Friday, 19 June 2009
Cornelius bringer of peace
Here is writ the story of one snail Cornelius.
Bloodied and battled to the maximum, Cornelius awoke to the distant sounds of the war. Wedged between slug and snail carcasses, the snail expertly maneuvered himself and shell from betwixt these former friends and foes.
Upon freedom it found that the battle that had been raging at the moment of its untimely downfall had moved to the farther reaches of a small field in the wilderness of the countryside.
The snail roared in frustration. It would take the poor molluscan days to reach the battle now. He was high on a warrior’s passion and anger, needing to be sliding in the thick of confrontation, looking into the whites of his enemy’s eyes.
Cornelius would be the snail that would bring about the beginning of the end.
Cornelius was not afraid of death.
That was not this Gastropoda’s fear.
So the snail set forth, sliding over blade of grass and rock and stone, reasoning that it could work on its rage, enlarge it so it became so engorged inside the slimy body, it was all the organs could concentrate upon.
The mantra ‘death to snails’ formed and this lovely sentiment repeated inside the mind producing a rhythmic march which Cornelius moved its body to, sliding in harmonious undulations along the dirt.
However as is fate’ wont, it had a different goal in mind for our snail.
Twas one hour and 2 minutes into this noble journey that Cornelius met Fran. A delicious looking snail. Artist not warrior.
Fran looked at Cornelius.
Cornelius looked at Fran.
When man meets woman ‘tis already written in biological law what occurs.
When hermaphrodite meets hermaphrodite the rules can be changed and altered; everything is possible.
That Tuesday, at dusk, the snail Cornelius had a passion bubbling under the surface. Hate is very close to love and lust, but how easy does hate change to lust. Well according to the records about Cornelius, precisely two and two quarter seconds, give or take a couple of quarter seconds.
Metaphorical volcanoes exploded and metaphorical Tsunamis erupted. The inhabitants of the small town of Riovalle quaked in fear. And the seaside town of Le Canella ran for cover.
Then everyone realized that the natural disasters were in actually fictional metaphors created deep within the lustings of two happy snails. The inhabitants of the small town of Riovalle straightened and stopped quivering and the inhabitants of Le Canella came out from underneath their beds and watched the dramatics of snail love in its most amorous form.
The battle raged.
And Cornelius loved.
The two snails intent on their pleasure brought more beings to them, as was the way before the war, as has always been the way of snails. The pull of love.
Other snails saw them and remembered what was, and for the first time in many years, thoughts other than death began to take place within the brains of the Gastropodas.
This was the beginning of the end.