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SubMission:
Apocalypse Dream
My favorite apocalypse-dream is the one where I am quietly praying in my favorite temple, in the branches of the willow tree, and a distant voice proclaims the coming of the Resurgence, a final battle between the local insurgent Christians and the dow
n-trodden but true ruler and creator of the world, some say the world itself: the mother Goddess.
The coming of the Resurgence is a call to arms, and I am a soldier in the army of the Goddess. The dream cuts here to the battlefield and I am duking it out with some filthy christian insurgent in a violent fray. We are fighting with our teeth and na
ils pitted against their guns and knives but somehow we are prevailing... an idea whose time has come and every person in that field knows it. In the center of the sound of a cannon blast there comes a pure, clear note vibrating in every molecule of air
around us. Every fighter and every bullet stops moving for an instant, and is suspended on the bouyancy of the voice of the Antichrist. She rises above the warring crowd in a shimmering green dress. My eyes follow her flowing gown into the sky as she e
nds the battle with a fire-eyed glare.
Everyone is frozen; drops of blood coated in dust hang in the air around the armies. As the Antichrist Goddess ascends and permeates the air around us, deep within each shielded christian mind a stone is overturned, a faerie-dream is let loose, an ide
a-crystal is seeded. The Christians’ minds burst into comprehension as they are freed from the guilt and dogma of their past. Within each newly resurrected mind, the consuming desire to kill and burn is shown by comparison to be a very small, innefectua
l impulse beside the greater desire to Grow.
At this point I usually wake up to the sound of my alarm clock.
- Victor S. Graydon
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People in all parts of the country tell stories of people they’ve heard about from a
friend (my cousin’s neighbor was out walking one night...) that turn out to be outrageous
tales of humor or horror? Have you ever wondered why it’s the same stories in remote
places, but told with different characters? And it always seems as though the person
telling the story really believes it. In order to celebrate the ubiquitous art of deliberate
misconception, we bring you...
Urban Legend of the Week
The legions of the Beast run rampant this week, so we begin with one that happens to fit
in well with our Apocalypse theme this week. It comes originally from the Latin American
tradition of nightclub dancing...
Devil in the Dancehall
A dashing young man dressed as a vaquero enters the dance hall, and finds the
woman who is playing hardest to get, then steals her heart away on the dance floor to
the beat of a polka. It is love at first dance, until the chosen lady notices that her
talented partner has chicken’s feet, and realizes that he is the Devil. The poor señorita
emits a few screams of "Sus pies! Sus pies!" before she faints. But it is too late; once
revealed, the Devil disappears into the men’s room, leaving behind a cloud of smoke, the
smell of sulphur, and some great dance steps.
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