Vukari – Divination Review

Divination I: Laying on the ground. Staring at the heavens. I am sinking. Sinking into this earth. Below which the worms and maggots prepare to devour the rot of my flesh. But here, on the surface, the hum of flies and the swarms of gnats disrupt my final slumber. My eyes are swollen shut from the bites.

Divination II: A howling demon rises me from my stupor. Neither asleep nor awake I lay caught between the dream realm and the real world. In this dimension my mind fuses with my body. For a moment I feel uplifted. But then I feel his hands wrap around my waist and drag me deeper and deeper. I am a failure. I am a loss.

Cursus Honorum: What is this new foul breath? It’s as if I have descended into a world of cavernous ceilings. My mind is lifted. My spirits are no longer forlorn. In the distance I see a great spire. It rises high into the vaulted, dark ceiling of this netherworld. A voice calls me. Cutting through the foul, wretched air. I wander towards the voice. I blunder. I stumble. My legs don’t work as they should. Gravity has no standing in this contemptible chasm. As I bungle my way forward the world calms. The clouds cease to spew hot liquid. The gasses cease to rise from the floor. I am spinning without my control. Slowly at first. In rhythm with this dying realm. Suddenly, I am out of control. The rhythm has been taken from me. I spin endlessly. Ceaselessly and without purpose. There are screams in the distance. Sounding as if they need me. But I can’t reach them. I can’t reach them.

Invictus Maneo: Here I stand. Somehow lower in this heathen world. My clothes have been torn off but I am not naked. I am clothed in fog. It follows me as I explore my new surroundings. The walls are smooth but full of torso-sized holes. Inside, I do not know what resides for it’s dark. The screams from before are closer. I still can’t locate them. They echo off the walls and get absorbed by the caverns within. Suddenly, my feet are off the ground. I am rising. I am flying. I ascend towards the roof of this monstrous sub-level of hell. I am suspended. Hanging by nothing yet I feel as if I am in the arms of my mother. Resting softly on her breast as her hands support me. But I’m slipping. I feel her grip loosening. I am falling. Softly. Slow as a leaf back to the floor of the cavern.

Ad Delerium I: It’s static. It burns my brain. The electricity come from nowhere but it electrifies me to my core. There is a bright light. A door slams. I hear footsteps. Suddenly, a light shines directly into my eye.

Ad Delerium II: I know the face. The face behind the light. It’s familiar. It’s a man but, I can’t recall whom. His hands slowly trace my face. His gloved hands push the fog from my chest. My torso is exposed. It’s warm. His hands are comforting. Another figure enters. It’s genderless and faceless. The figure swabs my torso. The liquid is warm and slippery. He reappears. Concern on his brow. But there in his left hand is a tool. I can’t identify it. But it begins to run the length of my torso. It’s cutting into me. The liquid on my chest is washed away as my blood pours from my body. I am not scared. Not even as my first rib is removed and placed on a stone altar near me. Not even as my organs are removed one by one. For I am still alive. I am still in existence. I am still me.

Sovereignty Through Extreme Tyranny: Terror grips me. Everyone has left the room. I am alone. My torso is empty. A hollow sheath filled with nothing but whisps of the grey fog that previously clothed me. Suddenly a door I was previously unaware of flies open. A group of the faceless creatures enter. They dance around me. Am I on an altar? I am suddenly aware that I am much higher than them. I am looking down at myself as they circle me. Ribbons flying behind them carried in their bony hands. They come closer. Theyr hands begin to touch me. They slowly wrap the ribbons around me. Beginning at my feet. They wrap slowly. Sofly. One leg at a time. I look down and see that my legs have taken on pastel colors. They are bright blue. Orange in places. Red in others. They continue to wrap. My chest is no longer red and irritated from the cutting. It’s covered by a silken linen of creamy white. I am shrouded. They haven’t covered my face. Please don’t cover my face. Then, without warning, they slide back and he returns. He who comforted me before taking all that was mine. He is here. He is upon me.

Bathe In The Divine Light: I am lifted. He lifts me as if I am light as the shroud that now shrouds me. I am carried away. I am floating above him. As if he doesn’t touch me at all. I float in step with his long stride. We leave the cavern. We are descending a staircase. I hear a trickle of water in the distance. We enter a bright room. Bright with the colors of fire but no warmer than a spring afternoon. There is a sea of people. The faceless ones. They gather at the base of the steps. I see them milling about on rocky ledges that jut out over a nearly endless, black body of water. There are torches lit but I feel no heat from them. In the general fervor and excitement I am swept away from him. Away from the comfort of his control. I am descending. The faceless ones are carrying me down. I see him. He’s going up. Up ever so high on a narrow spiral of a staircase. When he reaches the top he raises his hands. A hush falls over the crowd. I am floating now. But in the water. It’s entering my nostrils. It smells rank. The smell of sewage and death. I am submerged now. I cannot breathe but I do not feel it. As I descent into the icy black deaths I see the torch lights fade. And then, there he is. His face at the bottom of the sea. I am led into a cavern. Carried by a loose ribbon of my left leg. I am directed into a small opening. I am placed there. I find my innards. My heart, spleen and liver. The rest of my organs encased inside the bones and sinew of my torso. I don’t feel as if I am more than in a dream. I hear crackling fire and whale sounds. I am home.

Posted by Manny-O-War

Infinitely committed to the expansion of artistic horizons. Interested in hearing your grandparent's anecdotes and recipes. @mannyowar

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.