French for Fearless (work in progress), Brooklyn NY

French for Fearless
By: Thomoon


"I've got a lion in my bed, and she's got a tattoo on her neck. It's an Idea that I get when I'm trying to get some rest."

In a sunless open field, the stars meet the hedgerow like the horizon of the apocalypse. A golden dawn where a man sits still, alone and motionless without the comfort of his home around him. A naked feeling where the shadows cast from the trees emit a sort of insulating wind. In this space-time place in his mind away from his real dream he can see the growing line of the forest pushing up against the man made lanes of fresh-cut, landscaped lawn. He can shine his eyes across the dewy blades of grass to reflect the light of the starry sky. All was aligned, he was infinitely ready. The earth moans, as a train crashes, and life begins. Galaxies blooming like a flower nebulae of luminescent cloud veins.

When the sun rose again he was on his feet, socks soaked and green. Navigating his way back from the field into a hopeful home covered with his wife’s glowing things, he would never be able to really explain everything that happened the night before, not even to himself.
“Gabriel!? Where in hell have you been..” she paused “where are your shoes?”
Gabriel stood stern and closed, his bottom lip didn’t budge at all. All around his eyes were golden circles of paint and porcelain. What a sight it must have seemed, with golden outstretched wings, he listened to each lick of her tongue in her meaninglessly augmented, pathological, maniacal glory. She was stalking the walls of the house around him slowly with each word.

“If you die for me, I’ll die for you” the words drifted for awhile, and faded into the ocean of the surrounding brush.

You know when the ocean pulls it’s slippery body onto the shore? Right there at the cusp between liquid and solid, two gigantic masses are fucking each other in energy exchange. Scientists blame the moon, I suppose it’s the same for astrologists. In our more recent dilemma, if you haven’t heard, she (Gaia) is reclaiming what was once hers.

On a moonless ocean, the tide meets the sky like the horizon of the apocalypse. From great heights, the water is leather from the wind. Gabriel soars above the motionless ocean and grabs it’s hold, peeling the skin off of her to make the most expensive coat. A million expensive coats, and boots, and purses, and masks, and armor. A million more expensive belts and gloves and shoes. Under her skin is an angry core of scarlet liquid solids, like our own blood filled with platelets, to heal her wounds.

Platelets, are only an explanation for an energy phenomenon that all living things possess. A solid is solid because the particles are slow moving, solid water moves at 0 degrees Celsius. When this heated core fluid reaches the crust, the particles slow down in temperature.

“Without the moon, I feel no emotion” he said aloud “I cannot blow the horn without the moon to guide my other self.”
The Earth moaned, as a train crashes, and life begins. Tides coming and going like the swinging of a pendulum.

When the moon rose again he was on his hands, elbow deep into the sand. White salt covered each encumbered pore of his skin. Navigating his way back to a hopeful home he was surrounded by ocean birds. Every step of his feet lured these creatures to lunge down with their piercing screams and pick each grain of salt from his body. They bruised and tore flesh. Every step of his feet was already imprinted in the sands here, he only left remains of the red sun dripping down his legs. The tracks led on in a perfectly straight line, strayed from hills and valleys, off into the infinite horizon. A similar sensation to stepping off the side of a building, a nervous cold in his feet that had no ground. Gabriel was running now as the cold sweat was covering his body like a blanket, but his eyes were not dimming. He would not fall this time and commodius vicus his hands in the sands again. The waves were stalking the ocean around him with every deliverance.