Profile
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| User: | slowbob (781900) |
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| Name: | Meli Mœnomenon | |||||
| Website: | The Mystery Bird Puppet Show | |||||
| Location: | Van Nuys, California, United States | |||||
| Birthdate: | 1976-04-14 | |||||
| E-mail: | seriouskingsley@gmail.com | |||||
| LJ Talk: |
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| Bio: | 1976. Kenya. Mount Kilamanjaro, a broken molar in the mouth of Africa. Some mornings you can see a dirty mist outlining the summit, moving sluggishly like the hot breath of a dying beast. The mothers and grandmothers look at each other on these mornings and remember the old stories: "Ya Kale Hayapo," the sexual afterglow of the gods. The pantheon of Kenya is charged with a rich incestuous vein; every god and goddess lusts after the other. For reasons of power and pride these passions are resisted for hundreds of years. At annual councils, there is no eye contact, posture is rigid, and the formal tongue is used. Yet even the gods are human. Once in a hundred generations, villages at the base of Kilamanjaro are kept awake all night by thunder and the creaking of wicker. They know that there has been some terrible breach of protocol, that some small brush of fingers against an arm has started the chain reaction every deity yearns for and fears. No one knows how the gods make love. Long ago a human decided to spy on them, and he was found the next morning as a Baobob tree: the first one in the world. It is believed that they consumate the flesh, and then once the flesh is spent, they create new forms entirely out of the scraps left behind. These aspects are hideous to the human eye, but serve to whip their divine mounts into new heights of sexual frenzy. Afterwards, sated, their new bodies lie steaming in the cold night. This steam collects above them, and forms a thick fog which settles over them like a warm blanket. As they sleep, the faces of beautiful children and their great deeds can be seen in the swirling mist above. It is said that the only accurate way to tell the future, is to see it in this fog. No one has dared try, for fear of waking up the gods and hastening the inevitable. The gods come to their senses at dawn the next morning. Nenaunir awakes in the arms of Akuj, and Jok stares in the eyes of Were, neither daring to speak, neither knowing what to say. The fog around them curdles in their shame, becoming filthy with dust. It remains long after the gods have left. They try to walk away with cold dignity, dragging their new limbs behind them as if they were made for walking. Later, in stone palaces, they will coke the flames of their secret lust with the most sordid memories of the evening. For thousands of years they will wait patiently for the next moment of weakness. Meanwhile, ""Ya Kale Hayapo," the mist of their spoiled afterglow, remains on the mountain. Soon, it will spill down the sides of the hill, moving of its own tortured volition. The wise, and those that remember know to stay indoors on mornings like these; place hides underneath the door, and seal the windows with honey and sap. They know that a man touched by this fog will outlive his children, and that a woman who allows this wind to surround her will give birth to monsters. Such a wind blew down the mountain on the Fourteenth of April, 1976- my birthday. It flowed from door to door, probing barred wooden shutters with transparant fingers, and gathering twigs into itself in frustration. Those hiding inside heard the whistle of breath and low moans brush their walls. Unable to get in, Ya Kale Hayapo fanned out into the savannahs and fields, looking for fieldhands and hunters up early. After miles of dry dead grass, the wind felt the heat of the day begin to dissolve its form. In its desperation, it sank lower and lower, quivering at last on the dusty ground. In Kenya, there is no hungrier animal then the hyena. The matriarch of a local pack was up hunting early, as she had been hunting all night without success. In the distance, the quivering wind must have looked to her like the haunches of a dying animal. As she padded close, the light from the sun burned her eyes, and her nose burned from the stink of Ya Kale Hayapo. Such was her hunger that she continued. To my comfort, I will never know how exactly I was concieved, but it was done, and the wind died. My mother returned to the pack. My gestation was immediate, and I was born later that afternoon. Expected to shake my newborn legs and run with the pack, I instead bit down into her leg upon birth and spent my first few days being dragged across the savannah. By hyena law I should have been killed and eaten as soon as I failed to take the first step. But because I used my mouth to hold on, the pack was placated. Jaws are very important to hyenas, they are the one gift the gods gave them above all other creatures. Theirs are the bones and the marrow, the hoof and horn are food to them. Somehow I sensed this, and did not dare to ever let go. Not to nurse, not to cry, not to speak. Her blood was my nourishment, and her sweat was my water. My mothers fur grew long, and eventually hid me from view. When other hyenas would groom her, they politely avoided the mound on her leg. For many years I was carried with the pack. Through the fur I would hear the thunder of hooves and the death cries of animals. My mother was never the one to make the kill, my weight on her back leg slowed her, but she was always the first to eat. The pack honored her even in old age, up until her death. I had been trying to prepare for it for years. I had thought that when she died I could remain with her corpse for several days. The pack would move on, and I could slip away. Unfortunately, I did not know the ways of hyenas as well as I thought. The night finally came when the pack got up to hunt, and she did not. I lay motionless, mouth tight, waiting for them to move on. I could hear their panting, and quiet whines. When the first one padded over and bit into her haunch, I knew that she was no longer one of the pack, and neither was I. With the sound of creaking leather I released my jaws, and crawled on my belly towards the feasting hyena. My arms and legs were nearly useless, but my jaws were strong. I fought with my mouth, and when it was done, the hyena's throat was crushed. The pack circled around me, whining with hunger. I tried to make myself as intimitating as possible, keeping my mouth open, and making loud sounds. Then, seemingly indifferent, the pack turned tail and disappeared into the night. I never saw them again. Later I was told that hyenas are the cowards of the jungle, but at the time I was never more afraid. For a while I lay there with a dead hyena as a blanket, the corpse of my mother as a pillow. I listened to the evening insects of Africa for the last time, the lubber grasshoppers droning in the grass and the percussive thump of the cicadas in the low trees. I stretched my arms and legs, and tried to prepare myself for the morning, when I would have to walk for the first time. After dragging my mother to her favorite watering hole to be buried (i owed her at least that much) I escaped Africa. Now I live in America, where I make puppets. My arms and legs now carry me, and my jaws have continued to get stronger over the years. I can't watch the Nutcracker without getting nolstalgic, and I can't shake a feeling of familiar dread when the Los Angeles smog comes down from the hills. | |||||
| Interests: | 3: birds, problems, puppets | |||||
| Schools: | None listed | |||||
| Friends: | ||||||
| Friend of: | 83: aamandarin, absinthedreams, agrippa, anas_quackers, arcanafex, artkiver, avulsionist, axo, battykat, boymaenad, brandondnilles, bucket_of_lies, catgrrl, chamilyun, chitinous, cirqueducroquet, clowny_face, creepingivy, dabit_iqa, dan501, dometrent, eain, ebony_sphynx, elainiac, elenax731, euphgal, executivegoth, eyes_aflame, firepower, forktronica, frivolouscake, funranium, ghost1, gina, graymalkn, halfawake, homais, igotastye, james_madison, jezzebel, jtron, kar3ning, kerryonwheels, lapsedmodernist, le_cloitre, lhiannan, lifeofreilly, locopuff, loin_mcboing, lokislittletoe, meepbat, midnitewolf, mishiara, mixedteknopagan, mooflyfoof, mr_magpie, mspunkrockstar, myglasseye, niknakpadywak, nosferous, nurseroseweasel, p3pp3r, pamcash, pho0ka, pzonivy, rmw1, ruespieler, sarahlicious13, scottradke, shadowcircus, sknowite, slapper, soliton, teaa, technomadia, theboynamedwolf, thefreak, theliznach, theodora, twistedcat, waabecca, wolodymyr, xianvox | |||||
| Member of: | 4: birdlovers, cookiebookie, paragraphone, puppet_blood | |||||
| Account type: | Basic Account | |||||
