Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Angels of Eden, Essays on God, Free Online Novel, Love, non-religious beliefs, Short stories, Surrealistic fiction, Transcend self ego, Transmutation of energy, Tygarjas Twyrls Bigstyck on December 7, 2014| Leave a Comment »
While the Angels are still being written, I thought a contents page would be helpful:
1) Essays on a Version of God that isn’t religion-dependent . . .
2) A year of short stories . . .
3) The Beginning of the Chronicles of the Angels of Eden . . .
May you enjoy!
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged experimental fiction, Light of the word, light vs. darkness, Love, short historical fiction, Short stories, short story, Transmutation of energy, Tygarjas Twyrls Bigstyck, writing on July 14, 2012| Leave a Comment »
Hi all! I’ll be walking Relay for Life this weekend, and, as is such my new story won’t go up until next Sunday. Hope y’all have a good week, and, if you haven’t checked it out yet I hope you take a look at the two-parter I posted most recently Wizardry part 1, and Wizardry part 2. Or for that matter please peruse older entries. In the meantime enjoy the walking-related music below.
TTFN!
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged historical fiction, Light of the word, light vs. darkness, short historical fiction, Short stories, the word creates, Transmutation of energy, Tygarjas Twyrls Bigstyck, Wizards, writing 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)
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged experimental fiction, graduation journey into life, Love, Short stories, Thirst the desert, Transmutation of energy, Tygarjas Twyrls Bigstyck, wandering in the desert for love, wandering not all who wander are lost, writing 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.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged God, Love, oil industry koch brothers citizens for the american way, pessimism, Short stories, Sierra club alberta keystone xl pipeline Texas, Transcend self ego, Transmutation of energy, Tygarjas Twyrls Bigstyck, writing 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.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Creation of Life existence and love, Love, Mother Nature, Mother's Day, Short stories, Transcend self ego, Transmutation of energy, Tygarjas Twyrls Bigstyck, universal question, writing 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!
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Commitment, echo as metaphor, judge jury executioner, Justice is blind, repentence remorse and changing one's ways, Short stories, Transcend self ego, Transmutation of energy, Tygarjas Twyrls Bigstyck, writing 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.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Heaven, Love, praying to god, Short stories, Sunset, Transcend self ego, Transmutation of energy, Tygarjas Twyrls Bigstyck, Walking on water, writing on April 22, 2012| Leave a Comment »
I was in a bar dancing, and on the wall was a lovely picture of a sunset in which the light from the sun created a reflection on the ocean that looked like a bridge to eternity. The concept for this next story began thus.
I’ll be out of town next week. New story should be up on the 7th or so of May. Enjoy!
Forward
As I sat listening to the waves on the beach, staring at the rolling of the waves, experiencing my own breath in rhythm with the rest of life pulsing around me, I of course was thinking only of her. She was there before I could breathe, but it was when I looked at her, finally, that I could. And as I inhaled, and the waves rolled in, and I considered myself in unison with the rest of what created life, I thus considered that the thought of her created my ability to live; created a reason for me to harmonize with the song that was always playing.
Discordance was myself in relation to the rest before I realized I could modulate to coincide; I hated the distortion I created too much to notice that it was I creating it, and that if I concentrated even slightly, I could likewise attune as naturally I found myself dissident.
And now was the call of gulls, the in and out of the waves, the breath of the wind feeding the breath in my chest, which I sat silently observing as it served to paint the picture of her face in the place in me where life felt most complete. And as I opened my eyes the sun was descending, soon to be set. The rays touched water, and the closer down it came the longer the strip of light on the water from horizon ever-closer to where wave met sand.
Still above the water, the sun did reflect finally to the farthest bit of water in front of which I held my feet as the edge of the end of the wave reached out as far as it could to touch me. As a light-reflecting edge came millimeters away from my toes, I stepped forward to feel the cool of Mother Ocean, and, to my surprise, did not sink the fraction of a centimeter below the sea and into the sand, but stood upon the spot where light reflected on water. As wave rolled out I almost lost my balance as I was carried back toward the ocean on top of the tide across the sands below. And likewise I was rolled back out as the next waves broke forward. So, I took a step upon the light on the water.
Not knowing what else to do, I ran forward on the light, I could not believe it! Several feet into the ocean, upon the tops of the waves, I looked around. I squatted and felt the water beside me where light did not reflect as vividly and my hand passed into the water. Rising again I dipped there my toe into the water, then back onto the light. Looking out before me, I saw a strip of luminescence directly ahead leading on into the ocean, and seemingly straight toward the sun. I ran forward with joy in my heart.
A friend once told me he saw a rose in place of the sun during a sunset in which he began his sojourn away from his own objection to his life. Running forward, I thought I saw something similar as I ran somewhere as a natural continuation to a journey once begun from the air I found easily in my lungs where once it had not been before. After much running upon the light toward the object that sustained all life from itself unrepentantly, I decided to take my time and stroll upon the path laid before me. I did not know where this path would lead, I did not know how long I would be upon it. What I did know was how happy I was to move toward the light in a way apparently not offered often, and that I was blessed enough to experience such a thing for myself.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Commitment, Love, Next to nothing, Nothing at all, Short stories, Transcend self ego, Transmutation of energy, Tygarjas Twyrls Bigstyck, universal question, writing on April 15, 2012| Leave a Comment »
As I was pondering what I wanted to write, it occured to me that I simply didn’t have the time to invest in the fullness of a thought if I wanted to sleep. So, here is a meditation in accordance . . .
A Short Story
Picking up his pen he considered his own imagination and the stories he wanted to tell. He reflected briefly on her smile, of course, that which motivated the breath in his lungs, let alone the lifting of his pen. Then he considered his idea for tales at the moment; entering a picture into eternity, a surrealistic rendition of illness, the beats of the drums he listened to in the background, the internal struggle between that which he found himself of and that which he wanted to be . . .
He decided on a prosaic poem that blurred the lines between that which would be created, that which might be created, all that had come before to create the possibilities, and the form itself the indecision in his mind took; he decided that a practice of any kind was superior to the atrophy of the possibility of what might be, even if nothing in particular was created as a result. Whether anyone would read he did not know, but decided that if he didn’t tell that story of his self, there may come a time when he would never give the opportunity for anymore to be read. He decided that in the moment of creating his self, in that moment others’ perceptions didn’t matter so much then as they would later, that if he were to give them a chance then, he must work as ever he could now.
So, he let his mind flow to the page free of the constraints of coherent story, and the energy needed to bind together a tale accordingly. He let his mind work unbound with his hands that his heart may have the opportunities to bind specificity to the minds of others in future tense. He breathed and thought of his breath, and its meaning; he thought that by his breath he’d rather make any effort toward what he’d have the energy to accomplish before long than waste the breath he was given by the grace of her recollection alone. He was grateful to type up next to nothing for his own sake, and perhaps the sake of anyone else even if by happenstance, than nothing at all.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dialogue, Hitchhiker's Guide 42, Life The Universe And Everything, Love, Short stories, The Meaning of Life, Transcend self ego, Transmutation of energy, Tygarjas Twyrls Bigstyck, writing on April 7, 2012| Leave a Comment »
As the title suggests, this week, a quick dialogue about meaning in existence. Enjoy!
42
“Whatcha lookin’ for?”
“The meaning of life.”
“Oh, that’s easy, it’s 42.”
“Yeah sure; it’s easy if you know the question.”
“You mean what’s nine times six?”
“Look, I’m serious.”
“So am I; you haven’t found any meaning in your life?”
“What, personal meaning? That’s kind of vague isn’t it? I mean, what does that have to do with why I exist?”
“It doesn’t. It has to do with whether or not your life has meaning . . .”
Hi! I'm Tygarjas Twyrls Bigstyck. Currently the home of the long work in-progress "The Chronicles of the Angels of Eden." Prior to this, I wrote about a conception of divinity that might be helpful for those willing to think outside of organized religion, and subsequently a place for me to flex my creative muscles as I devoted a year of blogging to short fiction. Enjoy!
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