Conception of a Myth



I have dreams vivid and hungry. They are urgent and consuming and I struggle to contain them. They seek premature sanctuary as they vainly try to spill from within, not caring for gestation, threatening to rip a hole in my abdomen and force their way out.

She calls the loudest. A shrill screach that promises pain and thirst, sacrifice and punishment. She is a Goddess. A myth not yet birthed. She is Pangari, Queen of the Shadows. She languishes in the bowels of the earth awaiting the souls of the damned. And there she drowns them all in thier own fetid, foul sins that bubble and steam in her sulphuric river, formed from the bile of Myall, King of the Shadows, keeper of Choas, and from the uric stench of her first morning piss.

This my dears, is only the beginning....

2003-11-16 9:56 a.m.