Transgressive Adventures of Roris Coctis, esotericist and savage (June 2014)
by Zack Kouns
On the island of Tasmania I became afflicted with unbearable stomach pains. I had walked a short distance from the concert hall where I was to perform in Hobart when I was struck with a piercing agony that made it impossible to bear my own weight. The pain consisted of a kind of awful pressure, like liquid or a vapor increasing in a container until it could no longer house them. I laid on the sidewalk and begged bystanders for a knife to relieve my malady. Somebody handed me a dirty pocket knife and I plunged it into my flesh and slit open my abdomen. Rivers of blood poured forth and a small, aged man climbed from my body covered in discharge. He had two heads and four arms. On his chest was a great bird emerging from an endless expanse of water, drawn in ancient blue ink. Each head had only one large unblinking eye in the center of the forehead and one of the mouths was paralyzed and continually whispered cryptic phrases. The head with the ceaselessly murmuring tongue stared off into the distance while the other turned to me as I lay prostrate on the pavement. He began to speak to me: “I was formed as you were: in a terrible solitude, alone in the darkest night with our God. Birthed in a tempest of violence that demands expression, in forests of ecstasy that shudder with the brilliant lucidity of creation. I'm tributary, leading to a sea. The sea: a wave in the ocean. There are thousands of us in your body. Flowering like veins, each to the same source in our own way. We know all the languages of man, we know the secret things that he conceals from himself, we know how he begins and what it means to end. Life everlasting. Everlasting life.” He touched my solar plexus and my wound was healed. He arched each of his heads back and a fearsome thunderstorm gathered in the sky. The rain poured forth with such force that the earth was dark with the deluge for several minutes. When the clouds dissipated, he had gone and I climbed the hilly streets to the concert hall to change into dry clothes.
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