Aslan's Land

Tonight my mind is sitting on the bench. I have been put out. Shot out. Expelled to Planet Ringo. The temperature is just shy of 40 degrees. The frozen water burns on my face. The sky is black and raining ash. The tide of the ocean pours onto my feet, gushing through my black combat boots. Yes, I am still ready for war. I am on the bench, not in the hospital. I over look the horizon, lightning comes from the setting sun and tidal waves are rushing towards me. PSALV-MURON, the holiest wave of my youth, comes at me now. It is not a power I can hold my bat to; it is not a demon I can conquer in battle. I cannot run to or from the wave, for it is linear in manner and parallel to time. It is coming. It is crashing down. In comparison I am a small man. One of fear and hesitation. I need to crouch down and take precautions, but I am paralyzed in my fear and weakness.

What will I find behind this wave?

The depths of darkness and loneliness? A sea of regret? Will I find myself in lockdown and another world thrown away? Will reality even keep its meaning?

Or blue skies and the eternal sun? Or a new crew and the true cowboys? Or a girl anew, bewitched by the numinous love of the true creator? Or the shore of Asland?

Oh how I wish to see the shore of Asland. If you don’t know where that is, it is the land of the noble savages. Void of the user. Void of the liars.

AM I A USER? AM I A LIAR?

Not do I use, not do I lie. Is it my destiny to do so?

My body continues to shiver and quake. It is in part due to the high voltage in this reigon of Ringo, due to the vanishing ARX-IGNIDERMIS. My body cannot stop beating, my body cannot stop stop pumping blood from my pores. The sun penetrates my leather skin. My fear dissipates the arx-ignidermis, my screams leave my only protection in ruins. I bury under the glass and steel that makes my home. My current home that is.

I am away. I am on the bench. I now live in a glass wasteland. The only thing that moves is the deep ocean. The only thing that moves is the only thing I fear. The only way I can leave is if I face Psalv-Muron. Perhaps I do not have to face it alone. There are two. A true cowboy and the girl.

The Champ of Angels.

A true cowboy. A man worthy of song. His face is like an angel, and he is gentle. Despite all of his strength he doubts the power of his words. Despite the power of his words. I gotta feeling in my gut that me an him are gonna be buds for a long time. If there ever was a true cowboy, he’s one that’s faithful and blue. I find security in his commitment to my cause. When a champ like my friend says hes got your back, you know that that demon is full of shit.

Blackbird.

The girl in my dreams. Honestly she might be my wife. The question that rumbles in my head is not if I could see us get old together. The question is it her destiny to be my wife. That is the question in my head. Skin like the setting sun, and hair like a cold dark night. When were together, folk music plays and poets play piano. My legs shake and my heart is calm again. My lips stop moving and my eyes start speaking. My secrets are safe. My tears are safe. She is not ashamed of me. I don’t know if she can handle me, but I know she’s not giving up. Neither am I.

So am I prisoner? Am I captive?

Lord keep wisdom close to my bedside. My shelter is breaking, my land is foreign. My life is feigning, but opportunity is my doctrine. Hold my eyes to the wave, let them not stray to the lightning. Stay and wait for me to change, what is a patient without his doctor? You are that which I love. The song of my soul. If you keep your eyes upon me, perhaps, perhaps I will grow old.

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