Skullblaka: Head of A Discarded Machine

Posted by Erik Moshe on Wednesday, October 2, 2013 Under: Poetry


The Skullblaka stirred up a buzzard’s nest wherever it planted its beak into an azure marsh. Squirrels, toads, termites, boars and honey badgers rallied around the obnoxious posturing of this ancient head — an SUV among primates, but this was no paleolithic Dodge model. Bone density meant unbreakable – something like thermite and solar plexus plastic boasting ‘the might to withstand magma craters, and other praetorian phenomena’ while Model-T’s chugged down the eco-streets like well oiled platypuses. Politeness was not a part of the Skullblaka’s programming. “The great blockhead” as it was addressed hissed at the foxes and the tiny snakes, slinging dirty looks toward them when they’d pass down the creek, on water or on foot.

It neither ate nor slept, nor would it put up with any heady resistance from the creatures of the forest fauna – even the quiet ones that were in search of happier sentiments. Twice, Tilda the Black Bear caught a porcupine spike-laced torpedo in her side. Out for a look at some beehive neighborhoods, she paddled away in pain, furious at the Talking Head that simply would not shut up. There was no enchantment involved in this area of woodland, no endorsement from a Lothlorien that was formerly civilization, torn from its crystalline high chair when food was cooked on command and didn’t have to be roasted over the fires of modesty. This was Sherwood Forest not, nor a metropolis. Natural races ran these lands, barring the hostile artifact stuck in the future – not so much the past. Skullblakas were irritable, though not without a sense of survivalist humor. For instance, when it would use deciduous animation to pit pythons and jaguars against one another in a Quetzalcoatl-like death match in the trees, a cruder version of the Jungle Book cartoon was born. “Mowgli … mostly … surrounded by brainless animals,” so they quipped.

And so the orangatans and the leaf ants and the hawks disregarded its place in the ecosystem, for it was indeed a strange misnomer to these residents, utterly unwanted in this tranquil refuge. A tumor that nature would soon be rectified when monsoon rains came, as the Skullblaka rusted to death. Hard headed as its inventors, it couldn’t bother the native animals with demeaning slurs anymore, or environmental neglect. Hollow-minded, quantum sapped, nevermore magic gone.

In : Poetry 



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