If I can't jump, just push and shove

[sovay]

Disquieting dream of the night: a series of murders somewhere wintry and granite-cragged, children disappearing from the moors over the years just as if a hawk stooped down and took them, all those little bones shining up there in the dark. I knew in the dream it was Zeus, like the eagle with Ganymede, only without the cupbearing immortality. It didn't matter if I could tell where they were lying, snow on flat hipbones, bracken in their ribs, I couldn't promise there wouldn't be any more. Their deaths weren't even a goal. Just only in poetry does anyone turn into flowers or springs except by decomposition.

It's cold as autumn in this kitchen. I'm seriously considering putting on a sweater.

Comments

[asakiyume.livejournal.com]

The music, especially as sung by the Capital Children's Choir, is perfect.

A doubt bubbles to the surface: ravishment by the gods = simply destruction, not transcendence of any sort. The gods may be monsters.

[sovay]

The music, especially as sung by the Capital Children's Choir, is perfect.

cucumberseed sent me some really great ghost music.

The gods may be monsters.

I'm not sure, in the dream, there was any differentiation between the two.