Thu, 19 May 2005

throw yourself to the hogs
To sit in the throne was to crawl and climb in equal measure, to contort and belittle yourself, to feel the crown fall off your head and the scepter dig into your side, as it is only right that someone willing to bear the greatest of public shames, only those willing to eat the greatest plate of stool and offal, should be allowed to serve as king. His body doubled-over allowed only the shallowest of breaths, so that a horn was inserted into his mouth, distorting and amplifying his voice into tones like scratched glass and belly-slit kittens, and the king tried to apologise for the sound of his voice, but the effort of even the simplest syllable sent him into minutes of breathcatching, during which his senators would stare uncomfortably at each other and whisper of regicide. The king, malnourished and half-mad, faded into dreams of sleeping in a bed, of walking upright, of seeing strangers smile, dreams which only lasted half a minute before his guards jabbed at his distended stomach with spears. This is the taste of power, like a bit between your teeth, bile always at the back of your throat. This is what it means.
(12:26.05.19.2005) [/scrytch] #