Wednesday, May 1, 2013

The Far Edge of Zaghaven

Me, on the north side of Zaghaven.  That's supposed to be the East River sort of behind me and to the right, but
the mists of other people's imaginations obscure the north from reality.  Zaghaven is weird like that.
We are held together by what we find from the old days, and what people think we are.  Once,
when the mists were light, I could see out upon the river and on that day it looked like one gigantic
pink trampoline.  It's worth it sounding bible-y.  You never know in the North of the Sixth.
And Game of Thrones thought they had the North shit all craze and world-endy.  In the Sixth Borough,
the North sways.  I once rode my bike down a squiggle that lead straight through the
imagination of a 6-year-old.  A six-year-old CAT.  Now THAT was spooky.  Still,
you can always find your way back, it just might not be the same as you remembered it.
The clear days are the ones to be afraid of.  It was on a clear day that they broke the 6th Borough in the
first place.