I Wonder If You Always Tell The Truth

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Pandemonium: When It Reigns, I Pour

even the boatman had dispensed with the niceties. "how long is this going to take?" i asked hopefully. "how long have you got?". i thought about answering sarcastically but my usual disposition was fading almost as fast as the shoreline. night had long since fallen, though the sky was desolate. i looked up in wonder at where the stars were hiding and felt a twinge of sadness that, wherever it was, they hadn't asked me to join them. anywhere would be paradise compared to this. although where this was was a mystery i had yet to unravel. i could see land in the form of mountains both up ahead and behind, jutting up from the horizon producing a shape against the darkness that looked uncannily like the pattern of my beating heart, but beyond this i might as well have been travelling blind. literally that is, since figuratively i already was, having no idea where this journey would lead. i felt the need to complain. not out of desire, more a forced sense of duty. after all, it is against the natural will of man to be pushed. however, my will, gradually worn over recent years, (the reasons for which will be revealed as we continue), was not ripe to protest. in all honesty, the destination was of no concern to me; i had an idea, i just didn't care. no urge to ask or even to make conversation was present. just liquid. an overpowering need for taste, to know that i was still alive. thankfully, i still had my flask. small, pocket-sized and engraved with a mysterious character above a row of equally indecipherable markings which i always fancied, perhaps a little romantically such is my way, was a secret code of some description relating to a lost time, a bygone era and that i was destined, through this one relic, to uncover the secret of this civilisation. my very own atlantis. but nevermind those dreams, pack them away with the rest, i had more pressing matters to attend to. such as the contents of said flask. if i didn't know where the boat was heading then i could convince myself, by way of an alcoholic advantage if you will, that the journey was a favourable one. it was thus that i came up with my somewhat dubious, though remarkably simple, (again, such is my way), masterplan; drink myself to avalon! and whilst i am so occupied let me recount the turns, for there were many, of events that will bring us full circle. assuming you read the title, a delightful play on words if i do say so myself, (and i do, and may do once or twice hence), then you will already have an idea that things were not, in the popular sense, settled in my life.




i saw the fiery vision burning in those swollen eyes of summer. i remember it well. every second of our interaction. each subtle movement. all the turnings of the tide that held my attention so. we met on the road to glory; (where the sun never sets and the rain never falls, where the path is still sacred and my heart heard your call). she spoke the language of tears and i could hear the pain. her voice staggered as the tears flowed, though it was as if a nightingale possesed her soul. truly a voice to silence kings. it was obvious she was alone, though whether this was through her own conviction i could not tell. even now, in remembrance of that hour, i still could not say with any degree of certainty. whatever the route and whatever her destination i knew that i was the one to accompany her. the first rays of the new dawn caught the river in it's crystal perfection and the scene was set. oh that it could have been! what i would have given to have called that place home! to have lived but in the reflection of that eternal beauty! but no, the illusion was to crack like mr. dee's obsidian mirror. it seems like only yesterday that same mirror beheld her grace, no less faded than her beauty was fatigued by the long walk home. on that perpetually ascending staircase she was no more a stranger than the snow in winter and possessed no less of the majesty of that seasonal visitor. 


to be continued