Glycon: The Serpent and the Sword - Tales of Midnight, October 1999
Magickal symbolism and the ravings of he alcoholic are, in their most advanced stages, pretty much similar. Snake everywhere. The snake-line refugees, a viscous human seepage, trigkling, bleeding from punctured borders, from the wounded flanks of Kosovo. The world’s-end conga lines, the ribbons of those life-smashed, crumpled eyes. Above, unravelling from rocket-scars in gut-punched hillsides, sinuous black anaconda scrawls of smoke, of wind-borne carbons, mortal residues. Snakes even at the conflict’s figurative heart, there in the rattle, hiss and spit of the ancestral venoms, of the rearing, bare-fanged centuries: don’t step on me.