They had been running under a yellow sun, blue clouds, white sky, all agitated spirals. The air was brisk; it was hot, it howled, it caressed. She had touched his hand. No, he had touched hers. No. She. No.
Vincent led the way, a zig ziggurat pathway that made no sense. A laugh lurched out of her, not caring. They were nude. Then she was sheathed in linen, and a wide-brimmed hat coalesced around her auburn hair, which had trailed after her, patterns weaving that fell apart with each step.
Past the flowers, the trees, the greens, the golds, and diving into the clear water of a lake that appeared before them. Nude again, and the cool water licked her breasts. No. Vincent. She touched his back, smooth, and her hands ran up the nape of his head, kissing him, then pushing him under, the two of them, and she a bubble laughed at them as it broke the surface.
Vincent was gentle, gentle rough, exploring hands under a sky that went dark with bright pinpricks of light that caused the lake water to crest and twirl. He was translucent, and she saw his eyes go from blue to green to black.
She guided him inside, willing, hungry. His crooked smile. She bit his lip. It bled, and she kissed it clean, but it continued to bleed as they continued to explore, and his hips were a piston, and she took each thrust and gave in return, and they cried out at the same time.
Mistake, for that brought the flock, and they disapproved. One at first sat on a stalk of golden flowers and cawed raw, drawing two others. Three, who squealed, putting their heads together so three razor beaks looked like one.
Faye screamed as they came at her. Vincent blocked the first strike, missed on the second, took the hit on the third. He grabbed one, gripping its wings to its body, squeezing with clenched hands, white knuckles, and Faye screamed again as the bird imploded in blood and feathers.
“run,” Vincent cried, flinging the carcass over his shoulder, reaching out for another of the blackbirds. Faye froze as Vincent tore a wing off of their attacker.
“run,” he struggled to get out as the first of the birds went for his eyes; the membrane reflected the sun’s reflected light on the moon. Faye stood naked under the onslaught of feathers and light, lovemaking gone gone gone.
And she heard Vincent say, “I wish.”
And she was gone. And she was afraid.
The dreamscape repeated itself, reforming, taking different paths, the color palette constantly changing. But the birds remained the same, and their sex was still vivid, the lust ripe, and Faye woke up once to pour another glass of whisky only to fade back into the world she rejected when awake.
The shape in the bed
Maria heard. She stood, going to his side, touching only the bed railing.
“I’m tired, Maria.”
“I know.” She bent close over to whisper. “You’re back.”
Wrote you a love letter
Then tore it up to bits
Took the shredded pieces
Threw them in a pit
Setting it on fire
Watched the passion glow
Each piece flared from another
The flames of nevermore
Wrote you a love letter
Knew I would not send
Wrote you a love letter
Sealed it with my blood
Stood there with the ashes
As they crumbled away
The wind sent some flying
Forever out of reach
The seasons took the rest
Let it slip away
Walked away in silence
Left behind a stain
Wrote you a love letter
Knew I would not send
Wrote you a love letter
Words etched in my head
Wrote you love, and
Sealed it with my blood
“It may be that our cosmic curiosity is a genetically-encoded force that we illuminate when we look up and wonder.” Neil deGrasse Tyson
(ZV) is connected with life, love, renewal, death
(ZV) is connected with flow, expanse, beginnings, endings
Zehara and Valentina are connected
The confluence they went through began with pain
Their unity is love, necessity, sequential, non-linear
(ZV) rests with thought of
(ZV) stretches across the realities, fulfilling their role(s) in the supreme balance. Aware, there is a continuous exploration of all they’ve become, the endless wonders, the ethereal-astral connection that is now their existence. They float in the balance between the goddess and the god. (ZV) has evolved into Order, meeting Chaos on an even scale.
Janiculum is their place of rest. Every iteration of the city, the land, the peoples, the fauna and flora, is (ZV)’s place of rest and love.
This observance takes place in a Janiculum at the height of it’s health, beauty, and fortitude. Here, the Gates of Prógramma Spoudón are appointed with a vast array of gems. The light, of Sun, Moon, or Fire, pass through the facets and spread beams of color over the city. Golden silk streamers wave along the thoroughfares, a greeting and a farewell in any direction spent. The winds are always gentle, the waterways run pure, and the harvests are always rich.
(ZV) entered Janiculum as their goddess Alcyeyx. The winds tickled her unbound hair, tossing the multi colored tresses into patterns that matched the hues of light sent from the Gate. Her laughter thundered as she came to the parade grounds. She would never miss this celebration of the bounties of the land yet to come. The goddess sang and the people voices were harmonious. She danced with freedom, decorated the harvest poles, and collected all the love that swirled around her.
At the fall of night, (ZV) left the city through the Gates, still glittering in the moonlight. On the other side, admiring the heavens, Valentina and Zehara walked over the grassy fields, to finally lay at the base of the Oracle’s Peak. As fertility stroked the minds of the city, Valentina made love to Zehara, which was equally returned. They no longer needed to sleep, but the closed their eyes in memory, bodies entwined. They consumed the other with eyes shut.
Both knew that this would be repeated forever in its placement of time. Valentina smiled at the thought as she raised her upper half and rested on forearm. Her purple/black hair fell over the shoulder, her breast, and pooled onto Zehara’s chest. Zehara’s reddish brown strands spread around her. She began to twist and play with Valentina’s hair.
Valentina leaned over, gentle breaths mixing as they kissed. Their lips did not part easily.
“I love you,” said one.
“I love you as well,” the other replied.
Together, they did not have to say aloud:
“Always, and forever.”
They were gone with the rising of the sun.
“The main thing is to be moved, to love, to hope, to tremble, to live.” ~ ~ Auguste Rodin
My “Reflections In Liquid Time” will be posted on Tuesday, May 4, 2021
“Both in thought and in feeling, even though time be real, to realize the unimportance of time is the gate of wisdom.” ~ ~ Bertrand Russell
“The Lotus opens. Movement from earth, through water, from fire to air. Out and in beyond life and death now, beyond inner and outer, sense and non-sense, meaning and futility, male and female, being and non-being, Light and darkness, void and full. Beyond all duality, or non-duality, beyond and beyond. Disincarnation. I breathe again.” ~ ~ R. D. LAING
Paris, 16th arrondissement, le restaurant de l’Hôtel sur le toit vide
In every form of communication: “This is a beautiful view. So many beautiful views.”
♁ Ananke is a whisper without sound. She is. (ZV) acknowledges this forever knowledge. They revert to two, standing on a rooftop over Paris, lighting on other vantage points across the universes. They are among the cosmos. Limitless. No boundaries.
There is nothing outside of the box if there is no box to begin with.
Zehara and Valentina are tangible here, as they are elsewhere. Their essences remain connected, corporeal or not. Wrapping arms around the other, foreheads touching, breaths mingling, all lasts infinitely in the fraction of that second. They know the “why here?” before the question forms between them.
“This is where we first met,” they absorb the words in unison. Ananke, Necessitas, Ge, the Mother, allows the countless stars to lighten the darkness.
“As it was meant” fills any void.
The rooftop unfolds as it was: café tables, the mosaic tops iridescent waves of hues of blues and golds balanced on wrought iron Art Deco curlicues, red leather chair seating at the tables and for the chaise lounge settees. Gold thread embroidery traversed the fabric. Fine crystal flutes at the ready filled with sparkling champagne of prime vintage. Vegetarian Aperitifs strategically placed, the colors complimenting one dish to another.
Valentina was the guest of honor at this soiree, lauded for her breakthroughs in Biogenetic Engineering. Every government wanted her. She forced a laugh at every bon mot, listened to and fobbed off the enticements, both scientific and sexual, and was thoroughly bored. Funding was a core ingredient to continue her work. Valentina was tired of being brought out as a gift to be bid on. Exquisite as the champagne was, she only sipped the first hour of the evening away, looking for an opportunity to leave. A spilled drink near her, the endless apologies, cleaning of the stain on her dress that was invented, was her chance. Her chance.
She came late, her entrance marked by the flurry of paparazzi yelling her name, the model of the moment. Zehara was weary of this game, being seen to be seen. She accepted the invitation only with the caveat that this would truly be a closed affair. Champagne in had, Zehara ditched the executive she arrived with, wandering the roof, taking in the panoramic view of Paris. She allowed herself to slink into the shadows, loving the absence of demands. Another was the center of attention. Zehara relished that, for once. But not for long. She grew deathly bored.
Zehara, full glass in hand, was making her way to exit the engagement. In her path was the honoree, surrounded by a pack waiting to eat their way in. She hadn’t paid Valentina much attention, but now. Everything changed for her. The attraction was magnified beyond anything Zehara had experienced before. One step, and Zehara faltered. Valentina took notice. She was in the process of taking in the wonder of Zehara, a rush of empty lust washing away her normal reticent ways, when the champagne made a splash.
They ignored the chaos, walking as far away from the clashing as they could. As they made their way to the roof’s railings, their hands found the others’. A now empty settee caught their eyes. Zehara broke hands, sped to the seating, and turned it so that Paris was fully before them. Hunkering down on the settee, doing their best not to be seen and interrupted, Valentina and Zehara began.
“This is an appreciation, a thank you,” a vibrato from Ananke, primordial personification of compulsion.
(ZV) held themselves tightly. Turning to the manifestation of The Mother
Time continues to scream
Time continues its fragmented shrinkage
♁ Ananke Is
A wavering, touch like, and Time is stilled
(ZV) is in attendance
Another entity as well
Time holds them all
Life is sustaining
A mewl of confusionweighs heavy
Something new, for the constant Time
progenitors at creation
that had existed, is existing, will exist
we emerged self-born
formed the ordered universe(s)
set in our tasks
of being the cosmos
an expenditure of Chaos
a swelling of Entropy
an order corrupted
the continuum of Time
became a corruption of Time
deaths deaths deaths
fell before their
this was Ragnarok
which never was to be gained
the final destruction
was upon ALL
my planes of existence
Khronos applied Death
at a rate I could not change
we were in balance
were suppose to be balanced
existed for balance
I was not enough
“We were created. Z in the Pod. V at control”
“You mixed with the extreme radiation. A fusion of Life”
“From our meeting?”
“From the first seeds of unbalance”
“To disrupt Time”
“To weaken Time. To permeate Time. To bring Life into Time’s equation.”
“And to bring and emotional sequence that Time never held”
“Truth: were we ever really in love?”
Quiet is sustained.
The other is still there but not noticed.
“What of you, Gaia? Are you unbalanced? Have you undergone a parallel disrupture?”
“If we are a counter point for Khronos…we are, yes?”
“What is yours?”
Into the void, the other makes themselves noticed.
Silent Khronos extends to (ZV)
“They are my balance beyond Khronos. You are Time’s balance beyond Ananke.”
“Time is a feature of creation, and the creator remains apart from it, transcendent over it.” ~ ~ James Gleick
Is witness to all beginnings; to all ends.
The End of All Things rips apart the progenitor with every erasure.
Erasures are Endless.
There is nothing to measure.
It is or it is not.
Khronos is a part of the process, as is
♁ ⋝ t (⨍⨳⊎∞) =⨿
Khronos upset the balance
The Screams Must Stop
(ZV) feels the sacred knife from their temple slice into the ethereal-corporal sync they have manifested. They feel a rift, a change, yet pain is of the past, not the present. What comes can not be seen from here. They have been severed from an aspect of themselves that has left the feeling of <.
Only for that time of piercing
A great severing occurred.
They experience the force within them ascend to a higher intensity
What was a standstill finds Khronos waver
Khronos meets level meeting level
Khronos identifies the truth
(ZV) shares the truth
Awareness that the blade Ἀστερία bore sliced through the other
“Every second is of infinite value.” ~ ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Nomad(s) of Infinitum.
Transient(s) of the spatial dimensions
They absorb the Tenth Dimension.
A single point.
Branches of every potential universe.
(ZV) savors Apeiron
Yet the thought along the line:
Definite or Incomplete?
Z will enter/has entered/never be in the Float Pod
Valentina refused/refuses/never enters the Lab
Z will take/is taking/remembers IVs of Modifal-70 from 200 mg to the final dosing of 1000 mg.
Five sessions in a row.
Z will undergo/undergoes/will have gone through rounds of gene and body modifications.
Valentina would/will/has regret(s) supervising the procedure(s).
Things lost control.
Things were never in control.
volcanic eruptions stardust shattered dreams rising falling waves of despair love hatred denial no know known believe belief rituals symbolic pedestal entombed buried airless space time khronos forget forgot lost unclear foggy rain downpour floods levees dams bursting opening hallway echo repeat again again again
Float Pod Conn
Dr. Karen Capri has upper management up her ass. She has been bombarded with questions, demands, threats, quasi-pleading, and distaste. The lab’s repair costs. The dead technician. The disappearance of Subject Z and Dr. Marin. The “Why don’t you have an answer for us, Dr. Capri?” in its non-stop versions.
The last two nights Karen had fallen back on old ways through medical schooling. Adderall to Methamphetamine to blow. Non-stop stimulants, pushing herself to find the answers-any answer-that would relieve the attacks on her competency. There was no way she would allow them to take the yoke of blame on all of this, to become their scapegoat, their sacrificial lamb, the one to crucify.
Three days, high on uppers.
Something had to break.
The console screamed.
Karen raced to shut off the speakers, cursing the entire way from her office.
The Goddess strode into Janiculum through the Gates of Prógramma Spoudón. Her long, unbound hair trailed, tendrils caressing those in her wake. The colors shifted with every other step, taking on the hues of the flowers of the land. Some colors came from other realities, yet none in her presence remarked on the uniqueness. Tall, shapely, skin of a golden-olive hue, caught each eye, young and old alike.
The city-state was festooned with garlands of the sweetest aroma of the scythed. Purple hued feathery fronds, strung through the masses of golds, reds, yellows, and blues. It had taken a harvest to adorn the Goddess Alcyeyx’s walk way to her temple.
Deep genuflections as she passed. The muddy streets stained the linen Himation the populace wore. None were concerned. Their Goddess had arrived. Cheers of “Bless the Winds. Bless the Seas” reverberated throughout. The surrounding mountains concurred in receding echo.
Omens of dire times to come were brushed away with Alcyeyx’s arrival. The Oracle of the Peak wailed her laments to deaf ears once the Goddess arrived. Submitting to the inevitable, the Oracle retreated before the Sun vanished into the ocean. She knew she would return. After.
Rituals were cast, wine flowed, the food was plentiful. Everything was carried to excess. Children with slightly bloated bellies lay fast asleep on straw, patches of grass, and the shorn gardens. They nestled in the land of dreams.
The wine was never ending. Alcyeyx bequeathed that to her people, her devotees, her sacrificial stream. The crowds grew raucous as the skies went black. Fights were few; love making was key. Other lands degraded their festivals, the obscene, to them, rendering of garments, the cries of passions, the coming of more children being placed.
All of those in Janiculum were lost in their revels, as was Alcyeyx. Many women of youth and of age tasted the Goddess’s lips, felt the strong soft gliding over their unadorned flesh. As many came to Alcyeyx as she went to her worshippers. All were left beyond sated.
Except Alcyeyx, whose inner turmoil, the two sides of her constantly clashing, left part of her drained as the other part was elated. This had been the way of things since their metamorphosis. Two strong essences tugged, one always angry, the other mad. Or so the Angry One crowed.
Ten times ten², or when counting ended, were the battles, the pleas, the promises…
Z always called V out on the promises. For a while after, things would subside.
The call of the winds at the ascending sun found Alcyeyx looking beyond the walls of this beloved stronghold. Janiculum was one of the few things they embraced. Yet, the need for elsEwhen called.
The Goddess lifted her arms, raised her chin, and felt the West Wind blow her hair East.
If anyone had been awake at this juncture, they would surely have noticed the golden-olive hued Kingfisher take to the skies and then…
Khione, Nymph of contempt and snow, took satisfaction in Alcyeyx’s leave-taking.
Now, it was Khione’s time to take.
The Kingfisher squabbled with itself, as it phased into the void.
I started Tale Spinning at the beginning of 2011 as an offshoot of BornStoryteller. The latter went more towards non-fiction, rants, comparisons, and observations. Tale Spinning: an experiment in creative writing was the space I needed. Since then, I’ve gone through periods of both non-stop writing and those “dry” spells, where nothing inspired or motivated me.
Joining the A to Z Blogging Challenge in April 2011 was one of the smartest moves I’ve ever made. I’ve pushed my own boundaries over the ten years, always looking for that “challenge.” Taking risks is stimulating. A lot of what I write is expressing what is burning within me at the moment.
Which is probably why I have trouble continuing plunging into the worlds and characters I’ve built over the years. The roller-coaster upheaval of my life during these last ten years have jaggedly flowed from euphoric to complete and utter numbness. This isn’t a pity party. Just stating the facts, ma’am.
Many bloggers/writers I have “met along the way have become family. What is “Family is Chosen” for $2,000, Alex?” (Man, I miss Alex Trebek. Right now, I am Team Levar Burton to become the new host. Reading Jeopardy Rainbow!). It’d take me the rest of the day (it’s early here) to point you all out, but my thanks and love are hereby sent. I even met the woman I love writing these blog posts during that first A to Z. Present tense, even though we are not together anymore.
List Time. In case, you know, want to read past (and present) A to Z attempts. Each set starts with A on April 1st of that year. There might be a few preceding posts/teases over the years as I tried out the new voice I was shooting for.
Here’s something not A to Z that I’d love to get your feedback/comments. I keep getting drawn back to it on an emotional/mental level, but have not added a thing to it in quite a while. These were written during the summer of 2011.