Category Archives: Evil

PERIODS: Liquid Time A to Z Blogging Challenge 2021

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PERIODS

LIQUID TIME

“We should always allow some time to elapse, for time discloses the truth.” ~ ~ Seneca

elsEwhens upon elsEwhens

Where is a place/time/moment for the deep discussions for (ZV)

Who don’t need to discuss anything

Who know everything

There are no secrets

There can be no alteration of the past or future of the now

Paths taken, thought, thought into actions, one action where all are

Experienced, tasted, seen, felt, heard, thought

Concomitantly

All periods of anguish runs alongside the history they

Have shared/share

you knew what she was doing to me

no no 
I  I 


yes


(ZV) hurtles through all lives
minute degrees
from start to end 
periods
past
the ones that may/will occur
oblivion

(ZV) is volatile as one
hatred or loved
explosive or calm
connected or pushed away
it is rarely and
Or rules (ZV)
a gamut of conditions, places, beings

(ZV) an inner transition
they smash their own atoms

there is a fissure
a departure
Z sets forth
V stumbles away
they are separate for eons
that took a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a...

it did not last long
it lasted an eternity

No, I didn’t forget to write yesterday. I did write.

What you read above was not what I originally wrote.

That’s gone.

I needed some space.

There’ll be Q posting a little later today

Hopefully back on track

So close to the end.

Never give up

Never surrender

MOMENTS: Liquid Time A to Z Blogging Challenge 2021

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MOMENTS

LIQUID TIME

I don’t think it is possible to contribute to the present moment in any meaningful way while being wholly engulfed by it.” Maria Popova

elsEwhen ∞

the Doomsday Clock at 100 seconds to midnight

TRANSITION

Z grasps the fringe of Khronos

“Zehara! Nooooooo…”

“The only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen at once.” ~ ~ Albert Einstein

COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS WELCOME AND APPRECIATED.

THANK YOU.

KHRONOS, FIXED: Liquid Time A to Z Blog Challenge 2019

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KHRONOS, FIXED

LIQUID TIME

“As if you could kill time without injuring eternity.” ~ ~ Henry David Thoreau

Z dragged V synchronously

through time as a variable

plowing through constants

converted t=d/s through m/t = rVa

Inseparability minus permanence

Undergoing

TRANSITION

Falling through fissures in space, witnessing

TRANSITION

Moments of conceptualizations, births, meetings, lovers, divides, becoming, endings, rebirths

TRANSITION

Motes in each other’s eyes

TRANSITION TRANSITION TRANSITION TRANSITION TRANSITION TRANSITION

Touching down with unerring precision

Experiencing

Changing

Expunging

Becoming

Overcoming

TRANSITION

To become love

To forge destruction

To navigate the river of time in its unremitting flow

To navigate the river of time

To navigate the river

To Navigate

Z sprawled to be TIME

V implored Z to STOP

(ZV) unfolded,

they touched the hem of Ti…

KHRONOS

took notice

“If time and reason are functions of each other, if we are creatures of time, then we had better know it, and try to make the best of it. To act responsibly.”

~ ~Ursula K. Le Guin

Comments are always welcome and appreciated.

Thank you.

JANICULUM AT A JUNCTURE: Liquid Time A to Z Blog Challenge 2021

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JANICULUM AT A JUNCTURE

LIQUID TIME

“Time brings all things to pass.” ~ ~ Aeschylus

elsEwhen XI

Z ░ V

Z ▒ V

Z▓V

Z∞V

JANICULUM

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.

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.

TRANSITION

The Kingfisher squabbled with itself, as it phased into the void.

TALES OF TALE SPINNING

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©Edward Gorey

TALES OF TALE SPINNING

OR

The A to Z Epics, More or Less

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.

Shit happens.

Anyways.

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.

A TO Z POSTS

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.

The Kitsune-Mochi and Fox Saga

INTERVAL: Liquid Time A to Z Blog Challenge 2021

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INTERVAL

Liquid Time

A to Z Blog Challenge

“Time is the fire in which we burn.” ~ ~ Gene Roddenberry

In between ‘It was…,

and moments before Z popped up.

Valentina + Void = inner jabbering.

Val’s short, shallow breathing climbed expositionally

with the beating pulsations of her heart.

98.8° F (37.1° C) ratcheted to (180°F − 32) × 5/9 = 82.222°C.

Nerves destroyed. Pain<3rd° burns.

Val is charred to basics.

Her chest continued to tighten and contort.

Guts flipped flopped non-stop.

Her mind pinballed.

Valentina’s body became its own Tower of Babel.

And ‘…too much’

Z’s appearance was announced by a pin-point of light.

Z was. Here. There.

Val’s extremes halted to numbness.

Vacant.

Sweat encased her.

She couldn’t move nor speak.

Spitting was out of the question.

She could not do anything of a physical nature.

Z, from There:

“Hello, Valentina.”

Val felt the words enter, not aural vibrations but cerebral contact.

Her head would have snapped back if it could have moved. She lost consciousness.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Val came back.

“I’m sorry, Valentina. Guess I don’t know my own strength.”

Z attempted to smile. Val knew the referencing Z was making. She was not amused.

She let Z know that.

“I thought it…Never mind.

Pause

Yes, I know I always...

Pause

Valentina, those language concepts mean nothing, never will mean anything. They have.”

Z halved the distance between them.

“Why?

Please.

What did you promise me?

What did you promise me between kisses, between acts of loves and fucks.

The truth is: I took you in, full trust, full vulnerability.

That you wavered? That you lied to yourself?

I loved you I loved you I loved you!

I love you.

Now, and whatever forever means.

That is why.

Here.

We are here.

Pause

No!

I’ve thrown off Zehara.

I was not a star.

I offered no radiance.

Zehara…she is the past.

It is time to uphold promises.”

Z was there.

Face to face with Valentina.

To Val.

To V.

Z brushed her lips over V’s.

TRANSITION

End of Arc One

Arc Two of Liquid Time begins Monday, April 12, 2021.

Stay Safe and Healthy

Comments are always welcome.

Cold Hearted John Meadows

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My name is John Meadows, at least, that’s what it says on my birth certificate. At this moment, I’m not sure if that is even true.

I woke up in a bedroom. It was an unknown space. Except, as I lifted my head up off the pillow, I noticed a picture that looked familiar. I stood, walked over to it: it was flush with the wall. An outdoor moment in time. There was a man, and a woman. They held each other, big smiles on their faces.

The man leaned on a vast gnarled tree. Instead of branches, It looked as if seven tree trunks wound around each other, an abstract weave of latticework wood. The leaves were thick, a dark shade of green that looked almost like they were black. They hung over the couple like a frame.

The woman had her head resting on the man’s shoulder. His hair fell to his collar, so dark that at first, I thought it looked like it was cut out of the photo. Her hair was lighter, a mixture of golden brown and red. I remembered that it was called Auburn. I don’t know why I didn’t realize that at first. Yes, Auburn-haired, long, it fell down and over his chest, making his torso look like it disappeared as well.

The photo bothered me. Her eyes sparkled when the shot was taken. His eyes held little to no reflection. I looked. His didn’t, even with the sunlight spotlighting where they stood. Her eyes, the tilt of her head, her smile: there was life. He smiled, but it didn’t seem to reach his eyes. They were flat.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a free-standing full-body mirror to my left. It stood at a tilt near white folding slat doors. I shuffled my way over to it. I could not remember what I looked like, nor who I was. Maybe, I thought, looking at the reflection, things would come into focus. My heart began to accelerate, chest tightening, and it was getting difficult to breathe. I hadn’t been aware of breathing before this. I was now.

Coming into full view, I felt my head had received something smashing into it. It hurt like hell. I had to touch my head. It felt like bone shattered. I checked. It felt solid. But the pain. It was like a steel bar was slammed against my forehead.

A steel bar? Why did I…no, more a bat? Baseball? No, no. A baseball. Yes, a baseball hurtling to me, not even registering that I needed to move, to duck, do something. But it was too fast. I was too slow. I was up, then nothing. It felt just like that, although I didn’t know why. I still don’t know why I felt that way when I stepped in front of the mirror.

Yes, I was the man in that photo, even though I did not remember that. It was clear upon viewing, my eyesight was waving, no floaters, no film distortion over the irises. I looked at myself in the mirror, then over to the photo. Goosebumps paraded across my spine.

Turning, I took in the rest of the room. White minimalism in paint and fabrics. Same with my pajama pants. I noticed, then, that I had no shirt on. A look in the mirror traveled down; before, I was solely intent only on my face. My chest was hairy but not matted. Three parallel deep pink scars ran from my left armpit to just past the bellybutton. An inny. They didn’t hurt as much as throb. Noticing them did not help my rapid breathing and heart rate.

The next moments are still a blur. I know I looked around: the place had been tidy when I awoke. Now, drawers, men’s clothing, papers littered the white. All the bed linen was on the floor. The sliding slat doors were open wide, showing a closet that was only half full. I took this all in, sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed. I felt something hard and looked down. I had a metal lockbox in my hands. My breathing shallowed, and I felt myself calm down to regular human beats. At least, what I thought were normal.

There was no lock to have to break into. The lid swung up with ease, showing the mound of papers it carried. I riffled through the envelopes, unfolded the various papers, and only stopped when I found a Birth Certificate. Mine, I have assumed, until someone tells me differently. 

My name is John Meadows.

If you are listening to this tape, then most likely I am dead. Or too far away for any meaning of living or dead is inconsequential. This is the story of what happened from that moment of waking, clueless to everything that had meaning to me. I know that the woman in the photo was Jean, my partner. I know she no longer…is here. Where? At this time, I still do not know how to answer that.

Whoever you are, whenever you are, do yourself and loved ones a favor.

Do not stand under the leaves of that massive, gnarled tree.

It is not the Tree of Life.

Sonnet: When The Time Is Right

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There comes a time when people get tired of being pushed out of the glittering sunlight of life’s July and left standing amid the piercing chill of an alpine November. Martin Luther King, Jr.

OIP

 

Intimidation tactics are useless

Where the many are set upon as thieves

These are times punctuated through much stress

With hopes that all of our fears are relieved.

 

Hateful, scornful words meet extreme actions

Quiet shattered by jeers of discontent

The deep divide of opposing factions

It puts roadblocks in the way, we are rent

 

Yet, if the tide was to turn to the truth

The consequences in dire dispute

Thoughts and prayers may not be the needed sooth

To mend what has been sundered by refute

 

What impending years that we will pass through

Steps can be taken for our lawful due

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☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

This was a blog challenge: Simply 6 Minutes from Stine Writing

The rules for the challenge: Use today’s prompt (The MLKjr quote above)

Write for SIX Minutes. When your timer goes off, you are done.

Post on Stine Writing blog or on your own with a link on that blog’s site.

I did the above in under six minutes, where I had enough time to make sure there were ten syllables in each line.

I know; I shouldn’t edit, but, c’mon. It’s a sonnet. 🙂

Craving Discourse

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I am right.

You are wrong.

It is as simple as that.

I follow the truth path

My way is clear

Nothing you say has meaning

Nothing can change my mind

My enemies are legion

I count you among their kind.

You are wrong.

I am right.

There is no debate in that.

It is evil in your actions

Evil in your words

Closing yourself to reality

So it fits you limited terms

I gather with my like-minded

You’re not worth a second thought

I am Right

    No, you’re not

You are wrong

    No, I am not.

Let’s not agree to disagree

Let’s find some commonality

Let’s understand the price

Segregating into piteous hate

We are deaf along this path.

I am not absolute

Whether right or wrong

The danger is the division

Two sides talking to walls

I will listen to you; please tell me why

Please

Don’t shove your viewpoint onto me

Please

Don’t refuse to hear my questions

Please

Don’t shut me up with condemnation

             Please

Let us deeply listen, for all its worth.

 

The Misfortune of Sea Monsters (part two)

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The Misfortune of Sea Monsters (part two)

Part One: The Misfortune of Sea Monsters

NOTE: if you have not read part one (link above), this will make little to no sense. I am trying my hand at a serialized story, and you really do need to read it, part by part. Thank you.

Part Two: The Hafgufa and The Harpoon

Captain Magnus tried to stop Young Ned from leaping to a certainly lost cause, but he was too late. The Return swayed, but no man was more made more steady on his feet than a captain whose ship was an extension of himself.  The large ripples the beast made, as it bore Meigs down, tried their best to topple him. He heard some of his men falter and gasp, but he would have none of that.

“You’re a fool, Young Ned. A brave one, but a fool all the same.” The captain stayed at the side of his ship, speaking to an uncaring sea, waiting for any sign.

The foolish Young Ned was far below, swimming downward. His labor was fierce, as the creature tunneled the water as it should, and Young Ned was handicapped by the harpoon he knew he must have. Meigs was a rag doll in the monster of the deep’s tentacles, and his mate, his friend,  felt it was already too late, but this feeling only propelled him to swim faster.

The “Vanishing Island” (for so the Hafgufa has been called) belched a stream of what Young Ned thought would be if one could smell underwater, noxious fumes.  Stopping its descent, it turned towards Young Ned, its eyes locking onto him. A tentacle was thrust towards him, then another and another.  Each time the attack was thwarted by a right blow of the exquisite sharpness of the harpoon that Young Ned wielded. Both he and the monster scored points, but none were as deep or as ruinous as what came from the well-placed pike.

He was fast losing the last of his air reserves when a tremendous blow freed the undulating sea body of SM Meigs. Young Ned grabbed his comrade and began his ascent. The creature, leaking foul fluids from the many contact hits delivered,  sent out a spasm of its own pain and struck Young Ned across his back,  sending the harpoon spiraling out of Young Ned’s hand and knocking him unconscious.

***

The deck of The Return was hard and wet under Young Ned’s back as he coughed up the bracken seawater. Retching was a rude awakening, but any revival from what seemed like certain death was a good one. Captain Magnus gave his one good hand to Young Ned and helped him stand. Young Ned politely shook him off, bent at the knees, and expelled the last of the wretched substance.

Standing up, Young Ned looked around him. There, amidships, by the mizzenmast, lay the body of SM Meigs. Nothing was said: he knew Meigs was dead as sure as he knew the Hafgufa would pay, and pay dearly. Young Ned also noticed one other thing: the harpoon he carried into battle lay at his feet.

Puzzled, he bent and picked it up. “Captain, how…” he began.

“I know, lad, I know. You should have been as dead as poor Meigs.  Too much time had passed, and the lads and, sadly, I had given up all hope. The sea waters were thrashing for all to see, then they went still. I had said my prayers and sent you Godspeed to Davey Jones’s embrace when…well…”

“What? Please, Captain. I don’t understand why I am still alive here on deck. I felt a blow across my back, a shattering pain lanced through, and I felt the sea enter me as I quickly lost all awareness.”

Captain Magnus stared hard at Young Ned. He turned his head and spat over the rail. Turning back, it was the first time the captain would not make eye contact.

“You know me for an honest man, as honest as the sea will allow one to be. The crew saw this too, or I wouldn’t have believed it myself. We had given up all hope, but…the mysteries of the seas are deep. The still water broke apart, Young Ned, and you, Meigs, and that blasted harpoon were on the back of a narwhal. This one was male, a lovely helical tusk, as woven as a twisted knot of hair. It floated long enough for us to retrieve you and poor Meigs. We thought you were gone too, but, well, you coughed up the sea as it coughed up yourself.”

“The narwhal?” Young Ned inquired.

“Slid away and gone. Come…no use scratching our heads about this. You are alive, Young Ned, and I am glad that I can keep my promise to your sister that you stay that way. Well, at least for today.” Captain Magnus smiled, slapped Young Ned on the back, and turned, barking orders to set course for land and home.

Walking over to the body of his friend, Young Ned knelt and said some prayers. He also vowed, in these moments of silence, to seek vengeance, so dreadful and sincere. Lost in his moments of grief, it was only the collision of the boatswain, Mr. Diggs, that brought him around to a deck that was beginning to tilt and the noses of men in a panic.

“Diggs…what is it, man?”

The boatswain, face ashen, said, “Look starboard; look what you’ve brought upon us!”

Pushing the man away, harpoon still in hand, Ned rushed starboard, pulling himself up so he could look over the rail:

The Hafgufa’s tentacles were climbing the sides of The Return, tilting the ship. One passed by his head and twisted onto the mizzenmast behind him. One solid jerk, and the Hafgufa and Young Ned were staring at one another, connected by sea, wood, and bone.

The Return cried a mournful sound upon the waters.

to be continued…