The Ancestress asked permission to touch my hand. I respectfully surrendered it to her icy smooth fingers which, no matter how impeccable they looked, felt horrible.
At this point GR³ threw in a remark with her sonorous but suggestive contralto. “I remember those petrified cakes distinctly. I liked them better than the Sympaians of today.”
Under the screen of my numbing need of sleep I felt a radiant happiness. “It’s true then,” I mused. “The great naturalistic stupidity and its consequences were finally conquered?” The Grand Bishop refilled my glass with great deliberation. The crystal hummed like a bell under the impact of the golden wine. I had longed for another drink but had not dared to ask for it.
Continue reading “Star of the Unborn, this soft but sharp, feeble but shrilly screeching eruption of human rage rising from the extensive turnip field made me forget everything else”