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Sunset Rubdown – Dragon Slayer

Data di Uscita: 23/06/2009

A Dream Of Dragon Slaying
di Lorenzo Righetto

Wait for her at dawn, when the sky is a basalt plate, reflecting in a sea of mercury. Stand still in the fragile breeze, merely touching your relentless waves of red hair. Wrap yourself in your iridescent, patchy robe, and brood deeply about possible futures. Adjust your golden gunbelt to your chest, as it could shield your withering heart. Then a tiny black point will spring out of the horizon: raise your head high, a sparkle in your eyes, and watch it grow like a blur devouring your retina. Low she plunders, adamantium scales barely touching the waves, water exploding outwards as the Sea God was welcoming her as his prodigal daughter. Red, as the surface of the sun will be in a million years, as the heart of the most innocent virgin is, as your hair is. You will coldly observe, from a distance, the anger nested in her muscles, tense to a spasm, the longing dripping from her fangs, and your eyes will meet hers for a second. She will see that her breath, which can melt through mountains and dry lakes in a sigh, would be as dangerous as the spit of a raped woman… and she will miss her first assault, by a maiden’s hair. Refrain from rejoicing: thoughts of deeper and bloodier violence will fill her mind with renewed rage. Just whet her appetite: a few peeving blows will do, forcing her to a screaming circling flight. Then wait as you see her jump upwards, reaching out of the atmosphere… just wait for her majestic descent. An image will be sculpted into the universe: a long, reptilish figure clipped onto the disc of the sun, vertically descending upon a little, pathetic human. The following instant, the spur of rock you were standing upon will be gone in a cloud of dust, and you will be inside her. There, you’ll only have to eat. She will wander about the endless skies, crushing peaks with her sheer weight and melting entire cities with her gastric juice, mad at her own stupidity and powerlessness. A placid stream, apple trees blooming… While she lays, heavily breathing, on a bed of golden wheat, the first scarab emerges between her unmoving fangs. Then they are swarming along with her corrupted humors, with the steam from her nose, with the tears from her eyes. They converge to a little spot, between the roots of a huge, ancient tree. There they patiently accumulate, one upon each other, until a human form reveals itself. Then, you will be born again. You’ll be standing beside her, contemplating the agony in her eye with deep, natural pleasure. A never ending lust, the old curse… the curse of the Dragon Slayer.


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