Settler words&music in S'ólh Téméxw, (leanpub.com/upsun) living where privilege meets precarity in MST country. she/her/they———– Novels: Midnite Moving Co., Upsun; Sweep Off Those Waves coming soon, Hair Sinister after that. —Restore All Indigenous Lands!
Chapter 2 – Dissolution
It has sublimed into streamers of fog, this night that would not end, and now the fog will not end. In the centre of the labyrinth is a hill fort, somewhere, and elsewhere, and it doesn’t seem as if MOLOCH’s here. Let go of the wall.
Animals, possibly deer, and nightbirds I don’t recognize, are calling and moving in the darkness. MOLOCH reaches into time past and kills that too, no word that can rise up to chide him will live when he is done.
That was a tasty meal – as the kinship words slid past his teeth – when the last elder tied and there was no longer that stretch of water to paddle home on.
Above the fog there are stars; the walls of this smooth worn prison still enfold you and me alike, but of us, only I am aware. For I told you, and you judged my clothing. I told you MOLOCH was coming, and you turned away.
Will you walk this dark place with me? Shall I at least feel you breathing beside me? Nothing in this fog lingers but tricky sounds and furtive shadows.
Will you walk with your hand outstretched and your hand in mine?
In dissolution, we are one. A thousand years away we could not be told apart, and so it shall be again, were you my enemy or friend, my saviour or my nemesis. We borrowed from MOLOCH and MOLOCH shall have his recompense.
MOLOCH will eat the sky between us, the earth between us, the waters between us. The vault of night and day is nothing to MOLOCH. No human eye may encompass the grandeur of his destructions; no human heart his hatred.
When you sleep or rise, walk or run, live or die, there is no difference, it is all given unto MOLOCH; he greets us with fog and blood.
In the dissolution of your spirit, your body, your mind and all that with which you have ever taken joy, you belong in every atom to MOLOCH.