Re: Vauxhall Gardens
“I dream of nothing of late. It’s unfortunate that you should have such dreams.”
Because when he is asleep, IT IS AWAKE! AND when he imparts an immaterial contingent regarding dreams, high torture turned down low, it’s already smoothly healed and backwoods cauterized, not a wound to speak of in its shell. His eyes are dreams in hailstone, watching the calmness of her little gloves, in marked counterpart to the inability of his own to convince his sparking nerves to give him one moment of peace. He wonders if she’s hiding the twitter of the other insubstantial girls aloft, is she a well-rehearsed ingenue with shakespeare’s tragedies a marigold taste in the back of her small throat. Like the wild is for him, the dust, the putrid stench of the butcher. Here’s his suspicion, waxing, waning, waxing…
“There are endless reasons in London, Ms. Mina, for you to have dreams of terrible things. Should you ever venture to a portion of town in which I would not wish upon my worst enemy, these visions of Hell on earth, much improved from Medieval times but hardly so, will haunt you while awake as well. The streets are still but mud in some areas, enhanced with but a few cobblestone, and even though butchers are outlawed from flaying on the bridge as peddlers, they do in their practice. This leaves many things to stroll in on one’s walk home, if you understand my meaning.”
Fur, intestines, human waste, human suffering, disease crammed into neglected housing. That’s WHY it wants to find the soul, don’t you see!? If there’s a SOUL there is ANOTHER PLACE TO FLEE TO! A better world! a world where NO ONE HAS TO MAKE DUE!