Minotaur's Song: Chapter One - Nicola Hicks @ Flowers NY / by Laurence Fuller


Bellowing throughout the countryside could be heard as she writhed in mud, beneath the bubbling soil lava breathed and boiled. The birth of the Minotaur has come. Worms and roots snapped and shuddered under his steaming hooves. Strapped harnessed, unchained body brushes it’s own will to the point of its aspiration, snout puffed, eyes bleeding flames of desire. Horns flexed their polished and pointed threat to the rumbling skies, the earth summoned his greater purpose unfulfilled in the greatness of his strength. 


The Royals gather surrounding that same dining table where iridescent demon dramas play beast like games and pour city champagne over dusty draws that sparkle in their guts. Pushing back into the past, where Romance joined it's awful tune to the trumpet tunnels of the sky. Baskets of fruit usher summertime and the deep unending questions they feel too small to answer, too big for the little things, too small for the cosmos. Roaring golden fabrics rolling down walls of an art princess in an ivory tower carved by Irish craftsman, paid for by Victorian gentry in their quest for beauty. They wish there was an easier way to live a more certain path for the guidance of art to be directed. 


A chorus of angry declarations echoed royal halls cascading and announcing themselves that this should be the way for this savage youth. Without a father’s love he would be wild untamed and beastlike to the end of his strange days. And yet it was decided to raise him as a boy, give him hope for that possibility of a free unburdened future filled with love and life, mystery and chance, forever unending promises of joy. The Minotaur would spend his youth on the riverbanks of Elysium.


A bird floated on water’s surface, his proud beak glinting and his feathers plumed and puffed. Watching his flock over the rocks and dried up coral, proudly sat the Minotaur, picking oysters from the rocks for them to eat, they sat on his shoulder gripping claws into his rough and broiling flesh, to pick the remnants of his curious scavenge from the scruff of his jagged chin. His quiet watching of the universe unfold and glow to him in unexpected growth, his curiosity in the rock pools and octopus with crawling wriggling glimmers of color light and dreams. Scooping in his rough and rugged palms tiny slimey moluscs, delight and divine becoming of the new world in every moment he sipped up into the abundant pleasures of the water which ran down his jutting jaw. Drinking great gulps of strange love.


The minotaur’s mother, fox like shifting shadow beast, visited him in secret baring tokens from the city. She told him fables of the life he left behind. She warned of seduction with some rough tongue tasting the pollen rich air, tingly from the sense of the underside of all that delicious pleasure. Big tree leaves drip with desire if only his eyes could tell the difference from what his heart already knows. Blown up sticking points of hungry little birds flying on open clouds bubbles in the sky. Look at the foreverness of joy, love, family, respect, duty to ones own, doubles its request to the underside of this haunted boy.

Evening landed, cloud licked skies bleed horizon to their shutting. Raising his arms to the galaxies of a universal mysteries which swilled in radiant rivers of his dreams. He lifted his flock, fly into the sky to pick from the stars, beckoning the Viking God Odin to his council.


Odin shook the calamitous winds, his descending presence from the mountainside crushing and variant bellowing changes in the now smoke filled respite of the quiet river banks. Hollow fills the night sky flicking it’s frozen drops of untamed madness fill the winds. Open your guts for that confused state of abandoned beauty that Odin summons over Elysium. Minotaur staring up at the descending spirit, his eyes filled with the reflection of the sky like glass bubbled marbles piled up to glint in anticipation of its happening.

Admiration in his heart the Minotaur asked Odin to tell him omens of his future. Odin whispered tales of three goddess born; art princesses. The first; Progeny bursts out black and charred but with the will and reason to be, lava colored flesh pushing off the surface, shaking clean the molten crust, fiercely flipping off face chest and arms reaching to the sky, the land, the vast uncertain future, beckoning the right to what’s theirs, progression of this new world born of chaos, limbs of salt and flame, chewed up. Dying dripping tired bodies piled up across the burning skies cover ferocious talent.


Listening melancholic protected by all those things which made Elysium home, the Minotaur slept. Sleep that rectified discomfort you were wrestling with, throwing diamonds against the wall hoping they'd catch meaning on their long way down to the chattering floor where they all live growing spider legs and scuttering the carpet for a home. Restless sleep made mornings drip away their spirits in time enchanted stings. He dreamt of childish indiscretions, the burgeoning of youth.

Deep in the night of another river, the viking bashed in the smokey musk hut simmering on the ice that coated the mountainside. White devil appears, white flesh glinting from the dim light of the moon, white blood pumping in a forgotten forest night, forgotten and stretching reaching to the sliding shiny surface crushed with salt washed traces he gripped once before in the battle for Elysium charging furious armies of pelt clad thunderous viking clammer channeling Gods and heroes to the call of destiny.