(ZV) crunched, borrowed, were on, lost in, and held Time on/in/between their hands.
They shattered the barriers of Time
Which mended itself, begin anew, restored the orderliness of Time
Only to be reduced to states of constant flux
To begin again
Yet
The disruptions of Time were judged as provocations of the rule of Time
Khronos noticed
Khronos was all the time Time needed.
Khronos was the cosmogony with Ananke
Consort, Equal, Progenitor
Creating the seeds of the universes
Overseen by Time
A roiling blast of primal anger fell
At every interference of Time
Which spanned all beginnings, all ends
via (ZV)
Who did not/will not/won’t back down
At any Time
(ZV) was expansive
For every fall, obliteration, discarnate state of nothing
(ZV) held
Reincarnated, reborn
The ultimate Samsara
The realization of this
Was/is/will be
Spontaneous
Time stood/stands/will become
Still
Just joining in? This is the final Arc/Act/Part of LIQUID TIME, a tale told in 26 posts. Maybe one or two more. Click the link above to take you back to April 1st, 2021, the first “official” posting for the A to Z Blogging Challenge.
“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
JANICULUM
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.
“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
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.
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.
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.
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.
