XOC
“Tell me a story” he said.
So I told him about the men who became sharks who became men again, long, long time before the words “homo homini lupus” were ever uttered.
How the tribal men and women danced their magic rites, covering their skins with thick dermal denticles, all the better to sail the seas, warm or cold, deep or shallow and to cruise the fresh waters where mankind bury its dead ones, from the Ganges to Lake Nicaragua.
How they went and roamed the world, to conquer far away islands hidden in the midst of the Pacific Ocean, where their dance is still secretly passed on from shaman to shaman, should they need to travel again, to escape from the curse of nuclear testing or to find other species to prey upon.
The anthropologist never figured it out and built out all sorts of theories as to how the Vikings had got to America way before it became known as such and how the inhabitants of the Solomon Island ever got there in the first place.
Yet the evidence was all there for them to see, had they considered the fish provenance instead of going the Darwinian way.
For shark gestate in nine months like humans do, and most of them do carry their pups in their bellies. Oh, they were careful to blur the obvious traces and so the catsharks people considerate enough to lay their young in mermaid purses, all the more to fool the marine scientists.
And it would have fooled me too, had I not witnessed an act that made it suddenly all clear to me : when they do attack, sharks close their eyes, just like we human do when we kiss.
Protection device ?
I don’t think so.
This is just to savour the moment when two beings collide in frenzy. The perfection of the contact, blood so close to the surface, alluring, bewitching.
So I do know now for certain that when we humans have finally managed to drown our planet – thanks to the well planned so-called green-house effect – our race shall take to the sea again until earth rises once more and Time repeats itself.
“Tell me a story” he said.
So I told him about the men who became sharks who became men again, long, long time before the words “homo homini lupus” were ever uttered.
How the tribal men and women danced their magic rites, covering their skins with thick dermal denticles, all the better to sail the seas, warm or cold, deep or shallow and to cruise the fresh waters where mankind bury its dead ones, from the Ganges to Lake Nicaragua.
How they went and roamed the world, to conquer far away islands hidden in the midst of the Pacific Ocean, where their dance is still secretly passed on from shaman to shaman, should they need to travel again, to escape from the curse of nuclear testing or to find other species to prey upon.
The anthropologist never figured it out and built out all sorts of theories as to how the Vikings had got to America way before it became known as such and how the inhabitants of the Solomon Island ever got there in the first place.
Yet the evidence was all there for them to see, had they considered the fish provenance instead of going the Darwinian way.
For shark gestate in nine months like humans do, and most of them do carry their pups in their bellies. Oh, they were careful to blur the obvious traces and so the catsharks people considerate enough to lay their young in mermaid purses, all the more to fool the marine scientists.
And it would have fooled me too, had I not witnessed an act that made it suddenly all clear to me : when they do attack, sharks close their eyes, just like we human do when we kiss.
Protection device ?
I don’t think so.
This is just to savour the moment when two beings collide in frenzy. The perfection of the contact, blood so close to the surface, alluring, bewitching.
So I do know now for certain that when we humans have finally managed to drown our planet – thanks to the well planned so-called green-house effect – our race shall take to the sea again until earth rises once more and Time repeats itself.
