Category Archives: Sadness

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.

FLEETING: Liquid Time A to Z Blog Challenge April 2021

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FLEETING

Liquid Time

A to Z Blog Challenge

“Time is a companion that goes with us on a journey. It reminds us to cherish each moment, because it will never come again. What we leave behind is not as important as how we have lived.” ~ ~ Captain Jean-Luc Picard

Zero hour. Day. Era. Epoch. Eon. Aeon.

Z subdivides along a non-unilinear line. Stopping milliseconds to absorb, dispel, bask.

Those are the fragments where a thought filters through.

Z assembles the pieces. Z experiences every emotional spectrum idea, searching for

Love.

Z does not believe in love. Love, to Z, equates to Pain.

Pain is a constant. Love=Pain never has/is/will be love ≠ pain. It is exact. For Z, it is exact.

There are no approximates.

Any/every instance Love touches Z is followed by an infinite drop.

Z is lost.

Inside, Z is lost in gathering specifics. The pure, unwavering distillation of Z’s perception of Love.

The amassing is complete.

Z stretches the limits of time to compact and keep.

The next second arrives.

Without the pain association. Z is blocking out the aftermath, the thrown away aspect, the being left, unnoticed, unwanted.

Another point arrives. The whole splinters.

Z

TRANSISTION

NEW!!!! TALE SPINNING is also a Podcast!

I plan to start recording MY reading of my posts. Maybe by 5/12/2021. Knowing me, maybe 2022. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the narration.

You can find Tale Spinning on:

Spotify iTunes PocketCasts Breaker Google Podcasts RadioPodcast (last two awaiting verification).

Tale Spinning, the Podcast, will include past series, interviews, and more.

Please Support Tale Spinning.

You can subscribe on any of the above platforms.

Comments are always welcome.

ElSeWHEN: Liquid Time A to Z Blog Challenge April 2021

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ELSeWHEN

Liquid Time

A to Z Blog Challenge

“Forever is composed of nows.” ~ Emily Dickinson 

Z thought as a black whole.

Z experienced everything at this/that moment without color.

Z tasted in shadows.

From the shadows came terror.

Z was a variant of a virulent tinnitus strain. Z was at a fixed point of -50 dB.

Z is the shriek that passes through the outer, middle, and inner structures, vibrating into an E Tube.

Traveling is a poor word of choice for Z in this state of being. Peripatetic is more to the point. Z travels from place to place, being to being, dimension by gradation of planes of existence

Z connects.

There are multitudes of levels of every emotional path that any can experience . Z knows.

There are a multitude of levels of pain. Hundreds of millions of points of view involving hundreds of millions of junctures, phases, factors, accents, factors. Z connects to All. All. All.

Z is at zero hour.

TRANSISTION

THE LAB

FLOAT POD con

“Stop fussing. Stop. I’m fine.”

Pushes hand away.

I said stop!”

Cursing, the medic walks out.

“Karen, there is nothing I can add to my statement.”

Debris is being removed. New equipment is being installed.

“Look, Val. Standard BS to make them happy. I know you. I know. Knew, Tyson. Just tell me what you edited out.”

Glare met stare.

“I do not have all day, Dr. Fill in the fucking blanks.”

Takes glass. Sips water. Another sip.

“VAL!”

“Tyson didn’t screw up. I did not screw up. He was being an ass, as usual.”

Pause.

“Fine. You heard the Banshee call. You heard the escalation. Then the cessation. The console sparked. I woke up on the steps, behind the railing.” Sips. “No, again, I have no idea how I wound up there. The pain in my back, my battered face? Stairs. Boom.”

Stare.

“Why did you break Tyson’s fingers?”

Pause.

“I…”

“Why did you break Tyson’s fingers?”

Pause.

Head turns. Sees FP. Nothing. Still in one piece.

Head still turned away.

“Jackass was reaching to mute. The data coming in and Tyson thought he was going to the mute button. He reached too far. He was going to incinerate the inside of the pod.”

“And?”

“He couldn’t hear me, damnit. He couldn’t hear me call out. I went for his wrist. My eyes were vibrating. Wrist. Hand. Fingers. I needed to stop him. So, I did.””

“And?”

Staring at the Float Pod. Shrugs shoulders.

Heartbeats pass.

“OK.”

Nod of head.

A chukka boot approaches.

Hand taps her shoulder.

“Dr. Marin? I need you to come with me, ma’am.
Her head turns to the other woman.

“Go with him, Valentina. Go. I’ll be with you again. Soon.”

Dr. Valentina Marin leaves what’s left of the lab.

She does not turn to look back.

THIS IS THE DAY Z DOES NOT DIE

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.

That Morning

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Maori-Grey-Color-Ink-3D-Cracked-Face-Tattoo-On-Boys-Hand-For-Man
Pulled up to the curb
Hated building in sight
Drive shifted to Park
Pinging from under the hood

Tools for the day gathered
Unsnapped restraints
Body free
Yet, an unexpected hellish message came to me

Heavy chills from that winter day
Were nothing to the inward heat
Words tore through the chest
Filling up a now empty cavity

Pain sat in those words
Brushing off; tossed away
Snow fell in furried force
Muddled mind filled with numbing pain

The words made no sense
Content denied
The words finally made sense
As what was left flew away

No awareness of time falling away
Park was gone; drive remained
Yet no destination set
To a melted mind


We don’t grow when things are easy.

We grow when we face challenges.” ~ Joyce Meyer

Grandfather Speaks

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1st Chime: Midnight approaches. I’ve prepared for the darkness, urging it to mask what is to come. What needs to be done. What will be.

2nd Chime: I sit in her favorite chair. I have never done that before. The dent of her body is etched into the fabric and padding. I do not fit.

3rd Chime: Time. Time is going too slow. It is out of my control if I ever had any. My palms are wet. A tiny rivulet streaks down my brow into my eyes. It burns.

4th Chime: I gasp. My mouth. It feels like I poured ground cinnamon into the chamber. I cough clouds of red.

5th Chime: Hurry. Hurry. I need to. No. Wait. I can’t. Wait.

6th & 7th Chime: My calves cramp. I hadn’t noticed my knees were jumping like pistons. It won’t obey me. It won’t stop.

8th Chime: All. It’s not well. Not. The walls are closing in. There is wailing from the floor, right under my planted soles.

9th & 10th Movement: I heard no chimes. I’m fixed on the second hand as he struggles for the next second. The grandfather is moving time on.

11Th Chime: My lips are cracked. As I use my tongue to sponge them, I get the taste of copper as it sweeps over the swollen bottom lip.

12th Chime: Here. It is here. The elevated heart rate hurts my rib cage. There is a sour smell surrounding me. It does not offend. I am dripping wet with perspiration. It is time. It is time. I reach over to the frazzled side table.

The grandfather clock ticks eleven more.

On the 12th tick, the gun barrel is in my mouth.

I…

 

 

<<<<<<<<<<     >>>>>>>>>>

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

I host a writing group on Saturday mornings: Daydreamers Write! Prompts & Challenges. The above was from the challenge prompt: Strange things happen when the Grandfather Clock speaks. The challenge: Coat your piece in MOOD. Write in First-person & the narrator is not reliable. If you can, use all five (six?) senses. Some wrote prose, some poetry, and then…

The picture is ©Eric Freitas. If you want to see more of his work, the link is attached to the picture. His work is amazing, and Eric works on commissions. Check his website. 

 

Daydreamers Write! Prompt & Challenges  is a virtual writers group. We meet every Saturday morning (EST) from 10:00 am to Noon. Two prompts (2nd one holds the challenge), writing, sharing, constructive feedback, all in that two-hour slot. What I love about keeping this virtual is that we have members from both coasts in the US, and one from London. 

Click on the link, sign up for a membership, and then find the date you’d like to join in. Please send in the RSVP that is attached to that day’s invite. 

Any questions? You can leave me a message on the MeetUp page or direct to organizerdaydreams@gmail.com

One – Thirteen – Eight

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Thirteen years

Separated by a day

Tear apart Autumn.

 

Leaves die,

Their true colors surfacing

Until they fall.

 

It all happened too fast

As slow as it went

Eight years the aftermath. 

 

Two held out

Eyelids close for the last time

Left much unanswered with regrets

 

Stick it out, alone

As ideation throws itself

Against membrane walls.

 

Silence instead of screams

Close lips, open eyes

The yelling of the past is past.

 

There is a disconnect

Rejections, Turned backs

As the darkness of the night

Seeps into the coming day

Hiding is opportune

When one day is like the next.

 

 

The Dismissed or The Way

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I wondered why I was here.

Then you appeared

Keeping distant, but there

On the edge of discomfort

The need sweeping through

I wondered why

You appeared

Have you felt being stuck

Inside a dreadful memory?

Splinters of hurt

Aching enveloping

Drawn inwards

Trying to let it slip away

Holding onto it with desperate claws

“I’m tired” leaves the lips

Wafting out uncontrolled

I still wondered why

You appeared

After I have given up

You tell someone close

Thoughts of the fears

From your history, resurfacing

Wanting to be listened to

To be understood

“Just get over it.

Let it go.”

Platitudes of dismissal

Of what you say

For not fitting in with

How they live their lives

So you shut up,

Refusing to open more

Feelings and mindset are mine

But run over,

Sunk into the muck of expectations.

You appeared.

Dreading another rerun

Of relationships past

You appeared

A question of what if

Holds fast to the negatives

You

Hold too much hope

That this time will be different

Or will it dig a deeper hole

That embraces being tired

And you wonder, anew

Why are you here?

Why am I here?

Then you appeared.