dreaming of dead gods

the sky boils with the immanence of the ancient dragon god, bane of mankind.
quickly the sorceress begins to inscribe a three foot wide circle on the ground, her bare finger somehow leaving intricate, faintly glowing traceries on the dewy grass
“our only hope is to summon the hero god who defeated the dragon in times of yore” she says.
with each pass around the circle, the inscriptions become more interwoven, her fingers moving automatically now, as if the spell is a machine that, once set in motion, moves inexorably toward its completion.
“I can perform the summons, but it will require a medium.”
before I can ask what she means, she reaches down and peels the glittering circle from the crest of the hill, like peeling a scab from the elbow of the world. beneath is a hole, maybe two feet of cool brown earth. she bids me enter.
reluctantly, I climb down and curl myself into a fetal pose, the only way I will fit into this small space, and she lays the circle back over me like a blanket. like the lid of a sarcophagus.
I slumber for a million years in the space of a few seconds. the planet is an engine, the spin of its axis coiling in my body like a spring, the gentle, lonely arc of its path through the cosmos the lever, and I the fulcrum.
as the spell is fulfilled, I am born from the womb of the earth, groggy and uncertain. I stumble, flexing my legs as if for the first time, and fly headlong down the hill with the speed of an avalanche.
as my body comes to know itself, I stand. with my feet planted on the earth, I could carry a city on my back without effort. I turn toward the sky and await my foe.


later, I travel with the sorceress and her consort. they are flirting, and for some reason this bothers me. suddenly they stop, as if a bucket of cold water had been upended over their ardor. they stare at me, stunned, and at the same moment, we all realize that reality has bent to my unconscious will, for I am more real now than the dreams of mortals from which the world is woven. as if in apology, we come upon a hostel, and I bid them go and rest while I attend my own needs.

but what are the needs of a man who contains a god?


breaking glass calls something worse
I am ready – snipe it
unplug xmess lights
Imperials lose power
but they have Ewok allies
radio show in dark
Star Trek rebels won
citizen’s son volunteers
Vulcan boy?


~ by oberon the fool on November 18, 2010.

2 Responses to “dreaming of dead gods”

  1. Having a bit of a Rand moment there, with everything bending to your will (however unconscious)?

    My favorite line: “she reaches down and peels the glittering circle from the crest of the hill, like peeling a scab from the elbow of the world”

    It sounds like your dream joints (knees, specifically) are in good health.

  2. There were, at least, no dancing tables.

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