The Reblog Blog

Pastel-jade, jeweled eyes of the veiled feline keenly approach feeding time.  They sculpt the dark hovering with the perfect skill of a predator.  His eyes traveling through time and generating unwavering semi-cylindrical tubes of light—ancient talismans temporarily tattooing reality.  An offering of a hairless aquatic rat that lived off the spoiled-potion run-off lifeless in his jaws. The candles lit; the flames are the flickering reminders of the rightful reasons for these rituals.  Boiling brews steam and condensate the windows as gas-filled bubbles burst and spill their colorful chemical concoctions along the moistened wood.  These hues separate based on elemental make-up creating a condensed, wobbly toxic-fog carpet. My blackened fingertips swirl the pestilential mist into mini spiraling tornadoes as to watch the dense smog dance in gravitationally glamourous ways.  I abruptly hack from years of breathing this smorgasbord of sharp, noxious gases. The rotted floorboards wet with blackened toads who have absorbed and transmuted, via generational mutations, the radioactive isotopes and carcinogenic compounds that form along the defiled, acidic pond nearest to the epicenter of the shack just slightly lower and behind the largest, most consequential cauldron—like the hovel’s open wound; algae and mold cover solidified salts sitting at the pond’s edge.  Overwhelming infestations of bioluminescent mosquitos offer the toads free pickings if only they survive the unforgiving, primordial ooze.  Eels and leeches tangle and knot themselves as they fight against their intrinsic instincts and splash caustic sludge upon the nearby oaken columns. 

“Give to the environment, and it will harness and remember your service,” I mumble.  I’ve always trusted in the process.  The recipe requires voluntary gifts from those who partake, for the ones who take without giving will be profusely poisoned.  I use a stiff brush to obtain a fresh patch of matted, black fur from my colleague.  He gladly, obliges.  I stuff it in the rat’s mouth and toss it into my perpetual potion.  I place a shiny, silvery ring, familiarly found, around an adolescently preened feather as a perfect garnish to my tablescape.  It will serve as my utensil like a single, sharpened chopstick. I sit.  Swarms of vampiric insects gorge upon the blood pooling in my swollen feet and ankles.  I give.  Each extraction a willful sacrifice adding power to my invocations.  We feast.