Take a walk with me. I want to show you a sea without horizon. The lack of bodies on its floor. Something drifts above you on the surface of the sea. It is unknown but it is burning.
Do you see him? There is a man in a mask standing on the shore? He will direct you from there. He has a baton – we have a zoo. He has no music in his mind. Always the calliope plays, but there is no music in his mind.
She is waiting for you, too, I promise you this. You can make it to her. Enjoy the ride and it will take you. It will take you to her. There will be many times your spirit may leave you or betray you. Still, you must stay with me.
Blow the whistle if you want. Blow it and leave. If you do, you will be home. No more Sea, no more Muse. Blow the whistle that hangs like night around your neck. No more Me, no more Need.
Can you see him, Boy? He is pointing left now. Let’s go! She is waiting! Pay no mind to the bridge above the clouds. Do not look below. The light that passes under us is just a farce! Come with us.
On now to the caves.
Yes the caves will be dark. A miserable stench is suspended within. It loiters in shadows like wine in a barrel. Mmm. There must be a waltz inside. I wonder if we will hear the organ and rusty strings. There are tunes inside that wither and bow.
It is such desperate irony that we enter and are orphans. Dancers are the corners around you. They welcome you into this place. Pay them no mind, I beg. I was their statue. Feet, toes. You are stood and lost and in the correct place.
Be careful of your next move, boy. Listen well to me. Listen well. Make not the choice of what the dancers want. Their rhythm. Nothing is precise, only heavily determined.
Wee flickers of day. How it slinks in spotty, confused parts of the cavern. Those will give you hope. You are not to look upon them. Do not spare for them a space of thought. We come for more than what they offer.
We are made to.
This fancy can bring you no prize. Only loss. This sky will never present you to the resonating notes with grace, Boy. Look at me. You will not be a Lord, for your hair will remain cut.
You who feels the warmth! Come away! You must say the necessary words. Freedom only depends upon the journey. You will be free when the lights are over you, the Dance is beneath you, when the stones begin to weep.
What? Do not make that promise. You will say the words.
Friend. Lost Boy. My dearest friend. Stay close. I have you written in the pages of my Book, but you are in others’ as well. Rule will not come to you, but you have the whistle. Keep it close, or give it to me for safe keeping.
There is no soul or land left for a company such as ours.
Look now the lights are going out. Now on! Now off! We will not be made to stay here. Is it the music you don’t trust? Or the Sea? Both are fickle. One would hang the other. They have punched their ticket.
But you already know where to go. I will be there. We will go together and just in time. Fish don’t swim with motivation like yours. Chrystals burn hot at the hands of an angry god.
It is moving well now. does the turbulence bother you? Will you need gold, or air, or the ground when you leave my zoo? Will you be broken and open? Will you grow something of your own? Will you till the land?
Will you die in a brothel? With no place to rest your head?
Will you, please, hand over your whistle, oh Lord?
There. Is it not lovely?
The mask and the voice are nauseating. The ride is primed with the grotesque and the spiders are weaving thread within the rhythm, too. They are like you, they are not native here.
One must not give into the sleep clouding your mind. Sing for me. Sing some grand song, Lord. I am fed by the wilds and the wind. I can go on for much longer if you will only sing. Sing as the great wall of water that woke me, lights lurking behind.
Were you the stained stops of the mountain, would you not sing then? Would you not cheat to win a prize given to your beloved? The gory flowers all around you sing songs in soaring cycle. Will you not?
Look out, boy! We mustn’t step on the bodies. Any moment may bring more. Be sure yours is not one. More of yours and mine,
More. More. Give me more.
There is the ship that was burning. It smolders in death and foul fortune. The rocks around us are morning your loss, but do not believe them. Do you see it? Do you see them? Not even the whistle can save them now.
Their swords give food to abominations at the bottom of things. Let them be abandoned and lost. Let them never answer for their wrongs. They have bled enough. They bleed your ears. They bleed the floor. Let them bleed.
That is well. That is good.
Just a monster. Just a beast from another time. Another place. Do not heed it.
You see it dripping from the sea as it rises out of the resting place of the swords – I see nothing. Sparrows on the wind and rain clouds. You see smoke from it’s nostrils and hear the earth groan as it marches onto the shore. It is scared of the shore! It is scared of you!
Pay it no mind, boy.
Listen for the Oboe. Feel the moister in the air. Do not bother to look at the sea again. The tempo will pulse back into you. The dancers.
Those are real! I am real, Lord! Take the whistle, please!