon,
Either bring substance to bear on your outlandish lies,
Or remove yourself from the scope of our dignified eyes.

These “maenads” you refer to are my dear companions,
The savages you fancy to see in their dignified persons,
Are merely the fancies with which you dignify your own savage perversion.

Minos:

[To his palace guards.]

Take Theseus away and keep him under watch,
Make sure he does not leave his chamber,
Until the culprit of this foul plot has been flushed out,
And the perpetrator of this evil deed has been caught.

[Theseus, distraught, is taken away by the guards.]

Dionysus:

Well done my liege! That should keep him from his sinister plans,
Best it is to lock him up, than witness another catastrophe wrought by his hands.

And now if you’ll excuse me, I must take my leave,
For I have matters to attend to, even though I still grieve.

[Dionysus bends down by the bedside of Ariadne. He takes her hand in his and kisses it before laying it back down by her side. He affects a pretentious look of sorrow before departing quickly from the chamber. King Minos remains there pensive, lost in thought.]

Minos:

[To himself.]

This does not hold with me, for I know Theseus,
Though he has wronged me and my daughter in the past,
Of such a crime as this I cannot give reason or sense,
That he would commit such a hideous act,
Such an act that is beyond all recompense…
No, this does not figure, I fear I smell something more rotten,
Even more rotten than that,
I fear I smell the savage hunter’s instinct,
And the conniving trickery of a rat.

[Exit King Minos, with a troubled demeanor. Chambermaids wail and Ariadne moans painfully in semi-consciousness as the curtain comes down.]

Scene 3: Theseus is on the cold stone floor of a prison chamber, his back reclined on the wall behind him, gazing emptily toward the audience. He is (that is, I am) thinking of a way to ameliorate his situation and to escape this humiliating captivity. He is also thinking of Ariadne and of his lost scion. Then from the window above his head he hears a loud thud. When he gets up to look he sees the cephalodrone, Argus, who has just crashed into the window and has a red, sore nose and tears in his eyes as a result of the collision. He opens the window to let the cephalodrone in. As he does so, he looks down at the sheer cliffs below him and closes the window again once Argus has entered.

Theseus:

Here I am, condemned by fate to wallow in such misery,
The victim of black hands that have plunged me into captivity,
But enough wallowing, it is now time to act,
Tell me what news my companion Argus,
Tell me how we are to escape from here intact.

Argus:

[Still smarting from the crash into the window.]

Um, yes, well escape, ah…

[Eyes rolling, crossing, shutting and opening, blinking, nose being scrunched and stretched.]

Yes, well, my… master… Theseus,

[Argus is trying desperately to find the right rhyme so as to maintain the flow of the play. Eyes moving up and down and side to side searchingly.]

Yes, my master Theseus,
We must get to the bottom of this!

[Eyes light up happily, then suddenly darken over as he looks over to the window, thinking of the cliffs below.]

Sorry, no, not to the bottom of this,
Rather stay… um… on top of things,
Yet find out – while still on top of things –
Where the… ah… alarm bell rings,
And for whom the… uh … bell tolls,
Though I’m sure it does not… um,
Toll for thee, we should find out for whom…
Uh… for he or she? Or they? Or… me?

[Argus sweating and struggling nervously. Theseus (me) rolling eyes.]

SO! News I do have, yes, for you,
Do please… uh… read it… do.

Theseus:

[Noticably annoyed and sarcastic. Glances to the side of the stage where Lucifer has his head in his hands.]

Read it, why yes! By Zeus, I do, I do, I do,
Where pray do you keep the news?
Perhaps in a bird brain that’s lost a screw?

Argus:

[Realizing his mistake.]

Aha, of course, read it you can not,
Unless you could read minds, what what!

[Argus thinks this funny but notices the audience is also getting annoyed, so carries on.]

So (ahem) why don’t I just… recite it to you?!

Theseus:

[Still sarcastic.]

Yes! Why yes, please do!

Argus:

[Gaining some confidence.]

Well master, I have had a chance to eavesdrop on plots being hatched against you,
Here in the very palace, by forces sinister and shrewd.

Theseus:

[Sarcastically.]

My goodness, could it be true!?
And here I was thinking how well things were going,
I guess I should kiss my good fortune adieu!

Argus:

[Also a little annoyed.]

Yes, well if Your Hero…ic…al…ness…ity will let me finish,
I have some more news that will surely be of interest to you.

Dionysus was in secret conference in the eastern wing of the palace,
With his followers, his satyrs, his nymphs and his maenads,
Hatching a new plot to be rid of you.

He shall assume your own appearance and kill King Minos,
And being seen without being caught,
He shall have laid all the blame on you.

As he does the foul deed, the maenads will kill both your guards,
And unlock your doors, taking you to a far room,
And they will feign having caught you trying to escape,
Killing you while at the same time demonstrating,
That the perpetrator was in fact…

Theseus:

[Interrupting.]

Let me guess, rhymes with “you.” I know! “You”?

Argus:

Yes, indeed. YOU!

Theseus:

[Serious again.]

Well well, my dear companion, that certainly is disturbing news,
The king’s life is in danger, and the throne is about to be usurped,
By a power-hungry god eager for place among the greatest at Olympus,
And eager to draw Ariadne and the whole kingdom of Minos,
Along with him on this wicked path of treachery and abuse.

I am indebted to you, dear friend, for warning me of my own end,
And I will be indebted to you even more when I reveal to you my plans,
To save us both, and Ariadne and the kingdom, from the clutches of death,
For you shall be the key factor to alleviating this misery,
From the land of Crete and the House of King Minos,
You shall be the missing link that shall save us all from this treachery and loss!

Argus:

[Excited, nervous, starts fluttering and flapping uncontrollably.]

I indeed, I shall be the… the “missing link”?!

[Gathering himself together.]

I mean yes, I shall be the missing link, but what shall I do?

Theseus:

You are a strange creature, of face, wings and voice,
You shall enact the role of one of the Furies,
Of Tisiphone, the avenger of murder,
And you shall strike fear and panic,
Into the maenads, setting them to wild flight,
And chase them toward Dionysus,
While he be disguised as me,
Thus setting upon him his very own blight,
And having him ripped and torn to shreds,
By the maenads’ blind and furious fright,
Or forced to reveal his true identity,
You shall uncover the true culprit,
For this palace’s misfortunate plight.

But take care, Argus, and be sure to achieve this with timely foresight,
While Dionysus is in Minos’s chamber but before he can kill him tonight.

[Curtain closes, an excited and loud murmur rises in the auditorium. End of Act II.]


A Moment on Earth

My Dear,

So long, so long… It’s been so long. I wasn’t sure if I was happy to finally receive word from you after the last letter I sent. I was almost hoping that that would end the months (more than a year now, as you wrote) of anguish, doubt, insecurity, the havoc that my emotions were in, the denial that I kept trying to grapple with, that would never leave me be, ever since you left. I’ve been obsessed with this relationship, with us. It has occupied my life. I feel I’ve been involved in a religious cult that I’ve tried desperately to believe in and belong to, but in which the way out and the way to Truth are one and the same: death. Your love was for me just that, like a cult: hermetic, mystic, unorthodox, rebellious, and ultimately impossible.

But I cannot tell myself what to feel or what not to feel – thank god – dictating what emotions should be felt and when, as if I were my own boss and secretary at the same time! And when I received your letter I was in fact happy. It was just the way I felt when I received your first letter; you know how it is, your heart pounds, your face blushes, you smile and laugh like an idiot and you are relieved to know that someone loves you back. Well maybe this time wasn’t exactly like that, but I was happy nevertheless. And I was touched by your candidness and your openness about your innermost feelings, your secrets even. Darling, I’ve missed sharing my secrets with you. I’ve missed finding you there next to me, lying naked in bed with me, just listening to me babble on like a stupid girl for hours. I’ve missed lying there naked next to you hearing you mumble away for hours, neither of us knowing what time it was, what day it was, or even what planet we were on! I’ve missed that so much. Your letter made me feel like we were back in one of those magic moments when the world belonged only to us for a brief few hours before daylight exposed us like charlatans again. I know you’ve been going through tough times, and I guess what I’ve wanted to say is that there’s really no need to worry. I sound cheesy, I know, but there’s no need to worry, because there is magic, and I know you believe in this as much as I do. That’s why I love you.

But I will be candid too, my dear, and I will speak from the heart as well. I will in fact be brutally honest. It is easy and even expected for someone to write you when they are down, when they need comfort, support, love, in other words, when they need an address and a destination for their pages and pages of emotional outpourings. It is less expected for them to write when all is going well, when the world revolves around them and when eyes bask them in the warmth of recognition, when arms reach out for them from the void just to touch them, because so many love them. When you think everyone loves you, you forget about everyone you love. And then when you discover that love does not just reside in moments, that love can not be sipped from a glass, or snorted up your nose, or swallowed with a pill, or found romping in strange beds with whores, then you suddenly remember what was before only an encumbrance to you, what only cast a shadow over your Popular Highness. And that, my dear poor fool, is what has happened to you.

You are now coming back here, back to me perhaps, I don’t know. You ask me to make of it what I will, but I believe I already have. Now it’s time for you to make of it what you will. In fact make of it something, anything. But again you throw the ball in my court. I cannot do this anymore. I will indeed be here, but I cannot wait for you anymore, I cannot spend any more of my life on your uncertainties and indecisions, your flights of fancy and your amorous fantasies. I am seeing another man, I have been seeing him for the past three weeks, soon after my last letter to you. I want you to know this not so that it hurts you. No darling, I will always love you and I will never hurt you. But I want you to know this so that you can also, finally, make of it what you will. Believe me, if you had never decided to come back I would never have told you, because I know it would hurt you. But now that you are going to be here there will be no more distance that could cushion our difference, our separation. Thus I am creating my own distance to save you – and me – time and effort and any further heartbreak.

So long, so long…


ACT III

Scene 1: King Minos is by the bedside of Ariadne who is convalescing in her chamber. They are alone. Ariadne is rapidly recovering from the murderous attack inflicted on her and which claimed the life of her child.

Ariadne:

My dear poor father, when I think of all the sorrow I’ve caused you,
I want to sink into the earth and forget myself, and Crete, forever,
I once had a child that I would live for, even die for,
That I would raise into an upright man, or a proud woman,
I once had this to live for,
But now all I have are bitter memories and regrets,
Leftovers of a life of profligacy and waste.

I have been stubborn I know, and I have made things so hard for you,
But I feel there is not much life left in my body,
And I feel that the steel in my soul is sapping away so rapidly,
That perhaps if I do not take this chance to say farewell,
And look one last time into your eyes,
I fear I shall be departing without having said,
Everything I’ve wanted to say, everything that needs to be said,
Everything I was afraid would be left unsaid,
To be lost in the memories of half-lived lives,
That only those who have half-lived it can see,
And only those who have dreaded it can realize.

I do not want to be among this rabble of could have beens,
And what ifs. This is why I need you by my side now,
Lest I should lose you forever more,
Without ever making peace with you, or myself,
Without ever feeling the sweet surrender of reconciliation,
Without cheating death of its most heinous crime,
The crime of letting loved ones depart,
Before they have said their I love you’s and goodbye’s.

Minos:

My dear princess, if ever I have experienced sorrow,
It can not be due to you, my child for whom I too would give my life,
As would have you – in fact, as nearly you had,
For whatever have been your steps and your decisions through this world,
I have always respected them as yours and only yours,
Even when to them I have been vehemently opposed.

Now come my precious daughter, let us think no more of death’s ugly gaze,
Let us rather look at what lies before us, of the happiness ahead,
For death, I assure you, is far from hovering over our heads,
And you are soon to be married to a god no less,
Who will indeed love you and protect you to the end of your days.

Ariadne:

[Hugs her father for a long time. Both shed tears of reconciliation.]

Dear father, I wish I could share your optimism,
But I do so fear for our lives,
For demons can masquerade as gods,
And gods can act as demons sometimes.

Minos:

I am cautious my dear, I am alert and, excepting you,
I do not trust anyone with my whole heart,
For doubts I too have had, concerning the sincerity of some,
And second thoughts I have weighed with the first,
Before making up my mind for anyone.

Now I must go and get some rest, for tomorrow is a day of events,
I will await with anticipation for the morning,
When I will set eyes on my beautiful daughter again.

[Just as Minos is kissing his daughter on the forehead, Dionysus enters the room unannounced. A dark gloom spreads across Ariadne’s face.]

Ariadne:

I was under the impression that gentlemen announce their entrance,
Especially when they are guests in the house – nay, the palace – of a lady they court,
Or perhaps you have a guilty conscience and fear that you will be denied,
Yes, perhaps that is it, and perhaps also the explanation for your shifting eyes?

Dionysus:

[With a very slight smirk]

My dear lady, please do not gratify your suspicions by rewarding them with credulity,
If there is a reason for my impolitic haste, it is that there are affairs to attend to,
And your father and I have little time to waste.

Ariadne:

If the time shared between a father and his child seems to you a time of waste,
Then perhaps you will do me a favor when we are married,
And leave me alone and chaste,
For I would so dread to cause the birth of a child,
Who would in future cause further obstacles,
In your moments of dire haste,
And leave upon your palate,
Such a disagreeable taste.

Minos:

Come, come, you two, Dionysus did not mean disrespect,
I understand he is in a hurry, as am I,
For we must discuss wedding plans,

[Turning to Dionysus and wagging his index finger playfully.]

But then I must get some rest!

Dionysus:

O yes my liege, tonight you will have a very long rest.

[Dionysus bows to Ariadne without ever taking his eyes off her. She meets his gaze briefly and this causes Ariadne goose-bumps. Dionysus leaves with King Minos. The chambermaids re-enter the room.]

Ariadne:

[To herself.]

Such a curse as this I would not wish upon my worst enemy,
For my worst enemy is the very curse that is out to destroy me.

[To her chambermaids.]

Quick, prepare my robe, I must make haste to Theseus’ room,
- Or perhaps cell would be the appropriate term –
Sharing as he does a common fate with us,
And that fate has only one end: Doom.

[The chambermaids look hesitantly at each other before obeying her as the curtain comes down.]

Scene 2: Theseus’s chamber. Theseus is still sitting on the cold stone floor, his back leaning against the wall, just below the window. There is a commotion outside the door. He hears the voices of the guards and, if he is not mistaken, the voice of his beloved Ariadne. The commotion dies down, Theseus hears the door unlock. Ariadne enters the room.

Theseus:

[Rising to his feet.]

My love, you have no idea how it lightens my heart,
To see you alive and well again, and standing before me,
When last I saw you, you had the spectral aspect of death,
Pale, ghostly and white,
And neither of us could see each other,
For our teary eyes had blinded us of sight,
Weeping as we were for the loss of our child that accursed night.

But come now, come closer,
Let me take you in my arms and hold you tight,
Let me see you here before me,
Let me see the distance lose its awful might,
So long it’s been, so long, so long,
So long since you’ve been by my side.

Ariadne:

[Approaches him slowly, seeming sad even though she is smiling. She hugs him without saying a word. They embrace for some time. Then she moves away and looks him in the eyes.]

My dearest, I too have longed for this moment when I would see,
When we would again be together, alone,
And I too am happy as you are,
However imperfect the situation we find ourselves in,
Imprisoned in this chamber of stone.

But dear Theseus, my misgivings are legion,
And this happiness will not mollify me long,
Now that fear has raised its ugly head,
And doom is foreshadowed,
Like our very own swan song.

For it needs no explanation,
How dire is this situation,
When you have been ensnared by the wild god,
And the very kingdom is under threat,
From his horrific contagion.

Theseus:

Do not furrow your brow, sweet Ariadne,
For Argus has already informed me,
Of the plans Dionysus has drawn out against me.

We have taken our measures as well,
And Argus is the key,
For without Argus I fear all hope shall be lost,
And all measures fruitless shall be.

[While Theseus is telling Ariadne the plans, there is a loud commotion outside that drowns out the voices of our two protagonists. Although both look up to try and comprehend what is going on outside, Theseus resumes his adumbration of the plans. Then both hear the voice of Dionysus clearly yelling from outside the chamber door.]

Dionysus:

[Yelling.]

My poor deceived princess, do not be worried, I am here,
And I will save you from the threat posed to you in there,
By the very murderer of your own child,
And the plotter against your father’s throne.

What could have possibly possessed you to seek his company I know not,
But no need to be alarmed now, for once the king has been notified,
The guards shall let me enter,
And Theseus shall have a lesson in decency to him taught!

Ariadne:

[Whispering to Theseus]

Quick, we must plan this before we are separated,
And before Dionysus the Cunning suspects a plot.

Listen to me now, my dear sweet lover,
For our time is, I fear, running out,
Having access to my father’s royal seal,
I shall secure your release with this appeal,
Having left your chamber you shall hide in mine,
Safe from the maenads’ reach, to bide the time.

Then when Argus has led the maenads into my father’s royal chamber,
And in fear and remorse made them profess to their murderous deed,
- And to who is their real master indeed –
Then shall you enter the chamber,
To confront Dionysus who will have to reveal his true identity,
And my father, King Minos, will finally take heed.

[They hear the door open and in rushes an angry Dionysus.]

Dionysus:

[Grabs Ariadne roughly by the arm. Turns to Theseus.]

Foul murderous wretch, you have not only brought shame on Crete,
But you have further used your evil charms to fool Ariadne,
That you are somehow innocent of such bestial deeds,
As only a wretch such as you could ever conceive.

[Grabs Theseus with his other hand, lifts him in the air with his divine strength, and throws him against the stone wall.]

Now stay in your den and think of your guilt,
For tomorrow we shall be wed,
And justice shall finally be meted out by this hand,
That shall be holding my blood-dripping sword’s hilt.

[Dionysus throws Ariadne over his shoulder as if she were a rag doll, and leaves the room, pushing one of the guards out of his way as he leaves. The curtain comes down behind him.]

Scene 3: It is night time and the scene opens just outside Theseus’ chamber. There are no guards. The maenads are heard shuffling through the hall until they come upon the door of the chamber.

Maenad 1:

What strange occurrence is this, ‘tis it trickery or deceit?
That the guards whom we were to encounter should have disappeared,
And that the door of the chamber is unlocked,
It appears that Theseus was forewarned,
And has since beat a hasty retreat.

Maenad 2:

‘Tis a strange occurrence indeed, and our master shall be upset,
Perhaps we too should forewarn him,
That his enemy is forewarned and avoiding our hunter’s net?

Maenads (in chorus):

In the name of Dionysus, we shall rip off Theseus’s head!

[Suddenly one of the maenads lets out a horrific, shrill scream. All of the maenads turn to where she is looking and all scream in chorus.]

Maenads (in chorus):

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

[Maenads shrink back against the wall at the approaching figure, though it is as yet invisible to the audience. A winged creature hovers slowly on to stage. Argus the cephalodrone enters the scene.]

Argus:

Aaaaaaaa-Ha! You do well to cower at my terrible presence,
Now has come the time of vengeance,
The blood you have spilled has been marked on your essence,
And I who see all thus see your soul,
And I who see all thus see your deed,
For I am a fortress of remembrance,
Now you have been marked, you shall pay for your irreverence,
Of this furious warning, wretched crones, take heed!

Maenad 2:

[Shaking and cowering with the others.]

B…but are you, are… you…?

Argus:

Yes, I am… I am indeed who you fear…

[Can’t seem to remember who it was supposed to be.]

Maenad 1:

The wings, the face of death…Then you… you are…

Argus:

[Waiting for her to say the name.]

Yeees, I am…

Maenad 2:

TISIPHONE!

Argus:

YES, bingo, yes, that’s me, Tiphisone the Fury!

[Eyes being rolled backstage, Lucifer has his head in his hands again. Ariadne is trying not to laugh.]

Maenads (in chorus):

Woe unto us, poor victims of our own destiny!
Now we have been forced to pay for our perfidy!
With the blood we spilled that is ingrained on our hearts,
And our minds still stained with our evil thoughts,
We have murdered for Dionysus the very blood of Dionysus,
Who was great uncle of the unborn whose blood stained our hands…
The Furies will now put a deserved end to our calumny upon the house of Zeus,
And as our fate impose their own vengeful demands.

Maenad 1:

[Her look of fright has been replaced by one of suspicion.]

Yes, the Furies shall indeed, the Fur-ies who are three,
But before us we only see one, supposedly Tisiphone.

[Argus panics, looks at Theseus – me. I founder, an uncomfortable silence develops on stage, a small murmur develops in the audience. Then, seeing two pseudandrons from the corner of my eye, I lunge for them, drag them to the wing and push them onto stage. They tumble forth, almost tripping over each other, not having the faintest clue what is happening. The maenads cower again at the sight of these two, all of them except for Maenad 1.]

Maenad 1:

[Also taken aback by the appearance of the pseudandrons, but regaining her composure and reassuming her suspicious mien.]

And pray tell “Tisiphone,” are these your fellow Furies, Alecto and Megaera?
If so, why do they not have wings?
Nor even faces,
Pray tell, who are these?

Argus:

[Putting on a frightful face, raising its voice to a frightening pitch.]

YOU SEE BEFORE YOU THE FURIES,
MAKE NO MISTAKE OF THIS!
IF ALECTO AND MEGAERA DO NOT RESEMBLE ME,
IT IS BECAUSE WE HAVE COME HERE TO PUNISH MURDER,
AND THAT, FOUL WRETCHES, IS A TASK THAT BELONGS TO TISIPHONE!
THUS YOU WILL NOT SEE THEIR FEATURES, ONLY MINE,
FOR IT IS NO OTHER THAN MURDER THAT IS YOUR CRIME!

[The maenads all cower and shrink even more frightened than before. Total panic has taken hold of them.]

And now ladies, YOU SHALL ALL DIE!

[And with this the maenads let out a horrible scream and start running down the corridor for their lives. Argus and the pseudandrons (who seem to enjoy being on stage and having an audience before them) chase them toward the royal chamber of King Minos. Curtain comes down amid this scene of screams and howls, and a roar of laughter rises from the audience. End of Act III.]


A Moment on Earth

I couldn’t get the violence out of my head. Over and over in my mind, like a recurring nightmare, she dressed and she undressed. Over and over in my mind, her hair fell over her face and she didn’t toss it back. She let it fall and it covered her eyes. Over and over in my mind, her breathing became heavier and heavier. The hair that fell over her face waved back and forth with her breathing. Over and over again I could smell her hair mingled with the smell of her saliva. Over and over again, I saw myself lose her. Over and over again the stinging violated my skull like a thousand needles pricking my brain. Over and over again, asphyxiated with guilt, denial, helplessness and shame, I found myself on the couch, unable to move, wheezing with panic. Over and over again, the thought of her with another squeezed the last ounce of life within me and left in its place the negated shell of a man. Over and over again I called her, and listened to her answering machine over and over again. Over and over again I wrote her, before crumpling the letter in my hand. Over and over again I wanted to kill her, before remorse would nix my plan. And over and over again I cried, thinking of ways to win her back, thinking of everything we once had. Over and over and over again, the cold sweat kept streaming down my back.

And when I finally slept I dreamt of her, over and over again. And I dreamt… that her smile betrayed a flagrant passion that was set alight by someone’s eyes; her lips were heavy with subdued desire, but also with careless lies; her cheeks were red and glowing, flushing with helpless pride; and her gaze was distant and hollow, yet betraying hidden depth inside…

I thought I should give in, to accept my fate with dignity. I thought perhaps I should let sparkle and show a benevolent side. Perhaps I would be passive, to let the sick feeling fly. Or perhaps, I thought, I should cut this cock to stick down her throat and gag her till she dies…

But then I dreamt I was sitting in front of her, holding back both fear and pride. And though I still couldn’t take my eyes off of her, I missed her, even though she was right there, so beautiful by my side.


ACT IV


The royal chamber. King Minos is asleep in his bed. Dionysus enters the room. He has transformed into Theseus, in keeping with his plan. I, Theseus, am the actor acting the role of Dionysus acting the role of Theseus.

Dionysus (Theseus/Me as Dionysus as Theseus):

[Whispering loudly.]

Now my maenads will have sequestered Theseus,
The task at hand is to extirpate the line of Minos,
And finally take the throne that shall exalt me,
On a par at last with the mightiest of Olympus,
And all that is left is to wed Ariadne.

A new lineage shall rule, springing from my loins,
Upon completion of this one final task,
And no more my ambitions shall I have to mask.

[Dionysus (Theseus/Me as Dionysus as Theseus) quietly approaches King Minos, who is fast asleep. As he looms over him, he withdraws his dagger and lifts it over his head ready at any second to kill King Minos. Just then he hears a loud commotion outside the chamber and is startled as the doors burst open and a frenzy of maenads run screaming and yelling into the room followed by Argus and the pseudanrons. King Minos awakes with a fright. Guards rush in after the maenads and light the torches of the room. Everyone in the chamber is absolutely baffled and nobody has any idea what the others are doing there.]

Minos:

[Mouth agape and speechless for a moment.]

The devil take my soul, what do you call this!!!
Has the world gone insane?
Have I woken from one dream only to find myself in another?
Have I finally succumbed to my final breath?
What do I see before me, in the dead calm of night,
But Theseus, my guards, a host of hysterical women,
And none other than a flying head and two faceless mutes,
Are you all trying to kill me with absurdity, or fright?

Argus:

[Sees maenads cowering and shivering before him, unable to open their mouths. Continues inveigling them toward their confession.]

THE TIME HAS COME, OH KING MINOS,
TO SLAY THESE PERPATRATORS OF A CRIME UNTO YOUR ROYAL HOUSE,
AND SCATTER THEIR REMAINS AS THEY HAVE SCATTERED OTHERS’,
ACROSS THE FOUR CORNERS OF THIS LAND OF CRETE,
THAT HAS THIRSTED FOR THE VENGEANCE BLOOD OF THESE CRONES,
AND SOUGHT JUSTICE FOR THE WRONGS COMMITTED BY THEIR DECEIT!

[All actors are taken aback by Argus’ ardor. The maenads are more hysterical than ever.]

Yes! Yes, by Zeus, we are those unfortunate crones Tisiphone hunts,
We are those wretches who have committed these grave acts,
Acts the gods do shun, all but one!
For we were not the perpetrators of these deeds,
‘Twas Dionysus who led us to these acts by his greed!

[Dionysus (Theseus/Me as Dionysus as Theseus) gasps and falls back. He is (I am) about to let loose at these maenads with savage vituperation before realizing his position disguised as Theseus. I’m starting to be confused as to who I am and whose interests I am upholding.]

Dionysus (Theseus/Me as Dionysus as Theseus):

You treacherous crones!

[All in the room look at me. The maenads think I am scolding them for revealing me as Dionysus while I’m still in the guise of Theseus; King Minos thinks I am Theseus himself, not Dionysus transformed as Theseus, and so thinks I am scolding them for what Argus (who is under the guise of Tisiphone) has brought to charge against them, alongside the two pseudandrons who are themselves in the guise of the two furies, Alecto and Megaera, while King Minos is just beginning to discover that Dionysus’ female cohorts are indeed the infamous maenads.]

Minos:

[Confused.]

Treacherous? Yes, but to whom?

Dionysus (Theseus/Me as Dionysus as Theseus):

Well, to… you! And to me! In fact, they have betrayed us all!

Minos:

To you, Theseus?

Maenads:

No, Theseus he is not, but our lord Dionysus disguised as Theseus,
We have revealed his evil schemes, we have atoned for our deeds,
Now we shall await the mercy of the terrible Furies.

Minos:

Furies? What furies? I see no furies, I see Theseus’ strange companion,
And alongside him two mutes,
Where are these Furies you are speaking of?

Maenads:

[Wisened up, turn angrily to Argus, who suddenly looks to have soaked up all the fear that just flowed out of the collective mass of the maenads.]

Is that so my liege? Well then the deceit seems to run the gamut tonight,
And to think Tisiphone inspired in us such fright,
We shall personally see to this Argus’ just desserts,
And in this we shall certainly take delight!

[Argus flaps frantically, uncontrollably, hitting its massive head against the stone wall above the chamber door. The pseudandrons also back up against the wall with fright. The palace guards step in between them.]

Minos:

And you say Theseus, standing before me, is really Dionysus in disguise?!
How could this be, can I be so deceived by mine own eyes?
Reveal yourself then! Reveal yourself you swine!

Dionysus (Theseus/Me as Dionysus as Theseus):

Very well then…

[ I, Theseus, Dionysus, Dionysus as Theseus, whoever I am, I am suddenly faced with a technical dilemma. I look over to the wing and do not see Lucifer/Dionysus there. I look below me for a trap door down which I can descend and Dionysus can ascend so as to switch places and assume my (whoever I am) real form. But no such action is occurring. All on stage are looking at me. I look around again desperately for Lucifer/Dionysus but to no avail.]

Minos:

I said reveal yourself you scoundrel, or are you indeed Theseus?
Reveal yourself before my guards descend upon you!
WHO ARE YOU?

[I felt a panic grip me. I had not foreseen this problem. The audience began growing restless and they too became part of the play! And they started chanting.]

Audience:

KILL HIM, KILL HIM, KILL HIM…

[They chanted on and on, in a mesmerizing rhythm, “KILL HIM, KILL HIM.” Then Minos ordered the guards forward.]

Minos:

KILL HIM!

[And with this, the audience roared and the guards, brandishing bronze spears, came at me, with every intention it seemed of killing me! I felt beads of cold sweat form on my forehead. I actually tried to leave the stage, but I was surrounded by the guards. Then I did something I never thought I’d do. I realized that I had fallen into Lucifer’s trap and that there was only one way out. Argus and the pseudandrons’ lives were in danger from the Maenads, who would afterwards certainly hunt down and kill Ariadne. My life was also about to be taken by the guards. So I did the only thing I could have to escape this unforeseen turn of events. I assumed the role of Dionysus/Lucifer himself, though still presumably under the guise of Theseus.]

Dionysus:

[I feel a malicious sense of power surge through me, as if, having overcome an oppressing force, I in turn had become the oppressor.]

My maenads! You now see that you were deceived by Theseus’ trickery,
The Fury you thought pursued you, the Fury you mistook for Tisiphone,
Was in fact none other than Theseus’ conniving cephalodronic crony.

The Furies do not haunt you, you have done naught wrong,
Now save your master from the wrath of these guards,
Together we shall again be strong!

[With this the Maenads turn from Argus and the pseudandrons, instead launching themselves nail and tooth upon the guards. Blood and gore ensue, one by one every guard and every maenad is killed horribly at each others hands. Guardsmen are torn by teeth and nails, maenads are cut down and gored with spears and swords. Not a single body is left intact. The horror occurs to me. This was not an act. All of these “actors” were now dead and slaughtered and their severed limbs were strewn across the stage. Argus and the pseudandrons, having seen their chance, had long since fled from the stage. The audience is wild with excitement. The flowing blood on the wooden stage seems to have instilled in them some sort of sanguine delirium]

Minos:

So now you have had your evil way!
I care not anymore if you are Dionysus or Theseus,
For me you are one and the same,
For it is your blood-soaked hands,
That have left this kingdom in disarray.

You have me at your mercy,
Do with me what you will,
But do please spare my Ariadne,
From your insatiable thirst to kill.

I (Dionysus or Theseus? Theseus as Dionysus? Dionysus as Theseus? I have lost my identity!):

[The audience calm down. I stand on the blood-soaked stage. There is quiet in the theater. I feel a strange sense of elation and relief, as if I had rediscovered a part of myself that I had been missing for a long time.]

I will indeed take Ariadne to wed, she will indeed be my wife. And though I do not even know my own name, nor my identity, I do know this: that whether I am a wild animal or a citizen of Athens, whether I am a cold-blooded killer or a civic protector, whether I am a murderer or a butcher or a hero, none of this makes any difference to me anymore. Dionysus and Theseus are now both standing before you, proven one and the same. In every man lies the heart of a killer and also that of a saint, in every heart lie the seeds of virtue entwined with the vines of an evil fate. I am only certain of my Will, and I serve only its desires and its passions, with its crimes and its prejudices, with its pride and its ferocity, with its good and its evil. I am only certain of my instincts, and I see only that primordial fire as my guiding light. For I know that neither love nor the seasons wait for any man, and that life passes before our eyes in the infinitesimal span of a brief moment, until we realize only when it is past and gone just what it was we were missing, and that we will never see it again. And though sometimes I have taken comfort in the knowledge that other people will live them again, over and over, till the end of our race, with other desires and other eyes, I know I have been given a second chance, and this I will not let slip through my fingers or let escape again before my own eyes. For this brief moment we call life can only become a moment of eternity when we affirm its brevity and within it find ourselves not as a leaf floating down a stream, but as a pair of ragged claws clutching at a dream. Memories I can not erase, nor decisions can I replace, but I have found my way back to this isle and I have found once again everything that ever meant anything to me, and I have taken every measure to ensure that this time I shall not fail to satisfy my Will, a will so strong that it is engrained in the very destiny that I trace. And these hands that are my claws will clutch at this dream now, or forever return to the eternal limbo of death’s foul disgrace. I shall waste no more time on high morals and niceties, your grace… I shall kill again if need be, to look my lover, my wife, once again in the face, and consummate our love in our first and final embrace.

So now, old Minos, either step aside and acquiesce, or to the doom that was fated you by my own sword regress.

[I tower over the old king, enjoying having all the reins now in my hands – enjoying the feeling of having taken control of the outcome of the play, of knowing that I could force the end that I desired…]

King Minos:

[Cowering like an old man]

You have my word, for enough misfortune have I seen,
To even contemplate any more bloodshed than already has been.

Do what you will, as I’m sure you will,
No matter what I say,
Live your sweet dreams of youth,
And in love wile your time away,
For I am but an old man,
Who has seen too much in his day,
And though you do not take heed of my words,
Take heed of my wrinkled face,
For this is what awaits you and awaits all,
This image of death and decay…
And now, disgrace.

Go now, be on your way… all Crete awaits the seed of your future race.

[Ariadne runs into the chamber. She lets out a scream and puts her hands over her gaping mouth, her eyes almost pop out of their sockets as she looks at the grim spectacle of the chamber. Then seeing Minos and I standing there, she calms down and smiles nervously. She embraces Minos. They hug for a while. He smiles at her and walks away. A tear trickles down Ariadne’s cheek as she watches him leave, knowing it is the last time she will see her father. Then she turns and hugs me.]

Ariadne:

[Looks up at me wide-eyed, crying, smiling, her arms tightly wrapped around me.]

My dearest! So this is how it ends,
Our destinies have finally entwined,
And we stand here to reap the sweet dividends.

So If you are tender and do me love,
Pick me flowers in the springtime,
And if you are strong and to me true,
Sing me songs on cool summer nights,
And if you long for kisses and hugs,
Cut us wood to feed our hearth,
To shelter us from the rain outside,
And if you love me as I do you,
Just take my hand and walk forth with pride.

But do not go, forlorn fool,
Cutting down forests in your haste,
Do not go, my dearest,
Razing fields of flowers,
Where even the bees would retreat in haste,
For all I want,
My dear poor fool,
Is but one small flower,
And a little song,
And nothing but a promise,
That you will never do me wrong.

I:

If I am brutish and somewhat crude,
Forgive me this transgression,
For I seek nothing but for you,
And am wholly at the mercy,
Of your discretion,
And if I thunder and bring forth a storm,
Mock me not as you do,
For I am naught but shallow,
Beneath these blushing cheeks,
I am naught but hollow,
Beyond these words I speak,
And yet, though I be empty,
My heart it does pound,
Here on the surface,
In front of your eyes now,
For you can not deny this love I feel,
Not even with your sighs,
I will cut down all the forests,
And seek for all the flowers,
For you these are but small,
So do not ask for less than this,
This passion can not be wrong.

Ariadne and I (in chorus):

[We hold each other’s hands and look longingly into each other’s eyes]

Now come sweet love, let’s take this land,
And let our differences stand,
If one may come to wither,
The other will be at hand,
Thus we both shall bend and meet,
Eternal in this wedding band,
And with this vow I share with you,
Those forests and flowers,
Once more we shall plant.

[I raise my head and catch a ring that is thrown to me from the audience. I slip the ring on her finger. We kiss on the blood-soaked stage as the curtain comes down and the audience roars.]

A Moment on Earth

The same roads, the same trees, the same houses, the same skies. The same smell in a stairwell, the same fragrance of dead poplar leaves in the autumn air, the same beggar selling the same pencils, the same ghosts sharing with you the same city.

Among the people walk these ghosts. In the eyes of strangers lurk the eyes of those you once knew. Among the faceless pedestrians, faces from the past look back at you. And they talk to you. They talk on the same street corners, in the same buildings, under the same trees, with the same breath, swaying in the same breeze. They talk to you about things that were once important, even though they are now unimportant, so unimportant as to be nothing more than innocuous nostalgia. You see them walk by you. Their eyes linger, unlike the eyes of strangers. The eyes of ghosts always linger for as long as it takes to remember, for as long as it takes for you to feel as if you were one of them, until you are no longer in the city of the living, but among the dead that co-inhabit the eternal, timeless, city of your mind; a city built upon memories and dreams, fantasies and sorrows – a foundation harder than brick, tougher than steel.

You trace the streets and the alleyways, the houses and the hangouts, the friends and the lovers, you trace them all in your mind. You learn to see the city with your eyes closed. You live in another city. Like everyone else, like the ghosts and the living, you have your own city. And like the ghosts, but unlike the living, you are a stranger in your own city. You do not belong to your own city. You are a prisoner of your own city. Your mind is your dungeon, your memories are your shackles, your own city is your exile.

Her ghost lingers in this city too. She always walks beside you, she always says the same thing she said years ago on the same road, in front of the same door, beside the same tree. Everything she ever said echoes forever in the same place, with the same voice, with the same face, and only you can hear it, for the echoes have become so faint that they are inaudible to all who had never witnessed their genesis. To those who did not grow up here, who did not sow their dreams so that they could reap their memories, to those people there is no city. There is merely a city; lonely but without solitude; full of people but without ghosts; crowded, but without a soul.

I stopped and looked across the street. Various people walked past and bumped into me. A few ghosts walked past before disappearing back into the labyrinth of streets which they inhabit. I stood and stared at the windows of the deserted building where I had once met her. Then I saw her come out of the building. It was an autumn day like today. There was a red hue in the twilit sky. A cold breeze cut through our bodies like a knife. But we were ghosts and it didn’t matter. Our lips were purple, our skin was cold, our noses were red. We grabbed each other by our coats and we kissed as if it were the middle of summer. Then we went our separate ways.

I pass by this place from time to time. And when I do, I always see our ghosts kissing before going their separate ways.


7. The Peacock Throne

The mysteries of the heart
Are spanned by empty halls
Forsaken corridors
Desolate caverns
Where the Devil holds sway
And the only hope left
Is a miracle sought by all
Yet witnessed by none…

When the curtain rose again we were still kissing. It was a culmination of trials and tribulations, sorrows and errors, a lifetime spent in finding and losing each other. And the denouement came after life had departed us, after we thought everything was over, after the pain and the denial, the remorse and the regrets. Here… on a gold-gilded stage in a theater before a full audience that rose to salute us and applaud us, that made such a raucous that the entire theater seemed to palpitate like a heart all around us, as we stood among the corpses of our fallen fellow actors… here was the macabre, sinister, sarcastic climax. Lucifer had a subtle sense of humor, and an even subtler sense of aesthetics, that much I had to hand him.

We turned to the audience and bowed as roses and bouquets of flowers (and even leaves, curiously enough) were hurled at us, falling at our feet, flying past our heads. There were petals and leaves in our hair and on our shoulders amid cheers and bravos as the curtain came down again. A dozen pseudandrons from backstage came out with shovels, brushes and buckets to clean up the revolting mess that littered the stage after the climactic carnage in the last act of the play. They did a thorough job. By the time the curtain lifted again for an encore, there were no more limbs and viscera strewn about the stage, just some stubborn streaks and stains of blood which the pseudandrons eventually were able to bring down to a rusty brown smear by the second and third encores. The entire cast (excepting, of course, the palace guards and the maenads) came out behind us, waving and basking in this moment of glory. Argus flapped overhead with a wing-to-wing smile on his face. King Minos came back out and bowed. He looked at Ariadne, his daughter, and hugged her with pride. Her eyes welled. They shared some words as they hugged again, holding each other tightly, tears streaming down their cheeks. The King Minos left the stage and that was the last time we saw him. She watched her father until he was out of our sight and then turned to me, squeezed my hand, and continued bowing with me, still teary-eyed, but smiling. I knew she was happy to get a second chance, to say her final I love you’s and goodbye’s, as it were.

The two pseudandrons who had had such an unexpected and sudden role in the play were also beside themselves. They were perhaps the only pseudandrons who had emerged from the silent world behind the stage, on the periphery of the Heart which they inhabited, which we passed through on our way here, where they ceaselessly, uselessly, performed lives lived in shadows, where they acted out the mere imitation of emotions and adventures on stages unseen. They had experienced the real thing now, and their faces seemed to be changing. I noticed their color went from pale and ghostly white to a lightly tanned skin. And after every bow I noticed more changes in their physical aspect, commensurate perhaps with their changed emotional nature and their new experience. Eyes and ears, noses and mouths, every sign of the human form blossomed upon them until, by our tenth bow, they were two fully formed humans, just like those in the audience, just like us. They were now two completely naked young men with awkward, asymmetric bodies, bowing next to us as if they had been the stars, each one jealous of the other, slapping each other and frowning at each other in between wide, affected, professional smiles directed painstakingly at the audience.

The curtain came down again. When it came back up for the last time the audience was gone. In one brief moment the entire auditorium had been emptied of all except for one person, sitting in the gods, clapping. We looked carefully but couldn’t see who it was. The spotlight was still in our eyes and the auditorium went dark. The sudden silence contrasted sharply – and disturbingly – with the noisy, cheery commotion of only a few seconds before. We looked behind us and there were only Argus and the pseudandrons standing behind myself and Ariadne. The lone figure continued clapping. I turned behind me to lift the curtain and see what happened. But the more of the curtain I lifted the more velvety red cloth kept coming so that I couldn’t crawl under it. Then we heard the clapping figure come closer. His soft footsteps were approaching down the red-carpeted aisle.

And sure enough, there before us, still clapping, impeccably dressed in black and with a big grin on his face, stood the Devil.

“Bravo! Bravo, bravo, bravo,” he exclaimed. “Splendid performance. You display quite the killer instinct, eh Dionysus? I was very proud of you. Got what you were looking for? You seemed to be enjoying yourself, especially at the end! Nice catch, by the way… that ring must’ve been difficult to spot in the air!”

“I was wondering what happened to you,” I said. “Congratulations on your play. Oh, and nice throw.”

“The play was already written. In fact we all had a part in its writing. I suppose it just had to be…played out. I told you, you already knew the lines by heart. Or perhaps it’s the Heart that already knows your lines and speaks them through you? Eh? But I am bored of all this clapping and commotion, so come along.” He waved us over, indicating that we follow him.

“Well you directed it very well,” said Ariadne suggestively.

“Oh yes, I am a good director, if I do say so myself. Now come along, and bring your odd companions. You are my guests.”

Ariadne, myself, Argus and the two pseudandrons followed the Devil up the aisle of the theater and toward the main door, with the spotlight upon us all the way. Lucifer opened the door and we found ourselves in another great hall, the ceilings too high to see, the pillars stretching up and away above our heads without end, the red carpet extending from the theater, across the threshold, through the great hall and up a few steps of a dais to what seemed like a throne. There were some peacocks wandering about in the hall, and behind his great seat (not of gold or silver or any other recognizable metal) was a great fan of peacock feathers, and one great “eye” directly above the throne, bigger (and more vivid) than the other rainbow-colored eyelike spots of the peacock feathers that fanned out around the seat.

“Behold, the Peacock Throne!” announced the Devil excitedly. “Here you see my seat of power, from which I govern and rule over the rabble of humankind!”

“Living or dead?” asked Ariadne.

“Oh it makes no difference dear. ‘Life and Death’ is a strange dichotomy that only humans can conceive. To think that death is an end to life, and thus the opposite of life, rather than a reformation of it that is necessary for its constant regeneration, to see life only from the point of view of their own being, it’s all so egotistical. It’s all so, human. Very boring indeed.” His pronunciation of the word ‘human’ was unmistakably pejorative.

“Would you like to take a seat on the throne?” he continued. “It would look so ironic, which itself would be ironically funny, because it’s really not funny, which in turn would be ironically tragic, because to find humor in something not funny is pretty tragic! The irony would be endless!” He was quite amused.

“Like laughing at death?” I offered.

“Or facing your conscience,” he replied.

“I will!” said Argus from above us.

“You will what?” asked the Devil, with annoyance.

“I will take a seat!”

“Ah,” blurted the Devil, not amused. “That would just be a travesty of irony. In fact, I don’t even know what that would be… a flying head without so much as an ass to sit on. No other takers? Oh well, not really surprised, nobody ever does take a seat. I always feel a perverse sense of satisfaction in asking them the question though.” He seemed to be thinking about something before he made for the Peacock Throne and sat down. He sighed and then redirected his attention back at us.

“Do you know what I am sitting on?” he asked, even though it seemed a superfluous question. “It’s not just a throne. Do you know what this throne is made of?”

We all looked at each other blankly.

“This throne has been crafted with the Philosopher’s Stone!” he declares. “That mythical metal alchemists have sought to discover for centuries. I’m sitting on it. Some think King Midas had discovered it, but all he discovered was a curse. No my friends, I am the only one to have found it, I am the only one with access to it.”

“So, you can turn base metals into gold?” I ventured.

“No, of course not,” he said with disdain. “Let’s not be ridiculous. But what it does do is it makes some things seem like gold, in an allegorical sense anyway. And that’s when it can transmutate...”

I had no idea what he was talking about. I thought he was going to finish his sentence but he didn’t. He seemed to stop in mid-sentence.

“Rather than explain, let me show you.”

He got off his throne, descended from his dais, and bade us follow him. We walked for a long time down the seemingly endless, cold hall that stretched out further than we could see. Pillar after pillar, the same marble floors, the same white walls, the same cornices, the same red carpet. After a while I looked behind us and couldn’t see the throne anymore. In fact it was as if we were standing completely still as we walked, for there were no variations to the theme. There was no destination before us and no departure point anymore behind us. The pillars passed us by at painfully regular intervals, but it was as if we were not moving at all. The pseudandrons hadn’t said a word yet, and seemed childish, walking awkwardly and often smiling at each other like children, chasing each other, slapping each other, and generally getting bored easily. Ariadne was tense and close to me. Argus had a straight and serious face. The Devil walked ahead of us, never glancing back or saying a word.

Then I noticed the pillars passing us by at smaller and smaller intervals, as if they’d sped up. But this seemed ridiculous, because it was us who were walking, and we were still walking at the same pace. Nevertheless, it seemed to be the pillars that were gaining speed. The Devil made no comments, he just kept walking. Soon the pillars were buzzing by, one after the other. Ahead of us was still an indiscernible, blurry dot that was our destination, and behind us the same blurry little dot where we came from. Now the pillars were passing us by at such speed that they too became one blurred wall.

Then we stopped. And as we did, the blurred wall of speeding pillars became one solid white wall on both sides of us, so fast were they passing by. The Devil turned to his left and stood in front of this wall. We did the same.

“Timing is of the essence,” said the Devil, and before we could say anything, he jumped into the wall and vanished.

We all let out a collective gasp before gathering ourselves together. This was truly a leap of faith – another leap of faith. I imagined a pillar speeding at hundreds of miles per hour going into my right side and crushing everything it encountered.

“Well, we must follow him. Argus, go first,” I said, only half-jokingly.

“B…but how?” he replied.

“I have no idea. Just do it very quickly.”

Argus fluttered about nervously. Then, to my astonishment, he flew as fast as he could through the wall. Although we heard a thud and a loud cry of pain, he had gone through. One by one we all did the same. The pseudandrons, then Ariadne, and then me. I simply closed my eyes and ran full speed at a great wall that actually looked solid. I screamed as I went through and although I felt a powerful knock on my ankle, I was through, though I was going so fast that I bowled both the pseudandrons over on the other side before falling at the feet of Lucifer. Ariadne couldn’t help giggling, and as I looked up I saw the Devil looking down on me snidely.

“There, there, humpty-dumpty, pull yourself together,” said the Devil mockingly.

I stood up and bore smiles and giggles from Ariadne and Argus. When I got the chance to look around me, I saw that we’d entered a dank, dark cave of sorts, like a dungeon. There were sounds coming from inside the cave, and a red glow. We followed the Devil through the rocky tunnel that was lit up by torches. Then, just as I thought we were on another endless walk, all of a sudden we found ourselves on a rocky turret that looked out upon a massive great canyon below us full of stony terraces and machines and strange creatures at work. There were psudandrons, but also other creatures. Perhaps they were demons or incubi, and the whole great cave was busy at work. Smoldering cauldrons full of molten metal were poured into molds; dozens of demons tugged on massive ropes with great heavy earthen chunks on the ends of them. Others slugged away with picks and hammers, chisels and shovels into the rock, digging deeper and deeper. Wooden scaffolding rose along some of the cliffs. Thousands and thousands of torches burned incessantly across the great wide canyon. Carts went to and fro on tracks that crisscrossed the canyon, tugged by other strange creatures, creatures that resembled hellish beasts of burden from afar; part-man, part-animal.

“This, my guests, is my great workshop! My factory, if you will. This is the Mine of the Elixir, this is where we extract the precious stone…”

We followed him down into the mines.


A Moment on Earth

Like a sociopath, like a creep, like an outcast, I stood outside her window and hid beneath the shadows. The shame could do little to displace or even placate the drive of a shunned man, of a forgotten man, of a man who has been dismissed. Neither did my introspection reveal to me my own folly, nor did the remorse I felt for the way I had treated her, and the way I had myself dismissed her, drive me away from this shameful disposition. I displayed all the solidity and irrationality of a man beyond help. I just sat there for what must have been hours, thinking of her, thinking of him, thinking of me. I didn’t even know why I was there, or what I was waiting for. I just sat there outside her window and let our story run before my eyes over and over again.

I walked for hours along cold, winding, lonely streets, coughing and wheezing, talking to myself like a perverted ogre. Loneliness is a lonely man’s only companion, the cold is his heart’s natural state. Warmth and company are shunned, they are hindrances, they are distractions. The streets in the dark, small hours of the morning are his natural abode. He lives among ghosts, he lives as a ghost. Everything else is unimportant. The only thing he knows is that between the cold, black earth below and the cold dark heart inside, only his feet matter, only they have a will, and they lead him to places he could not imagine being in, in situations that would – and do – horrify him, because he has no choices.

And so I walk on, praying forgiveness for my evil feet. On and on, all night, amid the company of street cats, hungry dogs, broken windows and faulty street lamps, lost in thoughts that have already been lost in me.

At home, four o’clock in the morning, I part the curtains and look out on the deserted street. I drift into the tranquility of this other, silent world; this world that none but aberrations like myself see, this world that lives only as we dream. Not a leaf moves, not a ghost passes, not a soul stirs. The windows and the doors, the street lamps and the sign posts are, like me, aberrations suspended in the stillness, as if waiting for their masters to arise and relieve them of their indifference.


8. The Mine of the Elixir

Digging deep within
We find the formula for our salvation
But only after
We have given in to its deception

“Do you smell that?” asked the Devil rhetorically as we descended down into the canyon. “That’s the smell of the universe digging for a meaning.”

We trudged through mud and clay, passing his horde of workers on our narrow path. I saw each of these creatures bow before the Devil as we passed, before lifting their gazes to look us squarely in the eyes. They had the look of predators, and their gazes were menacing. There were pseudandrons, to be sure, but there was also a host of other creatures. Those that bore the heavy weights - the beasts of burden - resembled centaurs, hoofed quadrupeds with massive muscular torsos, curled locks and horns on their human heads. Having both the chest of a horse and that of a man, they were extremely powerful. They had coils of ropes tied around both chests and they hauled incredible loads of earth and chunks of the strange metal Lucifer had mentioned – the elixir – up steep ramps and on to great containers attached to pulleys that were heaved from below by another demonic creature that seemed to have the human form, but with the head of a lizard. These creatures too were extremely powerful and hauled great masses up, past the scaffolding, and to the topmost terraces of the cavern where other of these creatures toiled. Noticing that I was studying one of these monsters, the Devil granted me an elucidation.

“Those that work with the centaurs are the androsaurs, a hideous race that were conceived mistakenly and never saw the light of day on earth. They’re one of my favorites.” I recalled that it was in the form of an androsaur that we – I – had met the Devil on the path of riddles.

We walked past scaffolding that stretched miles up the canyon and on which could be found other creatures, neither large nor muscular, but lithe and slender, and very supple. These creatures worked like mad, bouncing side to side, from ledge to ledge, and up the scaffolding with the ease of spiders, oblivious to height or terrain. They made a strange hissing sound and chiseled away with fathomless energy. They had dexterous claws with long, sharp nails on all four of their limbs, and they had the added advantage of having two joints on every limb. Their torsos were small relative to their long limbs, and they also had long necks, although their heads were rather small, compressed, oval-shaped, with a dozen tiny, black eyes that presumably gave them 360 degree vision. Some of these creatures looked our way for a prolonged period after having performed their requisite – and exceptionally graceful – four-legged bow before their master. It was a chilling spectacle. Argus hid behind our backs and the two pseudandrons were shaking with fright.

“The arachnorids are the trail-blazers here, as you may have guessed,” explained the Devil. “They are skillful, meticulous and fast, a hybrid of humanoid and arachnid that evolved early in the stages of development of the human mind.”

The heat gradually became unbearable as we followed the winding roads further and further down these gargantuan mines. All of us – except for Lucifer – were affected by this heat. Here in the depths of the mine we noticed beings we hadn’t seen before. There were also workers digging downwards into the canyon. They too were a different breed, swarthy and shapeless, like great, gritty lumps of earth themselves. They seemed impervious to the heat that consumed them, for walking along the path, tens of meters above them, even we had trouble dealing with the heat, as well as the noxious fumes that were emitted from below.

“The clodbores below us are the dynamo of the mine. They are the ones who keep us going down, down, down…” explained the Devil. “They themselves are partly of the same matter as the elixir they dig for. They are drawn to it, they have a taste for it, like cannibals. The elixir is not only a mineral, it has an organic quality, and even a hallucinogenic one. Without the elixir, there would not be a Humankind. There may be the same organisms you would recognize as humans, but there would be no ideal of the Human. That is the power of the elixir. It serves not the transmutation of metals into gold per se. Not in any other than an allegorical sense anyway. The elixir serves the transmutation of instincts into emotions and emotions into ideals. It transcends all, yet none see it, even though it resides in the great Heart and determines the way we think. We must dig deep to find it, and my clodbores do not let me down, nor do my androsaurs, my arachnorids, or my centaurs. We have an endless task here, as you can see. Follow me…”

Suddenly we were all given a big fright and reeled back as a large figure jumped up in front of us from among the clodbores below and landed before us with a massive thud. It was a demon, ochre-colored, snake-eyed, with flared nostrils, bat-like wings on its back, clawed hands and feet, and a single curved horn protruding from its forehead, like that of a rhinoceros. It also had a massive whip in its hand. It was about the size of a human, but more muscular, as were all these demonic creatures, save the arachnorids. We thought it was set to attack us, but instead it smiled and bowed before the Devil. Then it said something that was unlike any language I’d ever heard, to which the Devil responded in the same tongue.

“Har-tzintsit Ra-d tset urit-ne?” asked the demon, eyeing us as he spoke.

“Se-tset urit, Krat, Se-tset urit” answered Satan.

“Ye, Ra, ye. Um-tset urit!” rejoined the demon, before bowing and smiling somewhat theatrically, thus flashing its impressive set of what must have been razor-sharp teeth, pointy and long.

The demon stepped out of our path and we continued on our way, each of us, I’m sure, feeling the same cold chill run down our spines as we passed within inches of this glaring monster on this narrow trail. The pseudandrons tripped over each other in trying not to be the last in line, one of them nearly falling into the pits below before regaining his balance and shuffling ahead frantically to catch up with us.

“It sounded like he was welcoming us,” I ventured, nervously.

“Perhaps. But it is difficult to understand their meaning even when you understand their words. The demons have their own speech that only they – and of course myself – know. It’s called Incubata. They speak on a sub-syntactic level as well as a syntactic one.”

“Like a double-entendre?”

“Beyond a double-entendre. The syntactic level is not merely a cover or a disguise for the purpose of communicating the sub-meaning. It has a wholly separate meaning, independent of the sub-syntactic meaning. So they in fact communicate two separate meanings with each phrase, and sometimes with each word. Some in fact can and do communicate a separate meaning with each word of a sentence, thus communicating on a multitude of levels at once, syntactic, sub-syntactic, motic and sub-motic. Even I have a devil of a time understanding them. They say you have to be schizophrenic to speak the language fluently. Such is the language of these djinns.”

We followed him on along the trail winding through the valley, passing multitudes of these creatures, though not encountering any more demons. Soon we came upon one of the great pulleys that carried containers of earth – and the mysterious elixir – up the great cliffs to the topmost terraces to be transported off. Ariadne, whose curiosity spoke for the both of us, posed a question about this elixir.

“This transmutation you speak of, of instincts into emotions, of emotions into ideals…”

But before she could finish her question one of the ropes of the pulley broke and the container on the end of it tipped over so that the entire earthen load it was carrying came thundering down. We all jumped and ran out of the way and the load came crashing down upon the Devil, who came out unscathed and unstirred, while an androsaur and a pseudandron who was next to him were crushed to a pulp. Lucifer shouted up some orders and other androsaurs and pseudandrons got to work repairing the rope, one end of which fell before me. The strands were like thick tufts of human hair. The Devil noticed my interest.

“The hair of the dead is strong, and it never stops growing.”

The Devil merely brushed some of the dirt off his shoulders and head before turning to Ariadne to answer her question.

“Ah yes, the elixir. You yourself, and your pseudandrons, have witnessed the power of the elixir. You have noticed how your pseudandrons have acquired form, the human form. They were before truly pseudandrons, faceless, blank, tabulae rasa that merely acted out their instincts for laughter, for love, for hate, for recognition, and so on. But in the theater they found those instincts transformed into emotions, real, heart-felt emotions that gave them life. And those emotions themselves, at the end of the play, brought about their transmutation into ideals, into the ideal that is the Human.”

“But where did the elixir come into it?” I asked.

“The stage upon which you performed, the gold-gilt proscenium, was in fact wrought of the elixir, which took on the aspect of gold, as is the nature of the elixir in the eyes of the beholder. But gold has no worth of its own, and the transmutation is merely one of form, not of substance.”

“But the pseudandrons, they changed in substance, not just form,” objected Ariadne.

“Ha! Are you so sure? Beware of the elixir, it is the great deceiver. When you think you have found its meaning – when you think it has given you meaning – it can, it will, leave you in the midst of lies. But that is why we seek for the elixir, for humankind cannot live without lies. And that is where I come in. For, like the value of gold, the human too is an illusion. A piece of rock and a piece of flesh, like marionettes dangling from strings they dare not break, lest one should fall like a stone, and the other discover it is little more than worm food lost in a universe all alone. Yes, without the elixir which in men’s hearts lie, life would be unbearable, the truth itself would be a lie!”

Hardly had the Devil finished his soliloquy when he shouted “Come!” and jumped into one of the containers that was full and about to be pulled up. We all scurried in and sat on the dirt and the crude metal as the pulley began lifting us up. One of the pseudandrons barely made it and was dangling off the side, holding on to the edge, before we reached out and pulled him in. We looked out across the canyon that stretched panoramically beneath us, the thousands of working figures once again grew small and indistinguishable from one another.

When we reached the top we stayed in the container that was to be placed on some rail tracks and led away down a dark tunnel to presumably be processed somewhere. Two androsaurs placed us on the tracks. We passed by various cauldrons where molten metal – the elixir – was being stirred by pseudandrons. We noticed another demon standing by us before we could notice where he had come from. This one had two horns, one on either side of his head, and much the same features as the previous one. And like the previous one, he ogled us with a hideous smile that flashed a frightening set of razor-sharp teeth. He bowed to the Devil and prepared to push us off down the tracks. As he did, he said something in his hermetic language that none but the Devil understood.

“Um-tset krishit ghur shan-ne?” bellowed the demon.

“Se-tse kurna shan ur,” answered the Devil, and we were hurled into the dark tunnel with the echoing laughter of the demon accompanying us as we sped away.


A Moment on Earth

I oozed lubriciously out of the penumbra of the serpentine streets and fed myself into the jaws of a flesh hungry meat parlor that was waiting to chew me up, swallow me down, grind me up, and shit me out. I entered the gaping wide mouth and walked upon the long, moist, red tongue as I was greeted by succubi that breathed fire, and incubi that served death in long shot-glasses. I took one of them and gulped it down thirstily, the absinthe searing my throat like hell-fire. I walked around inside the dank, wet mouth and elected the priestess who would deliver me into the flaming walls of her temple. She led me down the throat of the beast, and we were swallowed into the temple where the altar of lust lay quietly and eagerly anticipating its next victim.

My priestess carefully dispensed with my clothes, for never had clothes seemed so flimsy as when they were peeling away from my body and into her fiery hands. My body trembled as it drew near the altar. Her wet slippery hands and long cold nails slithered over my chest like two snakes searching for the point in which they would plunge their fangs in and rip my heart out. My filthy, shameful mind was inundated with images of carnal degeneracy, of death and sex and pain. The priestess deftly positioned herself below me, and began undulating rhythmically with my tortured thrusts, breathing fire unto my chest, tearing chunks of flesh from my neck, sucking the very blood from my body, the spirit from my mind, the life from my limbs. Her gnarling and my groans fused into the form of one symbiotically sinister beast that fed off debauchery and breathed only air that was composed of sweat, salt, and saliva.

In one deft move, the succubus was now atop my body, her hips gyrating over mine, reciting incantations in a language I’d never heard, in the language of demons. Her breasts, her arms, her hands and her hair fell over me, brushed along the length of my body and then rose again and drew strength from above her head, from a force that watched over us and impregnated both our bodies, before falling down over me again, this time her nails digging into my flesh, almost scraping out chunks of me so as to satisfy her ravenous carnal lust. Her incantations grew louder and louder, our bodies heaved and moved together, the blood rushing through us beat like drums in our ears. As the drums beat louder and louder the sweat poured out and the smell of sex infused our nostrils, our senses became one overwhelming, reptilian ur-sense. We lost consciousness, and I felt we were rising to where the drums were beating. We were rising more and more rapidly from the visceral temple, until the drums became deafening, and we were a long way above the altar. I saw her hands join above her head and come down upon my chest with a massive thud, revealing her red eyes, her maenad hair, just at the moment when we burst, when our hearts, our stomachs, our brains, our entire bodies all exploded into a million forgotten beings that their atoms once belonged to and that now belonged to us.

Wump-wump, wump-wump, wump-wump… was the sound of the universe regaining equilibrium with my sacrifice.


9. Pipedreams

The Soul and the Heart
Just two of the lies we’ve been taught

We hurtled down the tracks that wound left and right through the long tunnel until we spotted some light ahead and emerged in another great, endless cavern that was lighted by torches. Our container came to a halt and we got out and looked in amazement at what stretched before us. The whole of the cavern seemed to be composed of one gigantic machine. Pipes wound in and out, pistons and cylinders pumped away, steam sporadically whistled out of vents. Running through the center of this machine world were massive great cauldrons where more of this elixir was bubbling and boiling away, attended by more pseudandrons. They were working over the cauldrons, and there didn’t seem to be any other creatures besides them, except the few androsaurs that emptied the loads into the cauldrons. We approached the nearest cauldron and saw some of these androsaurs dump a load of metal from a container into the boiling vat, watching the metal gradually liquefy. As it did, the glowing elixir was sucked up by a tube that connected into the leviathan of a machine where it was presumably processed still further, though I can’t imagine how. It was one giant, messy, tangle of machinery that couldn’t possibly lend itself to scrutiny.

“Well this is the processing plant, and that is the machine I developed,” announced the Devil. “It’s a utilitarian nightmare. Not much in the way of aesthetics, but it gets the job done. You’ll only find pseudandrons working here, and maybe the odd demon that keeps watch over them.”

We walked passed cauldron after cauldron where teams of three workers slaved over their task endlessly. The Devil stopped before one, looking at the raw elixir.

“Only after significant processing can the elixir be useful, otherwise it’s lethal. Watch this…”

Before we knew what was happening, he grabbed one of the pseudandrons by the neck and dipped its head into the boiling broth. When he drew the head out again, after a few seconds, the pseudandron had a human face with the aspect of pure terror all over it. Then the face started mutating into various forms, now of happiness, now of sorrow, now of fear, now of boredom, spanning the whole gamut of emotions before the head started becoming more and more warped, as if it were a lump of deformed clay spinning and falling apart in the hands of the artist who was working it. Soon the head had melted down and fallen apart and the Devil simply threw the rest of the pseudandron’s body away like it was refuse. Our own humanized pseudandron companions shrank and squealed in horror.

“As you see, the effects are too volatile as yet. The unrefined elixir is too erratic. Of course the fact that it was still boiling hot didn’t help too much either.” He laughed at this. “I like doing that when I have guests. It’s fun to watch their reactions.”

We thanked him sarcastically for his consideration, and he told us we were welcome, though not so sarcastically as we would’ve liked.

“What, if I may ask, is the elixir composed of?” I said.

“That, my friend, even the Devil does not know. Perhaps that is why it is a mystery.” This time he was sarcastic.

“Then how do you know if it works?” I asked again.

“Oh that’s easy. When it works you will find these blank drones act just like humans. They become humans. And I can spot a human a mile away. But I would prefer to show you just what I mean. The creative process continues in the next cavern. There you will have a better sense of what this elixir actually does, and in fact even what it is. You, we, I all know what the elixir is only by what it does, but the elixir in itself is a mystery. Come now…”

Suddenly the Devil vanished before us. I looked down and saw a great hole at the end of the line of cauldrons, going through the metal floor and through the earth below it. One by one, we held our breaths, closed our eyes, and jumped into the hole. Argus went in last, trying as he was to fly down.

A Moment on Earth

Faces swam by me like piranhas. The world had crumbled and the predators had been exposed from their hunting hole – ugly, pock-marked faces that life had fled to leave decay in its place. The tables where these predators had congregated were tombstones visited by the relatives of the ghosts they sheltered on the day of the dead. My brain seeped out of my skull and swam in my drink like a poison. A cloudy mist fell over my eyes as I drank it. I never realized how hard it was to lose myself, and how easy it was to find myself over and over again, wishing I was lost – finally, completely, unmistakably lost. The buzzing in my head grew loud, my feet became heavy, my eyes twitched uncontrollably, and still I wasn’t lost. I was still here, I could still move my fingers. This was still my hand. Why couldn’t I just leave?

The hatred swelled up in me: hatred of myself, hatred of all those who didn’t know me, or bother to know me, hatred for everything that ever witnessed my shame and my disgrace, hatred for anyone who ever saw me. My hatred was indiscriminate, it only sought victims, no priests or hierophants, no kings or gods, it only sought victims knowing that they were all I was worth being sacrificed for. Every drag of my cigarette burnt my lungs, every drop I swallowed condemned me to my own perdition. Still it wasn’t enough. Still I felt an emptiness grow within me, devouring more and replenishing less, never satisfied until it consumed everything and turned it into nothing. Puff, drink, puff, drink, kill yourself slowly, kill yourself slowly, kill yourself slowly… kill yourself, kill yourself, kill yourself, kill yourself and take the victims, take the victims, take the victims, take the victims with you. Leave. And take the fucking victims…

Puff, drink, puff, drink, puff, think, remember, remember, remember, puff, think, remember who you, remember who you are, puff, drink, why is he looking? Puff, drink, looking at me, who areyouwhoareyouwhoareyou, remember… who are you looking at me, whoareyouwhoareyour… puff, drink, puff… extinguish, lights out. Drink, smash, glass… whoareyouwhoareyouwhoareyou… scream at me, scream at me, saymyname, SAY MY NAAAAAAME!!! WHAT’S MY NAAAAAME, SAY MY NAAAAAAME!!! Hands, hands, fingers, palms, fists, fists, fists, punch and kick, punch and kick, puff and drink, punch and kick rip, tear, punch and kick, punch, punch, punch, flesh and meat, tear and rip, flesh and meat… cold, cold, cold, cold floor, WHAT’S MYYYYY NAAAAAAAAAME!!! WHAT’S MY NAME? WHAT? WHAT? SAY IT CUNT! SAY IT NIGGER! SAY IT COON! WHAT’S MY NAAAAAAAME, FUCK YOU, fuck you, fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou… what is it…. Crack your skull, scratch your eyes, rip your mouth, fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou, I’LL EAT YOU, I’LL EAT YOUR HEARTS, I’LL EAT YOUR HEARTS OUT WITH YOUR RIBS…Come with me, come with me, please, everybody, please, just come with me…

Leave me, leave me, leave me alone, just… lonely, leave me… leave me… I’m lying there, I see myself there, lying there, in the snow, look, I’m lying there. Is there no mercy… is there no more… none…

The dogs! The dogs! Jesusthedogsknowmyname! It’s a miracle! Jesus! The dogs and the whores, Jesus, the dogs and the whores know my name!


10. The Ideal Realm

Color your lips, paint your eyes, dye your hair
For beneath your skin lie flesh and bones
And viscera, the sight of which you do not dare

We emerged into a blue airy realm that smelt neither of fumes nor machines nor sweat. We fell slower and slower through clouds and vapor until we could make out our destination below. There were little figures scurrying to and fro and great circular pools of blue connected by pipes and tubes that disappeared into the great rocks that bordered this enormous realm and stretched high up further than we could see. We soon noticed the familiar figures of pseudandrons, for the most part, and more of those hideous demons. We had a very soft landing by one of these massive blue pools where pseudandrons worked busily doing whatever it was they were doing. The ground was hard, white, flat and clean. I noticed Argus hadn’t yet arrived, flapping as it was ever so slowly down, as was his nature.

“Ra-Shan, huridved!” bellowed one of these demons as he bowed to the Devil. This demon was of the one-horned kind.

“In Kraa chentisivenit hur-e,” said the Devil, and led us by one of these pools.

There were pipes emerging from the rocks and feeding into the pools, presumably from the chamber we had just departed, and supposedly pouring the purified elixir into these pools. Other larger, thicker, more robust pipes arched out of the pools and went straight in through the ground just outside the pool, disappearing down into the surface to who-knows-where. Just as we approached the brim of the pool, we noticed a loud commotion a few pools down. A centaur was drawing a cart full of pseudandrons who were writhing in a big messy pile in the cart, like a cartload of worms. The hooves of the centaur were loud on the hard surface as it trotted toward us. It drew to a halt a few meters from us and let go of the cart before carrying on in the same direction toward other pools, probably to carry other loads. Then from behind us, from the opposite direction, came two androsaurs. They tipped their heads slightly toward the Devil, as a show of recognition, and proceeded to unload these poor pseudandrons into the pool by the handfuls (two or three pseudandrons could be scooped up by those androsaurs in one go). As they fell in, they each seemed panic-stricken and soon began to die in the liquid, some of them burning up upon touching the surface. They eventually dissolved amid bubbles and fizzles. It was eerie to see such fear, such panic, such kicking and fighting, such a dreadful end, and not even hear a single sound as the killing took place. The horror was in fact exacerbated by the absence of the expected exclamations that accompany a man to his end.

Then the demon that had greeted us – or rather, that had greeted the Devil – went toward the edge of the pool and began an incantation, repeating it over and over again:

“Im toorad sek haraad vit shad, im toorad sek haraad vit shad, im toorad sek haraad vit shad…”

The bubbling in the pool increased, as did the fizzing. Then we saw the pool empty out in one massive, sudden suck, down the arched tube. The smaller pipes continued to feed the pool.

“And there you have it, a big dose of God coming up!” said the Devil.

“And what about the pseudandrons?” I asked.

“We harvest the pseudandrons for their emotions, they train at them, as you yourself witnessed on your way to the theater. We harvest the right ones and mix them with the purified elixir to produce the ideal we desire. In this case, we have given out a nice healthy dose of God!”

“God? Do you mean to say that you, the Devil, created God? Are you now toying with us?” asked Ariadne in bewilderment.

“Goodness me, no, I’m afraid you remain victims of your education yet. Creating God once is not enough, we here have to keep reproducing it, otherwise the effect seems to fade. God is perhaps the most popular ideal, although it’s being fast supplanted by Love, which has basically taken on some of the most palatable properties of the former so as to abide by the more secularized taste that is popular nowadays.”

“So… God is your creation!?” I asked.

“Oh, most certainly,” answered the Devil. “There is a high demand for it, so I supply it, simple economics really. You see, people are essentially – and existentially – afraid of two things more than all else: meaninglessness and uncertainty. And the two things people find in the universe more than anything else really is precisely that which they fear: meaninglessness and uncertainty. Many believe the ultimate question is the “Meaning of Life,” you see? Meaning is crucial so that they feel there is a purpose to their mundane, painful, toiling, absurd, biological – and ultimately mortal – existence. Certainty is also important, to be certain of there being a life after death, of good being rewarded and evil being punished (we also produce morals like good and evil in other pools), of there being something, someone that sees their good deeds, that sees their suffering, that is omniscient and omnipotent. They like certainties, like Beginnings and Ends, like creation and apocalypse, like birth and death. People need the certainty of a Power to which they can subject themselves. So God is that ultimate being they need to fill in their ontological void. I know it’s a ridiculous concept but people lap it up. They need to. So that is our main production, and many other ideals are bound to God, like the Soul, and Heaven, etc…”

“So you’re saying they need to believe in a lie…” said Ariadne.

“Yes, of course, and I am their man! I dig out and process and feed the elixir,” bellowed the Devil.

“…which is little more than a placebo,” I offered.

“But worth its weight in gold,” added the Devil, laughing.

“And how are we to know,” I interjected, “that you yourself are not an ideal created by us to give form to our fears, to have an identifiable object against which to fight, so as to overwhelm and overcome? How are we to know?”

“You cannot know,” answered the Devil calmly. “You can only believe it to be so. Just like god, I too might be a product of people’s – perhaps your – superstition...”

At that moment I looked up upon hearing a strange noise above me, and there was Argus huffing and puffing as it descended down toward us, looking very fatigued indeed, sweat dropping on us from its forehead, the wings barely holding against the fall. It was so tired that it went right into the pool which had just been emptied and which was slowly filling up now. With the sound of a big “plop” Argus flapped frantically, spitting and squinting its eyes as it tried to save itself from the pool. When with one final, Herculean effort Argus broke free, it came and dropped with a thud at our feet.

“Tough journey down, eh?” I asked.

“Yes…” it said needlessly, puffing and panting. “And how did you make it down? Let me guess, you just floated and landed like a feather?!”

“Quite like that Argus, quite like that,” I laughed. “You really should learn to let go.”

“Such is the curse of having wings. You can’t help but fly.”

“Come now, let’s move on to another pool…” said the Devil as we followed his lead.

We continued our dialogue – or perhaps it was a catechism – as we walked.

“So the pseudandrons you chose were harvested of Fear then?” I asked.

“Yes indeed, fear is what creates God,” answered Lucifer.

“And the incantation?”

“Well the incantation is rather for the sake of… how shall I put it… frissons. The key ingredient is, of course, the elixir. The incantation is perhaps more of a… guarantee, if you will.” This sounded purposefully ambiguous, but he continued. “I shall compare it to the utility of art in religion; you see, the music, the mosaics, the icons, the calligraphy, all of it serve no other purpose than to lend the religion a mystical sense of other-worldliness which makes belief in the ideal in question – in this case Religion, God, Heaven, etc. – all the more palatable for the self-subjecting believer. So too our incantation in Incubata lends the ideal an aspect of ceremony and mystique which makes the lie all the more believable. People will go to great lengths to convince themselves of what they have decided to believe in, and we are only doing our part to help them fulfill their conviction.”

The next pool was the same as the last. It was full too, and sure enough another centaur (or perhaps the same one) trotted up to it with another cart-full of pseudandrons, but this time they were behaving differently. They had an air of self-importance about them and each one had a mirror (or rather, the representation of a mirror) in their hands – same as the props we saw them using on our path to the theater. Sure enough, the androsaurs started tossing them into this pool, causing bubbling and fizzling and a massive whoosh, and the pool was gone amid more incantations by other demons.

“The pool of the Soul,” explained the Devil. “Vanity is the right ingredient here. Obsession with the self, with the ego, with the I. People like to believe in their individual existence and accord themselves immortality by needing to believe that although their bodies die there is an essence to them that lives on, either in another realm (heaven) or through metempsychosis and reincarnation. Thus they believe in a soul to gratify this fascination with themselves. You see, for them it is not important that their species – and indeed, life – is immortal, they believe that they themselves have to be immortal too. I guess when you can only see the world with your own eyes, your own eyes become more precious than anything else. They even spend time and money to mark out with marble gravestones and oak wood coffins the places where they decompose and rot! Worm food with an attitude, that’s what I call them.”

He laughed heartily as we moved on from pool to pool. The Devil stopped by one in particular and began explaining.

“Here we have the pool of Selflessness. Those pseudandrons that are being thrown in are also vain and egotistical. We use the same batch as that which we use for the Soul. You see, Selflessness is the best form of serving your self-interest, thus gaining true – that is, lasting – recognition for yourself. The Selfless forsake immediate gain for the self by investing in a Selfless act for the sake of gaining long-term love, recognition and honor in the eyes of their fellow people. They are thus the most self-interested and self-involved of them all. For a person who serves his or her own immediate self-interest is at least honest. Whereas the Selfless person is the shrewdest of the self-interested egotists. This ideal thus serves this economy of recognition among people and is quite valued. People so believe in this one that when they see someone helping someone else while seemingly putting themselves in some sort of risk, they assume the person is Selfless, when really they are accomplishing the most selfish act possible. I suspect, though, that people don’t really believe this but all decide unconsciously and without speaking of it to go about their selfish acts (as is only natural and instinctual) by coating over it for the sake of it running all the more smoothly. I have to agree with them. Otherwise, could you imagine how abrasive everyone would be? Why even the ideal of Love, not to mention Friendship, would be in jeopardy!”

We segued on to another pool.

“Yes, here we have an interesting one. This is the pool of Humanity. Many don’t even believe that the Human can be an ideal, but the Human is in fact one of the most prized ones. Ah, there are the harvested pseudandrons now…” he said as he turned his peacock eyes toward the cartload the centaur had just brought.

This batch was a festering, revolting pile of pseudandrons representing and acting out all sorts of animal-like acts, violent and disturbing sexual positions, eating strange props, killing off each other, raping, fighting – acting, basically, like a cartload of humans already.

“Well, this batch speaks for itself. The Human, being in essence nothing more than a revolting, aggressive and dangerous uber-animal, has sought to overcome its self-disgust through the use of this particular ideal. Thus they create the Human, something above animals and all other forms of life, whereas really it’s the most dangerous and primitive of all in terms of its inability in maintaining a balanced existence within the delicate equilibrium of life and nature. Most humans believe in this Humanness to the extent that they will hide their most animal functions behind the patina of refinement and decency. They defecate in tiled and perfumed private enclosures, for they are embarrassed by their natural bodily functions. They are even embarrassed by the act of procreation, the very act that maintains their existence! And yet when alone and unseen, they will indulge in all these acts with the vigor and gusto of the animals they consider so filthy as to feel the need to differentiate themselves from. Scratch the surface and they’re all vile as the rats they abhor. Other ideals also hinge upon that of the Human, such as Peace, and also Liberty, Equality, Brotherhood, and that sort of drivel. Those are all a few pools down, though I think they just flushed Peace out, so we won’t be able to see that one. It’s another popular one, and one of my favorites, all the more so because war is a fundamental and disturbing part of this uber-animal’s – the Human’s – nature. Ironically, every war ever fought was done so for the sake of an ideal state of Peace that would supposedly be attained upon victory. That’s why Peace is such an important ideal, because it’s the Human’s only excuse for satisfying its instinctive lust for war and power. Anyway, the pseudandrons we use for it are the same as this batch, so I’m sure you wouldn’t want to see anymore of the same filth.”

“Ah, and here’s Freedom,” he continued as we came upon yet another pool. “I tell you, this is one of the popular ones as well. People take this one so seriously that not even hypocrisy can dissuade them from believing in it. You’ve never seen people go to war, enslave, repress, annihilate and oppress as they do for the sake of Freedom! Peace is of course right up there with it. And there it goes. Freedom is flushed out almost as often as Peace, God and Humanity. It’s a funny one. Some enslave themselves to money thinking that will mean Freedom, confusing as they do Freedom with Power. Some enslave themselves to poverty, confusing as they do Freedom with surrender. Yet others repress and enslave themselves for the sake of Freedom, thinking it lies in a book, or a prophet, or in some sort of ideological system. People for the most part fail to see that Freedom is not something absolute but something relative, and certainly not something that warrants the use of a majuscule! But such are ideals; without the majuscule all these ideals would look as petty as they really are. Ah, and what do we have here?”

The Devil halted in front of another pool into which the pseudandrons had already just been poured and the incantation of the demon had commenced.

“Yes. Love. I’m sure you two are familiar with this,” said the Devil, referring to Ariadne and me. “Would you believe that here again we use those pseudandrons that display vanity, but also narcissism, who aren’t so rare a batch either. Really, you would be excused to think that it’s vanity that lies at the root of all human interaction. But of course, people cannot say that. Instead they believe Love to be the driving force. There was a great demand for Love that could be neutral, absolute and shared. I tell you, as with the ideal of Selflessness, people are too embarrassed to love themselves, to tell themselves that they are lovable, so they seek others desperately who will tell them they are lovable, they seek their recognition. Thus Love is essential for the ego, but it must again be disguised as Selfless. It’s ingenious precisely because it’s so ingenuous! Ideals serve to disguise the reality by coating over it to make it seem as if it’s not really what it is, and all because reality would be intolerable for everyone in its bare form. And why? Because the Self is only satisfied by recognition from others, not by itself. It already knows it loves itself, it seeks others to sell itself to, to collect their love and their recognition as well, to accumulate it and thus increase and fortify its own sense of self-love with it. For when it comes down to it, society, thanks to the use of Ideals (capital “I” is imperative), is merely one big Ego Stock Market. Some do better, some do worse, some sell their stocks for more, some less, some are rising, some are dropping, but none of them mean anything outside of the market. Something worth millions, billions in the stock market would be worthless outside of it. So too with egos. When in the market, you do what it takes to increase the value of your shares. People want a piece of you. And the more people want a piece of you, the more want to have a piece of you, thus the more valuable you become, and so on…”

“Ego Stock Market, eh?” I said.

“Ego Stock Market, my friend,” answered the Devil before moving on. “For though it may seem that Love makes the world go round, it is Self-Love that is the axle upon which it turns.”

“Well, I think you’re mistaken,” stormed Ariadne, suddenly desisting as if trying to think of how to name the Devil and feeling too silly to refer to him by any name whatsoever. She continued after a brief pause.

“Love is in the giving, Mr… Devil, or whatever. Love, I can tell you, is in the giving. Love is not just an ideal, it is not even just an emotion or a feeling, it is an instinct itself, it is more primordial than anything else, than any of these mere concepts that have become your ideals. Love is different. Love is a natural glue that binds us to one another, that maintains our race, that maintains our species, that maintains us, each and every one of us and makes life beautiful, and not just beautiful, but immortal. Without it we would perish, it is as simple and yet as complicated as that.”

“My dear, I’m afraid you are confusing Love with copulation. The latter is what regenerates the race. Love is a gloss that’s applied over an essentially animal act that is born of an essentially animal impulse,” responded the Devil.

“Love is something a person could give their life for,” retorted Ariadne.

“Hah! Perhaps only if it is unrequited,” answered the Devil disparagingly.

“Love is something that can justify one’s life, that can justify two lives, even more… even life itself, perhaps.”

“Of course it can; why would anybody want to live if nobody loved them? The ego would want an end to such misery,” answered the Devil.

“Well do you know what I think…?”

She was so worked up she didn’t know what to refer to him as.

“No, what do you think, little missy?” said the Devil with a patronizing smirk on his face.

“I think Cynicism is the most deceptive Ideal of all,” she said. This seemed to suddenly wipe the smirk off the Devil’s face. He sincerely seemed taken aback, as were we all. “Cynicism is the means by which those who have never experienced the pleasure of such emotions and such experiences, excuse them away as rubbish because they are jealous of those who have experienced and lived them… in other words, who have simply lived.”

This seemed to hit a raw nerve. The pseudandrons and Argus shrank upon hearing it. The demon near us turned his head in disbelief. A centaur stopped in its tracks and dared not pass by us. Two androsaurs looked at us without expression. I was suddenly very nervous, feeling some sort of line had been crossed – and not just crossed, but chewed and spat out. Never had I seen the Devil lose his cool exterior, his sophisticated demeanor. Never had I thought he could lose it, let alone lose it as completely as he seemed to be doing now. His nostrils flared, horns seemed to be trying to push their way through his skull and his thick skin, which, by the way, was turning red. Everything on him grew out of proportion, his mouth, his teeth, even his peacock eyes. Massive great veins popped out of his neck. His elegant suit stretched out as his muscles bulged from beneath. He was like the caricature of a bull, but far from comical. It was a truly frightening sight, and the effect was compounded by the fact that it was so sudden, so unexpected. Then in a frightening, resonating voice, the Devil spoke:

“And what would the dead know of such pleasures?” he said with a spiteful look. But Ariadne now had him on his heels.

“Having once lived, the dead knew such pleasures. Rather, what would some… thing that never lived know of them? Naught. I’d rather burn my life under the sun than wallow in shade an eternity.”

Ariadne (who was now the one proudly donning the smirk, and still so proud as to be impervious to the horrible sight unfolding before us) turned to the two pseudandrons behind us (who, along with Argus overhead, were cowering before the sight of the Devil) and went on prodding. Truly, I thought, only a woman could anger the Devil himself.

“There seems to be a lack of a batch of the appropriate pseudandrons here,” she said to our pseudandrons. “Perhaps you boys would like to act out Jealousy and Envy respectively and jump into one of these pools for the sake of our poor host over here…”

That was the final straw. All hell broke loose. The Devil kept growing until his clawed hands were the size of our heads. He took each of the pseudandrons in either hand and he squeezed them until their bones cracked, their eyes popped, and blood gushed out of their noses, their mouths, and every other orifice on their bodies. They were left a gruesome pulp on the white, clean ground. Now Ariadne was scared as well and we instinctively huddled close together expecting to be next. The whole wide realm of pools was silent, still, and motionless. Not even those fearsome demons dared stir. And the Devil turned to us and in a great stentorian bellow that seemed to rise not from inside him, but from the very depths of hell itself, he said:

“WELL, THIS IS AWKWARD NOW, ISN’T IT?”

His voice echoed out in an otherwise silent realm.

“I have guided you, I have been your host, and now you insult me do you? Perhaps it is time I reminded you where you are, my friends…” The way he said friends now made us hold each other very tight. Our hearts were racing and I could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Argus was hiding behind our backs, just peeping over our shoulders. The Devil gave out an order in Incubata. It seemed only one, frightful word.

“KRAK!”

A demon and two androsaurs took us away.

“Whatever that word is, I hope it’s not onomatopoeic,” I whispered to Ariadne.

And to think that we smiled at that moment before we were squeezed into silent submission. I suppose only the dead do not fear death, but neither do lovers and fools.


A Moment on Earth

I saw her for the first time in what seemed like years as she came out of her office building and froze in front of me (as if she’d seen a ghost). People passed us by busily and the silence seemed to stretch out interminably. Our tensed bodies soon eased as we both endeavored to smile at each other. My heart was racing and I didn’t know what to say. She was the first to breach this awkwardness.

“Are you ok? You don’t seem so well.”

She really was worried. I knew I didn’t look too sharp. I was bruised. I still couldn’t speak. There was an emotional maelstrom churning inside of me and I didn’t know what I was feeling, or how to deal with the situation. So I just stood silent, staring at her. I must have been making her very nervous.

“Come with me.”

She took me by the arm and led me away with her. I felt ashamed of myself. Is this the best I could do? Why couldn’t I at least pull myself together? Why couldn’t I be a man? And if I can’t be a man, do I have to be this hideous monster; do I have to make a tragic pantomime of myself? Why did I give up? I enjoyed this misery, yes, I enjoyed my own downfall and degradation. I felt heroic, perhaps. But must I be pitiable? My god, to pity someone you love is the most gut-wrenching feeling one can have, and I know she was feeling just that right now as she looked at me. Look at her: she looks ill, she looks sick after having seen me. Was this what I wanted? Where were the heroics in this? No, no, no, no… It was time to pull myself together. To annihilate myself at this young age would be preposterous. There was still… hope. Yes, there was still hope!

We entered a building and went up a flight of stairs, into a home that I immediately recognized as hers. Her color, her taste, her smell, her soul was in that home. It was small, but it was her little universe. I sat on a couch and I still didn’t say a word. She gave me a glass of water and then started making tea. I kept looking around the room and I felt a chill come over me, like there was an expanding emptiness within me. I felt the room was still without me, as if I’d never gone in and sat down. I didn’t even feel the satisfaction of feeling like an intruder. She came back and handed me a cup of tea which I gripped for security. The warmth of the cup felt good.

“Were you waiting for me out there?”

I nodded. She put her cup down without taking a sip and she sat next to me on the couch, putting her hand on mine, looking at me affectionately. My other hand shook, spilling some of the tea, so I put it down on the table as well. I was having difficulty breathing. I brought my trembling left hand across my lap and put it on top of hers, sandwiching her hand between my hands. I still couldn’t bring myself to look her in the eyes. Then she kissed me gently on the cheek and I nearly broke down. The shame welled up in me, I couldn’t breathe anymore, I started sobbing, and then, like an avalanche, everything that had welled up in me broke loose and I lost all control. I wept like a baby. Tears gushed out, my chest heaved in and out, my head fell on her shoulder and I wept. She didn’t even wipe away my tears from her blouse. She stroked my hair and just told me to shush, to shush, to shushshshsh… I’d never felt such a sense of relief. I didn’t feel sick anymore. I felt for the first time in a long time that I was alright.

We sat there for hours, neither of us saying a word. When I finally got up to leave we smiled at each other. Then I left. The two cups of tea still stood there next to each other, ignored, untouched, forgotten… with one of them having spilled slightly over the brim.


11. The Tortutron of Krak

Every part of me lives a thousand times,
Every moment that I died a thousand lives…

Before we knew what happened, or how it happened, in one dizzy moment we were back in the endless hall where the Peacock Throne had been and from which we’d entered the mines of the ideal realm. Ariadne and I were held in the clutches of these two beastly androsaurs, led by a demon (who had Argus tucked under his armpit, something Argus didn’t seem to be enjoying) and the Devil, who still had a ghastly aspect to him, although his veins weren’t protruding so virulently as before. In fact, his whole appearance seemed to be changing before our eyes and he seemed to be reassuming his previous, civilized aspect. Indeed, soon he was back to his own self. But he did not turn to look at us or say a word. I was afraid we were headed for trouble.

The pillars of the endless hall went by as before, at tediously consistent intervals, at the same standard pace. Now that we were not walking but being carried, all we could do was gaze at column after column passing us by. I started playing a game to alleviate the boredom, blinking every time I thought I was exactly in the middle of and equidistant from any two of these pillars as I passed by. Soon the monotonous pillars and the blinking seemed to hypnotize me. I knew I was hypnotized, but I remained hypnotized nevertheless. Ariadne was just as subdued and silent as I was, looking as she was in the opposite direction, at the opposite row of columns that lined the endless hall.

I started blinking more and more rapidly, noticing that the columns were passing us by more frequently, just as before. This probably meant we were about to enter another strange enclave, but where we would probably not be so welcome this time. And sure enough, the columns were now speeding by, and yet I kept blinking, unable to break my game. Soon everything around me seemed like it was passing by in a movie reel. The columns became a blur, though we were still proceeding at the same pace. Then when there was merely a white, monochrome wall before us, the Devil, the demon and Argus, myself and Ariadne (as captives of the androsaurs) all went through the wall and emerged in a spacious, white, aseptic room, unfurnished and undecorated and composed of large square tiles on the floors, the walls and the ceiling. In fact, it was the inside of a cube. I had been expecting a dark, noisome, sinister dungeon instead. Yet the clinical sterility of this cube was hardly a consolation either.

We continued walking until we reached the opposite wall, and we went straight up the wall, as if that wall had now become the floor and the gravity had shifted to it. A way down this side of the cube we stopped. The Devil and the demon looked down at one of the square tiles which then popped up before us to form an entrance, like an elevator. We entered. Inside, it was a white enclosure that seemed to be descending. Then from below us I saw an opening that brought us into yet another cube, the same as the first. We emerged from this cube, walked up a wall, then along the ceiling until another of these square tiles emerged. We went in and out into new cubes several times and the lack of orientation, location and direction was absolutely gut-wrenching. Over and over, in and out, over and under and through. I felt ill. I thought this must be part of a torture the Devil has planned for us.

Then something different happened. We emerged into yet another room of the cube to find something already there. There in the middle of one of the sides of the cube, tilted upside down above where we stood, was what looked like a human being sitting in a chair. We walked up and around until we stood before him. He was indeed a man, albeit in a sorry state. There was literally no meat on his body, just skin and bones. Somehow I even fancied he looked familiar, like I knew him, the way you think you know someone in a dream. His eyes were glazed over and seemingly insensate. In fact, he had no idea we were standing before him, for it wasn’t as if we wouldn’t stand out. He was simply repeating a virtually inaudible sentence over and over again on his dead, white lips, through his rotten teeth, beneath his patchy, white, bristly hair. He was repeating something over and over, like an incantation.

Then the Devil turned to us finally, but he was no longer smiling.

“Go put your ears before his mouth and listen.”

We were startled from the dazed state we’d been in since the pillared hall. We were put down and let go by the androsaurs. I looked at Ariadne and we proceeded toward this poor wretch together. We bowed down slowly and warily, drawing our ears close to his mouth as the Devil had instructed. Although at first his words were like gibberish, soon meanings could be made out randomly, and then we understood what he was saying…

“Here I wait, a thousand years dead, having cut off the Minotaur’s head…”

I fell back, startled. I looked at Ariadne and then at the Devil, both of whom showed no emotion whatsoever. I listened again to make sure I had heard right…

“…having cut off the Minotaur’s head, here I wait, a thousand years dead, having…”

A chill ran up my spine and I shuddered. Had I encountered myself trapped in eternity? Were we both just two different memories coexisting in the same dream? Was there perhaps countless numbers of myself in every stage of my life, from every year, every hour, even every second, cohabiting the same endless nightmare in which time has expanded so far beyond our comprehension that everything that has ever been and that will ever be are all trapped in one infinite and eternally occurring present? Is everything endlessly reflected in the present so that everything has already happened as everything is going to happen as everything is happening? Is even movement an illusion? Is every thought already thought and yet to be thought while it is actually being thought? Is every step about to be taken already taken yet still to be taken even as it is being taken? I felt sick. I was looking at my own self in old age. I was losing my mind. The Devil spoke to me, without a hint of emotion in his voice.

“The Tortutron of Krak.”

Ariadne put her hand on my shoulder to console me as we were both scooped up by our gruesome escorts and followed the Devil as we plunged into yet another cube. Emerging in yet another of these cubes, we again encountered a figure there, this time right before us and seemingly the right way up. This one was a child, a young boy of 8. He was wearing his school uniform. His face was pale – ghostly pale – his eyes were fixed upon me. The sight of that child in the middle of the cube standing still with wide, living eyes that stared straight into mine was disconcerting, to say the least. I looked at the Devil. He too was looking at the child, as was Ariadne. Before he gave me any instructions, I slowly went up to the boy. The eyes gazed at me and through me, piercing my skull with their directness. I saw myself in those eyes. I was only inches from the boy’s face and I saw myself in his eyes. They did not blink, they did not dilate. I looked closer. I saw myself – my own reflection – in the eyes. At first, it was just me looking back at myself. Then I grew bigger and my eyes expanded and in my eyes that reflected from the boys’ I could again see the boy’s eyes reflected in the reflection of mine. It was like looking into two mirrors and seeing both of us reflected unto infinity. But I couldn’t take my eyes away. If I did take my eyes away, I felt that my own eyes that had now become so intricately intertwined with the boys’ in a million reflections would themselves disappear. I felt that my eyes could not exist unless they were reflected in the boys’, that to look away would be to die. Then I blinked, and upon opening my eyes within that split-second, the boy had disappeared.

Then the Devil gave an order in Incubata and the demon and the androsaurs took Ariadne and Argus away. They climbed a wall and another square tile rose before them. I cried out for her but before I could do anything they were all swallowed up and gone. I felt a heavy, heavy weight descend within my heart. I didn’t know when and if I would ever see Ariadne again. At that moment I only knew one thing. I knew that I only found courage through her. I knew I had to be with her. I thought I knew it before, for I thought it and I said it. But now I knew it, like it was an instinct, like it resided not in my heart but in my gut. I knew it instinctually, without thought, without even feeling. I felt regret again swell up inside me, the same feeling I’d felt at the beginning of my journey, the same fear. But there was a difference. I now knew something. Finally, I knew something. Finally, I felt with my gut as well as with my heart. I had a purpose now.

The Devil and I continued our journey through the Tortutron. In one cube I encountered a madman staring back at me, a sociopath with wild eyes, frazzled hair, bruises on his face, trembling and lonely, desperate and sad. He was the one who approached me under the gaze of the Devil. He put his lips – my lips – close to my ear – his ear – and he (I) whispered to me (him) a violent verse in a gentle voice… my voice… our voice…

I take my walk down these deserted streets
Where shadows and lights collide
My steps are crooked, and deformed are my feet
Without a penny for the beggars, or a cigarette, or a light

I take my walk, the small hours will testify
Through suburbs of all and sundry
But that path I can’t bare
And would otherwise not dare
While such poverty and riches surround me

The touch of a hand, a glance from afar
Is all that I seek to remind me
Of love’s graceful lance
Blunted by my own hands
No more to hold and swing mighty
Nor impale all of those that surround me

I cannot explain
The words I’ll refrain
To express all these visions that haunt
Just let this suffice, let them read me my rights
For this hatred, I seek to exalt
This hatred I breed excites me

Now these fateful hours will more than suffice
To right all the wrongs that have torn me
And spark the dark fire to light up a dawn
No more to be waited upon or dreaded
But dread what is my own
And bear the terrible burden that awaits me

His lips moved from my ear and I saw his shaking, livid face rise up above me as the Devil and I descended down into another cube. There awaited us a fetus that wriggled before me, with its large black eyes, its diminutive hands and feet and fingers and toes, and its reptilian tail. It was dying before me, helpless, alone, exposed, and I couldn’t help it. Anything I did would kill it. It died endlessly a death that would never fulfill its promise of oblivion.

In and out and up and through the bowels of the cube, I encountered only phantoms of myself endlessly wandering the tortuous chambers of its geometrically perfect futility.


A Moment on Earth

I haven’t written in my diary for so long. And now he’s here and my quivering hand is drawing me back to this virgin sea of pages that has been so calm, so still, for so long. And here goes my gliding pen, swimming over this crisp, white sea as it sails in and out of stormy thoughts that begin to tear into its surface, rippling and wrinkling, grooving and staining and polluting it, bringing with it wave after wave of memory, regret, doubt and denial. And yet I can’t keep myself from the sea, I can’t keep myself from drowning in it whenever he’s near. Strange; my diary is my life-raft, but it’s also my storm.

After such a long time, after so many letters, so many words, so many expressions of devotion, so many hellos and goodbyes, so many trees that have sacrificed their lives only to have us etch our despair unto their dead bodies and send them to the other ends of the earth, after so much... waste, it’s all starting again. The heart is squeezed by an invisible hand, the mind is besieged by an army of thoughts, the hands are rendered clumsy by excited nerves, the skin sweats out a deluge of anxieties, and the eyes betray a thousand overwhelming emotions. And does this disturb me? No. On the contrary, it all seems only the playing out in me of a sweet anatomic overture to an impending grand opera of Love Regained.

And how I’ve missed him. Even though I have sought to replace our love with the cold comfort of another, it hasn’t been enough. He came to visit me today. Well, I don’t know if visit is the right word. He was outside my building when I was leaving. But I know he was there for me, stalking me perhaps, probably dying inside trying to decide to do something, unable to make a decision. He’s more sensitive than I am, he breaks, and he looked broken. I was shocked to see him. I almost pitied him. But I couldn’t help it, and it was painful. He was worn out, tired, bruised, as if he’d been in fights, as if he hadn’t slept or eaten for so long, and his eyes were as if glazed and hollow. We went upstairs and we held each other close for a long time without saying a word. Then he left. Neither of us spoke but we communicated everything we felt, everything that weighed on us all this time. It was perfect, the way it had always been with us when we were together.

I had never loved him as much as I did there and then. I only knew one thing. I only knew, there and then, that I wanted to be with him, that I loved him and that I wanted only to be with him. I just knew it. I will find him and I will look after him, and I will forgive him. I can only be faithful to this knowledge I have, for knowledge is a burden we can never undo, nor ever betray…


12. A Calculated Escape

A plastic pig on a hot spit roast
And all my flesh is numb
As within its fumes I am consumed
Yet refused recompense
Despite this vulgar display of disgust

One after the other, the white walls with white squares, cube after cube, grotesque creature after grotesque creature came and went until I was out of my senses, benumbed and silent. The Devil led me, seemingly oblivious to me and my state, oblivious to the Tortutron itself.

“And is this the punishment you are meting out on us?” I asked. “To separate us who have found each other after so much and after so long, to force me to stare into the eyes of these hideous figures that emanate from within me, to pace this hideous monstrosity of a cube for an eternity, without direction, without destination, without aim? Is this my torture? Is this what pleases you most?”

The Devil didn’t even seem to be paying attention as he continued gazing at a woman who seemed normal, except that she had holes in her body where vital organs like the heart and the lungs and the liver should have been. But he evidently had been listening.

“I’m disappointed in you,” responded the Devil. “After all this, you still blame me for your woes and misfortunes? You are a slow learner. Your torture is your own making, I am merely an observer, and I continue to be a guide. I must say I find it all fascinating, how different souls torment themselves in different ways. The imagination of humans leaves me astounded, just as my very own existence leaves me astounded! To think that they can even conjure methods of torture to inflict pain and punishment on their very selves is worthy of respect. They are capable of lopping off their own heads while still being able to pat themselves on the back.”

He seemed to be talking to himself and I had had it. I was weary. But I knew that I wanted to find Ariadne. I knew that that was my purpose and that I would bear all that came with the hope of seeing her again.

“I will show you torture like you have never dreamed,” he continued, in a chilling tone. “Follow me…”

So we went up and down and through this monstrosity of a cube seeing hapless tormented souls bearing hideous punishments. One balanced a small bird-bath on his head that was full to the brim with acid as a sparrow flew in circles around him tied to the end of a string that was tied around the man’s neck. It was just long enough so that the tips of the bird’s wings brushed lightly against the skin of his arms, stomach and back as it flew around him. It must have tickled him but he was terrified to move lest the acid in the bird-bath spill on his face. In another chamber a man lying on his back had his eyes forced open by metal screws. On either eyeball sat a black widow spider. To move his eyes would mean being stung through the cornea and into his pupils. In another chamber a woman listened to her own voice endlessly echo the word Eternity. In yet another, a frustrated man tried desperately to read the history of the universe that was written on his left palm, but written too small to see with the naked eye. Yet the most hideous torture was one where I saw a man who was absolutely sane. There was nothing in the chamber besides him and his sanity. I thought that must have been the most unbearable company of all in the cube. There were yet other chambers where I saw men on their knees praying to insects hoping they could save them, others where men carved the name of their sins into their flesh with blunt and rusty knives, into their arms, legs, stomach, and one even into her tongue.

On and on, this torture continued. In and out, up and down, over and under. I was literally climbing the walls, walking the ceilings, looking for the floor beneath my feet. The cube seemed one big wicked allegorical cliché. I could see how an eternity in the Tortutron could commence and how with torture after torture, chamber after chamber, my sanity would fade, I would forget how it all started, how anything began, how nothing would ever terminate, nothing would ever end, nothing would ever be saved, how I would become a mere helpless, trapped beast, never dying, never burning, never escaping. I had to flee this realm of perfidy, this aligned and orthodox geometry of insanity.

Then I noticed a pattern in the cube. Having been in and out of so many chambers, all of them identical, all of them with walls composed of 25 squares (5 squared), I noticed that we would proceed from chamber to chamber by exiting and entering only squares that ran diagonally across a wall – that is, only squares with square roots of 1,2,3,4 and 5, namely, the squares 1, 4, 9, 16 and 25 (or of course the exact inverse: 25, 16, 9, 4, 1). The only reason why the whole cube seemed chaotic was that the walls would change, but in fact the order wouldn’t. So you enter down square 1 and emerge in square 4 in another room. There you will have to enter square 9 on another wall, exiting square 16 on yet another, and entering again through square 25 and exiting square 1 in another chamber from another wall, and so on. And the selection of walls did not seem random either, though it seemed more complicated. There were six sides to the cube. The walls of entry and exit seemed indexed to the position of the victim who inhabited the chamber. And I noticed their positions were usually centered on a square (though they could spread over more than one square) that was the opposite square root of the square root of entry/exit, thus the inhabitant always looked to be across from us somehow, regardless of what wall he or she or it was on. I noticed that when entering a chamber on square roots of 3 (the ‘9’ squares) the inhabitant would always appear directly above us, and always on the 9 square, thus always directly opposite us, whereas on other squares (1,4,16,25) sometimes the inhabitant would appear to our left, to our right, behind us or in front of us. But the 9 square was a sure thing. Then I eventually saw the pattern in the wall selection as well. It seemed even simpler! Having entered on a one square, the inhabitant would be on the wall directly behind us while the exit would be opposite the inhabitant’s, so we’d exit on square 4 there. Enter square 9, exit square 16 on the same wall (the wall that is directly opposite the inhabitant’s), enter square 25 and the inhabitant is then directly in front of us, so exit square 1 behind us (always exiting from the wall opposite the inhabitant’s).

So I waited and thought how I would elude the Devil. This cerebration somewhat relieved me from my ongoing state of mental stupor, even though it seemed a futile task. He obviously knew his way around hell better than I did. Or did he? If hell is my own creation then I should know it better than him, even if only subconsciously. But what would I do? I really only had one chance. If I lost the initiative and he caught me, he would know I had figured out the pattern of the squares and so I would end up in the same predicament as now – hopeless, that is. I had figured out the escape route, but had to find a weakness of the Devil’s and figure out how to exploit it so as to give me the chance to flee.

Nevertheless, I bided my time and waited for my chance. Meanwhile we continued through chamber after chamber. Square 1, square 4, square 9, square 16, square 25, in and out, up and down, through and around. In one chamber a man sat with knife and fork and a plate with a lizard in front of him, the legs of which he would cut off and eat one by one so that by the time he had eaten the last one, the first one would have grown back to be eaten again, and so on. He had to time it perfectly so that he didn’t eat too fast so he was left hungry (being as they were tiny morsels that never sated him), and that he didn’t eat too slow so that all the legs would at some point be intact and thus facilitate the escape of the lizard which was always trying to wriggle away but couldn’t do so with less than four legs. I wasn’t sure if the torture was intended for the man or the lizard, but to judge from their faces the man seemed to be suffering the worse (for situations like this seemed to favor the cold-blooded). In yet another chamber I saw a schizophrenic man with one sadistic personality and one masochistic as he endlessly punched himself in the face while at the same time crying out for mercy with a falsetto voice.

Square 1, square 4, square 9, square 16, square 25, in and out, up and down, through and around. What was I to do? Then it occurred to me. We were in a chamber where a woman searched endlessly for her reflection in a mirror-less mirror frame, which she thought was a mirror because the wall and squares that she saw through the frame were exactly the same as the wall and squares behind her, and so she thought she did not exist, that she was invisible, that she was nothing, that before her was a mirror reflecting the wall behind her. It occurred to me there. What is the one weakness of the Devil? The worship, the adoration, the bowing, the clapping… Of course, that’s it: the Devil’s weakness was none other than his vanity.

I spotted my chance a few chambers later. We emerged through a square 9 and directly above us was the miserable inhabitant of this chamber. We made our way before him and found nothing out of the ordinary in his appearance. He was a short, balding man with greasy black hair and greasy red lips and an insincere smile that was plastered determinedly across his face. He seemed to be aware of our presence.

“Is there anything the matter with this man,” I asked languidly, not wanting to betray to the Devil the calculation of escape that was actually occupying my mind and stimulating my senses.

“He is a sycophant. He will look anyway you want him to and say anything you want him to say. Flattery is his tool. His torture is that he can never be himself. He only exists for others. I actually quite like him!” he joked.

This was my chance. As the Devil was already proceeding back to the ceiling from which we emerged, walking toward square 16, I stealthily whispered in the sycophant’s ear the name of the Devil and his presence. You should have seen the sycophant’s face light up as he found out that he was in the presence of such an esteemed personage. And suddenly, as the Devil turned and waited for me to follow, the sycophant exclaimed loudly:

“OOOOH, ODE TO THE FALLEN ANGEL!”

The Devil turned to him, himself amazed, and smiled. The sycophant spoke again:

“OOOOH, ODE TO THE FALLEN ANGEL!”

The Devil was now intrigued and made his way back to where the sycophant and I stood, eagerly expecting an ode to be recited on the part of the former, anxious to hear the imminent words of praise that promised to flow forth mellifluously from this fawning man’s mouth. And then the sycophant commenced his Ode to the Fallen Angel as the Devil fixed his eyes on his lips and stood proud as a peacock before a chicken.

If I could worship, as worshippers do,
I would an angel and not a god,
I would one angel and not all…
If I could worship, as worshippers do,
I would one who was noble and young,
One who stood up and fought,
Even though it meant rebellion,
One who spoke at the price of perdition,
Against an almighty god,
And his puritanical, stuffy ways,
From amongst the other angels,
And their obsequious and conventional,
Bureaucratic gaze.

I would worship an angel not content,
To being seconded by us human brutes,
Who have not even the power,
To abstain from eating a simple fruit,
Who on earth are left to founder,
Beneath the mighty heavens above,
And cannot help but call on heaven,
To disguise their fear as love.

I do not ponder hordes and beasts,
Nor fire and demons and skulls,
I do not conjure devilry,
Nor horns, nor tails, nor blood,
What I feel when I think of you,
Is a love for life,
Not what is beyond or above,
What I feel when I think of you,
Is the true force of life,
And what it means to love.

I hear music and laughter,
And loss of self,
In a drunken state of abandon…
I become one with all that I am,
Shorn of the morals,
And the laws,
And the prayers,
And all the other insipidities,
As crawl into our hands…
And I feel cleansed,
Of all these conniving prophets,
Preaching godly servitude,
In these god-stinking lands.

For in you we find the truth,
Of what in men’s hearts lie,
Of all the truths, good and dark,
Despised by cowardly minds,
In you we find not salvation,
Nor open arms stretched out wide,
In you we simply find ourselves,
To confront life with deeper pride…

In you we find the nobility,
We hunger for deep down inside.

Yet such fancies are bare, and worship I do not,
Neither angels nor prophets,
Nor devils or gods,
For in this rebellion lies your clout…
And it is our admiration for you,
To which we all really amount,
And even when we do not serve you,
We do!
Yet give ourselves the benefit of the doubt.

For beauty and love, freedom and nature,
Is not what the pious are about,
These bounties are common,
To one and to all,
And you are the spring, the fount.

But as I have said, and will say once more,
I will not worship as worshippers do,
And that is why I would, if I could,
Worship you

The Devil went wild, clapping and cheering like a little child. The sycophant bowed over and over again. The sycophant took the Devil’s hand and kissed it profusely before the Devil’s glee turned to disgust and he promptly snatched it away from him.

“Bravo indeed! Bravo, bravo, bravo! And what did you think of that? I have my admirers everywhere!” he was asking me, but I did not answer of course. I had long since left through square 16.

He looked and saw that I was nowhere in the chamber.

“Where did my companion go? Did you see him?” he asked the sycophant, who pointed his arm straight up in the air over his head and said:

“He went that way!”

“Did he indeed!” said Lucifer snidely to himself. “The cunning devil!”

And in that instance, the chase was on.


A Moment on Earth

The rain started coming down hard and I no longer had any idea where I was. At first I instinctively shied and ran from the water. But soon my feet were soaked, my hair, my clothes, everything was soaked and was clinging to my body like another layer of skin. I was past the point of caring. Now the rain felt like a caressing blanket and I hoped it wouldn’t stop. My head was spinning, my stomach was revolting against me, and my feet still felt as if they were deformed, seemingly unable to walk a straight path. Soon the rain became torrential and a half-meter-high canopy of spray rose all around me and covered the street I was walking on. It was beautiful, like a canopy of spray flowers had suddenly bloomed all around me. It were as if I had my own garden. A wall of water-vines draped and dripped down under the light of the street lamps. The street was deserted; there were no cars, no people. There were not even any street cats, nor any packs of marauding street dogs. It was just me. And I had no idea where I was. In and out and around and through, twisting, winding, turning in the labyrinthine streets, yet happy here in my very own garden.

I entered another bar and took out the last few tattered bills I had so as to buy myself another drink and stave off the sobriety that I felt beginning to creep into me. The rain must have been seeping in through my gaping pores and replenishing my corrupted body with its poisonous purity. I took consolation in the thought that it was probably not pure, that it was probably acid rain, and that it was in fact replenishing not the plants and the trees, but instead feeding all the filth of this city and its inhabitants. That was the important thing. We’d corrupted even nature to the point that it learned how to recycle this corruption better than us, that despite my carelessness it was still replenishing my physical, mental, moral corruption with its polluted, acidic, acrid rain. I smiled at this thought, before just managing to regain my balance and climb back on my stool.

“Let’s help the rain help us!” I said and handed the barman my last scraps of wet money as he looked at me suspiciously. Or perhaps he was threatening me? He looked like a killer this one, and there was a scar that ran from his forehead down his face, down his neck, and disappeared below his collared shirt. And did he have a glass-eye too? Maybe he poked it out in a bar somewhere and stuck it down some girl’s cleavage, or maybe he… maybe he lost it in the war, some war somewhere, but he would call it “THE” war. All these fucking veterans have their own war… they all have a definite article handy and they all look away from you when they use it… “THE” fucking war… and it’s always really just “AN-OTHER” fucking war… Jesus, look at the puddle beneath me, look at my clothes! I’ve pissed myself and I’ve sweated from fear… fucking glass-eyed war veteran scar-bar-man… WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT!

Back on the streets. Back in my garden. I think I’ll lie down in my bed of waterspray-flowers and enjoy my garden, my little, private garden of acid rain. There… I never knew how warm the asphalt is in the rain. But then could water-flowers grow unless the asphalt bed was nice and warm? The acid must be heating it up. And look at the rain coming down at me. The rain falling from nowhere, from darkness and passing me by. I’m flying through space and the raindrops are stars passing me by. Passing me by… passing me by… passing me by…

When I opened my eyes I saw an angel standing above me. I swear it was an angel. She had an aureole around her head where the street lamp used to be. She had a hood that covered her soft brown hair, some of which fell down her cheeks. Her eyes… her white, shining skin and her eyes… I was convinced she was an angel. She had come to save me. She picked me up, she put her arms around me and she took me away. Her hands were warm and soft to the touch, so soft, so light that, being an angel, she must have been made of ether and air.

She led me out of the labyrinth garden. She was an angel, she knew the way.


13. Stalemate

Who is the master?
And who is the slave?
Who sits on the throne,
The king or the knave?

I knew the Devil would be right on my tail. Down square 16, out 25, in 1, out 4, jumping from wall to wall as fast as I could, strange inhabitants flashing incomprehensibly around me. He knew the exact route so it was really only a matter of time before he caught up with me. And besides, I was probably only going further and further into the cube. If I needed to get out, perhaps there might be a way forward. Of course, the only certain way out was backward the way I came. As I knew the pattern, I just had to follow it back. But that would only mean encountering the Devil once again along the way, and then the game would be up. So I couldn’t go forward and I couldn’t go back. But, perhaps I could stay put? Perhaps I could only escape the Devil by encountering him?

Meanwhile, I continued as fast as I could through the Tortutron. In and out, through and around, leaping and running from square to square, in chamber after chamber. I saw (mostly from the corner of my eye or at a quick glance) a scientist running in a treadmill; I saw a musician singing as a fat businessman fucked him from behind like a dog; I saw a yuppie in a suit eating money for lack of food; a judge begging for justice from the Devil (who wasn’t there); a tyrant torturing himself by pulling out his own fingernails for lack of anyone to tyrannize over. I saw a politician who defecated from his mouth; I saw an evangelist who was nailed to a cross by a whore; I saw a woman trying to commit suicide with an endless, flimsy rope that never tightened, seeing as there was nowhere to tie it to; I saw other women having their breasts stretched while their faces were filled with cellulite; others sat staring at a blank screen searching for an alleviation to their boredom, and yet others looked for an escape from the Tortutron in useless books.

That was it, I thought. If I go forwards or backwards it’s only a matter of time before the Devil has me. So I shall wait for him. I entered a chamber where I found a triskaidekaphobe who thought I was Judas Iscariot and asked me why I had taken so long to find him. I said everything has its time and everything has its place and everything is ordained with its own number and with its own faith, and that I have been sent to betray him to his face. I looked above and saw square 4 beginning to rise. The Devil entered.

Lucifer made his way before us. He saw a man with his back turned to him and the triskaidekaphobe sitting before the man and asking him to kill him, to crucify him, to put him out of his misery, to save him. It was my back that was turned to the Devil. The Devil thought me part of this triskaidekaphobe’s torture and thus – in his haste to catch me – sped off and continued on his way without recognizing me. He glided past without even stopping and disappeared into square 9. It worked. I went out square 1 and began the long journey back to the beginning, in the opposite direction from the Devil. I passed all the same figures, the same victims, the same tortures, the same emanations of myself in stages of my life and death, and I knew I was on the right track. By the time the Devil would realize that I had given him the slip, I would be out again. And perhaps I would encounter Ariadne again in the cube – or perhaps I would find her outside it? The prospect added haste to my steps.

I came to our original chamber where the old man – I – sat and stared and endlessly murmured…

“Here I wait, a thousand years dead, having cut off the Minotaur’s head…”

I passed the final few squares and I was back in the great hall, panting, alone, excited like my destiny was back in my own hands. The hall was completely quiet, which was eerie. When there is such a quiet as this, such as one is not accustomed to, one is always expecting a noise, a shock, something frighteningly sudden to occur. The columns stretched off as usual on either side of me – and above me – until they became a dark blur in the distance. I decided to run ahead and try my chances at finding something, finding Ariadne, or a sign, or some sort of destination. I ran down the infinite hall for what seemed a long time, but nothing broke the monotony of the hall, and the only sound was the sound of my breathing and panting. As I ran I played back in my mind all of those poor victims I’d seen in the Tortutron, including myself, or rather, my various selves. To think that every moment resonates infinitely and spans an eternity, that who we are is not a solid, single entity, but a million entities that are different and unique, forever changed and shifted and forged by their circumstances and time and place, that at any point in time I am a million different I’s, each one of whom carries on its existence like a ripple in time that continues to swim out on its endless path through the infinite universe… And to think these rippling emanations coalesce and form future entities that have not even lived yet, future entities – future I’s – that form a logical continuum with my past and present being, rather like prophesies that have yet to be fulfilled by the potential of the prophet.

Still nothing changed around me. Column after column went past me at the same intervals as I ran on. I almost hoped there would be another gateway to another realm, but there wasn’t, not that I encountered anyway. Perhaps only the Devil could open those gateways. In any case, I continued on the same path until I spotted something ahead. Yes! It was something in the middle of my path, a long way yet down the hall and right in my path. At last, there was something! Now I had a chance. I continued running and the sound of my footsteps on the carpet seemed strange. But as I neared the object in my path, I felt something sink inside me, a sudden dark pessimism. Sure enough, I could soon make out the object. It was the Peacock Throne.

I felt heart-broken. I thought I was moving along, forging ahead, and instead I found that I was right back where I started. This was extraordinary, but then so was everything. By now I had learnt that everything that I see, everything that occurs, every experience is not only meaningful. It’s more than that. It is essential – or rather, it is of the essence… of my essence. And so this too should not be taken amiss as a setback, but rather explored, utilized… perhaps, re-essentialized. Rather than shy away from this apparent obstacle, I needed to affirm it and face it, not cower and run as I would have done before. I was now walking slowly, cautiously, toward the Peacock Throne.

I had to decide what to do now. I seemed to be in a bind. And yet I thought I had gone away from the throne, for I remember clearly that we had entered both the Mines of the Elixir and the Tortutron of Krak from our left-hand side. Or perhaps I was facing the wrong way when I emerged? Perhaps I should have gone the other way. I decided to give it a try, to go the other way, away from the throne. I passed by two of the peacocks that wandered the halls around the throne, feeling a sense of security in seeing other animated beings in the otherwise deathly solitude, and set off the other way. On and on I went without encountering a single gateway or being, until (and not as if I hadn’t been expecting it) I saw once again that my destination and my provenance were one and the same, for there was the Peacock Throne before me yet again. And there were the same two peacocks wandering around me once again. My skin crawled as these birds observed me with the same eyes as those of the Devil.

Now I was in a dilemma. It would only be a matter of time before the Devil would find me, and this time he might not be so lenient as before. Perhaps I should never have fled. Perhaps I should have followed him faithfully, perhaps…

Then I noticed the peacocks turn and look down the hall. I looked as well, but there was nothing there. I strained my eyes and saw nothing. Then, slowly from the dark blur in the distance a tiny, lone figure appeared and it was coming towards us. I braced myself for the worst, for I knew who it was. The Devil was walking toward me, silently, calmly, a lone figure walking the great hall toward his throne. And when I could make out his features I saw that he seemed quite complacent. It seemed to take hours for him to reach me. Finally he came to a halt a few meters from me, between the two peacocks. At that instant I noticed the peacocks on either side of him had started changing form, each gradually assuming a humanoid appearance. They went through their grotesque transformation until they had assumed the figures of those frightful demons we had encountered in the mines. Both of these were demons of the two-horned kind. They stood next to the Devil like ferocious guardians. The three of them standing there together in silence looked a fearsome sight. I stood at equal distance between them before me and the Peacock Throne behind me. I made no movement or gesture. I waited to be addressed.

“Well, well, my friend, thought you could outsmart me, eh?” said the Devil.

“I did outsmart you,” I answered.

“Yeees, and that would explain why you are here before me now with nowhere to run. Really, did you think you could escape me in my own realm?”

“I proved I could. I proved that I could not only escape from you but also from the fate of the cube. But those are in themselves meaningless. Ultimately what I have proved to myself, though I am admittedly ensnared here once again, is that I can change my fate, that I can affirm my own destiny and in fact create my own course, albeit in hell…”

“Yes, yes, yes,” interrupted the Devil, “yes, you have learnt well. Remember that I am the one who has guided you on that path of liberation my friend. But you would be mistaken to think that there were not certain limits to your freedom, to this thing you so gaudily call ‘Liberation.’ I mean Freedom and Liberation are two particularly sickly sweet ideals that one should always beware of. And I should know; I produce them in the mines. For while there is freedom, it only exists within limits, and outside those limits you are as much a subject of forces beyond your control as ever. Surely you have realized that?”

“Perhaps, but we do not agree on where the limit is. You would have me believe that you yourself determine that limit to my freedom, but perhaps it lies beyond you? In fact, I know it does, for I have given you the slip once and I believe I can do it again. Behind your seduction I have sensed your own interest in ruling over my destiny by seeming to support me and in doing so limiting my vision and stifling me on this journey of rediscovery, this journey of, what seems to me now, re-essentialization.”

“Re-essentialization?! Indeed!”

“Indeed. I saw how you tyrannized in the cube, how you took pleasure in the pain that unfolded before you in the Tortutron, as if it were your own play thing. You wanted me to be in that zoo of yours too, to be yet another animal in whose pain you can eternally take pleasure.”

The smile on the Devil’s face was noticeably fading.

“Pleasure? What pleasure can there possibly be in it for me?”

“Ariadne was right. The pleasure you sought was to redeem your envy of those who have tasted life, of those who have lived. You have been a king in the shadows, a presence in the dark confines of the mind, a non-being, a non-entity. You take pleasure now in reclaiming an eternity of pain and suffering in those you envy – those who once lived – to alleviate the pain of your inexistence. You are not even dead – you are merely a never-lived.”

The Devil’s countenance had now changed into one of hostility. The veins were protruding again, the muscles were tensing, his peacock eyes were flaming, his skin was turning leathery and crimson.

“Beware you leech, you fount of spite! Do you want to play heroics now, is that it? Would you like to storm the Krak and save your precious souls from their fate? Would you like to overthrow the tyrant that you think I am, is that it?” The Devil’s voice bellowed.

“Do not ask such a facile question, Lucifer, for you know as I do that there is no savior but ourselves and that there is no salvation but within our own consciousness. I have found a way out of my fate, I have taken the decision, I have taken the chances, I have shunned my fate and I have affirmed my destiny. Do you think I shall feel pity for those who wallow away in their festering Tortutrons? Do you think I could have any desire to take responsibility for those who cannot take responsibility for themselves? Each shall find their own path and if they cannot, then they will have no sympathy from me, for I have seen that there is a chance, that there is always a way to mastery and an end to slavery. No, Lucifer, unlike you I do not seek to ‘save’ others, thus all the more effectively enslaving them to me and aggrandizing myself at their expense. I take only responsibility for myself and wish good luck upon the rest. Now neither you nor any others have sway over me. I am no longer in your realm, you are in mine!”

With these words, the snarling faces of the demons made for me and the Devil had by now transmogrified into a horned beast himself. He had shown his true aspect again. Having seen now that he could not enslave me, he was bent on destroying me.

“Where are you going to escape from the claws that will now rip you to shreds for eternity, eh my frieeeeeeeend? My insolent little Prometheus?”

I glanced quickly behind me and there was the throne. I noticed that this suddenly worried the Devil. He gave away the answer on his face. I ascended backwards the few steps up on to the dais and toward the throne. The Devil suddenly looked confused, and perhaps even a little worried. I remembered him having asked me if I had wanted to take a seat on the throne when we had first happened upon it. I remember him saying that nobody ever did accept his offer, and I remembered his smug countenance then. That was it. That was my chance. To assume the throne.

The Devil tried to amend his blunder by reaffirming his previously enraged aspect, but it looked affected and desperate. I had the upper hand.

“Where are you going, my friend? There is nowhere left to hide. You are one of us now, your conscience belongs with us, where do you think you are going?”

“Silly move of you to corner me, wouldn’t you say, Lucifer? Shame you couldn’t block off my only logical move…”

“What?” blurted the Devil, nervously.

“You know, on second thoughts, I think I will take up your offer.”

“What are you talking about? What are you doing?” said the Devil with the same worried look. He signaled his demons to stop advancing on me.

“The Peacock Throne!” I answered.

“NO! Wait, no, don’t!” he exclaimed.

The game was up, he now looked almost pathetic. I had him and I went right up to the throne ready to sit, but I was suddenly gripped by doubt. I thought perhaps I’d given him the slip a little too easily back in the cube. Perhaps he was bluffing? Perhaps this is what the Devil wanted all along. Perhaps he was more cunning than I gave him credit for and was actually fooling me on to the throne as he had fooled me into believing I had somehow become a master of my own destiny. Perhaps this was how each and every one of those victims of the Tortutron found their bitter, debilitating, endless fate. Suddenly I wasn’t so sure either. Now my countenance changed, and the Devil saw it! Damn it. The self-assured smile passed from my face to his. Now we were on even terms and at a stand-off. Neither of us dared go ahead, neither of us dared back off.

Stalemate.


A Moment on Earth

My angel swooped down and took me away, she lifted me from my garden, from my earth, she took me up and above to her heaven with its light, with its warmth, with its bliss, its security, and its love. She laid me down and I felt it was the end, the end of everything, an ending with angels.

And I said to the angel…

Tell me again how it came to be,
Whisper your breath through my skin,
Holler my name with your eyes,
Assail my dreams with your perfumed scent,
And climb my soul to hoist your own dreams,
Atop these desolate plains and windswept peaks,
Where the howling wind scatters my desires,
Through the valleys and lakes,
Of this cold and barren land…
Seek me through this tension,
Find me among these waves,
Relieve the stars fixed upon these skies,
And bring them gently into your grasp,
Take them in your hands,
But do not look at them,
Taste them with your mouth,
Feel them with your fingers,
But do not look at them,
Just ascend and emerge,
And seek for the sleep,
That may bring these back,
To us both once more

And when I awoke I told her all about the angel. She smiled and put her head on my shoulder, but she didn’t believe me. She didn’t think angels could fly. She said they walked like the rest of us.


14. Checkmate

Mind what square you occupy,
It could mean victory,
It could mean goodbye

“Call off your demons!” I demanded.

The Devil kept his gaze on me for a few moments before he acquiesced. This was to the benefit of us both. If he wanted me on the throne, then his calling off the demons would make it seem like he didn’t, thus he would trick me into sitting on the throne with his bluff. On the other hand, if he didn’t want me on the throne, then by calling the demons off he could avoid my doing a drastic move at the approach of the demons and thus forestall me from sitting on the throne. As for my interest in this affair, his calling off the demons would simply mean I wouldn’t have two horned beasts trying to tear me limb by limb. That was a pretty good reason to have the demons called off. Also I might be able to gauge from his reaction, or his facial features, or by his letting down his guard for a split second whether or not he wanted me to assume the throne. But the Devil gave me no such opportunity for such an appraisal, for he called off the demons without the slightest change of expression on his face. The demons backed off and subsequently resumed their previous peacock forms.

“You are hardly in a position to make demands,” said the Devil.

“Neither are you,” I retorted.

So the standoff continued. I thought, to be honest, that if the Devil wanted me to sit on the throne he would simply go ahead and force me on to it. He wouldn’t have called his demons off, he would have kept coming. Afterall, if I don’t make for the throne I have no other recourse for escape anyway. The throne is my only hope. So if he wanted me on it all he would have to do is push me to it. But he didn’t. I was beginning to think he didn’t want me on it. I decided to push my luck. Although he made no move forward I made a few steps to the throne and stood right before it. I merely had to sit down and that would be that. I never took my eyes off the Devil. But he did not give away any secrets from his expression. He was too clever, too cunning for that. He was still absolutely stoic. His expression did not change an iota.

“I’m sorry Lucifer, but I think I have you now. You acquiesced to my demand, you called off your demons when you needn’t, you obviously do not want me on the throne. There is no other reason for you to have backed off.”

“What use is force when what counts is your Will. If you do not will it, if you do not choose it, then forcing you to an action is worthless…” answered the Devil.

Now I was stumped. He did indeed have a motive for calling off the demons. He wanted me on the throne by my own free will. Or perhaps he did; it’s still just as possible that he didn’t want me on the throne and thus was bluffing again. In any case, he had sufficient reason to justify the possibility of the former and thus to negate my opinion which tended toward the latter. We were back to square 1, so to speak.

“You say I must choose freely, but the use of bluffing and trickery is no cause for concern to you, is it?”

“My friend, if you are tricked it can be no cause of concern for me. You have a brain, you have a conscience, you have a will. To be tricked is no excuse for such a being. You must take responsibility for your intellect. If you are tricked the shame is on you for letting yourself be tricked, not on me for resorting to trickery. Besides, can you claim to have been any less culpable than I where deceit and trickery are concerned?”

“But I am not the one seeking to ensnare you!” I protested indignantly.

“Aren’t you?” asked the Devil. “Did it not occur to you that perhaps there must be a loser if there is to be a victor?”

“That’s absurd, I am not seeking victory. I am seeking freedom.”

“And at what price must your freedom be achieved? Have you not thought of that? Must one not overthrow the tyrant to escape the tyranny? Or will you endlessly flee the symbols of oppression, no sooner thinking you’ve escaped one until you find yourself under the oppression of another? Do you believe in freedom without bloodshed, or in liberty without death? Are you still too cowardly, after all your trials, after such a long journey in life and in death, are you still too cowardly to see that to be free you must kill the king, you must kill the tyrant? Do you not see that if I too am to survive, that if I am to reign, then I cannot forsake a single subject, I cannot let escape a single captive, for to do so would destroy everything. For one single subject to disobey me and get away from my grasp means that my power is forever broken. Once omnipotence is forsaken, all potency is forsaken. So there cannot be any survivors. One will win, the other will lose.”

“You talk of freedom now, do you? Was it not you who said that true freedom did not exist?”

“And I still say true freedom does not exist… but that does not mean it is unattainable.”

The Devil’s answer was a riddle that, as always, raised more questions than it answered. How can something that does not exist be attainable? I found the riddle resonating in my head, baffling me further. The Devil was playing his mind games, trying to confuse me with sophistry into taking the course that would most serve his interests. Even his guise of seeming to be my guide and support in my infernal journey was part of his cunning plan for keeping me under his domination and control. All this time, he had held my fate in his grasp without my so much as even suspecting foul play, or indeed that he was serving his own interests rather than – and at the expense of – mine. That was his game: to disguise this servility behind a mask of camaraderie, to make my enslavement all the more effective by letting me believe that I was freely choosing my path on which the Devil was my guide. But the Devil was not only a guide. He had laid the path before me and he was luring me down it and into his eternal grip. He was still up to the same games.

Nevertheless, there was one very important weakness to my position, which I’m sure the Devil was well aware of. The fact that he hadn’t mentioned it or used it as yet made me all the more certain that he was aware of this weakness. It was Ariadne. He knew I wanted her, he knew I was capable of anything and everything – any sacrifice, any stupidity – for her sake. For my destiny was entwined with hers, and he knew that. As this came into my mind I sensed I was going to lose this standoff. I felt disheartened all of a sudden, and perhaps I showed it, for I saw a little twinkle in his eyes that seemed to betray a sense of smugness in suddenly realizing that we both knew the same thing, and that the same thing we knew worked in the Devil’s interest and against mine. He was obviously just biding his time, waiting for me to bring up the issue of Ariadne and thus strengthen his hand even more. I wish I could deny him the pleasure, but we both knew he had me where he wanted me. We were not on square 1 anymore. He was bounding ahead.

My shoulders dropped and my head fell to my chest in a sign of defeat. This was the endgame. Yet he still waited for me to broach the subject, like an admittance of defeat. He wanted the whole victory and he wanted all the glory.

“And…” I hesitated.

“Yes, and?” he replied gloatingly.

“…Ariadne…”

“- Yeeees, of course, I’d almost forgotten. Your female companion, Ariadne!”

But he wanted more. He wanted to humiliate me utterly. He wanted me to fall apart before him and he waited. His vanity was getting the better of him.

“Where is Ariadne?”

“Oh, where indeed! Of course, you would like her back, wouldn’t you?”

“Enough with the gloating,” I said.

“Yes, enough with the games,” he corrected. “I’m surprised you should still seek to drag her through your hell after everything you have put her through, eh? How very selfish. But I guess, as they say, love is blind – blind to everything but the lover’s own fondness for blindness, in any case.”

He was very much enjoying his victory and his weakness was starting to come through and backfire. His weakness was his vanity, and in seeking total defeat from me he was also seeking my absolute subservience, my humiliation before him. For, as he said, it takes only one exception to the rule for omnipotence to become impotence. I knew only a victory would not be enough for him; it would have to be a total annihilation that would lead to not only my defeat, but my acceptance of his dominion over me. So although I was in this bind and he still had the upper hand, I had sensed a weakness in him that I could exploit. I decided now to increase my sense of despair to bring his guard down even further and thus find my opportunity to strike. For if I didn’t do this by utilizing the element of surprise, I would fail. He would always be one step ahead of me. If anything was to be done, it had to be done in one fell swoop, swift, sudden and deadly. Otherwise, it would mean for me an eternity of damnation.

“Is she… is she alright?” I asked sheepishly.

“Ooooh, she’s fine, don’t you worry for her pretty little head. And pretty she is indeed. I do not blame you for falling for her. In fact, I would be more than pleased with having her company at my disposal more often. She’s hard-headed and stubborn, she’s feisty, but that seems only to enhance her beauty, eh? She would make a pretty little queen.”

As he spoke he looked searchingly in my eyes. He was trying to break me, to elicit a reaction. It was a good sign. It meant he sniffed victory, it meant he was desperate for my complete breakdown, and since vanity was his weakness, he was beginning to show impatience for this sweet victory of his. And the more impatient he got, the more he was likely to blunder somewhere. In the meantime, I continued playing into his game, thus playing him into mine. I took a few small steps away from the throne as if seeming to begin retreating from my intention of occupying it.

“So you mean to have her for yourself?” I asked with a look of despair and fear in my eyes. “Please, I’ll do anything. Spare her. Spare her…” I could tell the use of the word ‘please’ worked very well. He was very pleased with my pleading. I pretty much knew everything that would now come up so I just played along as I bided my time and waited for my chance.

“Spare her? Spare her from what? I imagine she would be quite comfortable by my side, more so than by yours. I mean, why should it not be? You are so uncooperative that I might just make do with her.” And here was the question I was expecting. “So tell me, what are you willing to exchange me for her freedom?”

“Well…” I dragged it out for as long as I could to make the Devil’s mouth water.

“Yeeees, out with it my friend,” he said excitedly.

“I would offer…”

“Yeees, come now what is your offer?” His pleasure was boundless. His muscles tensed up, his veins protruded more than ever, his red, leathery skin was shining, his eyes were aglow. His mouth watered at the anticipation of devouring another soul. I took another small step away and on to the first step of the dais before I spoke.

“I will offer myself,” I said with a look of surrender.

The Devil was beside himself. His victory was complete. The peacocks transformed once more into fierce demons and started making toward me. The Devil lit up and lost himself in his success. I knew if I could just push him a little bit more, just a little, I would possibly have my answer. It was so close now. So I bowed down before him, and then I got down on both knees and tipped my head forward with my chin on my chest, and I extended my arms out toward him as a sign of obeisance. And I said, finally:

“My Lord, my Lucifer, I am forever yours!”

The Devil’s head lashed back with a mighty roar of laughter that resonated chillingly throughout the infinite hall, as if echoing throughout the entire universe. His clenched claws and his massive arms stretched up to the sky declaring his ultimate victory. His eyes were flaming red, his enormous muscles were taut, and his laughter was so powerful that as his massive frame shook I could feel the vibration of the floors beneath me.

“The Throne is yours my liege, do with me what you will,” I prodded, trying to catch him off guard in his moment of victory.

“OF COURSE IT IS MINE, NOBODY EVER SITS ON THE THRONE!” He bellowed, still laughing, before he realized his enormous blunder, listening for his own voice again in the cruel echo, just in case he wasn’t sure if he had said it. Having been in such emotional raptures, the sudden realization of his error was all too obvious on his face, which tilted suddenly from one extreme to the other. I looked at him, he looked at me. His eyes were frightened, mine were certain.

“Checkmate!”

As I turned and jumped on the Peacock Throne in one swift move, I heard every atom in the Devil’s monstrous body articulate themselves into one universe-shattering bellow of despair.


END OF PART II