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satanicdoctor Profile
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untitled.


This, this tangle of thorns, is for the birds—one of which I am disposed to make fly with my own wings, out of the others: a gang of crows that peck and claw at me, my mind’s self, beleaguered. This particular bird is more empathic than the rest: the genus is not specified, though she is clearly different: the yellow and blue shades of her plumage reflect an interior vividness that one does not see in the sleek, black feathers of the crows. She struts along the outskirts of the horde, as they peck and claw.

She is a bird that cannot fly. The wings of the animal have somehow been injured; perhaps from this unfortunate hindrance were spawned the empathy she once had for me, regarding my own destruction by the horde. I therefore decide to lend her my own wings—as I, and thus all of my figurations go down, go down—as an old man who drops when his cane is kicked out. I am consumed by a horde, a gang of crows, and, she is launched fast upwards suspended by the glide of a freedom that I never would have known existed in my chest.

I, in turn, am left with my feet on the ground … the crows disperse, having no more to consume but my body. Thus, I become my body, only; all external ideals procured from nothing, save the spaces of my own head, suddenly seem chafed and enigmatical. I remain alive only to watch from afar this bird, this frailty, span the sky—and I know that I have aided her—that I have freed her from myself. That I have aided her and freed the both of us, by giving her what I had needed, myself, to be truly free. Thus, I am contained within a pleasant kind of jail: left to walk the EARTH and understand only the memory of my wings, while this bird flies ahead of my perceiving—an ecstasy of myself that I can only now observe at a distance, and which could have been mine.
Mar/17/2012, 3:20 pm Link to this post Send Email to satanicdoctor   Send PM to satanicdoctor Blog
 
Katlin Profile
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Re: untitled.


Hi SD,

Wow, intriguing piece. A kind of modern day myth or fable, universal but enigmatic in its own right, which greatly appeals to me. I've read this piece several times and know I will return to puzzle over it again the way one returns to puzzle over a dream, especially a big dream that vibrates with mystery, archetypes and omens.

PS This piece deserves a title, although what that title might be I can't say. emoticon

Last edited by Katlin, Mar/17/2012, 8:42 pm
Mar/17/2012, 8:40 pm Link to this post Send Email to Katlin   Send PM to Katlin
 
Terreson Profile
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Re: untitled.


Good writing mostly. Elegiac in tone. Metaphor extended just far enough to keep effective without losing its kinetic energy. Funny how it is a quarrel with oneself can show itself in a quarrel with crows. And the slim, I want to say sister-bird emblematic of a man's soul. That is what comes through for me, at least.

Tere
Mar/24/2012, 12:19 pm Link to this post Send Email to Terreson   Send PM to Terreson
 
vkp Profile
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Re: untitled.


This line speaks to me very deeply:

"an ecstasy of myself that I can only now observe at a distance, and which could have been mine"

As an ending to the piece it is achingly poignant.
Mar/25/2012, 2:37 pm Link to this post Send Email to vkp   Send PM to vkp Blog
 


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