There are ups. And sometimes, there are downs, into the pit of hell.

Only yesterday I was Alice in Wonderland.

The Imposter, invited to a meeting where none like me would ever get.
But by their own blood, sweat and tears.
Skin of their teeth.
The slaying of their firstborns in name of his Majesty of the Be-tentacled Face.

Like a secret council meeting where the destiny of the kingdom is decided.

(sigh) I'm telling this wrong.

It is the secret council meeting where the destiny of the kingdom is decided.
The kingdom which has been poisoning my soul, my dreams.
The kingdom I've protected blood and nails, at the neglect of my own health.
That stupid place which I used to love so dearly, and which has been killing me softly.

Up until recently, that is. You see, the mayors of the country, the bourgeoisie who think they rule the land, decided they had to teach me a lesson. I had to learn my place, or some commonplace drudgery those imagination impaired see as their lofty goals.

Me, the only one booking results against the wildebeests and wildermen infesting the land.
I ravaged at my finance just for those!
My health.
Including my own love for the kingdom.

So. I went Chernobyl, tssssssssssssssssss.

Strange how people hearing those words imagine blinding flash, mushroom cloud explosion, heat wave turning everything into ash. Even you, dearest digipblip, even you saw those iconic images.
Did you not pay attention when it happened? Did you not read up on history?

Chernobyl was: no flash, no mushroom cloud, no heat wave.
Like a pit of gravitational vengeance it burned (still burns) itself into the earth.

It changed the course of evolution.
If malformed frogs don't scare you: it halted decay in the forest.
There is no Roman or Greek god who ever claimed that power: the trees died, and time stopped.

(whisper) it keeps things from dying, mommy.

Oh no, it's not so much the explosion or heat one must fear, around Chernobyl.

But Oh! Its cold dismay for time.

And, Ach! Its utter neglect of the force for light and warmth it used to be.

And oy vey, its never-ending power for destruction.

Time flexing like a whore

Too little of it, need more to look at a picture of black and white fur. Nights are desolate places in my mind, no one watching, no one purring.

And too much of it. How much longer obliging this hobby-turned-into-job-and-hating-the-hobby. I had so many dreams, had so many break throughs.

Can I go back over twelve years, when the deadline was tomorrow and I wasn't even 30? Where I'd work a full day, come home and tend the flowers and weeds, and still find energy and time to spend with my friends who now sometimes keep me awake anight with their urgent questions. Always the same questions, as it is. Where will we go? How will we end? Tell us, write it all down...

Is that you, CowWatcher?
What was the name you called me? (wind - called - crow - lift head - lonely)