Lightning from the Dark Cloud; pt. 10: La Mer

A full moon caresses the land with white light. The madman runs from the party. The full moon touches the sea sensually. Preparing her. Stairs trip the madman up: the house creaks of murder. The stars burn in their solitary posts, radiant, full of themselves and slave to no one. Giving consent to the night. The madman runs with fire in his belly and a great snake in his mind: a serpent and a goat: Bacchus. The sea is ready. He is drawn to the coast. He runs through the city. Placid, dull eyes observe his frenzied dance of escape in stupor. City lights urge him onward with incessant buzz and flicker. The wind at his back. His soul confused.1

I have killed a man: I feel no guilt: it is like a revelation. He died because he was a death-worshipper: a shadow. I am covered in the ash of his body, it penetrates through to my soul and tries to weave it’s darkness there- but it shall not.2

He reached the coast running like a beast, he stood atop the cliffs and looked out to the sea. La Mer. Churning, liquid silk in the darkness. He looked to the stars. God is a lightbulb. Moths flutter through his mind with ashen wings. They beat against his skull. Diaphane. The night looks like death and he wonders if that is what his dream was about. The ash on his skin feels like death, the ash of Christ.
The madman falls on his face, tripped by a stone. He lands against the ground and the smell of earth: childhood, certainty: Gaea of the laughing eyes. Dichotomy. Is the moon leading him to death? Is this night’s goal death? A dark cloud forms in the madman’s mind and in the cloud brews lightning;
man has not yet discovered the true sanity
The earth loosens and the madman slips, helpless, from the edge of the cliff. Air rushing past him like life. The diaphane breaks, at last.
The sanity of overflowing life