January 4th, 2005

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Work in Progress

But it was not the devil who returned to Randolfo, but his bright twin, the opposing angel. It was just like the words of Fra Timoteo when he was a boy, Satan and the Lord arguing over Randolfo's soul. He had never taken it literally until being left here, beyond the edge of the world. The angel came, as it always did, as the opposite to the devil. The devil was in the spaces and quiet places, the gaps between tree and leaf, the shadows under the noonday sun, the quiet fall of starlight at the edge of the island forest. The angel was a swirl of dust and grass stems and brightly colored down from the breasts of parrots, a thought in the mind of God almost made into Creation's form.

Its voice was the squawk and chatter of half the jungle, the barking of sharks in the moonlit waters, the rattle of rocks on a dark, crumbling cliff -- as rough and full of form as its body. YOU HAVE BEEN SPEAKING WITH THAT DEVIL

"How should I stop him?" Randolfo asked a palm tree. For convenience, he had labeled the devil as a man, and the angel as a woman, though both were clearly fingers from the hand of God and unlike any person.
  • Current Music
    the quiet chatter of the coffee house