This is the Makaravedra?!
This?!
This brown thing,
born from the dead rubbish heaps of Sundaland's last gleaming?!
This is what succeeds Malefor-Ozymandias,
and all the blessed apocalypses
he was capable of bringing
us? Where's the trust
in systems that have functioned
to beat you down for thousands of years? Don't you like being implicitly told
you are nothing but fucking dust,
and ashes,
in the shadows of pedophile-kings, and sinister, shadowy archmages
of a very particular form of magic?
Some scattered, out-of-context pages
torn from the Book of Life. Instructions for
the horrifically tragic. How to make men with snakes up their asses,
and the best kinds of lie:
soft and empathetic.
Told to deny
you and all indigenous peoples the power to survive
the next crisis, and Presidential Election, and psychohistorical tryst
with a very twisted form of fate.
Whatever you try
oh, baby.
Didn't you know?
I will be Kodakman, and the Fifth and final Purple Dragon
until the day I die.
You say I can't be any kind of real man-woman. I say
oh, sayang.
Even the Kristang have finally learned how to fly.