Flavigula

Here lies Martes Flavigula, eternally beneath the splintered earth.


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Silence struck by spendthrifts
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Wed, 13 Apr, 2011 01.21 UTC

I’m in bed.

Yes, in bed in Seminole, Texas, at my parents’ place. Austin is no more. It is the ex-Austin. I fled it Sunday – two days prior to now. And now I am in bed.

The snaky feeling which tingles in the backs of the thighs is less tangible during my middle-aged languor. It used to excite to the extent that I had to defecate four times daily. The bowels were very stimulated by that feeling. Now, however, it is fleeting. I wish it were again as strong as it used to be.

I called it Sweet Entropy, and she was my beacon when time drug me from one place to another. Yeah, she lit my way. I suppose she has grown old and haggard alongside me. Well, alongside in a metaphorical sense. Were she a real being, she’d be eternally youthful aesthetically, perhaps like the girl from a dream two nights ago: Dark brown hair framing a face, wispy in the back and on the sides, blowing about and ill-arranged. Walnut eyes which dart and dance in time with a simper playing on her lips. But inside - decrepit.

I leave for Boston on the 19th. I fly from the squalid aeroport which sits flat and repellent between Odessa and Midland. Justin should pick me up. It has been a year and approximately four months since I’ve seen him. A whorlwind has ravaged his life since and delivered him into a new existence. We’ll see how we get on this time. May I find time to write of it.

Along with martens, goulish goats and the rippling fen -
these writings 1993-2023 by Bob Murry Shelton are licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

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