Sad to be unearthed from a peaceful slumber. Birthed from a Place of death.
It was the Scent that unearthed him. An untimely aroma that penetrated layers of dirt, weeds, rotting leaves, beckoning him to return. He was a professional Snifler rising to the ranks of Master Scentinal. Meaning One Born with an extraordinary sense of smell.
He had the ability to recognize more varieties of scent, odor and fragrance plus the accompanying emotions and feelings. Better than any tracking dog or hunting hound. His nose more delicate and discerning than any long time Sommelier. Most Excellent of all Proboscis.
The townsfolk built a Cairn over his body little knowing that neither well entrenched tree roots nor volcanic mountains spewing Lava can stop his progression. How He came to be in this backwater Medieval Dark Ages place far from African homeland is a story within a tale. This place a desolate wasteland caught up backwards in time. Theirs a nation that broke away from Antarctica, sunk into ocean depths and arise. Sadly Erroneous Euros had infected his home continent like a Raging Virus spreading infection everywhere they stepped foot.
His anomaly is that though he is buried He can never decay unlike the putrid rancid corpses reeking of decomposition which surround him in the City dump miles outside city limits, where thieves, beggars and criminals make their home alongside the garbage and trash.
He need not sully his immaculately groomed fingernails clawing seeking release from rubbish for his drones will dig him out. The drones are akin to the Flying Monkeys featured in the Wizard of Oz film. While awaiting rapture he casually cracked his knuckles hands protected by satin silken gloves.
The Foolish townsfolk are held back in chains by their stupid superstitions. They are prisoners of their fears. Fear has its own unique smell specific to that person. Communal Security rooted in fear provoking failures.
He felt like the Three Wise Men except he lacked the companionship of the other two. Here and there they were Renaissance pockets periodically springing up only to be beat down by the Ignorance of the Majority.
Erroneously thinking that this minor man made avalanche composed of debris and junk is able to imprison him. Playing to their ill seeded minds they though many in number have absolutely no negotiating stance compared to Him as he has been in space, time and detentions before the time of Adam and Eve.
He who was dispatched by The Ancient of Days Shall Render Justice until The Arrival of Time of The Ascension.
Like Hoarders these uneducated stubborn Villagers hang onto rituals and rites creating more dogmas and doctrines for each occurrence they could not explain. Little did they know that their archaic beliefs caused Him to arise. .
Birthed in Africa his Fellow creators gave him the name Naivasha or Nai’posha which in the Language of the Originator Indigenous Peoples means “Rough Waters.” Truly He has lived up to His name being His destiny. Albinism a mysterious genetic quirk passed from Mother to Child causing His hair to be a bleached bone hue whiter than the snows of Mount Kilimanjaro. In the Sun or bright Moonlight His Hair appeared nearly translucent.
Hirsute silken coiled strands covered much of his Crown, face and chest. Fleecy Tresses sprung from his scalp. Tresses that bespoke Rivers and Roads. Flowers and Leafy Greens. Visions and Dreams. Threading inward and outward. Joining together tribes North and South from East to West.
Thus he was branded by the Ancient Ones as a Mystic Eccentric. For his arrival signaled the time to sew and bind up old wounds whilst creating new gashes in the fabric of humanity. Still he missed the rich savannas of his youth. The rich soils home to grassy plains and grazing animals.
A PASTOR? OMG what a dirt bag. He drinks booze, probably smokes dope, lives in sin with a woman who isn’t his wife. For regular people NOT in the thug life, in order to murder someone in cold blood, you gotta be on some kinda high octane drugs that give courage required to follow through with heinous acts of vengeance filled violence. And don’t get me started on his skanky wife. Down in the Lower Level we call her a ‘toss up’, ya know some female who throws her legs up in the air, and doesn’t care whose bed they land in. These days’ pew warmers can be some of the MOST amoral people around. Cold blooded Son of a Bitch. Need another shower after watching and listening to this sadistic drivel.
Love,
Caleb
She shall bear fruit in the time of seed not in the time of man.
We were enveloped in the sweet Smokey darkness of a sultry summer night. Taking nocturnal strolls over graveyards filled with the illicit offspring of priests and nuns. Seedlings of the new reforms. Corpses a series of japes littering the landscape with embryonic fantasy dreams. A Feast of Flesh for maggots and worms. Chaos and terror. Blood everywhere. Odor of lingering 12 day ferment piss hang languishing in the stagnant atmosphere.
Leave no ghost upturned for there are barnacles affixed to near Charnel House ringed with concertina wire.
I see voices on the trench bottom questioning me on ways of escape. I find myself sinking in quicksand people with their backs to me on the periphery.
Soils of different waters tell eat and drink stories whilst jettisoned troubadours poison their listeners with liquid gold.
Svengalis’ in full regalia present alien babies ready for baptism.
Espiritu en Fuego/A Fiery Spirit 