Fabled Streams
“Doesn’t the carnival turn a little more sinister each passing block?” she says huskily, smacking her lips on the p and b. It did seem many revelers had begun chanting praises to the glorious Nada, to a sacred shush between
all songs.
Please understand, if I am kept, for a time, from my quest by the succubus, it is not because of the perfect, smoky sheen of her skin, no, nor her tightly laced up cleavage. I am disgusted by her riches, her retinue of loyal gnomes, her palace inscribed with arcane symbols. But her spells are strong. Her clairaudience anticipates and disarms each attempt to resist.
From the lowest ramparts we watch the procession. Spiked plumes, sequined masks, whips going taut in slow motion–or do I grow a bit feverish? A French horn tumbles from a float. Is stolen.
By Daniel Hales.
ampere’s and
Today’s quick lit [& alt.cult] links from around the web: Simon Crump asks, is it vanity to self-publish? [See The Great Underground Myth & Countering the Myth on 3:AM] & Joanna Smith Rakoff‘s adventures answering J.D. Salinger‘s mail & Is Shoplifting from American Apparel the new Catcher in the Rye? [via @largeheartedboy] & Brandon Scott […]