The Francesca Lia Block Writings: The Watch Maker

So, since January, I've been so blessed to attend my idol FLB's workshops (IN HER HOUSE!!!) Big deal for the kind of person I am. I mean, I believe in mermaids and shit. Anyway, we do all kinds of awesome writing exercises. This one is very simple and can be replicated anywhere, by anyone: We just picked out a picture from the pile. Mine was that artist that paints all the Christina Ricci looking dolls in macabre settings. For this one, a surreal Madonna and Child, I wrote a creation myth:


Inception
At the beginning of the world were the stars. And the stones, which used to be stars. The maker of things came into view, she sprouted from the black a huge fleshy pod that became inverted. There she was, holding in the folds of her skirts the seas and oceans. It was the first thing she brought us. She had a lumbering step because of this weight. When she dropped her skirts, the water crashed down and swallowed the planet. The maker gave a loud bellow then, and dropped too a daughter, who would be the mother of all people, and put on her tongue the thing called language, and in her breast the thing called fear, and in her gut the thing called hope. And then the maker opened her throat and SONG came out, which made the soil pregnant. The earth sprouted children then, tall and green; and walking on legs; and swimming in the waters.
The maker brought forth from her own bowels a clock of a yellow kind of metal, sinewy with things called BLOOD and TISSUE. She wound it and it began it’s own sort of song. The maker, who was bleeding now, took in the thing called AIR. She was dying. The daughter that she made she put down and immediately a thousand tiny beings swarmed her, clicking and humming. The maker became a bright sort of thing now, her body wavering in a color called WHITE. And then she was gone. She was a star, with the stars.