©1995 Pan Productions
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I've been here now for several moons. The faceless ones take care of me; every
day they leave me food near the electrified fence, along with some water and
wine. Thank the Gods
they leave me the wine; I might go insane without it.
I sit on my rock most of the day playing music. My
pipes
have been my only
companion, except for the sky, stars, and trees. The wind blows warm all the time, bringing forth memories of a home, long ago. But
the memories evaporate quickly. The big picture eludes me. Sometimes in my
dreams, I can remember, but I open my eyes and it's all gone. The void in my mind is
unbearably black.
A few weeks ago they brought in the goats, which immediately befriended me. I
speak their language, and the goat women want me.
They let me drink of their milk.
But I must wait. She is
coming.
I started dreaming about Her a long time ago. I can't see Her in my dreams,
but I can smell Her, feel Her, taste Her. Every night She comes closer.
I've been practicing my song, a song that has been with me since distant
antiquity. This I know: when I raise the pipes to my mouth, something from the
hidden past is playing the song. It starts out sweetly, like a nightingale in a
far meadow, then builds, rising to a frantic crescendo. When I play it, the goats
get feverish and begin jumping about, chasing each other and dancing.
My keepers have told me they have a surprise for me. Tonight the moon is full.
The goats have been nervous all day. They know something marvelous and
frightening is going to happen.
A he-goat mounts a she-goat and humps her furiously.
Perfect.
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Take this and drink
Outside
Bacchus
Open Eyes Flashing Past
Memo
Next Phase
Born Again
