Apocalypse

—Tale of a wanderer who goes with a piece of myth— The wanderer drifting in the wilderness searching for a long absent darling leans against the moonlight at times. Wet with dew, is there any chance; you will one day, lay your exhausted body on a cold bed to slumber? But instead of a sweet dream: you will hang on a sharp edged axe; while crying and moaning, hunted by a nightmare. You will, then, wake up in a cold sweat, swept by surging waves. Then: as a bright star appears in the sky; along with the gleam of daybreak; light driving moonlight away; the crystallized water drops; the star brought in the window, will become the deadly poison of a viper and bite into your flesh, in the blink of an eye. It’s neither Eden nor Eurydice’s heel. It’s the calamity upon yourself. You didn’t decline, but laid your weary body, one night, on the bed offered by Procrustes. Bleeding from the ankles, both feet chopped off by Procrustes’ axe, with no way to turn your misfortune or to blame but yourself. Although it’s blood, it’s really not blood, they are a line of brood of vipers forming like a stream advancing to the woods of the delta searching for an underground tunnel; a dirge, the tongue-less Philomela’s piercing shriek. It’s Philomela’s agonizing shudder, disgusted from the conception of the seed of death. Itys’ head on a tray: reflecting in the daybreak glow; will ask. “Why are you lodged in such a terrible inn of all inns? Though I won’t ask you, but still, want to know why are you. The fool Tereus? Did you do such terrible thing? Though you have a virtuous beautiful wife at home, why then, o thoughtless wanderer, did you walk on a path just like Tereus’? As a consequence: you must cry; beating your breast; listening to the sound of lyre; that even stops to roll the wheel of fire; for a while, with its mournful tune.” 1. Eurydice 2. Procrustes 3. Philomela 4. Itys 5. Tereus 6. Ixion 7. Orpheus’ lyre