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Child of Kali

April 17, 2008

Child of Kali

The sunlight really wanted to stay, though the devil had its plans, and, well,

when daemons have minds that are made up under their finger tips,

things have to happen, as if, there were more experts in the room than the space in the room that makes it such a place as to be considered a room

So, the sun continued to go down as the moon turned a roundabout, and full of itself, bringing rise to the sea tides; killing no one, receiving no one

and laying to rest (or birth) no one…

Silence.

That night (a very difficult evening inside an evening, the kind that imparts to big boulders their warmth long into the freezing nocturnal from its day prior and saves pregnant lizards from an early doom) there was brewing in the mood of a particular daemon something so outrageous that the oceans themselves refused to fall upon “the” shore, which just happened, haphazardly and accidentally, to be the one plot of land in possession of an ancient marker-stone, an object upon which the great father-devil itself would sit upon, watching the births of every holy man and woman to ever walk the planet Earth, all the way up to this very night…

It sat and sat and sat…

Waiting and being alert to the necessities within the procurement of Time’s unnatural forces by way of such an odd kind of patience, is indeed a craft, nearly beyond mortal applicable practicalities, though, some can do it, then again, some just ‘move with it’, out of their natural form and function… For this one ‘tradesman’, it was just another night of weaving Armageddon dreams throughout moaning monk’s cells and those embryonic satchels of Saints-to-be…

Oh yes, the mood… The fanfare, and the hot ash being

brought through the nostrils to light campfires and wedding-cave-light,

the goldsmith’s torch and a lost lover’s lantern tumbling downwards

to rest in the lap of a demi-god’s fourteenth thousandth daughter,

lover of lovers and Priestess of Reflections who Have No Bodies Above Them… Possessor of sixteen thousand Jupiter’s eyes

and fifteen thousand million sight seer’s ‘Oh’s!’

Yes, a game it would be and not just with anything.

So, the daemon sent out its invitation engraved on the wrist watch upon a mosquito’s heavily banded and burdened abdomen, filled with just enough blood to give proof of the insect’s master’s identity and the cosmic tension and relaxation settlement having been approximated, i.e., duly figured out well enough to land once again on that accursed and ancient stone by that seashore, whereabouts there’s no real agreement of its edge…

Kali wasn’t as busy as most on Earth picture her as being;

in all actuality,

she was simply standing inside an apple orchards’ fifty six thousand trees,

being picked, crated, shipped, puréed and canned as apple sauce for infants and institutional-sized pots portioned to retirement facilities and prisons for her death-row-sons and daughters to have and remember Those Days

when they were beside themselves and no one else…

So,

there it landed,

that mosquito,

right on the tip

of an orchard-pack mule’s

glistening nose…

Needless to say, that particular harvest day was cut short by a ‘freak of nature’,

or, the birth of a new volcano; either way, allot of people got mildly tanned

and hot apple pie filling could be smelt for hundreds of miles…

Kali liked red and Red loved Kali,

so apples and volcanoes

just made enough sense

that a birth could start taking place…

Now, for that mule…

The mosquito was gently retrieved by a flying-surgical-flea-unit,

officially named ~ ‘The Tiniest Minions of the Itchiest Sorts, Compliments

of Kali, INC. and certified by a certain white swan quill’s signature.’

The blood-verification-parcel was regurgitated onto a tiny platter

whereby The Most Holy and Ancient Cult of Dust Mite-Shamans

wrote and wrote and wrote about it (and with it, a little).

Three seconds later, they finally handed to Kali all the proof she needed,

that indeed, some sort of cosmic whatchamacallit game had commenced…

From the new volcano stepped a glowing white-hot-skeleton…

Taking nearly six million Earth years to grow,

it was fundamentally (in the moment) outfitted with Nature’s

most upgraded organs and muscles available,

not excluding all the other ‘good stuff’ donated by

the Waves, Aires, Soils and Flames…

This ‘child’ would be Kali’s knight,

to play in the whatchamacallit game.

Now, on the scene where the daemon leapt with near orgasmic joy,

clapping its hands and sending, what would later be termed ‘meteorite belts’,

out into space, it danced, giggled and was thrilled that its full-proof-plan was

nearly proven just that, a plan full of proof

that indeed

the daemon

did

in fact

exist

because

it could plan and challenge,

and do things just like other things did to it

and so on and so on…

The daemon said to Kali’s child ~

“Take these Child; here are four buckets of Earth-humanity’s blood,

a bundle of crow feathers,

fifteen dead minotaur

and directions to the nests of all the birds of the world,

so you can seek to gather their eggs and wear.

So, do as you will with these,

I give you as much time as you need, but,

when you’re ready, we will fight,

and if you cannot save any of the eggs from breaking,

then, I win, and that’s that… Understand?”

Kali’s child agreed with a nod and went on its way gathering all the eggs of the Earth. Returning back to the site where the buckets and lifeless bulls lay; it knelt down and placed the eggs in the hands of a special group of Seamstress Fairies, who meticulously sowed them to its epidermis with black widow silk and 5lb ultraviolet fishing line…

Next, the child took the pails of blood and lined them up in order of size,

weight, and vivaciousness, so to speak…

It took nearly three thousand years for the

Fairies of Convincing and Transfigurations to talk the

crow feathers into finally ‘taking’ to the child’s hair roots,

whereby, with just the right furious thought-pattern,

its tender scalp would catch the wind with the power

and accumulative gathering passions of all the crows of the world

(and then some…)

The child was nearly ready and called the daemon out…

So, it stepped forth,

re-tipped its tail

and took its fighting stance…

Kali’s child then gathered together all the minotaur-bones

and leathery skins and formed a circle with them, and said ~

“This shall be our fighting rink.”

The daemon imagined a secret thought ~ ‘That shall be it indeed… Perfect!’

After all, the daemon was an expert at bone-leather-earth-surface-jousts

and could barely contain itself simply with the utter astonishment at how

easy it would be to destroy this ‘little’ Kali-thing within its sphere of expertise…

So, the circle was completed and then dyed red with the first bucket,

the least vivacious (so to speak…)

Kali’s child drank half the second bucket

and ordered the fairies to have the rest,

who dutifully did drink the stinking massage of soul blurring brew…

The third bucket the child bathed upon itself,

covering all the beautiful eggs in its thick burgundy atmosphere…

The fourth bucket the daemon was obliged to pour onto itself,

after all, Anything Goes on a beach between heaven and hell…

So began the battle…

For the daemon’s qualifications,

all the eggs had been broken

and the trophy was its to own to reflect Victory…

Howling like a synchronized pack of nearly a trillion wolves,

the daemon let out such a laughing ministry sermon of utter satiation,

that the moon peed its pants,

turning the night sky a pale yellow color…

The earth sent up legions of earthworms to check things out

and jelly fish swarmed over the world

looking to spread themselves out

on anything made with bread…

Needless to say, things were indeed a mess…

The planet could barely stand the daemon’s celebration,

while its inhabitants kept to their dream-time-zones,

since all the world’s heart beats had been slowed down

or ‘paused’ to an elevator-waiting-pace,

as to accommodate this duel…

After all the hoopla and dancing about,

the daemon demanded the child give up the trophy,

its very own beating heart,

a certain something,

once worn by a daemon upon a certain something kind of metallic chain,

empowers the showperson with the ability to be not themselves

for exactly one year, while reaping all the after effects

that such a possession-thingy would normally imply upon the

common and healthy jurisdiction of a common soul’s conscience

and evolutionary-influential-compass-point’s spinning backwards,

then forwards,

then just popping out

and onto the floorboards,

to be swept away by some anonymous

cosmic mop-boy On Deck

Then, from under the daemon’s feet,

there rumbled something odd,

And Kali’s child let out a shout,

a scream that tore off the daemon’s tail,

just like that,

and there it lay,

a new species of Amazonian boa,

possessed with an even more spear-like head…

Oh, and now the comforts came dawning,

all the relief(s) that daemons despise;

the color of new born lamas,

a good un-constipated bowel movement,

bird feeders that never need re-filling

and the exactitude of that kind of definition

that’s in a lover’s eye when it meets

with another Beloved’s eye

while not necessarily looking

for such a dazzled-meeting,

though goes ahead with it in a millisecond,

agreeing to all of it anyways…

All this, multiplied by one hundred thousand exhales…

Kali’s child could be seen levitating a bit, saying ~

“Oh god! Oh, my god, blithering god, god, god, god!

What you know of hell’s hell,

though nothing of heaven’s hell…

So moved by our wrestling

and mixed with buckets of blood…

I see you, and you’re in me!”

Bursting into fire,

(the igniter having been from the gushing lava oozing

from the daemon’s tail’s dismemberment’s wound-portal)

the child burned and burned,

Whereby by-in this kind of flaming,

the only thing left was its black,

crow-winged-skull

and a glowing certain something way inside it…

The child of Kali said ~

“You challenge and challenge and challenge

and forgot my birthplace,

where no defeat can rightly be meditated

upon without such remembering considering:

In this/that ~

I have won,

So, lay your heart in my ivories

so I can return to my mother’s lap

what we’ve built between ourselves tonight.”

The daemon,

albeit a conscious, celestial being,

was a bit confounded

and refuted the victory-claim, saying ~

“The death you say! Waltwhitman!

I am not down,

and it is you who are out,

you’ve got no more eggs!

I win.”

Kali’s child responded ~

“You, possessor of all contemplative games,

I am the child of a volcano and Kali,

I am a phoenix,

unfertilized;

still, here’s my egg, nonetheless;

see it glowing

between my darkened orbital-sockets?

Gathering, I’m also one,

who I gathered from, and Am I.”

And sure enough, as the daemon stepped up

and gently peered inside that blazing, crackling skull,

it saw,

that,

indeed,

there was an egg in there,

and so, gave out its heart,

placing it in the winged skull’s ivories,

and simply

let go…

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