Transgressive Adventures of Roris Coctis, esotericist and savage (March 2015)
by Zack Kouns
Artfully lost in the West Virginia wilderness and plagued by the Stinging Nettles that are carefully planted by unseen hands to mark the places man transgresses at his peril, I found a small boy sitting on a rock near a stream weeping softly into his hands. Perpetually curious where pain is concerned, I approached him to seek the source of his sorrow. He raised his eyes toward me and had two immense harvest moons for pupil and iris and the whites were replaced by the starriest and most poetic night sky I have ever seen. He took hold of my shirt for balance and began vomiting moss with violent heaves that made his tiny body tremble. I offered him water from my knapsack and he replied “it's poison and abomination that nourishes man. Rivers of blood and dead things.” Presumably, this meant that he didn't want water? I reached out a comforting hand and he reels away as though snake bitten and says “the hands of man wound; torture and violence bloom where he touches.” Of a sudden he dives into the creek and disappears beneath the muddy water. He didn't struggle, he didn't try to live. He swam until he arrived at the dark countries of the hereafter.
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