02/14/2020
Floyd
290 Reviews
Translated
Show original
Floyd
Top Review
31
Encounter of the fear of the unavoidable
The deeper we went down this river into the darkness in our unswerving search for the most unfathomable fantasy, the densest fog, the most occult clearing of an enchanted forest, the most mysterious rain of smelling material, the most mysterious areas of our associations, the most surreal sceneries, the more bizarre became what happened on the banks of the ever narrower, but ever more numerous tributaries, until we finally, at the end of a river arm, arrived in the dark heart of a niche, encountered the inevitable.
Nellie, the old wooden boat, was stuck in the mouldy mud. The few grasses that had grown where the dark land supposedly began smoked in a weak smouldering fire. It smelled like burnt meat and fat-laden, sizzling wood embers. I thought I was hallucinating the shadows of a shadow that sprinkled paprika spice over the fire, when the enormous smell of a gigantic carnation stunned me like the unloved cause of a toothache. A cinnamon leaf, which had taken on the four-footed form of the myrtle plant, forced my face to mutate to colossal size, my face into the mushroom-like mud, where the smell of herbaceous pungent spices forced me to endure an almost endless monologue about the doubts about the existing system of order. All the plants of this place, the trees and their blood were subject to the cinnamon leaf, which was convinced that it was a carnation. They were all clothed in sharp-footed mud, living in fear of being spiced like the grasses by the river and the enemy meat in the smouldering fire.
I gave up, I sat there. indistinctly and silently in the posture of a meditating Buddha, staring at the work of the inevitable, many seemingly endless hours. Nothing changed. It couldn't be changed.
(With thanks to mermaid)
Nellie, the old wooden boat, was stuck in the mouldy mud. The few grasses that had grown where the dark land supposedly began smoked in a weak smouldering fire. It smelled like burnt meat and fat-laden, sizzling wood embers. I thought I was hallucinating the shadows of a shadow that sprinkled paprika spice over the fire, when the enormous smell of a gigantic carnation stunned me like the unloved cause of a toothache. A cinnamon leaf, which had taken on the four-footed form of the myrtle plant, forced my face to mutate to colossal size, my face into the mushroom-like mud, where the smell of herbaceous pungent spices forced me to endure an almost endless monologue about the doubts about the existing system of order. All the plants of this place, the trees and their blood were subject to the cinnamon leaf, which was convinced that it was a carnation. They were all clothed in sharp-footed mud, living in fear of being spiced like the grasses by the river and the enemy meat in the smouldering fire.
I gave up, I sat there. indistinctly and silently in the posture of a meditating Buddha, staring at the work of the inevitable, many seemingly endless hours. Nothing changed. It couldn't be changed.
(With thanks to mermaid)
25 Comments
BoBoChamp
