Apocalypse of Jude

Mae stares at her de-based, tear-blotched face in the hotel bathroom mirror. It is the face of mourning filled with Dionysian desire for Paul. Outside she can hear the jazz piano and upright bass jive up the pace. Excited that her nine-month mourning is about to end, she steps dishevelled back into the dining hall and sees the dance floor filled with couples taking a turn. Her father is nowhere to be seen.

“Would you like this dance?”

Mae feels Paul’s presence behind her. She turns, smiling wildly. She feels him take her offered hand and lead her to the dance floor where the rhythm sinks into them. The sensation of his hand as a secure pivot on her back moves her more aggressively into the dance. She is looking for his flesh to give her wildness form. As she finds it, the perception grows in her that Dionysus possesses her spirit now entirely. The music glides to a definitive finish.

“Come Mae, I think we should go now. Le roi est mort.”

She shivers at the chilling sound of her father’s murder. But the Dionysian spirit makes it a distant concern.

“Where are we going?”

Paul looks at her, his eyes glowering with an ecstatic desire.

“I have seen you Mae. I know what you want. You are the sibyl hanging in a jar. But I can free you.”

She smiles at him. “Right now I just want to get out of here and become the wild woman.”

“Then take me to your sacred tree, so that we can go where we need to go.”

Wasteland Mix: Fragment 2