Dreams of doors, of outlines in the sand, and then I take her by the hand and tell her what’s to be seen, and what’s to be seen is what they won’t ever show us for fear of what we might do with the answers. There’s music by Tom Waits. Some creeping tune that leads us through the darkness and into the light. Buildings rise then sink into the mud. People exist and then fade as if they were never here to begin with. They dedicate their lives to the mundane and are then horrified to discover that magic is far from their grasp. When flesh slips from bone and they’re clawing their way out of the grave, they just can’t understand why they’re not up in the stars, and when the void comes and swallows what’s left, they disappear along with their shadows and that, my love, is that. Taking the blade from my pocket, I pull her close and drag it along her palm. Blood pours and our eyes dilate like those of a cat’s. There’s another song playing. Swimsuit Issue by Sonic Youth. Cutting my own hand, I press it against hers and tell her that wherever she goes, I will follow. Life. Death, and everything in between. Sticking my tongue into the blood as it trickles from our wounds down our skinny wrists, I place my lips upon hers, and as the golden sands make way for fields of golden corn, she lays herself upon the ground. When I’m on my knees, the birds descend from the sky and circle our drunken heads. They sing their ancestral songs as my cock dribbles the white stuff onto her belly. Smearing it all over her, I spread her legs and conjure the gods. I conjure the devil, too, and when they’re with us, we shake and break apart into a billion tiny pieces, and as we undergo the great change, things will never again be the same.