Monday, September 26, 2005

The Cave of a Thousand Screaming Sorrows


Is much smaller than expected. The shrieking is not constant. It comes and goes. People have tried to find a pattern, but no one stays that long. People sometimes try and quiet the shrieking, but it is unclear if they are trying to make the cave feel better or the thing inside the cave. People make recordings of the cave and never, ever listen to them.

2 comments:

Unknown said...
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Unknown said...

It was my hand that blocked the knife of the ambitious Fu that night in Chongquiing. I dared not speak to you. As for my hand, it is fine, for it is as hard as iron and no longer quite human. When you asked your tea leaves about the Werewolves of China in the Ghost City of Fengdhou, your eyes acute with the clarity of belladonna, I held a magnet and swayed the Lopan compass; in Shanghai, I held an umbrella and wiped away the false chalk mark; in Xian, I charged the bourbon and extra towels to your room. I have done these things in return for
your many great services.

Gentlest blessings on your newest friend,

But to answer your question: I was given that most select of opportunities: I was indeed asked to cross over. I accepted. The other side of the mirror is more unusual than anyone dared imagine. The resemblance we see is superficial, we see only the surface, what we wish to see, what they want us to see. The world we wrongly call “reflections”...it is ...different here, with different pleasures. Words do not work, deeds are nothing but innuendo: the blade cuts the hand that holds it. Everything here is old, so very old, covered with dust and spiders. Even you, dear Grant. Even the youngest child. The ruler of this world is