Category Archives: War

UNTIL: Liquid Time, A to Z Blog Challenge

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A to Z Blogging Challenge 2021

UNTIL

LIQUID TIME

“Time is a construction of our consciousness.” ~ ~ Maria Popova

LAB

FLOAT POD CONNEC

O, the delicate keening
Behind the trap of lined lead
Disintegrates unscheduled times
Goddess driven
Pain of particles peeled
Flung 
To reform 
A new scream 
A new scream
A Goddess 
Intervenes

elsEwhens

khronos crumbles destroys corrodes kills shatters gnaws consumes disintegrates bites cracks kills scours spoils rots eats decays abrades erodes collapses implodes denies enslaves kills kills kills

(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

Janiculum

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

Always remembering

Immobilized, bearing witness

‘now’ compels her mind

The Oracle’s body responds

She draws out the sacred knife from the Temple of Alcyeyx

A prick, a drop of blood smeared from tip to hilt

A silent prayer

The sacred knife is raised

The Oracle of the Peak leaps from the outcrop

THIS IS NOT THE DAY

Comments & Feedback Are Always Welcome

RETRO ACTIVE≡SPECTIVE: Liquid Time A to Z Blogging Challenge 2021

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A to Z Blogging Challenge 2021

RETRO ACTIVE≡SPECTIVE

LIQUID TIME

“Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind.” Nathaniel Hawthorne

JANICULUM

elsEwhen ∞

Z is drawn back to Janiculum

V is drawn back to Janiculum

Timelessly

Flawless, pristine

War ravaged, wasteland

The Gates of Prógramma Spoudón

Open, barred, derelict

The streets, the homes, the shops, the temple

Upright, tumbled

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
the want
the need
the caresses'
the hunger
the anger
forgiveness
understanding
accepting
tactile, stimulations
deeper, horridly,
gasps, roars,
trembling, quaking, shudders
breath
remember to
they hold each other/themself
the mantle of the goddess Alcyeyx is restored
Janiculum passed around (ZV)
sending ripples
sending ripples

sending

KHRONOS, aware

feels the audacious usurpers

takes in the arrogance

their nescient control of power

(ZV) are not comparable to the Gods

The Titian rises

End of the 2nd Arc

The Final Arc begins tomorrow:

SIDEREAL PARADOX

COMMENTS & FEEDBACK ARE ALWAYS WELCOME

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.

LINEAR TURMOIL: Liquid Time A to Z Blogging Challenge 2021

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LINEAR TURMOIL

LIQUID TIME

“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.

She did not make it to the Lab.

(ZV) was floating in her way.

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.

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

Singing Songs of Joy and Peace

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Singing Songs of Joy and Peace*

 

 

We know what strict is

In the counts of the missing

The missing found

Splatters of their former selves

Shatters of what memories we had

Pushing away the viewpoints of before

It has to be forgotten

Or drag us into the mud

Meaningful deaths, but not now

They graphically get pushed away.

 

The clarity of the season was here

Wintery chills drifting along open skin

Particles inappreciable in white shells

Ingesting the soot of the days and nights

The wet becomes us

Slogging through the cold

We’re nothing but walking icicles

Degradation in our feet

 

Mornings must start with songs of Joy

From barracks to fields

To lift any spirit that could be raised

Through enforced blockage of what’s to come

Songs of Peace enforced taking Joys place

Blaring out, amplified unjust

Home is dancing in the street

Yet no dance here; our patterns are strict,

As long as this weather held.

 

Mercurial temperaments of nature

Have no sense of staying put

Wished away, ignoring petty whines

Pleading prayers always unheard

Chilled or sweltering

We melted or froze

In the fullness of time,

The weather changed.

 

Of the frozen deaths

We revoked our hearts

Set to extra toils

Making up for the dead

Of our sweat drenched backs

We camouflaged our hearts

What was left of them, numb or dead.

 

As long as this weather holds

“This” becomes mythical

While we wait; We wait

Continuing to give up lives

Joining the unremembered in their weather passage.

The egregious screws are welded holdfast

As we sing songs of Joy and Peace

Nevertheless the vagaries of weather;

Nonetheless what clasps us to those songs.

 

March on.

Opposite actions enforced.

Strictly.

 

March on.

~~~~~     ~~~~~     ~~~~~     ~~~~~     ~~~~~

Author’s Note:

“Songs of joy and peace” come from Joni Mitchel’s beautiful song, River. I had listened to it only minutes before when I shut off my music app and tuned into that night’s writing group, River River Writer’s Circle. The prompt was “When the weather changes.” The above happened, was shared, and got the suggestion: “Think about expanding this out” (well, “stretching it out”). So, I let it sit, came back to it, and the above is the result.

Thank you, Ms. Mitchel. A sad, but integral song for many.  What I wrote is no reflection on her song. The fourth line of the first stanza stayed with me.

The opening stanza from Joni Mitchel’s River is: 

It’s coming on Christmas
They’re cutting down trees
They’re putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on

Songwriters: Mitchell Joni
River lyrics © Sony Atv Music Publishing France, Joni Mitchell Publishing Corp, Sony/atv Tunes Llc Obo Joni Mitchell Publishing Corp., Wb Music Corp Obo Jam N Bread Music

 

EDIT: Boy, am I dense!

Joni Mitchel’s River

RiverRiver Writer’s Circle. 

I just realized it. Not planned at all. Doh! Oy! :::palmface:::

 

 

 

HELEDAVAR WAS MIFFED

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Heledavar dropped off the branch, landing feet first on the moss. She’d had an uneventful night in the tree, no visit from the Mlkh of the Beautiful NightMare. It was not the first time Heledavar was left with a barren sleep. She was miffed, ready to take it out on her brother, Haladavar, Wood Elf style. Heledavar reached up, grabbed a low hanging branch, and pulled. It tore off the tree, no more effort than to step on a cadaverous bug.  Heledavar thought a prayer to the tree.

It was a Tarn’s bottom to be the only femwaif in a family of Tree Elf glutoffs.

She took to dashing behind and between trees, hoping that Hal was still was captive in the dream world. She reached his spot and stopped.  Heledavar’s miffed turned quickly into peeved. Instead of her brother laid out on his favorite bed of rubble stones, Hal left a “note” on the center stone.  It was spelled out with smaller rocks: “gone adven bi. “ An adventure? The glutoff! Heledavar stormed off.

As the action of Hal kept repeating inside her, Heledavar elevated her peeved to one of extreme vexation. She swore in High Wood Elf, her mixture of curses brimming to the surface. Her mismatched eyes bulged out. Vexation to fury, with ease.

She had lived through this five -no, six- times before. All of her siblings: “gone bi.” Until this last darkness, the dark became less dark. Then, only Haladavar and Heledavar remained. Now, Heledavar, alone. Hal left her to tend to their rotten, miserable, ungrateful parents. Their Her parents and their “haute couture” shrubbery and mulch mini-farm. Neither she nor any of her brothers had any intention to take over the family business: The Aralavaris Botanical and Breakfast Hut.

They all went “gone” the same way. They’d reach a specific tree span, and before anyone could say “Zarn Knows Little,” the darkness welcomed them. Each of them cringed once their parents went to bed. To a sibling, they learned where to sleep outside, reducing the horrible noise. The snoring was deafening. A Green Dragon could tear up all the trees outside, set fire to the shrubbery, roaring its terrible roar, and gnashing its terrible teeth. No matter. When they went to bed, they went to bed, snoring through the darkness.  She knew the Green Dragon’s frenzy because that scenario had happened. Three times. No. Four? Yes, four times.

She mumbled through gritted teeth: “those glutoffs! Moronic glutoffs! Feted glutoffs!”

Heledavar raised both hands, clenched in rock breaking fists. She boxed the air above her head, screaming to the puce heavens above. Heledavar stopped her tantrum as quickly as it started. The last time she let loose was the time the previous Green Dragon came forth.

Her ill feelings shifted, rising from peeved to quite vexed.

She approached the hut they had all shared. The snoring cut through the rotting wood paneling, shored up by their “best” shrubbery. Snoring. Near endless snoring. Momentous snoring! Apocalyptic noise that would be the end of her if she did not leave. As all the others did. She thought about patricide and matricide for an Ogre’s hair breath, but she just shook her massive head. Heledavar snuck inside, grabbing the clothing and few items that were hers, shoving them into a bag.  

Heledavar also helped herself to half the armory in the hut. Twelve throwing crescents, eleven Smoke Eaters, ten silver-rimmed stakes, enough knives to hide around her body, her bow with two quivers of arrows, and, finally, her mother’s Great Sword. Her pride, her treasure, the sword she named “Zweihänder, The Death That Comes.” When her mother, The Zoupah, took out her eight hand-sized, double-edged straight blade, her opponents knew it was already too late for them. Bladders were voided. Most ran. They still voided.

During those times, her father stayed at the hut, watching over his bushes.

It was Heledavar’s time.  Before she set out, Heledavar raided the kitchen. Food for the road. Satisfied with all the meats and treats she liked, Heledavar skulked out of the hut.  Heledavar went to Hal’s favorite conk-out spot. She added a smeared smattering of broken slab over Hal’s message: “H to bi.” It served its purpose. As she walked away, grease dripped down her chin from the roasted Shaitan she spirited away.

At High Not Dark, Heledavar stopped on the rocky path she strode along. The ground trembled from the aftershocks of the snoring. Rocks rolled. Saplings unrooted themselves. The oldest, largest trees felt their leaves tumble away. Even this far away, the snoring would not let her leave. Heledavar’s vexation catapulted to rage. Heledavar held up her left fist, the right trying not to lose the fatty shank. She steadied the shank by sinking her teeth into the next to last deep mass of meat. Heledavar was free to hold up her smallest finger.  Heledavar leaned her head back, a gargling noise spilling out of her mouth, and shot down. She spat out all that she had held back. Bile mixed with the saliva ejected seventeen times. Each one a burial for the last seventeen cycles that were her life.

Heledavar turned her back on the direction of the AB&BH, remaining in place. From stillness to a howling wind, Heledavar closed her right eye, whirled four times to the known winds, then four times back again. She repeated that dance three more times, at last planting her feet solid on the path. She said her name for the last time. “Heledavar.” Her past and the name that held roots were discarded. Hele, now, opened her eye, continuing on the pitted path before her.

She only looked back three times before the hut, at long last, fell away.

Or, was it Hele’s fourth time she looked back? Fifth?

She pondered that for a long while walking. The darkness and the less dark filled in the spaces to the next day.

Samhain

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Samhain

by Stuart Nager, 8/4/20 ©

Macha opened eyes that were not hers.

She found herself walking. Surrounded by a small grouping of Cailes, eight in number. All were of strange dress, some masked, others showing painted skin, akin to animals she had only heard of. They chattered, giggled, hugged one another, ran, and chased. Five were on the verge of womanhood; three already had crossed that threshold. The body she wore was one of those three.

Yelling far ahead startled her, but for a moment, for it quickly turned to wild laughter. Macha the Virago, a warrior woman of deed, wife of dead king Nemed, held tight. These were the young of this land. These were not the noise of battle, cries of the Formorians advancing on her people with slaughter on their lips. This was not the call of her people to fight. They were not the sounds of their death throes. Those sounds invaded the soul and heart of the Caile she rode. As was her death. Macha was on the last of three intonations when the Formor sent a spear through her breast. Her body lay on bloodied dirt as the last word touched her lips.

Macha stopped.

Her breath, her heart, her body; nothing overtly stirred as her insides tugged at the container that she had invaded. A soft hand was placed on her shoulder. Looking over, this was a raven-haired Caile, whose eyes took her in. She spoke, whispered a name-twice-as Macha realized that was this Calile’s name.

“Dana,” she paused. “Dana!” Their eyes met. “Are you ok? You just stopped. Dana. Hey. Knock knock. Hello? You were the one who wanted to go trick or treating. Hey, are you ok?”

Macha caught every speeding word that…Ali. Ali churned out. Dana/Macha nodded her head. Her answer-Dana’s answer-staggered out of their shared mouth.

“I am. I’m. I’m fine, Ali.” Macha added a smile to Dana’s face. Ali’s face relaxed at hearing this, and her bunched in shoulders opened.

Macha winced as Ali threw her arms around her torso, pinning her arms. Her hands clawed in response, an intonation traveled from mind to lips. It stopped there, claws became hands, and Dana accepted the hug. She returned it.

“Hey. Go find a room,” the tall redhead called out as she walked towards the two. Jill. “C’mon. Halloween is here, babe. Let’s get some of the goodies!”

The word meant nothing to Macha as Jill and Ali linked arms with her, dragging her along. The three caught up with the others. Halloween. Dana was no help here as she was eating something delightful.

Macha looked up at the darkening skies as Dana chewed. She continued to be swept along from door to door, filling up the bag Dana had brought with her. As night truly arrived, all the girls started singing, walking to Jill’s house for the night. Dana didn’t know the words to a monster mash, so she stayed back a few steps from the others. Ali remained at her side, singing.

Macha took another look up to the stars. Her eyes twinkled. The smile on Dana was Macha’s. Ali took Dana’s hands, dancing around in a circle. They both would up laughing on the lawn outside of Jill’s home. Dana, then Ali, laid prone, heads almost touching, and stared at the stars.

Dana pointed to a group of stars that were still on the rise.

“The Seven Sisters.”

“What?”

“There. There, Ali, look. At the highest point. The grouping of stars. The Seven Sisters!”

Ali looked to where her best friend pointed, but couldn’t tell one star from another. She was just glad that Dana sounded like Dana again. Ali rolled over onto her side so she could look at Dana.

Macha didn’t notice. The Seven Sisters held her in their embrace.

“Samhain. All hallows eve. The dead shall rise. Halloween.”

Ali was asleep beside her. Macha shed tears, finding herself at the center of her life, in a world she would have to learn.

What better time of year to awaken. Macha the Virago: warrior woman; attle fury; The Phantom Queen. Macha died but has returned.

Woe to the ancestors of the Formorians.

Macha has returned.

 

 

Screeching Fury

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campfire

(Credit: Pavelk/Shutterstock)

Screeching Fury

 

Everything is darkness.

Raging fires, flaring high above our heads

Distant light snuffed out by the night.

Wounds never heal; we ooze out of ourselves

Stuffing gauze pads, cover with bandages

Not closing, not lessening, never clotting

Infectious nature saturate places uncrossed

There is beauty in moments

When the glare inside is strong

But it fades, it fades

As more darkness surrounds.

 

For some, existence changes

Opening senses, letting them coexist

Abstract perceiving demands explanations

Or relief.

What should and what should not be

Or, hide from it all

Behind flickering words

On flickering screens

On flickering pen on paper

Being part, while apart

Everything is darkness.

Still, for some

Brightness endures.