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The Sky Calls to Us

Domovoi

Victor Pizarnik

Löbo

Into The Mausoleum

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The earth on which we march on has lost all familiarity with what we remembered of dirt. The heatless flames have rendered its skin nothing more than a hardened leather of what it once was.

It was the day that the sky turned against us. The healthy azure shade of blue that we had all come to love is no longer anything more than a longing memory. The grey skies with their nocturnal faint orange glow served only to mock that which we held so dear.

The sky called out with a thunderous drone. The cresendo that was the harbinger of our ruination. We opened our ears wide and listened to the cataclysmic symphony, the final sound we would ever hear. First, only pain. Then, only silence.

The flames slowly yet deliberately crept towards us although we could not feel their heat. The only sensation was the disheartening shivers incessantly crawling up our spines.

It was the day that the sky turned against us. The healthy azure shade of blue that we had all come to love is no longer anything more than a longing memory. The grey skies with their nocturnal faint orange glow served only to mock that which we held so d

The sky was dying and we knew it. We also knew that when it passed that we, too, would meet the same fate. Alas, we were not perturbed by this truth. Quite the opposite. The certainty of the end was more comforting than anything else we had ever experienced.

As the vermilion glow on the horizon caught our eyes, we drew our breath for the last time and marched forward.

Heads down, teeth clenched, and with malice aforethought in our minds, we set out. Searching for what has been forever lost and what will never have existed.

And although our quest was futile, we did not stop. We knew nothing but the driving force of glory, the burning disdain of failure and the single glimmer of hope that we may overcome all odds.

The sky was dying and we knew it. We also knew that when it passed that we, too, would meet the same fate. Alas, we were not perturbed by this truth. Quite the opposite. The certainty of the end was more comforting than anything else we had ever experienc

It wasn't long before the end came. The looks of fear were veiled over those of relief. Relief from the stresses of waiting. First, it sounded akin to a grand horn orchestra but the congregation grew and grew. Culminating and evolving into nothing more th

Many tried to flee from the inevitable, either through seeking shortcuts to the end or by trying to fight a force that was more powerful than they could ever imagine. We chose the alternative. The sounds of chaos and madness of the ensuing panics became t

Many tried to flee from the inevitable, either through seeking shortcuts to the end or by trying to fight a force that was more powerful than they could ever imagine. We chose the alternative. The sounds of chaos and madness of the ensuing panics became the anthem to our lives.

It wasn't long before the end came. The looks of fear were veiled over those of relief. Relief from the stresses of waiting. First, it sounded akin to a grand horn orchestra but the congregation grew and grew. Culminating and evolving into nothing more than pure cacophony.

All of our dreams, they're on hold. We are the ones watching over your shoulder. The silent observers. From now on we are all you have. We are all that you will ever need.

Standing tall, surrounded by those in shock and awe, and spitting narcissism with every word; we led those who chose to follow us away from the piles of those who chose otherwise.

The river, which was once a source of life for us all, had fallen victim as well. What was once our greatest jewel had become nothing more than a mass grave for us all. Even to those of us who still remained above it's surface.

Above the canopy, the sound of horns reverberated through us. A tone, which could easily be confused as smugness, told us we had arrived. Arrived but not welcomed.

The burning treeline gave us an unwarranted sense of security. We wallowed in our own false sense of well being, but always with the truth gnawing on the backs of our minds. A cicada buzzing inside each of our skulls.

Labium I

No regrets, no remorse, no future, no memories. The lost, the crass, the despised, and the forgotten. We are not the wanted but we are the needed. We are the remainder.

To push forward was murder, to return was suicide. The primal urge of self preservation took hold. There was no longer an "us" nor was there a "them". The memory of these concepts was washed away in the currents of that river.

For, as the desert sands shifted beneath our feet, only the dead chose to remain in the shade.

Labium XIII

Labium II

Labium VII

Labium V

Labium VI

Labium XVII

Labium XIX

Labium XVI

Labium X

Labium XII

Labium XIV

Labium XI

Labium IX

Labium III

Labium XV

Labium IV

Labium XVIII

Labium VIII

Many tried to flee from the inevitable, either through seeking shortcuts to the end or by trying to fight a force that was more powerful than they could ever imagine. We chose the alternative. The sounds of chaos and madness of the ensuing panics became the a

As the vermilion glow on the horizon caught our eyes, we drew our breath for the last time and marched forward. (excerpt)

For, as the desert sands shifted beneath our feet, only the dead chose to remain in the shade. (excerpt)

It wasn't long before the end came. The looks of fear were veiled over those of relief. Relief from the stresses of waiting. First, it sounded akin to a grand horn orchestra but the congregation grew and grew. Culminating and evolving into nothing more than p

We had become what we were destined to become. We played out the plan and we overcame. We did not do what we did because we were told. To rationalize would give credit to the madness. For us, the madness is all that remains. No men, no gods, only madness.