Christmas Day

The sky seeps into this house through the glass dome stretching from here to infinity above its many rooms and corridors; clouds collide with the dome with a soft metallic CLINK.
Tonight, swarms of guests pour into the house to feast. They sink their teeth into juicy meats, grease flows down their fingers, roaring laughter fills their throats.
They tear to pieces. They rip apart. They devour.
And when it’s all done, Gabriel turns off the lights and walks away, absent mindedly wiping his hands on his wings.

It all starts with a piece of land.
I’m almost done with imagining the grass blades but they’re still covered with transparent patches. They shimmer. In and out of focus.
( I’m also having second thoughts about adding ladybugs as a decorative element).
Yesterday I walked along the land’s edge. When I reached out to the earth, it melted into nothing. Today, it is craving a solid form – it arches its sand-colored back to feel my touch.
There will be time for paint spraying an outline of a house among the grass blades, perhaps tomorrow, but first – come, I’ll show you what a magnificent job I’ve done with the roses.

Transitions

Enveloped in cold air, I walk into the stifling heat of a swirling circus with elephants and zebras in it, and lions taking golden leaps through rings of fire. I bury my fingers in the yellow hair, feel the rhythmical breathing of cat muscles underneath the skin. I break free from the embrace. I bow.
I’m wearing a top hat above my eyes (my eyes, they’re emerald green). The tails of my coat flap madly in the hurricane of movement (black butterflies captured in a jar of heat). My fingers are curled around the whip. The whip, it cracks.
Sparks. Fiery dandelions burst beneath my feet. Above the abyss, on a silver thread, I dance. To the sudden sound of silence. I trip. I fall. I twist and turn, a helpless fly in a spider’s web. My umbrella is broken, it has started to rain. The wind tugs at my coat. I take a step forward and the door slides open before me.