ORIGINS: Look at the eyes of the third trombonist. That is clearly a crow atop a tower, with the window of a cathedral as its wing (times two).
The raven-haired centaur that used to protect the Tower of Time has left. Some say that his hair finally grew long enough to be called wings, and the raven demanded a change of air. But I don’t care. The only thing that matters is that the Tower now belongs to us. And I cannot wait. All those fresh corpses at the foot of the stairs. All those delicious eyes. Full of broken promises and lost faith. My mouth waters just thinking of them.
I built a cathedral on the back of a crow. I wanted to look into the sun, and I thought that it would be allowed, if I looked out of the window of a house of worship built for my God. I wanted to be blessed, I wanted to be touched by my God too. I wanted the bird that is my soul to be granted black feathers too. But I looked, and now there is a lump of charred feathers in my eyes, that I no longer recognize. I looked into the sun, and I lost the truest part of myself.
I heard somewhere that crows are fond of eating eyes. That somewhere there are three sisters that have seen it all. That each one is a window into a different time. Together they form a tower, a single crow. One of them sees the past, another sees the present and the last one sees the future. And I think that it’s lovely. Because I know that originality doesn’t exist, that there is only repetition, under a different name. And I like knowing that that crow exists, that sharing is possible, and neither of those sisters feels the need to erase the others, to reassert themselves and justify their own existence.
I used to have teeth, but they lied to me. They made me believe in fairytales, they spirited me away, and made me feel out of place, lost in an unwelcoming world, that I would have learned to love if they had left me alone. I pulled them out. I replaced them with crows. I built a city in my mouth, with the only thing I had left: my own words. I knew that it was too late, that I would never find my way back to the real world, because I was no longer a child and the damage had already been done. But I would always need a place to belong. And those crows were my way of owning my curse. Of reclaiming my luck.