tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8843256889769281353.post-78807658097232751742007-05-28T12:56:00.001-07:002007-05-28T13:22:34.309-07:00<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"> <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/12652631@N00/503429309/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/223/503429309_13eb10149d_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /></a> <br /> <span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"> <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/12652631@N00/503429309/">Coil</a> <br /> Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/12652631@N00/">Archer Braun</a>. </span></div><i>Now Rann the Kite brings home the night<br /> That Mang the Bat sets free--<br /> The herds are shut in byre and hut<br /> For loosed till dawn are we.<br /> This is the hour of pride and power,<br /> Talon and tush and claw.<br /> Oh, hear the call!--Good hunting all<br /> That keep the Jungle Law!</i><br />-Rudyard Kipling<br /><br><p>Shifting, midnight rambling. Frozen whispers chip away, chip away, chip away at the frosty edges of conciousness. Desperate pleadings, the soft grunt, pop and scrape of the switchblade shuffle. <br />But something new is in the air...<br />Something...familiar. <br />Sparks dance along myelin, a twitching, itching ripple up the spine. <br />Overhead, the stars have collapsed. A searing, flickering void, a low, whining keen that causes a resonance in the skull. <br />Feel it through the subtle shifting of the crumbling concrete. <br />It. Is a She.<br clear="all" />Archerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16065660232880638629noreply@blogger.com