“Life isn’t a matter of milestones, but of moments.” ~ ~ Rose Kennedy
(ZV) withered
(Compositions + Substance) Bond
Broke
A rupture
Null unit { }
Z
V
Unjoined
The moment slipped out of their control
elsEwhen Z
anger anguish escalate/s/d to nth level extremes bringing a mind blankness overruled by the raging mixture of emotions Z had no awareness of the deaths the sundering caused in Z’s wake diseases transferred at rates unimaginable when all Z was brought to islands of quiet of peace of centering only to be jaunted into the swirls of destructive force to return to peace to seek out violence to destroy to quiet to all things detrimental all until Z challenged Khronos who slapped Z down rejected rejected snubbed erased until
elsEwhen V
V filtered through equations, all equations
Dispelling the soul freezing zemblanity
That washed over and through V
To return to equations, formulas,
Routine
While suffering this travesty of moments
That soothed, touched, cherished, ached
That itched, burned, chilled, ached
In a melody of high bliss
Counterbalanced by exquisite agony
An emotional/pragmatic overload
Where it all led to Khronos
Who had no sense of V
Draining V
until
“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 meno 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.
“Time isn’t the main thing. It’s the only thing.” ~ ~ Miles Davis
TRANSITION
Karen will think/thinks/have thought OH SHIT!
Dr. Karen Capri envisages/verbalizes those words in the seven languages she speaks/thinks fluently.
Dr Capri has/had/will have the connective process to acknowledge what is before her endlessly
She is clinically absorbing an infinite vocabulary of experience across layers
That have layers intersecting mirrored rows of layers
Karen feels the emotional spectrum pour out of her
Her thinking process goes limp
(ZV) is floating there
Now Valentina
Then Zehara
Z
Karen has hated them
Individually
Especially together
If she could, Karen would clench her teeth, growling
They had gotten in her way way too many times
They are in her way now
Sensations go misty
She tries to fight the violation
Karen fails in every single way, across every possibility
Z knows/knew what was done to her
V now knows what was done to Z
Not even a blink: Dr. Capri is peeled away
TRANSITION
LAB
FLOAT POD CONNE
Interred
The leaded pod
Door sealed into one piece
Lies a howling, a wail, a shriek
A keening lament
A fragile cord
One not heard, never to be
Plight of one's destiny
Or not
GRB 080916C burst
K is undone
The scream continues
“Men talk of killing time, while time quietly kills them.” ~ ~ Dion Boucicault
And Khronos took notice. Once noticed it remains noticed, an open loop that takes in what was before/what is now/what will be to come. Keeper of Time. Lord of Time. A god at the same time beyond what (ZV) could ever conceive of. Though, they are close. Time, in their grasp. Time, pulling them. Time, the endless possibilities, reconstructions, revisions, creation, immortal. To be Khronos. To be gods. To be THE Titan.
(ZV) was reaching/was holding/HAD HELD…
SPLIT APART
So it was
(ZV) is not there.
Not here.
Disassembled to elementary particles
Then disassembled again
Again
Again
Z careens off of time lines, beginnings, endings, middles.
V is spread like a schmear across parallel universes
They cross paths as they zig zag in and out of dimensions
Time has no meaning
Khronos notices the irony
Z is lost in the absolute infinity
Valentina trespasses in her wake
Val descends into Zehara, a Mobius strip
A thousand-thousands of their beings are obliterated
“Every second is of infinite value.” ~ ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
(ZV)
Nomad(s) of Infinitum.
Transient(s) of the spatial dimensions
They absorb the Tenth Dimension.
A single point.
All possibilities.
Branches of every potential universe.
(ZV) savors Apeiron
Yet the thought along the line:
Definite or Incomplete?
TRANSITION
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.
TRANSITION
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
TRANSITION
The Lab
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.
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.”
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.
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.
