Blind Little Rain God

Lucas Burris

Lucas Burris

The poor blind little rain god wandered around the town covered in a thick miasma just trying to find his way out of that ever-present cloud of confusion. He ran around Fairy Land spouting little fragment sentences as they popped into his mind without a dang given to them making sense or following grammatical structure.

“Oh what yes-“

“Quite but how do you go about excuse me…”

“…Well you’re never quite as sad as you’ve been looking dear but no way can it go-“

“…until and then it comes again and then and then and then-“

And so on and so on and so on until our blind little protagonist bumped into a poor starving little girl who was trapped in the ever present miasma/cloud of confusion that incessantly followed our little blind protagonist,(“oh how quite until little girl-rain rain rain-“) who then vomited a torrent of rainwater filled with salmon and cod and sardines and bull frogs and horny toads and snakes and crabs and kelp and seaweed and oysters and mussels (which are different from oysters despite looking very similar) and sponges and beavers and platypi (or platypuses if you prefer but there is no universal agreed upon plural of platypus so I’ll say as I please, thank you) and puffer fish and piranha and sharks until finally a sperm whale came out (who’s head was in fact not actually filled with sperm, but rather spermaceti, despite what its woman starved discoverers thought) that was so large it filled up half the street. The starving little girl quickly bonked a few of the frogs over the head and scooped up some of the fish, and after deciding to leave the ever pinching crabs well enough alone, skipped over a shark and gave the poor, poor sperm whale and his awful name a comforting pat on the shoulder.

“Thank ya mister,” she said, before planting a kiss on the cheek of our poor little blind wandering protagonist. The girl then bounced home, her arms full of a fresh feast of edible water life that her ever worrying Papa, as papas are wont to worry, would assuredly cook up into a delicious feast of roast salmon and deep fried frog legs.

“Aw shucks and then and then and then” said our now-blushing little blind protagonist as he then proceed to leave the town. As the Blind Little Word God left the town he babbled more and more words until the miasma that followed him around everywhere was constructed of nothing but words. And in this massive cloud of words did our Blind Little Protagonist wander around the entire earth three times. He spread words here and there left and right, until it was raining words the whole world over.

Eventfully the world got to the point where one couldn’t quite step anywhere without falling into a puddle of connotation, which is really quite nasty stuff, as anyone who has ever stepped in connotation surely knows.

So, as we all have been saying in unison with perfectly synchronized voices that make the heavens tremble with orgasmic delight, the atmosphere was replaced by words, and eventually that’s what everyone everywhere breathed, and that’s what everyone everywhere ate, and what everyone everywhere drank, and thought, and breathed, and ate and drank and thought and had sex with and killed people with and wrote songs about and played guitars with and leveled cities with and made peanut butter and pickle sandwiches for starving kindergarteners with and pickled hogs hooves with and seduced potential lovers of all genders and sexes with and danced with and wrote pornographic odes to the arches of feet of lovers that they never knew with and cut themselves with and tortured themselves with and bashed in their skulls against concrete walls for want of solace with and punched concrete walls with until their knuckles were bloodied with the sunshine of your love with and ate with and drank with and breathed with and killed people with and had sex with and so on and so on and so on until infinity, which isn’t really all that long but long enough to make the point we are all trying to make, for surely we are all trying to make a point, aren’t we?

And, in the end, it turned out that words and water really weren’t really different– in fact were one and the same–and everywhere anywhere all the time anytime every single living breathing and non- living non-breathing person and thing has a small Blind Little Rain God inside them vomiting up words at a dime a dozen, and who wouldn’t want such a cute little god inside them?

1 Comment

  1. Wow! I love this. It’s a fairy tale/myth that doesn’t remediate the classic stories, but brings a contemporary voice to a classic form. Fantastic! Every new beat in this story made me like it even more.


  1. Behind the Words: Lucas Burris - Spry - […] Blind Little Rain God […]

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