S t. J o h n

Judas felt Christ was impervious as land and air. This action of his would simply further prove the man's invincibility, provoke further miracles. But when he was rebuked, he realized that he had been misunderstood; in order to correct this wrong he laid down his life ahead to reassure Christ that it was nothing to be afraid of: the dark was not so dark.

If anyone did despair it was John the Baptist. He sent messages to Christ when he was in jail. But Christ did nothing: he left him to die. John died, cursing the Lord. From this tale is derived the old fairy tale of Falada, the talking beast of burden who is buried beneath the wreck of some manor, delirious, clattering still, the tongue a dry violet root.

In the dark, before I go to sleep, I think Mika is Judas, sitting beneath the tree, wondering how high he will hang. And I am the horse's head that he holds in his lap, severed, warning him, warning him, of what, I never remember.
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