Pangu

It hapoened once upon a time, a long, long time ago, in a far away place, so far and so long ago that the world didn't exist.

In the middle of Nothing there was an egg. The egg grew over 18.000 years, maybe more, maybe less, until it broke open. Its soft parts floated away, drifted upwards, and made the sky. Its heavy bits fell and burried themselves deep, making the earth.

From inside it rose Pangu.

The skies and the earth were still young, loving and soft and Pangu had to stop them from joining together again. With all his might he kept them appart, three more meters each day, over 18.000 years, as he grew.

Once he was done, he laid down and slept.

* * * * *

For this reason and none other you must treat those you hate as if they will live forever and those you love as if they will die tomorrow.

Us, strange women, have a special, strange magnetism in these homogeneous times. Maybe its an unconscious tendency towards genetic variety for the wellbeing of the species.

I am now 28 years old and act like an idiot every day. No trial and error when everything is full of shapeless mistakes. It's the shadows who scream, helpless, on the verge of shadow's death, which is Nothing. They ask for realities, for their time, and what is and what they are becomes confusing. They take the moments of silence, they eat dreams until someone suffocates with them. They devour anything good with the bitterness of what wants to be forgotten and refuses to die, holding on and on, claiming flesh for themselves.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone