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03On a quiet night in Sugar Hill, we find Sofia asleep in her own bed, with her own sheet, blanket and pillow, and her own sense of sheer uneasiness. Sofia is uneasy for many reasons, but to understand these reasons we must begin at the beginning, at 5.58am on a quiet day in Sugar Hill.03
The garbage truck and the garbage men do their rounds - a start, stop and start again routine that acts as a precursor to the 6am alarm clock alarm set by the teachers, children, businessmen and businesswomen of Sugar Hill. The garbage men wear mould-green jumpsuits with two large letters branded in black on the back – S.H. A symbol of ownershi
by ~a-morning-zephyr
nectarsonenectars
AS AN EVER-PRESENT PRESENCE we see (asleep in the sand by the gentle, washy sea) Harold Hector, of Hector's Nectars, inhaling air and exhaling death, blowing ant-covered sand to Miles Beyond and Further.
For beside him, over soft mounds of sand, a line of ants had only moments before paused to watch Harold, very much asleep, and very much breathing, die. This line of ants had, as a consequence of Curiousity and The Need To Breathe, been pushed by Harold's breath into the path of an angry breeze, and by this angry breeze, were then pushed directly East of Further-ways, into the Salty Dealer's Path Of Collection,
by ~a-morning-zephyr
of kings and queens1of kings and queens
The blue van viciously turns the corner into the city park, tyres screeching, leaving the acrid smell of burnt rubber in the air. It passes through the shade of towering pines, the sunlight filtering through gaps and bursting through the windscreen into the eyes of the driver, a young man not yet nineteen, with a chipped front tooth and a worn letter in his breastpocket. In the rear-view mirror, from which hangs a set of rosary beads, the driver's crazed, bloodshot eyes meet those of a significantly older man, of whom kneels over the battered, naked body of a young girl, only fifteen. The driver smirks and begins to count. &nbs
by ~a-morning-zephyr
oh my loveroh here i am my lover, here i am in a cloud of fury and wonder. my mouth tastes of dried cardboard and sunflower seeds and i am on my way, oh my lover, i am on my way to bliss. mercy, my lover, mercy and mycology. but anticipation, oh anticipation to see whether i will see another day, breathe another breath, kiss you once more. oh wonder my lover, wonder hath no patience. my eyes are warm now, my lover, my eyes are warm and i'm unsure whether it is the not-sleep i have been swimming in these past days, or the music i am listening to (mariee sioux), or whether it is, perhaps, the mushrooms i picked at the park this frosty morn. white wonder,oh my lover
by ~a-morning-zephyr
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The sun is an abandoned child. once, when the world was dark his mother hung him in the sky with the thread from her womb. he runs, illuminating the world, looking for her.
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