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More Wizardry

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on July 8, 2012| 1 Comment »

Part 2 of the fictional history written in last weeks entry. While last weeks, and this weeks “history” may or may not take liberties in the telling of the story, I would like to say that it is absolutely true that Steve Jobs, may he rest in peace, ate LSD for a time and is quoted as saying it was, “one of the two or three most important things [he had] done in [his] life.”

The Craft: Part II

Since nature, in her infinite wisdom, had placed the burden of children upon the gender of humanity known as “women,” it was here that the greatest power of humanity lay. And so, whence binding themselves to the nature of “eyes closed,” the worshipers of said principal began working immediately to stifle the power of woman-kind to stand in the way of darkness reapers’ desires to play with minds as though they were marionette puppets.

Once the confusion in primitive war was sewn through the spells cast by words of lies, the first illusions of showing women as otherwise than people was cast. These primitive spells made women to be cattle in the eyes of men, and the same weak minds that succumbed to the words of war began to regard their sisters, mothers, wives, and daughters accordingly.

When the initial confusion was sewn into the minds of the non-magic using men several millennia ago, the women wizards went into hiding knowing what society was becoming in relation to them. In those early days the women wizards were only known amongst the practicing wizardry of light as simply “wizards” because there was no need to designate them as “of light;” no woman in those days could be seduced by shadow magic, they were naturally much too strong and clear-minded. And then shadow-slaves worked to enslave what couldn’t be enslaved by enslaving that which could.

And so, together, men and women of the light sought to counter and dispell the evils being written upon the land. The young orphan boys and girls were taken in to be taught the secret ways of words of light in the times the darkness conjurors had sewn confusion into men’s minds and created society to regard women as cows. The young ones were taught the ways of wizardry to practice and pass on to their young. During this time it was often that the widows of the victims of war were approached to harness the fullness of their power’s potential.

Many of the older women recruited were past the age that it was easiest to teach the ways of words and how the foreign symbols wove together to cast spells for the benefit of those touched in eye or ear by them. These women were given the knowledge in place of words that they could retain; and so were created the educated ones in ways of nature’s gifts of flora and conscious life known as “midwives.”

In retaliation to the attempt to undo their spell, the darkness weavers used one of the religions under their direct control to sew the next most powerful spell casting of the-illusion-of-women-as-not-people since the spell they had cast so many centuries before making women look like cattle in the eyes of weak-minded men. This time they conjured a great spell known as the-opposite-of-the-truth-as-truth to dehumanize women in the thoughts of weak-minded people so that women would be regarded as a concoction of the non-existence thought up as a monster called “witch” that they attributed to a non-existent master that would have ruled over their own spells had such a weak fantasy ever existed in any measure in the real world. So it was these “servants of Devil” who had helped to bring life safely into the world for so long were hunted and tortured to death by the church truly in the clutches of the conception of Satan concocted by the slaves of the darkness.

Once again the women who cast of the light were driven to deepest secrecy. But, the intrinsic light in man rebelled even as their minds were enslaved. As the invention known as “vibrator” was thought into creation with the help of a non-magic using male who had not the mind to fathom the truth of words and wizardry, so was a powerful spell of light working its way into the medical science that the wielders of the blessed scepters had been casting into existence for as long as injury was to be treated. And so, as industrialized health was innovating a new therapy for the last remnants of the previous dehumanizing-spell penned as “hysteria,” an awakening toward the natural inclination to see women as people ushered in the transition from the industrial age to the modern one. As innovation and liberation were shaping the fabric of modern society, the wielders of dark words had difficulty casting any spell craftier than the basest wages of war, which they did become quite proficient at in time of newer innovations.

Since spreading the hysteria necessary for waging war was all the magic they could muster, if they could not control people, those of the dark ages did all they could to sew chaos upon the entirety of the world. Shortly after the first world war the darkness worshipers remembered ancient spells for causing divisions through the bargaining engine for trade people utilized regularly. They then used the economic hardships of the time to spurn further aggression and hatred wherever they could. It was not long before a second world war had been cast by praying upon a self-hating artist and using him against his people who had been left in pain after the previous war of the world. It was during this time that the darkness weavers learned a full mastery in spells of illusion to keep people blind and controllable to grimmest ends. Many bringers of light lost their lives in service to crafting words to suppress the pain contorted into the minds of so many by those who were worshipers of darkest dust.

Through all the wars sewn they had tried, failingly, to ever recapture the fullness of a spell to create the illusion of women otherwise than people. They held no success until shortly after the second great war when society had attempted to create artificial roles of men and women in order to bring order where so recently they had been disoriented and suffered by such great chaos. The artificial nature of society was the perfect climate in which to sew a new spell, but that opportunity was cut short when, in their haste to create a new war of magnitude they turned to new chemical mind-control spells, and they immediately proliferated a potion which worked so counter to their own aims that they facilitated the creation of the great library of light rather than cast the ignorance they needed to create a world in their control. What remained after the potion’s work had been done was the singular seed that would give rise to the third great spell innovated that women be perceived as otherwise than people. This latest spell, however had barely half the efficacy of the past put in place, and, ultimately served only to solidify and make permanent the interconnected knowledge woven together for the benefit of all minds by those whose words spoke light.

While the first spell reduced women to beasts of trade, and the slaves and instruments of demons in the second, this one created the illusion that women were nothing but toys to be consumed and discarded as the rest of the material bought and sold in the modern society. And so the great web of knowledge was bombarded with women selling themselves to distract men from creating usefulness for the rest of the society in which they lived, and that women be regarded not as people, but as only playthings to be discarded when they were found to be boring and not as interesting as the newest merely a thought and brief gesture away, just as easily as obtainable and worthy as the last.

And so it was in the modern age that the battle was waged over the creation of all knowledge between those who would bring light to show the world as it was, and those who would bend light into the shadows to distract the people to ripping themselves apart that they may enjoy themselves by the people sharing in the same suffering that they had chosen for themselves . . .

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Wizardry

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on July 1, 2012| 2 Comments »

This week the first part of a 2-parter. I had fun writing something with a little length and something almost resembling plot for a change. Consider this one toward the more conventional end of the experimental platform. And of course, may you enjoy.

The Craft

Part I

Writing, the conjuror’s art. Remote mind-control at it finest; the direction of ordered creation. The pen the wand; the wielder the practitioner of the art. Ultimately, the practice of directing the consciousness of another. Those who truly are skilled in their craft will direct the reader’s attention even after the physical words have been put aside. In this way wizards have waged war for millennia.

The burning of the Library of Alexandria more than 2000 years ago was the result of a particularly noxious spell written by Ed the Arch-Evil in the times when water canals were one of the greatest achievements of the wizards practicing the arts of illumination. Centuries later, the great wielders of the scepters of light realized their greatest accomplishment since that tragic fire after weaving together spells to keep such a calamity from ever again befalling the minds of men. After ages had passed, their great web of words strung together interconnected boxes of the force of lightning containing all spells ever cast. They were confident that the knowledge necessary and newly formed to create man-kind in the image of the sun would never again be lost.

The light wielders knew that trapped in the lightning boxes would be the spells of darkness next to and interconnected with the incantations of light, but, they trusted, just as they had as far as the recollection of their order could recall, that the darkness would always be illuminated by the light and thus disappear where light would remain through. The beauty was that the inter-connectivity of lightning boxes could be spread evenly across the globe, each a library of its own; millions of such libraries as far as feet could reach.

Through the destruction of the word and with incantations of fear the dark ones had attempted to suppress this new spell and the enchantment of harnessed electricity for ages. As the battles raged, however, the casters of the shadows could not stifle all the nations inspired by the knowledge sewn by the bearers of light. Those of light had become adept at inspiring beings to fight to protect joy, and they had become adept at moving quicker than the darkness to be able to continue cultivating their words and share with those also imbued with the knowledges of magic. Where one went, three would be inspired. And so, over time, their magics grew slowly and became ever-more powerful until the industrial ages were ushered in.

It was not difficult for the worshipers of dark words to turn the new tools toward the detriment of humanity, but they could only corrupt what was inherently helpful in nature, they could not truly turn it against itself. That which was created to help had no choice but to help even in the instances such contrivances were cursed to create a byproduct counteractive to the creations of the light. In this way, by degrees human progress developed slowed from its natural inclination, but moved steadily forward, even when at a crawl. Though the appearance of setbacks blinded wizards working for the light from time to time, these illusions were only ever confined to localized areas; these “setbacks” inspired the light bringers to work harder and innovate ever more-clever spells to keep them safe and their minds clear against the shadows that would confuse and inspire others to chase them toward a doom preventible only by innovation of the mind and the craft of the light of the word.

One of the most powerful spells of light was sewn accidentally by the shadow-wielders in the 1950s of the current common era. In an effort to better enslave the minds they had turned toward embracing destruction, they invested great time in monitoring those manipulating the basic elements which they identified to themselves as combinations of letters and thus, in principal, as words. As a particular chemist for a particular pharmaceutical company ingested his own potion, which in his simplicity he deemed no more than a “chemical compound,” those of the pure night took delight to see him appear made simple and malleable so long as the effects of the substance lasted. It was then that they wished as quickly as possible to obtain the potion for themselves that it might be used to deepen the mind control on those they manipulated to destructive means. In the process, they unwittingly unleashed a powerful potion that turned their subjects minds to truth, and thereby light in its purest form.

Initially the minds of the soldiers the drug influenced resembled a more pliable state and the experiment was thought to be a success. It didn’t take long, however, for this to be realized to be a false assessment.

Before having the chance to use one of the many spells developed during the last world war to cast illusion of the semblance of darkness over the words creating the new potion, several of the wizards of light working under the title of “psychiatrist” for the military created a loud spell casting a belief of research toward the words of the potion in question, and so new innovations in white magic were developed.

By the time the manipulators of shadows were able to cast a spell of suppression against the formula, the knowledge had already been disseminated, and more minds had been opened to the light than by any mass spell the light wielders could remember having ever cast in their recorded history.

So many minds had been opened to naturally, organically manifest light against those who cultivated the dark, without a spell being cast by those of light, that the environment was perfect to begin weaving together the web of knowledge they had striven to enchant for centuries.

Amongst the prodigious contributors of the great indestructible library was a man who had consumed of the potion himself, a man named “Jobs.” One of many to contribute the pieces necessary to construct the ever-enduring network of the house of ever-cultivated knowledge. And after about two and a half decades of accelerated building the wizards of light working tirelessly amongst the sector of individuals known as “scientists” finally brought to fruition the foundation upon which was laid the structure for the permanent housing of arcane knowledge, much to the chagrin of the servants of the shadows that had attempted to use said structure, to no end, strictly for organizations called by the title “defenders of the people.”

And so it was from the creations of the beings of darkness the infusion of arcane knowledge the light bringers had been working toward since the destruction of the great library so many years ago finally came to be. The solidification of their great spell came finally also as a result of one of the supposed great accomplishments of the slaves of shadows: the spells of illusion to see women otherwise than people.

(End Part I)

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On Waiting . . .

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on June 24, 2012| Leave a Comment »

This one has overtones of day-time professionalism and was the brain-child of a particularly pernicious daydream.

Checking Others Out

Always the same gray permeating the air. I look out the window at work, and there’s the fog. I wake up in the morning, and there is the fog. All day every day, the fog . . .

Actually, it’s not so much a fog that effects the mind. It’s not bland or boring or depressing, at least, not when I look at it. Usually it’s just there at the periphery of my sight; it accompanies me as I go about my day. I focus on customer after customer and, staring at me from the outside, it meets the corner of my eye and keeps me company as my mind wanders and as I go about my business. But when I look out toward it, what I really see is the light behind the mists. I see the light from the journey I haven’t taken yet. I see my customers’ heads in the light’s direction all day every day.

In point of fact, this day has been rather long as it is, and I really can’t recall another . . .

I remember waking up, the fog outside my window. Getting ready; slippers to bathroom, nakedness to the feel of the water warm and refreshing. There was no hurry, I had plenty of time to get to work; I washed and relaxed. Brushing teeth and eating eggs and bacon, toast and fruit. I walked to work; the light was bright through the fog and accompanied me to the door of the store; I almost turned from the sidewalk to see if there was pure light behind the curtain of mist, but I entered the store instead; I knew I needed to work, I needed to earn my way to what I was waiting for, there would be something terribly missing if I explored the place toward the light just now. I need to earn my way . . .

And so my day began. It has been a long day. Aside from beginning my day, the rest is all I can remember. It feels like I have been processing customers for forever. Every one I ask the same question of, “Have you found everything you wanted?” They almost always say, “Yes.” I tell them to have a good day, and after I hand them their receipt, they walk toward the door, toward the light beyond the fog. When they disappear behind the veil of vapor I almost always seem to see the light brighten but for a second before returning to the glow accompanying me through my day.

When they say “no” it is almost always with a frown. And then I ask the next question it is my job to ask, “Is there something we can help you find?” If they say, “I don’t know,” I then offer them a job and they begin performing some task in the store if they accept. If they decline a job I send them to the manager’s office. I have sent a dozen or so to the manager’s office, some after they refused work; I never see anyone come out of the manager’s office.

Sometimes they tell me that they are looking for their daughter or son or other person they cannot find. I call for a woman’s daughter over the intercom, and after several minutes have passed her daughter appears from one of the aisles. She embraces her with tears in her eyes and I ask, “Is there anything else we can help you find.” She shakes her head with tears of gratitude, “No.” And I hand her her receipt and tell her to have a nice day. After they head outside the light becomes brighter for a few seconds and I return to give full attention to my next customer. It always makes me smile when I see two people reunited. I do hope my shift ends soon.

Sometimes, when someone can’t find a person, I have to call in a constable to assist one of our customers. They usually come in twos, and they usually walk with the customer toward the front entrance. Rarely there is a flash of light when this happens. Every now and then I see one of them return and take a place at a check-stand, but I never speak to them again at that point and I don’t think to speak to any of them thereafter; I have customers to focus on.

Sometimes people speak of misplacing vast sums of money, or misplacing their car keys. The constabulary is contacted in these instances, and the people are often walked outside, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen the light grow brighter any of the times I’ve seen that happen; it is rare I see that happen though. I’m grateful that when I’m done with my shift everything I could need is waiting for me at home; people seem so upset when they misplace something.

Some people complain of hunger and then wander off back into the store. There is always plenty of food here, no one ever asks me to help them find a particular food, they seem content to wander back into the rows of shelves in search of what they want themselves. After watching a customer or two wander back into the store I think about if there is anything I should buy for home, but I recall my shelves well stalked. I feel like there is something I am here for myself, but it is my duty to focus on my work so I return to giving full focus to the next customer; if there is something I am missing, I am certain it will come to me before I leave and I will get what I need before leaving.

Some tell me they are thirsty, and I point them toward the water fountain. They walk there, take a drink, then smile and wave at me before they walk to where the light brightens when my customers leave.

Some ask to use the restroom, and them pass once more through my check-stand once returning. It is my job to make sure I address everyone’s issues and concerns. Every customer’s need is responded to. If they require something that I do not know, I simply ask my manager or call upon the constabulary.

Once I saw a man caught for trying to steal from our store. As the constable brought him into the office, the assistant manager just kept asking him what reason he could have for doing such a thing. The man was repeatedly shaking his head while looking down through closed eyes and a clenched mouth. No one here has ever been denied, I do not know why he would have tried to steal when we always seem eager to give to the customers what they want; it is the customer service our company is built on, we never say no.

I know I have a break coming soon, yet I don’t feel like taking it. I wish to keep working, it pleases me to make my customers happy, and I feel that I am working for something; that the more I work, the closer I get to what I am working for. I just can’t remember what it is I am here earning for myself, but the job is pleasant enough, and I am grateful enough that I am closer to earning my way to what I am here for.

.    .    .

How much time I have spent here, I do not know, though I don’t think it can have been longer than a day; I don’t recall going home to return. I look up to my next customer and it is hard for me to ask what it is my job to ask. Recognition seeps into my brain from the distance of a lifetime called from across eternity although I know I know her at once. As the last word leaves my lips I feel the tears well to the corners of my eyes. She responds, “I didn’t at first, but I have now.” I shake from my tears as I reach her receipt out to her. As she touches my hand and our eyes do not part I know I have come to the end of a very long day; I no longer can not remember what I have come here to work for.

She does not let go my hand as she walks me passed my register and into her arms. She pulls me close and tight, whispers into my ear that it is ok now; it was ok when first my eyes recognized without recognition. I rest my head upon her shoulder as we walk out the door hand-in-hand; our receipt is shared for whatever it is worth. The world is brighter as we enter into and past the mists. I don’t remember who we were before we arrived here, only that I waited for her for I could not imagine going on without her. It is so very bright, so very, very bright. It is so very bright, and so very warm . . .

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What The?

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on June 17, 2012| 3 Comments »

Free-flow thought. Almost like a waking dream really . . .

Beyond Expectations

Leslie sat expecting something.

The walls flew off the room and she was surrounded by dark clouds thundering, rushing toward and over her head from a pitch black inking into the sky. A bolt of lightning flew inches in front of her face and she gripped the cushion of the chair on which she sat.

Lightning behind her crackling the air as though ever-present invisible molecules were a sheet of foil being crunched together in front of ten-thousand megaphones. Down came lightning lighting the darkness that surrounded the clouds overhead, and then, a ray of light penetrated through it all down to precisely one foot in front of her.

A cylinder of light eight inches in diameter cutting through darkness and past lightning. The color of the ray was blue, the color of sapphire that oscillated in hue from deep and soul-full to the lightness of the sky at noon. The shades changed brightness in five-minute intervals as the lightning continued crackling the sky in ever-bright all-dazzling darkness. A particle descended down the center of the ray of light.

When it had descended to Leslie’s eye level it ceased its descent. As it grew slightly in size it could be discerned to be spinning rapidly. As it continued to grow, it revealed enough detail to be blurry. A tinted blue spinning, growing for several minutes before slowing. The form was a pelican, light-blue in the light of the beam and white outside it where its wings could not be contained, then, flying out from the ray the moment its spinning stopped; it navigated flashes through darkness. Others of its kind began swooping down from clouds to join it as without formation a thousand pelicans swooped passed and around flashes of light tearing through the darkness.

A single fish fell directly into the open mouth of a large bird flying around an imposing flash of light. No bird changed trajectory or rotated so much as an eyeball a fraction of a degree as the slightest food fed but one of the multitudes of like-minded fliers; no competition was had as tasty treat descended to feed just one amongst the many.

Amidst bird and light a flame descended, as though the intention of an invisible candle without wick, down the center of the blue ray of light. The flame fell deep purple by degrees until it showed itself bright red in the shard of light repositioned from out the clear sky of another time and place. Birds and branched electricity and a red flame levitating in a sky-blue cylinder of light danced in her eyes as she sat spell-bound by the burning flicker lighting further the darkness which otherwise would claim itself a natural state.

Just as the transition again began toward purple, the flame leapt outward in all directions, breaking itself into eight, and surrounding Leslie in a ring two yards from her in every direction. In the flash of another bolt of lightning, the flames in the ring again divided outward times eight and continued to divide with every subsequent bolt.

Finally, a wing appeared where the flame had been but a moment before; it did not lower, but fluttered in the middle of the ray before her eyes nonetheless. A hand grew itself from the wing followed by an arm. The hand reached itself toward where Leslie sat; it seemed to be introducing itself to her. The hand was blue until leaving the ray where the wing to which it was attached still fluttered deeply as though made of the color of the jewel. Leslie reached her hand toward the other. For just a moment she felt her own heart beat purple before finding herself in her house surrounded by a warm summer day outside her windows.

She wondered why it was that she no longer sat upon a chair, but found herself cross-legged on the carpet.

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Another Reflection

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on June 10, 2012| Leave a Comment »

The Monster That Comes From The Mirror

It is made of what the mirror is made of, it is not to myself I refer. It is not to myself that I refer, but it speaks with my voice. It speaks with my voice, and it shows me what I do, but it is not me.

As I stare into the mirror the monster pushes toward me my face out from the mirror. First the face begins to push out and then the rest of the mirror around it forms into a creature like a dog. Its body shows the same colors as my clothing; my neck extends into its, unless I am naked, then it is all flesh-toned. And its teeth, I suppose his teeth, curve sharply outward to contort my own mouth. It speaks what I speak with evil intent. It tells tales of an ugliness I am that I am not. The monster in the mirror wishes to make me see myself as ugly, but it reflects only itself after creating its face of the light it has received from me.

It spits and mocks. It misconstrues and misrepresents. It has no ears to hear, nor eyes to see; it returns only a coating approximating me surrounding what is inside of it: nothingness. It speaks my face as though evil, but speaks only from its own tongue: what it doesn’t have inside. It doesn’t mean to accuse me of myself with hatred, it merely communicates its own nature with the words it has learned from me. That coating which would try to be more warns me to remember I am to cultivate something passed my smile, my hair. That monster is not me because there is something more than the pearl-shine of my teeth, or my tears of confusion, or the thickness of my brow. What is it in me that can respond to it with kindness?

Is this the only mirror from which a monster creates itself? Have all mirrors such potential?

I turn my back to the distortion of myself speaking to me from nothingness. It becomes louder taunting me to punch it silent; I remember the feel of pulling shards from my hand the last time I was hurt by its derision still. I remember looking at myself in tiny pieces tinted red here and there as I winced to clean the mess I made and make myself whole again. I remember healing and how hard it was to hold my hand back as the new mirror animated just as the old. But the pain behind the bandage fortified my will not to lash out toward the nothingness sneering at me a second time.

I turn my back to the mask of me covering perfect hollowness and speaking the same; as it becomes louder I become more silent. I feel almost sorry for it for it seems to want to exist, but then I remember that there is nothing there to exist, and I begin to walk away.

I will return to the mirror to see quickly what will help my visage better express what otherwise cannot be conveyed from the heart of I am. And when the monster emerges and the nothingness begins to speak, I will walk away again; it is then that I already should have adjusted in a useful way, to linger longer would just be in vain.

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Congratulations Are In Order!

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on June 3, 2012| Leave a Comment »

As I am wont to do, I present a tale of sorts in free-thought format. As I was considering this time of people graduating, this was the flow of thought that came through as I turned my attention toward the tapping of short fiction . . .

Just . . .

Throwing his hat up in the air as he rose from his chair . . . Then stared blankly into the desert as he saw a hawk fly low above his head and off into the distance. From the rock on which he had given himself a moment’s rest, he began to walk away from the sun, hoping that there would be water soon to quench the dryness in his throat. Oh how he wanted to scream at the heat, his only companion, but kept his mouth shut firmly lest he let out of himself an atom of moisture more than necessary for breathing as he continued his journey through the surrounding desolation step, by, step.

It was her face in his mind that he drank as he discerned no pleasing mirage 10 miles in any direction. He walked in the direction from which he could remember coming, where he supposed the closest semblance to him not dying might be. As his name was called he heard clapping all around as he nervously walked up to receive what his years of work had earned him. He took the document in one hand while looking into the eyes of the woman whom was connected to the hand he was shaking with his other. This final test was of his coordination while feeling the gaze of thousands of eyes upon him, congratulating him. He had arrived!

It was only a large rock he had arrived at, but it was a milestone. He now could go on to create his life by his own desire and determination; he could mold himself into what he wanted to be. Drinking a cold glass of water dripping with the condensation of the warm air vapors coalescing upon the glass held to his forehead; in this glass her eyes watch him and he takes another step forward hoping for the coolness of the drink in his mind. Holding the document in his hand, he steps away from the woman who has handed it to him. A lizard scurries underfoot as a drop of sweat falls from his back and dissolves before hitting the ground.

He walks on in the direction he most believes will await him those foods he wishes most to consume. And as he takes his next step, he falls; his head hits a pillow soft as feathers, he feels a soft hand caress his cheek before he loses consciousness. When he awakens he sees her smiling his existences light upon him. What came before this moment of awakening his doesn’t care to remember; he has found himself sated upon all that matters, he won’t vex himself further by asking more.

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Egge

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on May 27, 2012| Leave a Comment »

A friend of mine has expressed interest in my “dark side” from time to time. I started writing a piece as a meditation on such a thing which I intend on finishing in the not-too-distant future. In the meantime, this story idea came to me and I think it may satisfy his curiosity for the moment. It actually started as a hopeful, rather “bright side” consideration as to the idea that perhaps those things one is predisposed to viewing at a glance as evil really is the meaning of our existence. At any rate may y’all enjoy!

In The Beginning . . .

That’s the thing about humanity . . . it’s very hard for them to notice their size in relation to the rest of the cosmos. They discern that it is much larger surely enough, but they tend to lack a full appreciation for their own diminutiveness. Though they’ve existed on their “rock” for over 40,000 years, they have trouble conceiving much passed 10,000, and while they have evolved naturally over the trifling millions of years they can conceive, it’s laughable that they’ve never stopped to consider that the sole reason for their fleeting existence upon their “world” is to serve the incubation of what they live upon for the short, universally speaking, time that they do. But, though they can’t even conceive the service they perform to their “home,” the egg they cultivate is nonetheless grateful for the small and short-lived role its inhabitant bacteria play in seeing that it develops into something more than the single-celled being of the beginning stages of life that it exists as before becoming more, like so many human zygotes.

They are aware of their impending doom subconsciously, of course. They are linked psychically together so that they can communally perform the task for which they solely exist; they are all linked psychically to the egg itself, and thus directed to their task’s completion. It is their link to the egg that makes their unified subconsciousness aware of their impending demise; it is what ultimately will facilitate the final fertilization and subsequent multiplying of the cell for which they serve.

Some are aware of their subconscious mind, others not, and this is the catalyst . . . For those aware, watching those facilitating their own destruction serves as a consistent and ever-growing frustration. Of course, some are super-aware and able to meditate on reintegrating with the universe that created them; they have found inner peace. But those who see the others as destroying them unnecessarily, their frustration rises until boiling into anger; slowly and by degrees they begin the fight with those who serve completely blindly to destroy themselves in service of the egg. The more animosity created, the greater the psychic friction, and therefore heat produced to facilitate the next stage in the development of the zygote.

They only feel strongly, know implicitly, that the mining of oil and exciting of radiation to power their famous luminary inventions is somehow harmful to them as a whole; but as they notice so very slowly the cancers forming in them from the mining of these “resources” they never perceive in fullness that not only is oil and plutoniums and uraniums inevitably going to accelerate the rate of death to them by ways of cancers , but in fact they will quickly bring about the destruction of them all as the egg itself is fertilized by means of their self-inflicted poisoning. While they raise anger about “greed” they never notice that it is their anger itself that facilitates finally the full realization of the inevitable that they’d try to stop if they were more than the mucus temporarily incubating what is about to grow into a form of being so much greater than they could ever know; they could almost appreciate that they lived upon a fertilized egg, but the being it is to become they could never fathom.

And so, finally, as with all such organisms, the “accident” will finally come about. They will drill only more as the spills kill their food supply and fill their cells with the slow, painful death. And when the rage over the destruction rises enough the saboteurs will come to “save the planet.” And as bombs create ever-greater spills at refineries where containment is accordingly compromised, one country will fire their nuclear missile at another to distract the people from the toxins being mined and the retaliations resulting. And it is then their short lives finally come to fruition.

The bomb will hit near one of the many rigs and the oil will be ignited by the radiation as it should be. The “Earth” will be so filled with crude that easily a chain reaction will be set into motion in which the radiation will sweep over the oil as a flame over lighter fluid. And where other radioactive material exists, the extra heats and frictions will ignite it into union with the open wells, oil-filled oceans, and every oil-driven contraption upon the world.

As they perish over no more than a two week period of chain reactions between the materials they’d always know were purely toxic to them, the bacterium will never know that the sole purpose of their existence was to bring forth the fluids of the zygote, and mix them into the form of heat necessary to protect it and attract to it the other nourishments it needs from what they perceive of the “cosmos” so that it can multiply itself and form into the full being it will inevitably become. A short trillion years later, a being of genuine consciousness will emerge fully from the inescapable nature of the beings of fertilization that cultivated it when it was but an egg.

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Road to Where . . .

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on May 20, 2012| 2 Comments »

Lately, it seems, life has been focused on journeys and going to concerts. Often life lately has been about journeys to concerts. I’m sure this has been influencing my writing accordingly . . .

The Poet’s Favorite Word

Going where I’ve heard the scent lingers from a rose the color of the sun’s light. They say when you enter the same room with it, you smell it in your soul. The rhythm flows through your blood, and you dance to the voice that commanded each and every star by name. They say that if you look upon her, the pain you suffer in life is joyous for it allows you to know that she exists.

Her thorn is known to kill, but her flower caresses your cheek without the asking if she likes you. It is said that in the town she resides, peace enters the heart; that in the town beside, people dance to her breath. Her music is known far and wide. Where she blooms, the universe knows why it exists.

When I arrive where I am going I pray only to feel I am passing those who have been in the same room as her; perhaps experience their presence in the same several-block radius. Should I find myself drawn to her without my own thought directing, it is her smile that will shine from my lips forever.

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Happy Mother’s Day!

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on May 13, 2012| 2 Comments »

The day of this posting being the day for it, I wanted to meditate on Motherhood for a moment. Consider this a sort of Mother’s Day card for all mother’s who may be coming across it, and for those who would reflect upon “mother” as a concept involving the growth of ourselves and the nurturing accordingly.

Big Momma

They call Her “Mother Earth.” They say that beneath our feet, deep down under, lies “Hell.” But, if the Earth is our Mother, then below our feet, could that be Her womb over which we conduct our business daily? In the center of this mass of mass, where pressure is high and friction between forces raises a heat to a temperature where perhaps souls can be formed, might She issue sparks of life to rise to Her anthropomorphic selves who give birth to Her creation through the lives of men and women? Is the womb of every woman where She gives birth to what grows in Her womb?

Every woman giving birth to the life of our Great Mother; all connected to know the beginning stage of the essence of existence as we are capable of perceiving it. We begin, perhaps, manufactured by the grace of existence from the greatest pressure our tiny home can manifest. Grow a body within a body that has sought the presence of the essence of life continuing ever existant for its own sake. Grow outside our planet, outside the bodies from which we were conceived. Perhaps seek out essence of the essence of which we all are, ourselves, that continuance may be manifest. Then, die, and be released perhaps beyond this cosmic body to a cosmic body more souler in nature. A realization of infinite nature from conception to conception; from creation of whole to part to part of whole to full realization of whole.

The friction within the womb of our common Mother who was sprung from the flesh of suns and bodies besides. The friction between holders of essence creating life within our human mothers, common in nature. The pain of our vehicular existence, the capacity of awareness through natural limitation through which we can seek the limitless of understanding the true nature of existence; the friction of living our lives.

To meditate upon the word “mother” is to meditate on life. It is to meditate on the pain given willingly that we may live. What is a mother? A mother is a source of life who would willingly suffer that we may live. A mother is the place from which we all come. A mother is why life can be!

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Only The Penitent . . .

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on May 5, 2012| Leave a Comment »

I wanted this to be serious, but immediately upon writing it this line came to me, so, an outtake from this story: Trial by flurry.

Without Shame

I stand here amidst the wind howling my name in denouncement of my life in entirety. Who is it to judge? It is that by which voice may be heard, and thus, the final say.

Caused though by heat, cold upon my face as molecules of matter I can otherwise walk through lash at my face in their tongue declaring my crimes for all to see. I stand and face my accuser, defended only by what my crimes have enabled me to make of myself, and what I made from what I was able. I stand as a version of my crimes, what the truth of repentance tells me to be.

I hear it call my name; denouncing my existence by asking why it should continue; listing the worst of the results of my forms actions; a voice of chill pulling at me from every direction as I give the only answer available to me in response to the accusation of what I was, “I AM!”

“I AM!” I speak my name loudly that my accuser may hear me clear despite its own voice comprised of that which I walk through as I take a step forward toward judgement. I declare loudly what my crimes have created as I raise my hand to solemnly swear the truth of my testimony.

As the wind grows still I take my final step toward judgement. It has heard my defense. I know the jury, in whose hands the verdict is held, well. When this step is completed I will stand to know my fate as spoken by the truth of my words; it is the echo that will declare my guilt or innocence.

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