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
“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.”
(ZV) adjusted the continuum of time by integrating spatial dimensions with the astral and ethereal planes. The system, in entirety, becomes changeless through the dramatic metamorphic change. There is no progression of time. Everything is Timeless. Khronos is frozen in Time. (ZV) is stuck, not frozen.
This is not a chance happening, an accident, kismet. (ZV) has gained: this has been a plan. The thought of it being of divine design is not sufficient. It had earthly intention meaning that is meaningless for them. They gave it credit as a thought experiment, dismissed it, letting it fade away. Stuck, they demanded accountability.
Their thinking of convergence began when Zehara, in her mind, liberated Valentina; Valentina held onto the concept of abduction. It had not begun at that point. In this static dimension of all reality, the realization of their connection(s) expanded. Without limits, for they now understood that Limit was another bespoke label. It was a coping strategy employed by all sentiments at whatever level of being the concept of Limit was conceived.
The Infinite. A label, yet one that was the existence. (ZV)’s paradigm of being changes.
If Time is unchanging, if it just Is, then what becomes of Time? Z crows that Time is dead. V reputes that; even if the progression of time stops here, now, it still remains in what came before. The push/pull of their separate hypothesis is contained; thought transcends, but they don’t question it.
Until they do. Why/how is there a movement in the thought process as they are incorporeal? How is Khronos? Z thinks of circles. V envisions infinity. Symbols are meaningless.
Time is meaningless?
V supposes that Time is illogical if it does not fit the restricted theorem. If there is no end, no beginning, Time is then infinite, and with Infinity there is no need for time. K’s circle is a closed unit. It, too, deletes the thought of beginnings and ends. If the circle is pure, uniform, unbroken, it can stop or start. Anywhere. It doesn’t need time to consume itself.
The fragments of Time do not fit. Time has not been linear nor circular. Khronos imposed junctures and splits, uncircular paths, a transmogrification of the superlunary powers fundamental to Time’s being time.
“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
“Truth alone will endure, all the rest will be swept away before the tide of time.” ~ ~ Mahatma Gandhi
E = GHA (apparent Sun) – GHA (mean Sun)
Entropy exists for all in Time
Khronos encompasses Entropy
Decay, destruction, non-existence
Khronos is the medium
Striving for or against
All life ends
The stars go Nova
Galaxies are consumed
Reduced to the dust of the dust
(ZV), the Goddess
Blocking the passage of Time
Time works against (ZV)
The sacred knife
Smeared with her blood
With outstretched arms
In determination to end the madness
A tool in another's hands
She screams the primal scream
Of the universal trauma
The blade plunges into
The ooze that has bound
Khronos with (ZV)
As she is torn asunder
Her scream continuesBringing
(zv) runs hides strikes falters dies repels repulses defeats rejects dies allows checks subjugates overthrows disintegrates rises liberates dies fights dies overcomes dies resists dies resists dies resists resists resists resists
Collision at Janiculum lasts a triennium at a stretch, only to repeat. The god of Time confronts the Time Thief-Violator. Named for elimination, named to never exist. Janiculum, newly reformed, crumbles into broken stone and dust. (ZV) retaliates dividing Time’s ceaseless attacks into fractional fragments, searching for the moments the power is hers for the taking. Nothing lasts while everything continues.
Their confrontation falls into synchronicity across all that falls under Time’s sway. Galaxies perish. Time lines are erased. Different paths begin.
The three plunge to the “end” of Time. To the “beginning” of Time.
There aren’t any boundaries
Space exists. Time is. Necessity is.
The measurement of Time is a construct
Janiculum, a recurrence
The god and the goddess
At a standstill
The Oracle of the Peak has lived and died upon the rocky outcrop
Immobilized, bearing witness
‘now’ compels her mind
The Oracle’s body responds
She draws out the sacred knifefrom the Temple of Alcyeyx
“An hour, once it lodges in the queer element of the human spirit, may be stretched to fifty or a hundred times its clock length.” Virginia Woolf
The Oracle of the Peak lay prone on the rocky outcrop. Her eyes feasted on the return of the Goddess, Alcyeyx. She noticed the division of the one, eyebrows raised but quickly pulled back, an involuntary shrug eased almost made her chuckle. To her, the contexts of the different body’s alignments, posturing, tones, placements, drew one correlation. This was an entity in complete and utter thrall to itself, no matter the form(s) it took.
Prophecy brought her to the ruins of Janiculum. This Oracle, the great-great granddaughter of she who fled The Ice Leveling, gathered the herbs she’d need, the homemade tools of her wooden pestle and bowl, and “borrowed” the sacred knife from the Temple of Alcyeyx. It was a trek that took its toll on her twenty-six ans. Hunger was continuously nibbling away at her resolve. Fasting before she left was not ideal. The Priestess had pleaded with her to stay. The Oracle would not heed any deterring words.
The quarreling below limped to an end as night began its saturation of the sky and land. She prayed herself to sleep, hearing sounds far different than the bellowing of the day. It was a lull as the Goddess lay calm in her mind. The Oracle slept through the remaking of Janiculum. Alcyeyx turned back the ruins piece by stone, tile by oiled skins, foundations secure, thick and sturdy Oak. The Gates of Prógramma Spoudón stood golden and tall. The dawn light showered the gates, which spread its diffused luster over the reborn city.
Janiculum was as it was, as it always should be. Z and V left the vaulted walls of the city hand in hand. Breathing in the air they did not need, they nestled down on to of the freshly misted grass. Their love making woke The Oracle, who had been paralyzed atop the mountain hand. Her mind had been screaming over and again to find true waking, but she was caught on the tines of fear.
The Oracle of the Peak needed the liquid tincture of ashwagandha. Her shaking subsided as her teeth stopped its grinding. She spat out diluted blood from the lacerations of the night terror. It took a short while for The Oracle’s breathing to relax and her head to stop twirling. Rising, Her eyes first went to the Goddess, but a strong reflected sun beam drew all of her attention. Dropping to her knees, scrapping flesh on the harsh rock surface, The Oracle was transfixed by the reality of Janiculum restored.
A roiling blast of primal anger fell. The Oracle almost tumbled off the outcrop. She wished she had. Yet, she knew it was not her fate in the balance. She screamed for the Goddess, she screamed for the city, she screamed as the Peak shed tears of rocks.
“Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind.” Nathaniel Hawthorne
Z is drawn back to Janiculum
V is drawn back to Janiculum
War ravaged, wasteland
The Gates of Prógramma Spoudón
Open, barred, derelict
The streets, the homes, the shops, the temple
Green, rocky terrain to the spires
Decomposing back to green
Merged (ZV) or apart (Z) (V)
To Janiculum they come
This Moment, among many many many
their presences announce themselves
there, now together
they're flowing into the others arms
hugging, stroking, tender
cheeks, napes, torsos
the lips, the lips
fingers glide along protein rich strands of keratin
lengths, volumes, grow to moods
all for the other
trembling, quaking, shudders
they hold each other/themselfthe mantle of the goddess Alcyeyxis restored
Janiculum passed around (ZV)