Off the coast of the lower Dneiper River, 1648...
The smoke swirled low, crushing ash into the narrow cavity of breathable air that clung to the riverbed. Headless corpses and blood muddied the water's shallow into a slush of carnage, luring a legion of carrion birds to dim the midday sun. Fire lept skyward from the smouldering ruin of blackened wagons to escape the horror of the earth, and a ring of pikes circled the surf capped with the gored ivory of skinless skulls...
The squat, rust skinned men moved from the crimson steppe, dragging a hooded, weathered captive. With a jesters glee, they pulled off the hood, revealing the nightmare landscape. As the captive gasped in horror, a long blade slid silently along the front of his neck. To stay his collapse, the men held his flaxen hair taught, stretching the fissure in his throat, widening the gout of scarlet that painted the virgin white of his tunic. From behind, he was lifted by the curvature of short blade sneaking between his lower ribs, halving his lungs before finding home in his swift beating heart. At long last, a hatchet fell between his neck and right collarbone, cleaving down toward his middle sternum. As he exploded upon the the frightened ground, his vision of hades faded into the snow white of passing...
From the crowd of Zaporozhians emerged a tall, sinewy wraith tatooed cap-a-pe with thorns and brambles. His pale blue eyes were as stars against the shadow he cast in every direction. From his sheath he pulled a cleavers blade and gently held it sideways in the blood that raged from the suspended corpse. Peacefully, he raised the crude instrument to his pursed lips and blew softly, caking coagulate in volcanic patterns up and down the cutting edge. Without changing the blade's proximity to his face, he wandered slowly forth with closed eyes into the draw of the river. In one crescent sweep, he swung his weapon through the sullied water, and up over his head, opening his eyes to the mirage created in the mix on his implement...
To his astonishment, he saw the face of the man his cohort had just butchered, along with a host of other mixed folk, staring intently at a woman with some kind of anglo-saxon accent in brown attire. Flat, white walls surrounded them, with one particular section covered in some form of script. Reading their lips, he noticed they insisted upon substituting the sound "and" for "but", and seemed encouraged to speak vaguely so as to avoid any proper conclusion from any exchange. This was leadership? Outside, the outline of buildings that existed nowhere currently lined the sky, and the windows vibrated with the pulsing noise of machines not powered by men. This man seemed happily amused with the whole scene, learning something of what powers drive the human mind!
With the frustration of a tantruming waif, he spun his gaze back toward the beautiful slaughter of the shore.
Zounds!! How could this be!! We have just spillt the blood of a village, and made such incision in this man that his soul watered the earth!! Yet he sits, alive in a time distant, mocking the terrible power of our uprising!!
He returned his glance upward to his blade. His quarry was now in a bizarre dark room, lined with iron bars fitted with circular discs, and filled with men that moved far to daintily for their bulk. Elevated on multicolored platforms, oddly clothed folk with multicolored hair did half committal dances. This Germanic bastard was clearly not pleased with his surroundings in this episode, which brought great delight to the gaunt Zaporozhian. For him to walk so happily, even in a mirage, moments after he had been so gloriously filleted? Not acceptable.
Once again, his glance returned. Only this time, it was met directly by the stare of his once vanquished foe. For the moment, they locked eyes, and knew each other's mind.
Until we meet again...
Monday, April 30, 2007
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Stay Your Thanks Awhile, And Pay Them When You Part...
Artemis charged and reared intently in the reeling starscape. Her great white steed pounded out thunderous hoof beats in the far blue ether as she poured nightshine over Austin with the silver throb of her wild hunters gaze. Relentlessly she twirled and dashed, arms lifted above her ebony hair in savage homage to the sinful passing of another sacred night. Soon, she would pass governance over this half of the world to her brother and his garish blaze. How this passing ravaged her heart, and how her dance exploded with the madness of grief.
"Debouched fool!! Lounging lazily in his glorious throne with that pathetic harum of harpies paying lipservice to the notion of his greatness!! HA!! How I love to scatter them with the fury of my approach!!"
All at once, she stayed her frenzy, halting suddenly with the onset of heartwarmth and nurturing concern. Below her, one of her children raced in a steel carriage toward the uttermost west. At once she knew his mind, as it was close to hers, and subject to the same whims.
There was melancholy, distilled potently into the lining of his spine and tickling his nerves with numbing sorrow. There was reflection, confused and alive, massaging the workings of his mind and confounding him with a decided lack of answers. There was hope, spirited and free, tiptoeing and spinning lightly along his heartstrings. But most of all there was thanksgiving, welled in the depths of his stomach, nourishing every fiber of his being.
His time in Austin was well spent, she reflected, feeling somewhat guilty over the tortures she outsourced from Apollo, fully aware that she couldn't very well punish the presence of herself in others. He has learned much here, and inches all the while closer to full knowledge of his own small place in the tides of time...
"Apollo, may you light his way safely home," she whispered to the far golden glow gathering in the east.
With that, she spurred her steed forth in a great and terrible leap, moving from her stillness with suddenness of a lightning bolt. Artemis charged laughing into the eastern sunrise, elated at the prospect of terrifying those silly fire sprites..
"Debouched fool!! Lounging lazily in his glorious throne with that pathetic harum of harpies paying lipservice to the notion of his greatness!! HA!! How I love to scatter them with the fury of my approach!!"
All at once, she stayed her frenzy, halting suddenly with the onset of heartwarmth and nurturing concern. Below her, one of her children raced in a steel carriage toward the uttermost west. At once she knew his mind, as it was close to hers, and subject to the same whims.
There was melancholy, distilled potently into the lining of his spine and tickling his nerves with numbing sorrow. There was reflection, confused and alive, massaging the workings of his mind and confounding him with a decided lack of answers. There was hope, spirited and free, tiptoeing and spinning lightly along his heartstrings. But most of all there was thanksgiving, welled in the depths of his stomach, nourishing every fiber of his being.
His time in Austin was well spent, she reflected, feeling somewhat guilty over the tortures she outsourced from Apollo, fully aware that she couldn't very well punish the presence of herself in others. He has learned much here, and inches all the while closer to full knowledge of his own small place in the tides of time...
"Apollo, may you light his way safely home," she whispered to the far golden glow gathering in the east.
With that, she spurred her steed forth in a great and terrible leap, moving from her stillness with suddenness of a lightning bolt. Artemis charged laughing into the eastern sunrise, elated at the prospect of terrifying those silly fire sprites..
Saturday, April 28, 2007
"Sick Almost To Doomsday With Eclipse"
Apollo reclined peacefully into the soft inferno of his burning throne. His morning had been quite wonderful, as he was particularly vigorous in ravaging his fire sprites. Dangling from his golden hand sparkled a silvery scroll, sealed with the sign of Artemis. His lordship over the western half of earth had lasted a good seven hours already, so to receive notice from his sister at such an hour struck him as quite odd. Why would she interrupt her hunt? With a troubled brow, he gently broke the seal, and watched the luminous scroll unfurl before him.
"Brother, I interrupt my hunt to humbly beg your assistance in a matter of profound importance. One of my children has lost his way, and forgotten that he is of flesh composed. Under me, his discipline wavers, and the night has no means to stay his furies. You are strong over that part of the world, and as I know the mind of my son, he is not hiding from your eye. Please use your influence to subtly remind him that though he is one of my children, he is not of my matter. He is of the earth. I thank you, and offer you this bow as a sign of my gratitude."
At that moment, a great recurve bow materialized in his left palm, blue as midnight and strung with moonlight. The firey blaze about him retreated for a moment at the blinding white majesty of so kingly a gift.
Though his post romp state did not predispose him toward taking part in disciplinary action on behalf of his sister, he really liked the fucking bow. He continued reading.
"The arrogance of my son will manifest itself in the training he undertakes during your hours. His actions during mine do not prepare him for such ventures, but he has grown bold, and will act out of accordance with the natural state of man. In the course of his blasphemy, make him know your eye. I am eternally grateful."
Apollo smiled, and leaned over the left arm of his throne to gaze upon the doings of the world. He spied a young man, confidently charging up the stairs in front of what appeared to be a great tower. With his fingertip, he traced a path for the young man to follow, dividing the clouds and opening up the earth to the fires of his gaze. Along this path, the young man he watched with distinct intent, as he lumbered at a slackening pace, feeling the infernal glare of a well tended deity. "You will know your flesh," Apollo chuckled, as the young man clutched his sides with agony. Occasionally the young man steeled himself and plowed forth with renewed resolve, but these episodes became shorter and shorter, as Apollo quickly corrected them. After some time, the young man finally returned to his dwelling, limping, gasping, cramping, and coughing.
Upon observing the conclusion of this disciplinary action, Apollo leaned back into his throne satisfied with himself for so easily disrupting the hubris of this foolish boy. His fire sprites danced gingerly out in the distance, throwing their impassioned gaze towards his. He withdrew a sunbolt from the quiver resting on the left arm of his throne, and in summons, fired it skyward from the gleaming brilliance of his newly acquired gift. He, after all, required no such rest.
"Brother, I interrupt my hunt to humbly beg your assistance in a matter of profound importance. One of my children has lost his way, and forgotten that he is of flesh composed. Under me, his discipline wavers, and the night has no means to stay his furies. You are strong over that part of the world, and as I know the mind of my son, he is not hiding from your eye. Please use your influence to subtly remind him that though he is one of my children, he is not of my matter. He is of the earth. I thank you, and offer you this bow as a sign of my gratitude."
At that moment, a great recurve bow materialized in his left palm, blue as midnight and strung with moonlight. The firey blaze about him retreated for a moment at the blinding white majesty of so kingly a gift.
Though his post romp state did not predispose him toward taking part in disciplinary action on behalf of his sister, he really liked the fucking bow. He continued reading.
"The arrogance of my son will manifest itself in the training he undertakes during your hours. His actions during mine do not prepare him for such ventures, but he has grown bold, and will act out of accordance with the natural state of man. In the course of his blasphemy, make him know your eye. I am eternally grateful."
Apollo smiled, and leaned over the left arm of his throne to gaze upon the doings of the world. He spied a young man, confidently charging up the stairs in front of what appeared to be a great tower. With his fingertip, he traced a path for the young man to follow, dividing the clouds and opening up the earth to the fires of his gaze. Along this path, the young man he watched with distinct intent, as he lumbered at a slackening pace, feeling the infernal glare of a well tended deity. "You will know your flesh," Apollo chuckled, as the young man clutched his sides with agony. Occasionally the young man steeled himself and plowed forth with renewed resolve, but these episodes became shorter and shorter, as Apollo quickly corrected them. After some time, the young man finally returned to his dwelling, limping, gasping, cramping, and coughing.
Upon observing the conclusion of this disciplinary action, Apollo leaned back into his throne satisfied with himself for so easily disrupting the hubris of this foolish boy. His fire sprites danced gingerly out in the distance, throwing their impassioned gaze towards his. He withdrew a sunbolt from the quiver resting on the left arm of his throne, and in summons, fired it skyward from the gleaming brilliance of his newly acquired gift. He, after all, required no such rest.
"There Was Some Old Song That Said..."
Often times, after a gathering, there will remain a table cluttered with glasses, bottles, bowls, cups, and cans. It is of the utmost importance that this table remains as such for a short time, so that the occasion may enjoy the same passing memorial that we will, lying with our memories six feet below our graves. It was...
This is the image that sits in front of me on an Austin morning, framed with the lush backdrop of a central Texas spring. Being a current San Franciscan, I cannot stress how much of an impression this makes on me, as our fair city has no room in its residential heart for such trivialities as trees, space, or laughing birds.
An empty charcoal bag sits on the upper patio, its mouth open to the sun. Only several hours prior, this vacant vessel fueled a proper infernal dance, which climbed the walls of our grill to leap at the smiling chins of those drawn to its warmth and majesty. In memory, the faces of all who met live in the glow of these flames, merry and diamond eyed, floating in the dark of the night.
Behind this gaping, empty bag, the windows of my dear friend's home reflect the morning back on itself, hiding its slumbering occupants from the sleepy eyes of the world. Not all the glass panes of this fair structure are intact, as I, with nimble arms and good intent, have broken one. The circumstances of said breaking are unimportant, but suffice to say that in the throws of my festivity, often times my coordination decides to take a shit. Whilst this said shit proceeds, no task I may undertake is spared the danger of destruction. These occasions oft transform me into an over affectionate bear, so present humankind is never properly spared from the slight agony of my ever present and honest love.
And a loving occasion it was...and there will be many more...as long as my fortune lasts...and hopefully beyond. The trail across the crick begs for running, and my pores beg for cleansing, so until we meet again...
This is the image that sits in front of me on an Austin morning, framed with the lush backdrop of a central Texas spring. Being a current San Franciscan, I cannot stress how much of an impression this makes on me, as our fair city has no room in its residential heart for such trivialities as trees, space, or laughing birds.
An empty charcoal bag sits on the upper patio, its mouth open to the sun. Only several hours prior, this vacant vessel fueled a proper infernal dance, which climbed the walls of our grill to leap at the smiling chins of those drawn to its warmth and majesty. In memory, the faces of all who met live in the glow of these flames, merry and diamond eyed, floating in the dark of the night.
Behind this gaping, empty bag, the windows of my dear friend's home reflect the morning back on itself, hiding its slumbering occupants from the sleepy eyes of the world. Not all the glass panes of this fair structure are intact, as I, with nimble arms and good intent, have broken one. The circumstances of said breaking are unimportant, but suffice to say that in the throws of my festivity, often times my coordination decides to take a shit. Whilst this said shit proceeds, no task I may undertake is spared the danger of destruction. These occasions oft transform me into an over affectionate bear, so present humankind is never properly spared from the slight agony of my ever present and honest love.
And a loving occasion it was...and there will be many more...as long as my fortune lasts...and hopefully beyond. The trail across the crick begs for running, and my pores beg for cleansing, so until we meet again...
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