the other night I dreamed I had died and gone to hell. again.
this time, hell was like the midwest at night in winter.
the vast flat plain was hopeless and oppressive in its enormity.
the sky was sulphurous, incarnadine, the ground grey-black, cold and hard.
we had fled the fiery lake eons ago,
rebelling ourselves against the primal rebel,
we had risen up on weary wings, we had long ago torn down the vacant idol to himself that satan once had raised, setting himself up as little god in his cavernous dominion of hell, but he had long since passed, consumed by his own despair, gone into the abyss, leaving nothing more but a dark and brooding shadow.
other disconsolate souls remained, prisoners in fact of nothing more than their own fear.
we had escaped, but to where?
our car broken down on this hellish highway to nowhere, we were no longer in torment, merely despondent.