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  August 2008
volume 6 number 2
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  Gedda Ilves
  Deborah P Kolodji
  Mephistopheles
  Alex Stolis
  Maja Trochimczyk
 
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Mephistopheles August 2008
   

 

bio


art by dee rimbaud

    Mephistopheles is not much of a talker... or even a mover... or a shaker. Mephistopheles does, luckily enough, love to read and write. Mephistopheles just is.

   

 

PsychoBabEL # 3

    I really aught to be more careful the next time I stare into the sun. I burned off way too many layers to be able to see what is called “clearly” anymore. I was taken in by his warmth. He says he wants to be my one and only, but I know it’s only fantasy. He's never been with a girl before, and who am I to be his first? I shrug my shoulders because the wings I was given are making them uncomfortable. Do they make you uncomfortable too, or are you in denial of their existence just as I am every other Thursday, and sometimes, on Sundays?
    They (the wings) lay much deeper under my skin then. I remember when I was a child and I believed I could control the wind. When I was a child again, I made my first clouds disappear. Oh, to be that child again. Do you think she would remember me if I told her my name one more time, even though I've told her it multiple times? Maybe I speak a different language than I used to. Maybe I am at the ruins of the blasted tower of Babel. Maybe she doesn't remember me by that name because the name is not mine, and that idea has never occurred to me before. I do recall many cultures believing in the power of names, and I frequently change mine, but sometimes I forget one, or the other, and it’s not like they go away… they become layers.
    The sun is setting. I see the light filtering through the trees and I feel at rest from being wound up about being. When it rises again I'm sure I'll forget about why my mother always told me not to stare. For as the moth is drawn to a flame, seeing only beauty, or having some instinctual reaction disguised as religious experience, I will always return... for I am lost without his light.

copyright 2008 Mephistopheles

   

 

Waking Will

Let me combust,
May I be consumed. Completely.
Till I become the ashes.
And when I do,
Set me ablaze all over again.
This flesh,
This blood,
These bones,
Aren't nearly enough to worship you with…
So, I offer up my ego as I step into the unknown.
Your embrace, Feathered…
A gentle brush against my lips
Hinting of the breath of life
Your essence swelling into mine,
I forget utterly who I was
And lose irrevocably who I am
I return with the possibility -
And possibility only,
Of what is to come.
And Your eyes smile behind Mine.

.

copyright 2007 Mephistopheles

   

 

PsychoBabEL # 19

    He said he’d been waiting for me for millennia, his words as a whisper carried through the dusty Autumn breeze. He smiled as he tipped his top hat to me, and presented me with lilies. I took his skeletal hand, mingled with pieces of leathered flesh, and chills went through my body.
    You’ll get used to it, he said with smiling eyes. Do you ever wonder what holding your hand feels like? I never thought I was anything but an ordinary girl in an extraordinary reality tunnel. It never occurred to me to consider what holding my small hand felt like. As we walked and talked holding hands, I watched the roadside and its changing scenery. Leaves going from green, to golden, to brown in his presence. Dusk turning into dawn. We walked and walked for what seemed like days until we finally reached a crossroads.
    This is my stop, he said. If you ever need to find me, this is where I am; you also can find me in our secret place. I will see you more often this time around the wheel won’t I? Maybe you will luck out and not have to come back here.
    He held my chin. Well, we will always have the liminal state you and I, contact between spirit and matter is getting kind of difficult these days. The flesh is hard of hearing; even within the rare times when the flame of desire burns brightest. I love you, and that is as eternal as you are. As I kissed him goodbye, just before turning to dust, he told me: If you are lucky enough to forget everything and remember nothing else, remember, Tat Tvam Tsi.

copyright 2008 Mephistopheles