THE GOLD LICKERS

By Christina Conrad

A group of people in the 14th century in southern France – they inhabited an area which
is called THE AGONY OF THE LANGUEDOC. These people broke away from the Church – they believed
the Self and the World were illusionary. This story is told by a young woman, Mercy.
She was burnt at the stake with others of her kind – heretics.
Rummaging amongst balance i found imbalance striking the confines of reality with a curious clank i did not fall – held up by the stiffness of my linen – my naked body resembling a washing board – unlubricated by time and space a powerful potion secured me of release from those torpid areas I had recently inhabited – beyond pleasure i cried out as the veils of time threatened to choke that which might have passed as a white streamer – catapulting into space – the hat of the fool vibrating – each point of his hat – a precipitous mountain verdant in the deepest crevices – unbeknown to the seeking of any hand traversing pastures – earthly passion a thing to be reckoned with beyond the confines of the mind the heart spun – colliding against the force of reality – spinning in the power of its own glory smoting the tallow-like substance which fell before it was touched – groveling in moth dust – all might have dissolved except that which had been erected in stone and sang at such a weird pitch – those who perceived fell flattened by tones of Memory – absconding – crouching before a specimen of service – bleeding before the totem – unclaimed as a token of love unrenewable in vast quarries where stone smote against flesh – unbidden in the final hours when all might have vanished – tho a seed remained – crying out piteously to be fed -- fornicating on its own image setting fire to all – reflecting in a mirage resembling a fountain – those who drank howled in the maddest thirst – pressing closer closer to an oasis umapped by familiar hand – the glitter of golden cages – cage upon cage – in profound complexity – they played on the soul – twisting – contorting as the strings of a lute – the vibration throwing those who sought escape into the labyrinth where bitterness visited – deceived – again & again – forged on the anvil of life – death – their cries unheard – their dusky treasures strewn around exposing jeweled interiors – unlicked by compulsive tremor of tongue – belying the sordid plunge for life – a wilderness led into a valley of thorns to be handled until one learnt their secret crying out for their thrust tore at the dross – clung around every particle – fear upon fear – abysmal in its stench – the cry for freedom echoing in the labyrinth a hectoring of the finer vehicles ensured a brief passage of rest – the soul rose from the body like a sheath from a sword – flew briefly – fell tangled in its own cord – howling over limitation without regard for the flesh and its untimely cravings it gorged on stagnation – the mind at last recognizing its seductive devices – let go Memory vomiting out all it contained – held like a miser in a vault – exposing a door to a hidden chamber – not to be reckoned with – the door was stuck – ignorance stood vigilant – clad in such eccentric attire the heart sang the perfume of the rose overwhelming – uniting the essence unsmelt by those who tore – thrust at the door – it remained closed – and the heart freshly watered wept at its palpitating image – perceiving bloody strings which bound – close to truth yet unreachable – two great trees moved forward bending in supplication – pouring forth a green potion – singing of death of desire – its poisonous roots devouring – those who lay in broken promise wept at the great deception that bound them to conspiracy – doubled-edged the sword driving deep into the tenderest parts – dissolving all memory of deceptive union grating on the crack of knowledge it opened and shut exposing a fire not to be quenched by multitudes reveling in the ever-blackening smoke a balance hung upon heart and mind – a curious mixture of colors untranslatable in earthly hue a cry broke out – hitting at that which imprisoned and bound – plucking at that which it had no right to – it could not be drawn from black wells -- an imitation of a cry for truth – welling up in the throat -- an ancient instrument – unstrung – gleaming through the blackest night – a curious gold – shimmering towards a whiteness – unsettled by its own cause -- divining the depth whence it came – unnoticed by Obscurity tending her own proportions those who knelt tasted the earth – secrets grew complicated – animals walked knowing they would be slaughtered – devouring the news without interference those who watched observed that which they thought already shaped was unshaped – without the deadly flash of will it could be used to harmonize -- to eclipse shades of love encircling the soul -- ah Lucidity! This mom i have pursued you – traveled over hidden landscapes seeking the edge of madness – consumed by a particular violence unrelated to a sense of balance – Death of the more solid vehicles -- traversing pastures -- threatened in the sight of love – it was a sense of decay that stayed a travelling hand – lifting the lid off the top of the head -- in curious headdress – the phantom rose naked under a cloak of lies – mosaiced in close proximity to the shadow of truth – infallible to those who sought the crimson vehicle – harnessed to the darkest hour -- reins of applied gold – serving to enhance a deadly fall – the crystal path serving to crack the Ego in its multiple elements – bending backwards to serve as a wedge to freedom – undaunted as the erection toppled on to the stance of its victim – a victim embroidered in wounds suitable to the untimely sighs of love – wedded to a belief outdated by history they wove a harbor of debauchery -- circumcised by circumstance – unwittingly chosen as the hour struck – reason pitched by deadly intent hanging in the balance – fortified by Pretence legalized by fruit of Fortitude tended by Vigilance characterized by a multifarious will reacting to a masterful urge – careering towards a wall erected in the sight of Memory shaking the past like a lead money box – spilling its outdated contents -- spleening power in its hideous fall – rooted without consequence – with no apparent out-come – it loomed – teetered – crying out for news of its own shadow -- plucking at the stuff it was made of – tearing asunder the veil -- splitting the personality – selecting victims with a tendency towards durability – pounding the pestle deep into the earth a rumble evoked what appeared as the final hour – in sleep flowers spoke humbled by secretions from which they fed – the seed split -- re-split until stagnation hung more heavily winged than a trance in flight setting fire to all it had ever known – thumbing the present – riding with such force that the chariot on elevated wheels spoke in a rattle of communication – spraying its devices without justification for what was to come – unraveling streamers of crimson and viridian – they wound about the victims with scrupulous intent – enabling that to leap that might have crouched – drawing in the dust indecent pictures where horror seeped at the foot of the temple – swaying in a caricature of love fumbling over a terrain one could not tell what it behooved – from back to front one never knew the color or intent – such was the purpose of Miracle in cypress groves no leaves fell to expose the plan – divinely settled by promiscuous union -- fouled by base intent -- back -- forth -- over -- under – crying -- seeking the rapt distiller -- a seal rapping out music of potent symbolism – a beggar came forth unfolding from an envelope of the system – smelling of device torn from a seed bed heated by passions of those who smote on a door slammed over aeons -- catching fingers of grief -- cry upon cry they built an edifice uncontained by continuous thought patterns heralding mercy in regions of lunar madness encompassing the circle -- its contents stuffed within an ill fitting square a hawk bringing news of felonious instability croaked its revenge – devouring his own feathers fluffed out by fate -- the content of his belly telling an ugly story – they concocted an oozing beverage too telling to drink for the passage of the throat was closed -- they could not afford to die out when so much was offering in the more heady regions -- where growth could be ensured at any price – though hard labor was imminent the cock crowed making a pattern no one had seen before -- breaking over the land covering that which they had no time to examine -- in duplicity they were unable to peel back the waves – crying out – for there was nothing there – beached on shores of the self – fumbling at the feet of truth in multiple anguish – they peeled wisdom like a green apple – indigestible in its deadly pallor – they applied to the gods for something to hang on – it was slow coming in the panic for justification they tore – applied strength to buttons -- in fickle servitude they displayed what was once theirs the stones in an ancient pattern danced – heralded by Mystery – streamers of volatile glory passed from hand to hand beyond choice of merit the apple was too green – those who sought immediate settlement could not taste it – they sought a way to measure standards of behavior – they plagiarized every simple deed – driving the senses to distraction – idea upon idea piled so high only a juggler could balance – seeking light areas between the sway of logic and its foolishly merited fiction -- they planned a course of action stapling them to a charted course--- plummeting them out into space – they were not securely tied – they shot up resplendent of an eternal hiccup – they could only fall – the vice of crystallization -- the reaping of an ignoble choice between heaven and hell – shuttling between self-laceration and self-inflicted heredity – within sight of the chosen they sucked on there own extremities – collecting dust – it could be precious – it had weight and voice – the journey so esoteric – how were they to claim it – a craft was forged relating to a lengthy pattern of sighs – nailed so infamously that no one could tell what had struck it – they knew that they must follow their plight – could not return to outdated ideas -- the bloody thread unwound – they could not unattach themselves from its fervid intent – it coiled around them – they plunged deeper and deeper at every cry of desire – they swarmed up the glass mountain – shrieking for a savior --- in the final hour Beauty fell unrelated to wormwood -- eaten out by the snake feeding on memory – turgid in the sight of the arena where those who lived and died spun in recognition of their winnings – bedecked in the maddest jewels – vacuuming over their bodies without decorum – titillated by ghostly secretions -- murmuring for mercy – juxtaposed by raving elements -- struck again and again as the hour turned in recognition of its defeat – screaming -- screwing -- as the lock turned of its own accord – never disclosing content to the tortured eyes of the condemned -- the gigantic wheel tearing them asunder -- though they cleaved there was no way out – locked in finely wrought cages hideously secured by the power of millions – timing the race of humanity in its bruised visage -- tis here i pause – methinks the stream doth run too fast The soul cries out competing with its own error -- refusing to disclose what it saw in the labyrinth – the eye in tune with the lie – belying the belated cause – stifling the cistern whence the gushing stopped – devouring waste matter – the outcome of coupling with illusion – raking over skeletons imitating Belov้d in a dance without end – the poker raised in an eternal threat to multiplication -- instincts heavily scented -- in the gentle light of mom they knelt – regarding that which they had turned upon themselves -- they hacked at the wild acreage of Ego – plucking at weeds -- poisonous flowers with walloping stamens grating against deathly confines – they tried to empty the human vase of dead matter – silvering the interior in vain – they grappled for the life of the candlesnuffer – seizing the 7 candled candelabra -- watching the circle spin like a hoop of flame spanning the dark hours -- an eye of light pierced by recognition – they entered the chamber – seeking union with the impossible – the body no more than a temple at the foot of the self -- coupling with nothing -- reaping nothing -- hollowed for the flame to rise – spitting out desire in its multifarious elements without comprehending they crashed through aeons – the fall echoing in the soul like the clanging of a bronze bell in Dooms doorway a white sheet hung in shadow – the stain of union at the crossroads -- the chariot was sighted – carrying a swaying cross -- it swung into a barricaded edifice – shot up into the sky piercing the veil – beyond point of vice it could not return whence it came – slithering out on the other side -- where Reason fell -- logic struck at full force – the weight of balance shuddering over the ground – rooting out secrets – scathing the senses – they crushed leaves from ancient books – slamming – unhinging – entrails streaming out as if in a great cup to be drunk – they created a lie of perfect faith for the dogg้d to interpret – raised on an altar reflected in the hallway horrors swayed – belonging to the headless – they dined on presumptuous fare – marbled -- veined -- applied on every level – a gyrating of categories -- sanding -- vicing – with ill intent around gold edges – a sudden flickering illuminating particles sucked out by millions in the choicest hour -- the bronze bell -- fearing its clang -- subjugated its voice -- a peal of laughter came from a darkened courtyard where shadows fell – one on top of each other in sight of tongues thirsting for innocence crying out for crumbs – they seized memory banks – they tried to pin a face on the faceless – they consorted with time -- a mad wind swept taking those for a ride who might have walked on quiet roads – they sought a way to overcome the dread of repetitiveness -- love forsaken – the chariot drawn by invisible steed – bolted requisitioned by a bridegroom bound from head to foot – the caverns of his eyes lit like flaming torches – he lunged ahead of the chariot – spilling a wave of gold -- it patterned the ground with such eloquence they howled to own – they sought advancement from riches looted from the earth – mounting -- remounting the forbidden steed -- a hawk swooped feeding on its prey with savage ferocity -- in the cypress groves they wept – seeking solace in ponds where water lilies sucked them under – seeking advantage before they drowned – remembering the talons of hawk – how they might apply them to the ripping – heard from afar -- scream upon scream -- ennobled to the cause of truth they prepared to leap through hoops of white flame -- they hung in mid air -- screaming to land – too faithless to risk dying – preferring to fill the vessel with jewels – they sucked them -- artfully secreting them – examining that which they had chosen – powdered in disbelief -- smelling of malice – they pulled it down with a festering cord -- hand-woven the rape without regard for consequence – they sought to spear – rip stagnation in a parody of paradox – howling for the system to cool the heat of desire – howling for thieves to pick the lock – stooping in the undergrowth – thorns assaulted them – causing immediate blindness – they were fed on stale buns by a bear in chains – clanking sorrowfully in the courtyard – a bloody ribbon tied to his tail – his eyes threaded on silver sticks – heralding the plight of Cruelty -- a manic sun spun black and red – changing the hue of recognition – a harvest reaped on immediate payment – an eagle croaked – the message undeciphered – a pattern of cruelty spreading its course --- nailed and dressed as if for a party – hovering in midair – they grasped – lunged as if to catch a particular point of view – how could they be chosen when they could not choose – a rat crept near he was bigger than they could believe – with bloody eyes -- marbled by horror and canine perfection – in the power of his teeth they saw he could rip that which haunted them – crying out in the name of Mercy to give them the cool dark they longed for – to secure them to oblivion – they nestled in the shade of human shadows – thrown up as if by an eclipse -- elements weaving deadly patterns of singular intent to be forced upon the naked mind -- scars too insidious to trace -- relief came altering their course – unfastening the clasps of a great book which appeared to be made of lead – on handling it disclosed a finer form – page after page covering grubby shapes – piling plight into a vortex – an ardent stream flowed into stricken areas – frocking union in crumpled disarray – followed by a discourse on how it could have happened – harrowed by invisible results – they tried to possess knowledge – fear of being blinded by Truth caused them to drop that which they longed to hold -- they sent documents of indignation to men of justice – hankering over the red seal they tried to pull it off before it had set -- A vibration started up in the heart exposing a flower of unexpected glory – too light to hold -- too ethereal to beat to their plan -- they tried cover it before it was too late for memory to squander -- they seized on anything to stop truth from penetrating – merciless they applied the heaviest objects – their eyes taken by a useless weeping -- a sheet of clear water fell guillotining the debris -- freshly hung and washed an even light displayed the cause – Mercy distributing a tenderness longed for by millions – cordoned off as if in a bank – they purchased expensive carpets woven from suffering --- built temples for the mighty – erecting altars marbled with scorn of poverty -- a plan was salvaged from an ancient map – fallen from a box flying out of a forest – landing rather too quickly -- slamming someone of secondary importance -- causing him to die faster than he might have -- he sang briefly -- the contents of the box spilling in a cascade -- those who knew sorted rapidly acknowledging the value – remembering in sighs of dust . a torpid note evoked between a material assumption – that a secret had been divulged -- . whilst Mercy -- skimpily clad -- shivered at the price to be paid they despised poverty -- feared irregularities it must be dealt with -- in such a hallowed place it could not be allowed to disfigure the cause before a settlement could be made – heavy curtains were woven to cover a situation out of hand – dated & filed for a purpose of mighty indignation – that such an apparition could defile art built for the purpose of worship – incense was burned -- setting fire to hope – a hideous sweetness prevailed fanning the flame creating a flickering light – insidiously licking the truth – omnipotent -- it remained -- refusing to be fed – they drink from golden vessels weighted by pomposity – the handles wrought over the ages heavily jeweled – if handled too victoriously – they sliced off various parts -- the gardens were watered with blood -- siphoned at low pressure – to hide Villainy in the sight of Love -- they failed to understand that which could not be understood – they dealt blow after blow – it bounced back -- two great trees walked down from the hills a great thirst raged -- in the cypress groves they were laid – tended quietly by invisible hands - they vowed to take a course open to the naked eye – noting nails driven in the name of justice -- they prayed for renewal of fantasy the cypress trees were darker than they expected – pressing desolate bodies -- the tide of fate drawing in -- nearer -- nearer to the sweet breath – immortal longing streaming -- lucid – in denial of desire – creative function gnawing on indigestible profundity – they wheedled before bread and wine seducing the specter of renown – taken by millions of lovers on a night when the moon wept – stars fell -- her body so full it could not be compared to any vessel capable of holding flame in cavernous valleys Death strode -- putting desire to use -- between the iron fence of a graveyard -- caution squeezed – pummeling into shape deeds forged pitching into the light as one dead – unable to receive Love -- an entire body subjugated before the wheel – in leaves they knelt – stone cooling the pain of blood spilt uselessly over aeons – the heart slept untouched by cruelty – like a rocket penetrating the brain it had taken continuous form – indigo blending into the soul diffusing light needed if one was to survive realms where Ego trod – blinding masses who sought a shooting star as a savior – wringing out the hours on an iron mangle -- crying over the handle – the wire strung for the hanging – by some trick of light the victims were not visible – Mercy was without shadow ah see how the curtain breathes – beyond desire -- Torment cackling ah let me kneel – I have battled with the elements too long – I am weary now -- dying out from my own cause – thrown from realms shadowing the soul as long trees divine the night -- THE GOLD LICKERS (or EGO’S EGG) by Christina Conrad Copyright ฉ 1999 Christina Conrad