Why men and women can't hold each other.

Her bells ring like an angel’s orchestra. A song for a dead time, not too far off from now. It’s Persephone’s funeral procession. Albino concubine boys carry her snowy coffin, stoic deadpan astronauts, lost in meaningless philosophical thought. They open their mouths and begin to speak the pagan tradition to return our goddess to the earth again. These red roses singing amongst slippery snow, collapsing like sound in a vacuum that no one can reach. Can’t hear a thing. After they finish the dissertation, they begin to lower her body into a hole, thundering drums dance over the hillside, back into Pluto’s arms. The arms of force. The secret history of man, written by acid spitting mother goddesses, retold by the samurai brotherhood, back and forth, over and over again until we forget who was right and who was wrong, until we forget why this whole silly war was started in the first place. Why lord Janus, the alchemical androgen, was separated into two beings. Black and White. A rod of power and hips to bear the weight of a heavy, heavy world. The oldest mystic. Jack Smith’s muse. He ran out of time, we all ran out of time. Silver light assaults the senses. The earth trembles as judgment day arrives. Pluto emerges from the earth, his lower half embedded in ice. His body composed of ten thousand suicide victims, his eyes glow of burning heretics. Old Satanael, the hero of man. Unwritten savior, underdog to the carpenter of lies. He holds out his hands and speaks:

“Your path to Dis has been chosen and you may not turn back. It is a path without madness. And yet, it is also a path without opportunity or meaning, and you will still be subjected to the same tragedies that had plagued you before, forever and ever. It is the path of the mundane, a cruel fate for someone like you. Farewell cowardly boy. Die old and senile, regretful and confused.”

The fabric of existence begins to cave in and I realize that I am wrong. As Pluto sinks back into the earth, I notice blood on my hands. Persephone lies at my feet, her neck twisted and bruised, blood spilling out of her lips. Her cheeks flustered, a lusty smile on her face.