God's Secret Family in Michigan

In the Garden of Eden, Adam found himself sick.

Between his chest and stomach he felt a great rend, a gaping maw which siphoned blood from his heart and stomach, producing a sensation of total emptiness.

He had come to know this sensation as that of poison.

It had been poisoned which he'd felt when he decided that there was no God.

Poisoned which he felt when he realized that if there was a God it had bastardized him at birth;
leaving him in favor of more obedient children, God's secret family in Michigan.

In the past he'd developed systems of coping with poison, but none of his tried methods worked on this new toxin.

He tried to forget it as he'd done with a great many things, busying himself in the sculpting of new caves in the hopes of creating a mansion more stately, a figure more comely.

He sought solace in the words others had left behind in books and on tablets, but he only found familiar wounds opened by their profundity and new ones formed by their artistry.

He crawled inside the great centrifugal womb of alcohol, but all the spinning brought was disconnection, new bruises in the morning and unrequited admittances.

In the end, Poison Control wasn't found at the other end of a telephone receiver or computer screen.

Adam ventured into the great barren metropolises of the Westworld and buried deep beneath warnings of violence and condemnations of hellfire, he found salvation.

He found great masses huddled round the sky's night-fires, hundreds of God's bastard children talking and gloaming and trying to sweat their own poisons out.

One of them approached him, took him by the hand and lead him to the fireside.

He could feel the warm flush growing in his cheeks, provoked by the fire's glow and the sudden rush of symbiosis found in just this slight gesture.

Adam let the fire watcher teach him the order of things.

He taught his lips the gentle abruptness of consonance and the elegant way the tongue must move to produce fairer sounds and the proper tone.

He taught his voice the proper pitch and volume changes necessary to convey emotion and he learned the startling beauty to be found in cacophony.

The final lesson Adam needed to learn was taught under the pall of silence when all the fires had burned down.

The one who had taught Adam to hoard the clues of language came to Adam as a shadow does to all things at first-light and tenderly in the growing din of morning they created connection.

They spoke at first bluntly, exchanging only the most bestial moans and grunts but with time they begun to speak at first of the basest feelings and gradually of the reasons they'd come to the place they'd found themselves.

Bound by this connection, no secret was harbored between Adam and his companion and the true nature of communication became clear.

"What is communication if not the exchanging of poisons between two people?"
To which Adam's companion replied, "Go to hell you 'self-important' fuck-wit." and promptly bludgeoned Adam to death with his own heavy handed metaphor and allusions.


Anonymous said...

dear travis,

the tags alone on this post made me wish I was hanging out with you right now. It's twelve o'clock and I can't sleep so I went to go read things on the internet.

that is all (but not really ..I could go on)

Goodnight my dearest of friends!

triceratops said...

travis that was amazing. we should write a zine about how there's no god.