The Immortality DietThe Ancients feast in The Veil of Ghosts. The usual bestiary of Immortals. Rolling up our sleeves. We swallow the centuries whole like raw oysters. Years spill from the corners of our mouths, glisten on our lips; the Cretaceous runs down my beard. I lick the stray days from my fingers.Time, for the next course. The Age of Man. The early days have an earthy flavor; unrefined, but oh so pi-quant´. Exotic meats on the bone; boiled roots in goats blood; unleavened bread and fish oil. We wash it all down with copious red wine. Claim it aids the digestion.After a brief nap, the spice of invention. We gorge ourselves on sweetmeat pies, peppered rice, yeasty ales. Grow fat and sleepy. But the dishes come faster now. Insistent. Yellowfin tuna sashimi. Curried sweet potato latkes. Carolina pulled-pork sandwiches. Death by chocolate. Indistinguishable. The entire menu of human experience in one single bite. Leftover history hash. I get a little 1975 on my jacket. Thatll leave a stain! We break for cigars.The moon hangs low in the heavens like a ripe peach in a rumor of stars. Forever. The sun never rises in The Veil of Ghosts; the sun never sets. There are no clocks, no calendars; no kings. No actuaries, no crook-backed gardeners. No grease-spattered fry-cooks. No carpenters. We dine on eternity, but we never taste the dawn. Never tip the waiters. Never toast the end of a simple, agreeable day, and head home.
