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Archive for September, 2010|Monthly archive page

I held you in my arms

In Poetry on September 21, 2010 at 4:26 am

I held you in my arms,

Feet planted firmly in the sand.

We were staring out to sea at dusk.

You a treasure in strong arms

Them there for your protection

We held each other, truly did.

My baby in my arms,

Too late to offer you to the bled out sun

Too late for a tad more

A little more daylight to daydream by

For now the waves were purple, and now the waves were black

And now the sky became a cave, a’ fletched with stars.

I held you in my arms, like the treasured objects before me

(the sparkle in the black cave).

Feet planted in the sand

(the weight of you sinking me)

staring out to sea.

(a last romantic gesture).

Now I start up at the memory,

cold sweat and worthwhile memory.

A protecting vow of love,

disturbing my sleep.

I reach for your encompass

Your beauty and your grace

Like a glass of water, cold and beaded

And reassuring in the room’s night.

My fingers find nothing to hold

Nor nothing there to quench.

Rigid am I as I think

My feet sinking

(a final gesture rife with promise)

My head thinking

Why does it go on at all?

Love in the MOrasse II

In Love in the Apocalyptic Morass on September 21, 2010 at 4:24 am

Karl lifted the man’s skull with a firm grip and shoved it with all his strength on the rocks.  It made a gristled cracking sound amplified by the walls of the burned, brown valley.  He saw that the eye had come lose and was starting from the eye sockets and he closed his eyes and turned his head, but maintained his own strong fingers in a death grip that could bend steel or crush the wind from a child’s throat.  Twice, three times he smashed the man’s head into the dust covered precipice, and with the third strike the sound became a wet, dull thud and he felt the skull give way and crumple like a bag of soft fruit, and the man’s arms suddenly fell away from Karl’s throat and face where they’d scrabbled in vain.

He sat down by the yellowed stone wall jutting out of the precipice like a steeple, and looked at the body. He looked for a long time, trying not to concentrate on the smashed head and the pulp.  How long could he keep doing this?  How long could his luck hold?  How long before he met a man bigger, stronger, craftier, or more desperate than he?  He was tired and he allowed himself to sigh aloud and decided he would come back here the next morning to bury the body.  If it was still there.  The blood sun, dark and deep as a shimmering lump of lava rock pierced and hung in the sky, kept the land dying in its shimmering heat.  That bitter old sun, with nothing to do, but roast away as much life as it could every day before it too died.

Karl walked down the precipice, with that sun bearing down on his back, wary of his footing.  A long time ago (months, years?) he had spotted a deer and in his haste for its flesh had fallen and cut himself badly.  The wound became infected within a few days and grew yellow and then black around the cut.  He remembered Laura using every last bit of their splinters of soap, scrubbing them into the wound.  He remembered grimacing with pain and especially how he thought even then that the pain was nothing compared to his fear.  Not of dying, but of being lame.  He had been terrified of becoming unable to provide for her, and forcing her out of their hut into the sodden madness hell the world had become.

Death’s wide skulled grimace and cold cloak did not bother him, but the thought of Laura alone stopped his breath midway in his body and held it there.  Karl quickened his pace and carefully scanned for friends of the man he’d killed as he descended, though he knew the man had none and was just a lone scavenger spying and starving.

Karl jogged to the hut and saw Laura waiting for him, smiling.  He felt his skin tingle and lift from his toes to his face.  What was she smiling about?  I’m so happy you’re home and safe.  Me too, my little baby.  Your hands?  I had tried to kill a deer but the bugger got away.  What’s the matter?

She was touching his face, the marks of the dead scavenger’s fingers.  He cast his eyes downward.  It wasn’t a deer…you killed someone didn’t you?  Yes, I did.  He had been spying on us from above.  He would have killed us.  You don’t’ know that, maybe he just wanted some food.  Food we don’t have to spare.  We could have helped him, and learned from him, and worked together…or…or learned about where he came from – Shut up!  Do you remember the last time?  Huh?  Santiago?  My point is we don’t know, and we’ll never get out of here!  I’m sorry about that time, I was stupid…but if we’d approached him carefully.  CAREFULLY?  Bring him into our hut so he can stamp out or brains with a stone while we sleep and then take everything we’ve stored away.  This rotting meat!!!? These blankets that the cold laughs at?  These walls themselves?!!  Or…take YOU?!! I’ll be damned if I let any man safely set foot within a mile of here!  I’ll wrip his throat out, twist his arms until they crack, pull them out of their sockets, and stomp them into the putrid ground.  I’ll push their eyes into their brains, and crush…I…oh…

Laura sat silently on the floor of the hut.  She’d long ago dried up in that beautiful husk, with water too scarce to refill her wells.  She just sat there with her back slumped looking at the ground.  Karl stood over her with his palms hanging limply at his sides.  She glanced at their basket of food and supplies that had kept them alive for countless days and nights after the atomic dust had cleared and the nice old world was proven vanished.  She looked up at him and saw his eyes brimming with tears and his lips pursed and beginning to quiver.  She smiled up at him, like a child in a world without children.  She was the last one left, and he bent down and sobbed his guilt and grief.  That big malnourished bear of a man, just as he did the last time he murdered someone.

Karl walked up the stone steps to the temple and saw the Doctor waiting.  He thought he was smiling underneath the bone-white paint covering the Doctor’s face.  Karl glanced at each guard at the entryway, huge men as big as Karl but with bodies untouched by hunger.  And the secret of their strength, and the Doctor’s, lay in Karl’s arms.  The Doctor walked behind Karl as he carried the body and lay it in front of the fire.  Women lounged among the walls and blankets of the temple, some covered slightly in the heat, some fully nude.  All of them gazed languidly at Karl for a moment before staring back into the whirpool of nothingness.

Karl squinted at the fire and turned around.  The Doctor looked him from head to toe and back again, and then he grinned.

“We of the Temple of the New World thank you for your kind offering, and may your rags turn to riches and you live a long life full of love.”

Karl looked into the eyes for a moment and felt fear for the first time.  He had never seen the Doctor so happy.

“How are you, Karl?”  The Doctor was a powerful man, a man who’s gaze never wavered in one part because of his stature in the morasse and the burned plains and the junkyards, and one part because he was insane.

“I’m fine,” Karl responded.  In the swirling smoky air, the smell of burnt flesh and the toxic inscense that permeated the atmosphere of Eden, Karl felt sick.  He yearned to be outside, outside in that baked wasteland, back in his hut in the morasse.

The Doctor’s head stayed in absolutely the same physical plane, only it moved forward as if the face was being zoomed in, or his neck were extending out of his body like a monster.  The skull white face, smooth shaven, the cannibal grin, the yellow-red eyes, were now just a few inches from Karl’s own nose.

“You look very thin.  Out there, everyone, everything, withers and dies.  Even love.  I won’t ask my question again, that is, my offer, with all its original, unsullied kindness, neighborly love and generosity…my OPPORTUNITY, now will in most respects and angles be in its final phase.”

Two of the girls took the body and were preparing it for the fire, there was a large steel shaft with a point being carried by a third.  Karl wished for something to steady himself on.  The guards looked in.  He coughed, hacked, and coughed again.

The Doctor spoke again, his hands moving like two animals wrestling with each other in front of his chest, his head and body not moving, “What I am saying, dear friend Karl, is this is your last chance to join our beloved Temple.”

“I won’t,” Karl said.

“It is time to enlighten yourself, and to partake in the reality of our glorious world.”

“No.”

“You’ve already killed, you’ve already done this much for your survival.  You’ve brought offerings, why do you hold yourself back?  Why cling to the past in misery?”

“He would have killed us, I did this for survival.”

“Yes, survival, in the end we do everything for survival.”

“I’m leaving.”

“What of your wife?”  The Doctor’s hands were moving faster now, and with a concerted effort he stopped them and held them against his breast.

“I told you not to talk about her!” Karl took a step forward and the guards moved into the temple before the Doctor waved them away.  The acrid smoke, the cooking man, was building up.

“I won’t cross that line, I won’t do that…”

“Why deny her a haven from the misery you live in?”

“Stop, shut your mouth, or you will receive nothing from me in the future.”

The Doctor looked at him gravely, the smile was faded.  “Look at you, Karl.  I give you this last chance because you no longer will be able to provide our Temple with anything.  Realize your situation, the carrion crawlers creep closer to you and she every night.  Your love is a selfish one, keeping her in squalor, unable to provide for her like you promised.  You deny her with your idealism, while the crows pick at her body by day and your scrounge like an animal for the carcasses and feces of the plains.”

Karl took the axe and flung it.  It went end over end over end at the Doctor.  The Doctor had raised his finger and pointed it at Karl right before the axe was thrown; it happened that the axe blade sliced through the index finger perfectly down the middle like the peel of a banana and buried between the first and second knuckle of the hand.  The Doctor looked in disbelief at his right hand and suddenly his other fingers began wiggling wildly.  He screamed at his hand, looked up and roared at Karl.  Karl paused to say something, then turned and ran out of the castle back to Laura.

1.       Murder

2.       Body to the Doctor, nasty reaction

3.       Returning home and reflection

4.       Home, fight, and shining star from above

5.       What to do?  Paranoia, decision

6.       Returning to the Temple

7.       Love

Love in the Morasse

In Uncategorized on September 21, 2010 at 4:24 am

Imagery- Red-orange junkyard wasteland that is a no man’s land.  Some resources exist in this baked/fried atmosphere.  It is also where the Doctor dwells in his flesh eating kingdom.  The fight between Murdock, human bounty hunter, and Ralph, dwller bounty hunter, takes place here.

Morasse- radiated water encompassed by blue green filth.  Human cannot exist in this environment, but dwellers call this their home- fighting for scraps, eating each other or anything they can.  Ralph and his woman Keelay, refuse to take part

His eyes were bloodshot and tired.  But they were open and fierce.  The face was scarred from meeting trouble, but beating it, many times.  The man’s hair and beard were long and brown and soggy and matted.  He was leaned against a small outcropping of natural rock that jutted out of the filth.  He blinked rarely, he was watching for someone coming through the little valley of car wreckage and trash.  Below him.

In his right hand he gripped a knife.  He knew he was one of the only men in the place with one.  Many times, he’d taken care of trouble with that knife.  Sometimes he thought about how many of those troubles would have done him in if he didn’t have it.

Murdock scratched his beard and pulled out some dead insects from it, he hadn’t eaten in days and neither apparently had they…so they died.  He felt the pain in his stomach for about three days before it became dull.  After that, about four days later the pain would come back stronger.  At first, before the break, it was a rumble that became a feeling like the steady threatening hollowing out of the stomach.  Like a tree being hollowed out by tools from the inside.  After the break, when the pain returned, the hollowness felt like the body was eating itself.  After a full week he began to get used to this hunger.

表达具体的知识:the concept of starving to death, in as legible and impacting a way as possible.

He felt the air change a degree or two.  Felt the change first around his ears, skull, and neck and then his whole body felt it.  A small, perceptible change in temperature.  He had a moment to wonder how they got the drop on him.

He grabbed the bearded man as he turned, one hand grasping firmly the wrist that held the pointed blade, his other huge hand with a good hold on the man’s neck below the chin.  In this way he lifted the squirming man above the ground, absorbed a sharp kick just below his neck (which would have been very bad) into his chest, and drove the man down into the hard ground.  He’d hoped that the head would crack the ground and he could finish him with little effort, but the bearded man was tough after hitting the ground wrestled away from the vice grip and rolled to a safe distance.  They both looked for an instant for the knife but it had clattered away onto the stones below.

Murdock stared with tired fury at the smooth skinned creature in front of him.  A dweller.  He’d killed them before, those dangerous mutated bastards.  He looked at the body, slightly bluish gray under the tattered rags.  He looked at the human eyes, flattish nose, and the gills below human ears.  He looked at the dwellers muscles, sinewy and with a physical power beyond that of humans.  He felt sorry for the creature, despite his own starvation and even despite the deep impressions in his wrist and neck, the blood on the back of his head.  He’d tucked his head to avoid the KO, and he’d lost the knife.  The dweller took a couple shambling steps towards him.  Murdock knew he’d have to maneuver perfectly, take the charge, and flip the sneaky bastard over his head using its momentum against it.  The dweller rushed forward, and Murdock grabbed its wrist and violently pivoted into its body, his own hip and back slamming into it while immediately pulling with both arms and lifting up on his legs to throw it over his shoulder.  But he couldn’t do it.  As his force of motion abated he felt the dweller’s arms crush around him and thought he always knew it would be one of these freaks that got him.  Not a gun.  Not a man, but some monstrosity created by the same men who’d ruined the planet. –show how it feels to kill someone.-

Ralph felt very tired.  He was bloody and scratched where the man had tried to claw his way free.  It only took about a minute to choke him to death.  But it felt like an eternity, and as he always did after the first time he closed his eyes and looked away as his hands cut the air and left the body drying in the sun.  He had killed thirty men.  Twenty five were people like him, down in the morasse.  For food, but mostly in defense of his home and his woman.  This was the fifth pure human he’d killed for the Doctor.  Describe his sick feeling, maybe go into the history of how he got involved…the difference between doing it for survival and as a job.  Have to intro the Doctor as very sinister.

Ikko watched her sleep, her naked torso rising and falling with her breaths.  The shadows surrounded her body like claws but left her face clear in the moonlight.  The moon was still there in the sky.  Kee was still there, by his side.  He didn’t want to wake her, but his hands ignored his brain and drifted, laying them on her body and absorbing her softness and warmth.  Almost suddenly, he lay down next to her and clutched her, almost fiercely, to his body.  He made his body a blanket shell around her flesh, against the cold, the toxins, the animals, the world.  And especially the Doctor.  He wished he could make their bodies one, to take her in and meld together, but no matter how tightly he held her it was never close enough.  His remembered the morning, and thought about leaving her to hunt in the day, and with those thoughts of parting his tears began to flow.  Kee whimpered and her body twisted a little in his grasp.  He released her and lay next to her and slept. This part has to be beautiful, an accurate, eloquent representation of how it feels to hold Kinny.  Symmetry, fitting together, comfort against the world.  A combination of sadness/hopelessness and happiness/comfort.

The thing about giants and giant killers

In Pilgrimmage on September 21, 2010 at 4:22 am

The thing you had to know about giants is that they were big.  Very big, so big in fact that a fight with a giant almost always came down to a stomp on the head.  It was something that used to happen many times in the old days, a large footprint would be found along with the deceased remains of a warrior, archer, wizard, or fool.  A true giant was big enough to ignore almost any danger, and the business of man and his machinations were the same as the vast networks of ants to us.

Giants used to roam the earth more or less freely, and by chance would destroy settlements in forests and hillsides.  This caused strife and chaos in some of the more populated human areas, but giants could have cared less.

The lessers came up out of the marsh and moved silently through the trees towards the hamlet.  The air was cold and dry, still hours away from the morning dew.  There were five of them, each about the size of a short but very strong man.  One of them wore a dark colored shirt and tattered trousers.  Their fur was short and thick, brown except for around their necks and heads which was darker (almost black) and their hands and feet were long and tipped with the claws of an animal (dangerous, but a swipe would not open your blood).  If you were close to a lesser monster’s face, you would see the dark red eyes that like old coals.  They did not burn with fierce intelligence, or even lethal anger.  They were the eyes of a tired animal, one that was not long for this world.  The five moved assuredly to the edge of the forest, and they were not unnoticed by the people of the hamlet.

A hot breeze leads to a tree leads to…items!

In Pilgrimmage on September 21, 2010 at 4:20 am

It was a hot breeze.

“Lord, Lord Lord! “

“Can you give me the question?”

Is it North, South, West?

Where do we go?

“I don’t know.”

“Isn’t this just our lucky day.”

You just have to breath

In the hot breeze.

He walked quickly into the tree, Belinda following too close for his taste.  It was dark and the musty smell of old wood assailed his nose and mouth and he could taste it a little.

“It’s so old here,” she said and immediately he decided that the smell was richly good.

Not quite pitch black, they scanned the lines of twisting tree limbs along the walls and furniture like royal purple lightning streaking shapes upon the walls and he thought for a brief moment standing on the floor that they were floating in space but underground.   A light went on.

The ground became brown packed earth.  The lines of the inner limbs became branches that stood out like brown scars.  The dark sky became the ceiling where the great limbs met.  The tree was hollowed out and massive, but it was a dwelling with carpet and chairs and a small sofa and bookcase.  There were too rooms with doors.  There was a second level with a bumpy railing going halfway around the house.

“Almost fell a few times before, up there, keeping my balance in the night.  Lean on something too much and it’ll let you down,” Dolamer stepped out of a room, his eyes on a book in his hands thumbing through pages.  He mumbled: “Here it is.”

Tyr and Belinda stayed silent as Dolamer stood there and read silently.  He seemed to have forgotten they were there.

“Must be important,” Belinda whispered.

“Yes.”

“Or he just never noticed we were here because he’s old and daft!”

“What?”

“He meant to say, ‘fell a few times from up there…never was the same again.”

“That’s not it.” Tyr couldn’t believe her and he wanted to tell her to shut up.

“What’s one of the first things that goes when you start to get old?” She was looking at him and nearly grinning.  “Your personal hygiene and cleanliness, that’s what.  So now we know what accounts for the smell in here.”

Shutup!” Tyr bristled right at her.  Belinda pursed her lips in a guilty smile and shrugged her shoulders at him as if she was a guilty child who knew she would not be punished but for her cuteness.  Tyr stared at her from the corner of his eyes, mouth open in disgust.  His anger suddenly drained away into embarrassment and she must have felt the same for their eyes turned in unison towards their host.  He was looking at them.

“Two of you done?” These were his first words directed at them; his voice was big and gruff but also warm.  Tyr felt a little more at ease.

“Sorry for our rudeness, sir,” Tyr said and as he said it he bowed slightly with his head and couldn’t see Belinda roll her eyes but knew she that she had.

“No need for apologies, rude of me to stand here reading while you and Belinda have come a ways to see me.  Sit down over here.”

Tyr looked at Belinda quizzically but she didn’t show she noticed.

They sat down on a red couch in front of the black iron fireplace.  Dolamer had fashioned the tree dwelling himself nearly thirty years ago, including the fireplace he only used during the coldest days of winter.  Dolamer brought cups of cool blue tea water and set them down on the small oak table roughly.  Try drank and remembered looking at that great tree, bark almost as white as the snow and standing out against the snow and still green trees with grey smoke rising up into the white sky and running into the clouds.  The giant natural furnace that as a child he didn’t dare go near or imagine he would enter, and as the three of them sat quietly he closed his eyes briefly and thought that this journey was finally becoming real.

“You are Tyr, and together with my niece you’re going on a journey is that right?”

“You’re Belinda’s uncle?” Tyr couldn’t believe it.

“Yes.”

“Uncle Dolamer…”

He led them to another room and where lay a chest of walnut that Dolamer opened and began taking things out of to lay on the table.  First, a knife with a dark blue handle whose blade

The Odd Riders

In Pilgrimmage on September 21, 2010 at 4:20 am

A farmer led his family

They were two, tall and thin, one taller than the other, the shorter one thinner than the tall one.

They rode their horses with backs straight, heads down, somewhat elegant but also strange like the two of them were thinking quietly to themselves.  The larger of the two had long black hair tied back in a ponytail, and was dressed in long robes as if to guard against the cold.  The other wore a shirt of white with dark trousers and suspenders, a peasants good clothes.

Peasant clothes  cast a glance behind them, and without passing a word the two brought their horses to a stop and turned them smoothly to address what had been following them from the side of the road for some time while using the trees and bushes as cover.

Dark Ascent

In Pilgrimmage on September 21, 2010 at 4:14 am

Dark of night climbing up stone stairs by the light of that small torch, it’s small orange orb surrounded by a flickering bright wisp that danced in the night, and each time the wind blew fiercely it cowered and threatened to go away forever.

He staunched his wounds with his left hand.  The slices in his legs were only cuts now, and he imagined the strong oaks of home bearing the nicks of man and beast and nature and standing proudly.  Mere axes could never fell a tree such as those, his father had said and so the pain in his legs became a source of pride.   But the hole at his ribs which had bled so fiercely before now oozed and dried between his fingers; it hurt to exhale and it hurt more to breath in.

Each step of that towering blackness was planned out, he no longer looked up because there was no seeing the top, no promise of rest or salvation.  Each breath was planned out with his steps so that he was always prepared for the pain.  The steps were black and cold and as he noticed as they climbed higher and higher they became broken, uneven, cracked, and he cursed them under his breath against a background of treacherous whispers.

Tyr felt her hand at his back, the slight tug on his tattered tunic and with each footfall he felt something like security like as long as his right hand grasped hers and as long as she made every step of the way with him this ascent meant something.  Not the crystal, or the wizard, or the world, but her.  And with each footfall together he also felt the weight of a terrible burden.

Sweat dripped in his eye.  His foot slid, he faltered and she pushed against him and a piece of the stair tumbled down the slope. His feet found purchase again immediately and he righted the two of them his left hand on the ground his right hand never left her.  Tyr wiped the sweat from his eye and he smiled at her to reassure her and she also managed a tired smile back at him.  They looked at each other for a few moments.  They never heard that piece of rock hit / finally they heard the stone clatter the silence and the whispers grew louder for a moment.  Silence again, fallen through clouds into some nether realm down below.