e martë, 16 tetor 2007

The Last Spike part 5: The Meteor

v) The Meteor

It was meteoric mercurial venusian earthen marsheen jupitine saturnine uranian and plutonius yes even Jupiter got a gas out of it. Sometime near the invention of Christopher Dewdney, the stage had imagined itself thru the atmosphere. List of largely syllabled words for the learned. We ordered the paths erected and the dangers softened. Thousands of years prior to the cash called Toronto, we camped in the parking lots of High Park. I had been raised in Moose Factory, raised as a moose, and my brother born of raven directly. One night the leg-squeakers cease – the moon dies – the sky blinds – this shitball hits the ground outside our tent. I shine the deerhide flashlight out the flaps and Raven feins sleep.
-Some huge piece of shit just lodged out hear in the campfire bro.
-The fuck up. He replies with a brazen harph and nod-off.
The dirt and grass sat in the air glowing and splattin mud packs to the ground and sides of the tent. Too damn hot to touch I spent the night looking at the thing, which ceased to glow within minutes but looked larger by daylight.
Raven raises round dawn givertake says while pissing
-The hell’s that?
-Fell from the sky last night. I think it’s growing.
-Shit rocks don’t grow yo.
-Well shit rocks don’t fall outta sky neither.
We get the gear ready in silence. Chuck some jerky down the tube and belch thru white pine tea. The day is fast we get three deer. The evening is longer, setting the corpses hell yeah.
-That thing sure as hell’s growing.
-That thing’s been hear longer than great spirit.
-Goddamn blaspheme.
It’s dark and we’re cookin fresh with spices whose names are withheld to prevent your smelling them specifically. The pan starts dark with blood we sip it whilst still pink. Root veg and squash from the tattered camp already here when we showed up three weeks ago. Some of this shit just keeps growing untended, which gives Raven ideas for market capitalism. I shut his face filling it with burnt potatoes.
-Moose, why’d mom and them send us down here?
-You know damn.
-I’ve never heard of anyone else sent hundurd miles south to lakeshore for that dreamquest shit.
-I dind’t say we were sent here for dreamquests, that shit’s to pacify us. We’re sent cuz of blundering up the hunt. Remember your mammoth trap crap? Tens of days to dig the trench – tens of hours for you to build the structure atop too strong. The mammoth walks by and goes wherever the fuck they go (down south this way? Who the hell knows.) That was the last chance of the season. That’s some of it.
-How about you already struck outta Moose Factory for lustiness.
-I came home because I wanted to.
-Not what I hear. Cedric was up there in Moose Factory. There’s a shitpile of knocked up heifers.
-Fuck off.
-And once you got home you can’t say that Jessica was your lone partridge.
-Okay, so you have answers. Some dreamquest.
-Regardless. What I meant was why down here. If they want rid of us, they could have sent us east or west to get butchered by those bastard Iroquois and Hurons. Could have sent us north to winter peril with windigos and if we make it, those inuit fuckers. So.
-There’s no moose here.
-Statement of the obvious and evidence of character as mom would say.
-Well, it’s true. That’s why down here.
-You don’t think it’s more?
-You’re the one that says that fucking stone from the sky that by my eye’s grown two feet since last night is just dumb rock.
-So it’s a outerspace rock sent to test us?
-Get real dungflap, don’t fuck around.
-That’s what you seem to think.
-Go to sleep.
Next morning he still won’t shut up.
-Look Moose.
-Look Raven.
-I know I’m a damn treat when asleep, but what if the elders did foresee this shit, and they knew we could handle it.
-The rock? It is something. But they got rid of us. If this was a dreamquest, we’d go out to the woods and starve for a few days, and come back all manhood. I’m 26 years old, yer what, 25?
-26 also. Do you remember any stories.
-Me neither.
-Let’s build one.
So we skip the hunting morning, finish up with yesterday’s kill trot down to lakeshore and spear fish in the shallows lethargically.
-This lakeshore is a mountain penetrating the skies of our ancestors.
-Fuck that, the piss seeps down from man to dirt to water, and when thru with dirt - is water once more.
-Fuck, that’s poetry?
-That’s what this is. Some kind of severe dreamquest, sent by great spirit. The tribe sends us down here for their own reasons, but great spirit says “I’ll give em something to do. Something important.” Last chance to get back.
-Who says we want back with the village.
-There’s no moose down here.
-Cruel you. So, if this is a dreamquest for a pomes, what’s the space stone have to do with it.
Spat in the water fish looked at it got on my spear.

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