Rain Dylan Morgan; Ferbruary 10, 2008
Feeling bad that she didn't get to taste the nummy soul of Mr. Luciano, she feels that she needs to try and figure out how she might be able to better acquire such things in the future <... or how to not loose her chops>.
Using her meditation skills, she would try and hone in on her failing, and attempt to figure out what went wrong (and to gain back as much Will as she can, using Meditation x3).
Mebbe this Alek Renkins will provide some interesting analysis to how things die...
You sit alone in your room wondering why you don't have another delicious soul in your belly, and think long and hard on the nature of the soul... whatever spark it is that makes you a thinking intelligent being, and not just a squishy pile of walking, talking meat.
You stare into the depths of your belly button and wonder what sort of meat you're made out of precisely. You contemplate the physical weight that is your body and consider what would happen if somebody took it and crunched of it's bones out through a grindy-wringer, rendering your musculature and tissue into a smooth rich undifferentiated sausage, bound off and encased in your still intact skin and sealed up in the knot of your omphalos...
Ever-knot... the cord that connects you back to the all devouring womb of your dire mother, the physical reminder that you are borne to flesh and in flesh were made human and dross and animal.
"Mama died today."
Ick! This umbilical tether is like a chain in this regard, binding you forever to the sick sea-puke-green slime that is your placental overbody! The sweat and baby shit and birth water and blood that make up your human body... The mucus and the the blood and the bile... Fuck fuck fuck fuck no.
"Can the soul exist without the body?
"It damn mothersuckingfucking well better. I don't want to get tied up to the ooky gooky yukky mass of shambling organs and flesh. Do I now?"
"And there's the answer then. We won't."
You feel a pain in your abdomen and begin to push your fingers into your belly, trying desperately to try to extract whatever is lodged there. You body curls backwards on itself as you rip everything inside you into the outside, and as you tear, your skin and guts and bones and fat slough off of the new-birthed child of your brain, who stands, laughing and shapeless, when you are gone.
"Caroline, Caroline, won't you be a friend of mine!"
And there you both are again, friends and lovers, naked and beautiful in the world that lives without forms.
She kisses the lips that are herself and yourself and everything as she whispers softly.
"We wouldn't have liked him anyway."
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