This is another thing i've been working on. It's for a spoken word piece my friends recorded a little while back. I just have a few more lines to go before I can consider it done.
Lucid Nation (I call it Richie's dream though)
crossed green eyes open
under a veil of pearl white sleep
an unknown yet familiar landscape
a chimerical colored horizon glows behind the shroud
wipe your eyes clean
dust yourself off
don't wake up
just go
three limpid pools
stagnant and hyper-reflective
neatly arranged and evenly placed
right, left, and behind
beyond them -- amaranthine flatlands
only measureless terrain – nothing more.
feel the crush
of the vast and infinite
turning you into dust
weaker now and feather-light
the pools tempt you to drink
like a sirens call to a seafarer's ear
fall to your knees at the shore
above your sun-framed reflection
dry, cracked hands slip gently into the water
and you anxiously wait for the concentric ripples
to spread outwards from your fingertips
no ripple – only a reflection
sunken eyes and pockmarked cheeks
like iron eaten away by it's own rust
skin, pale and etiolated
am I dying?, you wonder
the pool begins to drain
dragging sand and rock
and the grim visage to the center
like an hourglass
with each grain of sand
each bead of water
you are renewed
rise to your feet
and a tap on your shoulder
an amorphous face
stares at you through closed eyelids
translucent hands stretch outward
marmoreal skin caresses your cheek
a mothers touch
clusters of inchoate figures
lay quietly, strewn thick across the flatlands
the formless figure drops it's hands
“you were the first to arrive”, said the figure
“you do it”
among the fearful thoughts
and confusion invading your mind
walks a peaceful surrender
arms raise with dandelion hands
a visceral scream to the void
“that's it”, said the figure
wait out the rain
wait out in the rain
tear through the firmament
cataracts of rain rush through
and wash clean the blank canvas
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Sunday, February 1, 2009
An old intro to an unfinished story.
I've had a few other stories brewing over the past few years that I don't feel as strongly about. Mainly because I haven't given them as much thought and have no idea where to go with them. I guess i'll start posting them so maybe, one day, I can figure out what fate these characters will meet with. This one is a story of Beatrice Woodard, a woman who's life changes when she is transported from her humdrum daily routine into what, I think, will be a gameshow of the future where she is given the chance to meet her future self and change her own destiny. It's not the best description, I know, but again, I haven't given the entire story much thought. It all started as a random thought as I sat on my porch one spring morning in 2008. Here goes ...
April 5th, 2008
A single clack from a size 7 Anne Klein pump was always the first sign that morning had come on Cottonwood Lane -- a desolate street in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. Ordinarily a second clack would follow the first but this morning was a special morning. A moment of hesitation led to something quite extraordinary. Beatrice Woodard -- the woman who begot the clack in the first place -- would never make It to work this morning. She would forget to water her fern ... again, and in what we would perceive to be 10 minutes, that plant will die ... for good.
A vase -- a family heirloom from the 18th century that Beatrice used to water her plants will not break today. It won't move from its home on the center of the mantlepiece in her living room. Instead, it will serve as a vantage point for a lone spider to weave its home, a birth place for another generation of spiders and consequently a death bed for a series of other insects.
A gust of wind blew through a crack left open in the southern-most window of Beatrice's kitchen that twirled and danced through the door frame and into the livingroom giving the spider its chance to reach point B in its early stages of construction. Simultaneously, an invisible beam shot down from the heavens and struck Beatrice on the head, enveloping her entire body. At that very moment she was gone.
To say that Beatrice was gone would imply that she was no longer in the place she was. When in fact she was in every point in space, in every dimension, or at least this iteration of her was in a bleacher seat of sorts watching events unfold in an infinite number of possibilities for this particular day. Beatrice wondered if she had died or if she was still dreaming. She thought back to earlier that morning and retraced her steps to the moment when she was taken away. Her alarm that she had always believed to be plotting against her had gone off on time at exactly 12 minutes to 6:45 A.M. She hit the snooze button one last time.
-A spider crept its way through a crack left open in the southern-most window of Beatrice's kitchen in search of a place to call home and a place to catch its next meal. -
This simple kitchen contained nothing more than a refrigerator -- a hand-me-down from her mother, a round, stained oak table, an old, yellowed gas stove that came with the house and a new welcome mat with the price tag still attached. The tiles were all white except for one singular black tile 4 rows up and 16 rows inwards from the south-eastern corner of the kitchen floor.
At 12 minutes to 7:00 A.M., Beatrice's alarm sounded for its final time. Her bare feet met with the cold, hardwood floor and sent a shiver up her spine. Along with the shiver, the crunching feeling of stale bread crumbs under her heel sent a message to her brain telling her to squint in pain when, in fact, it wasn't all that painful. Brushing off her feet she hopped to the bathroom to begin her morning routine. Hot water knob - 90 degrees to the left and cold 38 degrees.
-The lone spider crossed the single black tile in Beatrice's kitchen.-
While waiting for the water to equalize, she sat and waited on her toilet above a semi-translucent pile of skin fragments. She left trails of skin everywhere she went. A slight case of O.C.D. commissioned her fingers to carve, shave, and pick her fingertips into dried, bloody peaks and valleys.
Water temperature now at a comfortable level, Beatrice washed the sleep from her face, then her chest, back, left then right arm followed by the legs then feet. It had been the same since before she could remember. Today she did not wash her hair . Instead she used the same amount of time to let the shower water rush down her face and imagine herself under a waterfall.
Shower complete, she would dry herself off face first, chest, back, left then right arm followed by the legs then feet. It had been the same way since before she could remember.
-The lone spider crossed the doorframe from the kitchen into the livingroom.-
She gave her teeth a once-over with her toothbrush, wiped the mirror and inspected her face for rogue specks of toothpaste. Nothing today. Her clothes had been neatly laid out the night before. But forgetting that today was casual friday, she mistakenly picked out her sleeveless Houndstooth sheath dress instead of a comfortable pair of jeans and t-shirt.
April 5th, 2008
A single clack from a size 7 Anne Klein pump was always the first sign that morning had come on Cottonwood Lane -- a desolate street in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. Ordinarily a second clack would follow the first but this morning was a special morning. A moment of hesitation led to something quite extraordinary. Beatrice Woodard -- the woman who begot the clack in the first place -- would never make It to work this morning. She would forget to water her fern ... again, and in what we would perceive to be 10 minutes, that plant will die ... for good.
A vase -- a family heirloom from the 18th century that Beatrice used to water her plants will not break today. It won't move from its home on the center of the mantlepiece in her living room. Instead, it will serve as a vantage point for a lone spider to weave its home, a birth place for another generation of spiders and consequently a death bed for a series of other insects.
A gust of wind blew through a crack left open in the southern-most window of Beatrice's kitchen that twirled and danced through the door frame and into the livingroom giving the spider its chance to reach point B in its early stages of construction. Simultaneously, an invisible beam shot down from the heavens and struck Beatrice on the head, enveloping her entire body. At that very moment she was gone.
To say that Beatrice was gone would imply that she was no longer in the place she was. When in fact she was in every point in space, in every dimension, or at least this iteration of her was in a bleacher seat of sorts watching events unfold in an infinite number of possibilities for this particular day. Beatrice wondered if she had died or if she was still dreaming. She thought back to earlier that morning and retraced her steps to the moment when she was taken away. Her alarm that she had always believed to be plotting against her had gone off on time at exactly 12 minutes to 6:45 A.M. She hit the snooze button one last time.
-A spider crept its way through a crack left open in the southern-most window of Beatrice's kitchen in search of a place to call home and a place to catch its next meal. -
This simple kitchen contained nothing more than a refrigerator -- a hand-me-down from her mother, a round, stained oak table, an old, yellowed gas stove that came with the house and a new welcome mat with the price tag still attached. The tiles were all white except for one singular black tile 4 rows up and 16 rows inwards from the south-eastern corner of the kitchen floor.
At 12 minutes to 7:00 A.M., Beatrice's alarm sounded for its final time. Her bare feet met with the cold, hardwood floor and sent a shiver up her spine. Along with the shiver, the crunching feeling of stale bread crumbs under her heel sent a message to her brain telling her to squint in pain when, in fact, it wasn't all that painful. Brushing off her feet she hopped to the bathroom to begin her morning routine. Hot water knob - 90 degrees to the left and cold 38 degrees.
-The lone spider crossed the single black tile in Beatrice's kitchen.-
While waiting for the water to equalize, she sat and waited on her toilet above a semi-translucent pile of skin fragments. She left trails of skin everywhere she went. A slight case of O.C.D. commissioned her fingers to carve, shave, and pick her fingertips into dried, bloody peaks and valleys.
Water temperature now at a comfortable level, Beatrice washed the sleep from her face, then her chest, back, left then right arm followed by the legs then feet. It had been the same since before she could remember. Today she did not wash her hair . Instead she used the same amount of time to let the shower water rush down her face and imagine herself under a waterfall.
Shower complete, she would dry herself off face first, chest, back, left then right arm followed by the legs then feet. It had been the same way since before she could remember.
-The lone spider crossed the doorframe from the kitchen into the livingroom.-
She gave her teeth a once-over with her toothbrush, wiped the mirror and inspected her face for rogue specks of toothpaste. Nothing today. Her clothes had been neatly laid out the night before. But forgetting that today was casual friday, she mistakenly picked out her sleeveless Houndstooth sheath dress instead of a comfortable pair of jeans and t-shirt.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
The beginning
There have been many myths illustrating the origin of man. Some depicting man as being concocted from dust and body parts in their creator's image, some as the children of mythical heroes descended from the sky, and some believe that from a primal ocean came their creator who, through an exertion of will, birthed two children who later conceived the earth and sky, thus creating the universe. While these myths are still, to this day, passed down from one generation to another, there is one myth left untold ...
There was a black void - nothing more and no possibility of anything less. Within this void - a council of gods. These gods, without any form or physical body, existed as multi-hued nodes of energy. It came to pass that the gods grew tired of the boring, arid, black void and together they willed their home into existence. Their home, simple and succinct, served as a drafting room. Here, they spent infinite amounts of time drafting and weaving the fabric of their magnum opus - the universe. They stretched out their newly woven fabric into the vast reaches of infinity making sure to carefully eliminate all of the wrinkles and returned to decide their next move. A decision was made - this could be understood by the light shade of blue each god faded into followed by a deep, reverberating hum. A world would be sewn into the fabric. Inhabiting this world - a myriad of denizens who they would observe.
Dancing tendrils of light streamed from the ether, enveloping the dry and barren planet in its opalescence. On the other end of this light was Narrah - the moodier of the gods. Like sand flowing through an hourglass, Narrah's life force slowly sifted through into the new universe. This once auburn and slate colored celestial body, now engulfed with Narrah's energy, faded into a deep emerald ocean.
Each god delicately placed themselves into the universe. Buruwang, a torpid and slothful god poured through an inchoate sky into the waters below. There he lay to rest a while before solidifying into what became the island of Illiari. Immeasurable amounts of time passed. The sun and the moon were set into orbit in order to fix the immeasurable time predicament. Two gods remained - Marlee and Ma'Grimal. Marlee would plant herself upon the surface of Buruwang to become a great tree - a tree whose grandeur was only proportionate to the amplitude of the island itself. She would span a great distance along the eastern border of Illiari and upwards into the astral lights of the cosmos.
There was a black void - nothing more and no possibility of anything less. Within this void - a council of gods. These gods, without any form or physical body, existed as multi-hued nodes of energy. It came to pass that the gods grew tired of the boring, arid, black void and together they willed their home into existence. Their home, simple and succinct, served as a drafting room. Here, they spent infinite amounts of time drafting and weaving the fabric of their magnum opus - the universe. They stretched out their newly woven fabric into the vast reaches of infinity making sure to carefully eliminate all of the wrinkles and returned to decide their next move. A decision was made - this could be understood by the light shade of blue each god faded into followed by a deep, reverberating hum. A world would be sewn into the fabric. Inhabiting this world - a myriad of denizens who they would observe.
Dancing tendrils of light streamed from the ether, enveloping the dry and barren planet in its opalescence. On the other end of this light was Narrah - the moodier of the gods. Like sand flowing through an hourglass, Narrah's life force slowly sifted through into the new universe. This once auburn and slate colored celestial body, now engulfed with Narrah's energy, faded into a deep emerald ocean.
Each god delicately placed themselves into the universe. Buruwang, a torpid and slothful god poured through an inchoate sky into the waters below. There he lay to rest a while before solidifying into what became the island of Illiari. Immeasurable amounts of time passed. The sun and the moon were set into orbit in order to fix the immeasurable time predicament. Two gods remained - Marlee and Ma'Grimal. Marlee would plant herself upon the surface of Buruwang to become a great tree - a tree whose grandeur was only proportionate to the amplitude of the island itself. She would span a great distance along the eastern border of Illiari and upwards into the astral lights of the cosmos.
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