There must be some kind of way outta here
said the joker to the thief
There's too much confusion...
I can't get no relief
Business men, they drink my wine
Plowman dig my earth
None were level on the mind
Nobody up at his word
hey, hey
No reason to get excited
The thief he kindly spoke
There are many here among us
Who feel that life is but a joke
But, uh...but you and I, we've been through that
And this is not our fate
So let us stop talkin' falsely now
The hour's getting late, hey
All along the watchtower
Princes kept the view
While all the women came and went
Barefoot servants, too
Outside in the cold distance
A wildcat did growl
Two riders were approaching
And the wind began to howl
-"All Along the Watchtower", Bob Dylan
Yes, that's actually a Bob Dylan song, not Jimi Hendrix, though it's Hendrix who is more known for playing it...I daresay I'd enjoy the Hendrix version better than the Bob Dylan one, but that's just because hamonicas irritate me sometimes. Anyway. I'm in an escapist sort of mood...don't wanna be nowhere, na'mean?
*snort* Something to that effect, at any rate. I haven't been in a particularly literary mood lately...but, I did write a Jubal snippet in class today. Apparently he has a tatoo on his right shoulderblade that he didn't tell me about. So...(beware a Jubal with a few shots of Johnny Walker in him... foul language, mild chauvinism, and slight incoherence abound)
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"That?" *much twisting and turning to try and see the green and yellow splash of color on his shoulder* "Aw, fuck, musta been eight, nine centuries ago...I was cruising around above Mexico or South America or someplace south of here- I spent sixty damn years in Greenland before that, I was ready for some warm weather, you know? Aaaanyway, so there I was, enjoying the view of some nice foresty greenery (after years of living in a god damn desert, and then in the tundra, you've got no fucking clue how utterly fucking wonderful a bunch of fucking trees are) *waves arms to prove point, and knocks over shotglass* and what do I see but a sacrificial ceremony of some sort- buncha natives dressed up in dodo outfits wavin' around some knives about to slaughter a fucking baby fer gossakes- so I'm like 'fuck this shit, I haven't done a good deed in eighty years and I'll be damned if I'm gonna let some bastards murder a fucking baby'- you gotta understand, it hit a little close to home. I never even got a chance to see my kid until she was a fucking adult, and that hurts- but whatever.
*pours himself another, knocks it back*
"Heh. Shit, that was fun- I just dropped out of the sky like a fucking arrow or a rock or something and they scatter. Like pigeons. Fucking birdbrains- but I'm one to talk, right? Yeah, well- the head priest threw a hissy fit, so I tol' him to shut the fuck up- an 'e did. Brat started wailing, so I told it to shut the fuck up- it did. I guess maybe s'a good thing I din' raise my kid...but at least she woulda cried in tune, so I prolly wouldn'ta shouted...heh. Then ev'body got down on their knees and started chanting, and bang! I'm the tribe's new mascot. I told the bastard the brat'd take his place, so he'd better quit waving that knife around. Fucker growled at me, tried to kill me a few times- the tribe clubbed him to death 'ventually, I think. Doesn't matter.
*pours one more, fiddles with the glass for a while*
"Kid turned out pretty nice- spoiled rotten, but not too horrible. Had a bunch of mindless nurses- bitches, alluvum, always tryin' to sleep with me or sabotage each other or poison someone- didn't matter who. Women. Go figure. *downs it* Bitch squad got me drunk off my ass, kinda like yer gettin' me now, on'y worser...heh. I passed out, and woke up...with the birdy on my shoulder. Ha- fucking junior priest did it- nice kid, nearly shat hisself when I woke up. 'fraid I'd call wrath a th'gods on 'im er sumthin'...*shakes himself* Yeah. Lemme think...I stayed there fer...'til Naamah was six, maybe. S'what I called 'er- wasn't her name, but s'what I called 'er. Useta be my sister's name...reminded me of her. Left when the natives got restless, y'know? Didn't like bein' in one place too long...too many people- too many ties to break.
"Right, the tattoo- old legend said that crows useta be white, but it flew too close to the sun and got burnt. The junyer priest said he thought it was 'cuz the old, old gods, nameless gods o' fire an' darkness, got mad at if fer somethin'...and then 'e said I musta per-personally done somethin' awful to make 'em angry- 'cuz otherwise nobody'd ever dark'n th'feathers of a thunderbird. Said 'e gave me the tattoo t'remind me of th'clouds- an' my home wi' them. Heh." *sobers slightly, shakes head sadly* "It'd take more than a few centuries before I forgot that...or those people. Pour me 'nother drink, wilya? Throat's dry as the fucking desert."
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I love how I'm sometimes just hit with revelations- Jubal is especially fun because he's been around for so very long and he's seen so very much...I think, though, that Naamah was actually his half-sister- but I could be wrong. I'm not in the mood to check, though there is a proliferation of Bibles in this house. Regardless, I think I like writing rather tipsy monologues. They amuse me.
