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Monday, May 2, 2016

Call Me Deucalion

Call me Deucalion. Some years ago – never mind how long exactly – before Utnapishtim, before Noe, I was alone, having little or no money in my pocket and nothing left of my home, that city of the air – and driven on by hunger and by whales, by deluge and assault, driven by misery and loneliness, I set sail upon the impetuous waters.

I stand on the deck, spyglass in hand, a fleet of shipwrecked vessels to the left and to the right of me. The earth shakes with aqueous weapons; trembling waves crashed over me. The air vibrates with strange motions. The sea made red with the blood of my enemies and my friends, the perturbed waters shall over run, spoiling the world. Blood flows and a flood of blows bringing great destruction and unholy enjoyment. Bringing murder and a damnable legend. 

No one can swim. I am alone. In the ark with me, this chest, this coffin, there is lightning and gold.

The solitude of my cabin is too much for me to endure so I follow the migration charts of the great sea monsters, guided by some infallible urge. This is the monster, the stuff of nightmares in the deep and the fear of blood. All human connection is severed. All human connection is death, flood waters and love, heartache and longing upon the surface of the waters. A brooding loner. The blue divide between water and sky. Everything is horizon, the vast, unending circle surrounding me.

I was born and killed by water. Now surrounded by water, waves, alone without a shore. Leviathan maketh a path to my door, but I will not answer his call.

 Call me Deucalion, but I was a lover once, when the world was sweet wine and gentle wind. I was a gentle lover with stars and fire and magic melodies for a maiden. I sang love songs and danced the round for her and we two dreamed of a world that we could make our own. But that was long ago – never mind how many years exactly – too long for the remembering. The moon was mine, once, mine to give to her. But the moon is fleeting and she, like the moon, is drowned in the terrible sea. Never trust the moon. Never trust the sea. The moon doesn’t speak any more and the sea says too much.

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Jeff Carter's books on Goodreads
Muted Hosannas Muted Hosannas
reviews: 2
ratings: 3 (avg rating 4.33)

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