Molly Medusa: Queen of Spit

Solitude and sandy dunes – set sail, you seeker of retribution! Travel through the minotaur’s labyrinthine lair – Bull of Justice; and down the blood-red, undead pomegranate-succulence of the Underworld rivers. Through the owl-haunted halls of Minerva, and past an opulent palace of long fingers and ill-gotten gold. Up is down and down is up. Reality is far behind, on this journey of the mind. Shatter yourself and transcend! For it is that cruel, cruel curse, that monstrous malady, which coils around your lonely soul, a malefaction of Many-faced Circe, Ulysses’ bane, that makes you a stranger, an untouchable, a queen of spit, toxic to the touch, ill-fitting and spit-dripping in profane profundity, at once s-s-s-serpentine and so sublime – that cruel, cruel curse, which the gods call: MEDUSA.