Archive for August, 2010

What is turning? This strange cyclical spiraling galaxy inside the barrens of my heart springing forth to leap with explosive lightning rumbles and buzzing, billowing clouds of expanding ruptures in the stale tranquility of nothingness?

Missing my friend and hek-sistah Xtine.  Alexi is off into the big dude final battle of ultra-mech lightsaber duel or die.  Hexe is softly treading inside her marvelous hut and making wondrous treasures which only those who recognize their own bones get to behold.

The other day another miracle swept over me from an unexpected corner.  Knowledge, understanding and healing in a triple powderkeg of true being and passion. Lion and maiden over creepers in balance.   Just like that, all is made clear, and flowering, fruitful release, birds in great number swooping over bridges of thought past the decrepit stumbling we call progress.

Feeding the sphinx from my hand, struggling hard to do this strange impossibility with the respect it takes, when all my dullest senses clutch at me to revert to the cruel and ugly, the default.  Ain’t misbehavin’, but not giving in to the temptation to reject beauty because it closely resembles the big come down.  Back and forth, slack hand on the reins, tight grasp on the reins. Not fully in the driver’s seat when it’s me myself and I.

Done my thing, kept my promise, barely. Now I am to do another thing. This time the task is on the unlived and unaccepted parts of me.  There’s work to do, and I am treading towards the wondrous majesty and fabulous revelation breaking out and bursting outwards from the inside uncounted depths I haven’t ever known until I would.

Yo! Yucky flounder kid! There’s water flowing, get ready for this.

So, what’s going on in doomsville? Been a while since I took a seat and rapped on the corner side here. The menagerie is alive and well, if at times it seems to have sprouted wheels and is sighted all about town.

I’m working on book two.  Book one is in a final stage of transformative elation text-wise; I promise to have the Gimmie Stuff page updated as soon as that is complete. Also working on a cover for the souvenir physical version.  Once that’s done I’ll look into converting for e-book files. My brain stem is acquiring all manner of new knowledge during this feisty process of refinement!

Seems like the planetary forces have been all stirred up.  Meteor showers, solar flares, floods and earthquakes.  Hek even on the metaphysical plane we got Cardinal Climaxes lined up, not to mention a heavy dose of psychic interference from all manner of weirdzo dimensions and denizens.  I’m having to expend a lot of mental energy keeping my health and my attention up to snuff.

The summer is a scorcher over here in the central wastes of indecision land. The garden is taking a lot of supply runs to keep going. Those bio-nutrient counteractants come at a high price in mosquito bites, sunburn and poison ivy, let me tell you! Onions, potatoes, basil, and tomatoes are bringing in the reinforcements in small amounts; hey whatever margin of survival we can manage we will. Corn, sunflowers, and peppers bringing up the rear.

The cats are in hyper reorganization mode, which is good. No news is good news as they say. As long as they are able to keep the hydroid bombers at bay with lazors, hey that’s good pattern.  Michael has a new nickname though: Tarball.  He’s big, he’s fat, and he needs to protect you from yourself by laying on you until you get the picture. Is this what Mad Max survival has been reduced to? No cool car chases here, just scavenging eroded out gas tanks on hulking wrecks, hoping to score some ten year expired dog food.

The crummy spaghetti and stir fry recipes we’ve been working on have been refined to our tastes. It’s helpful to have new fall backs we can hit the automatic switch with and get something to eat without panic. Have to say its a success. Though we still need more do-fers in our bag of tricks to make it more complete a meal plan. Still, anything that is cheap and easy and healthy is good. Keeps us out of the McFood troughs.

Long drawn out patrol while repair and reprogram procedures are refined and worked on. Lots going on in the furnace, just no heat yet in the hallways. The trans warp warm up takes a while.

Vinah’s last vestige of development faded from sight.  The landscape became an undulating terrain of cheap, one-story homes connected by borders of trees and scrub.  Traffic dispersed into wider intervals of encounter.

Wesa exhaled a sigh, tense.  She searched the roadside with brief glances in between the business of steering.

Stara blinked her eyes once, then three times in quick succession.  “Which way to the coast?”

“I’m not sure,” said Wesa. “There’s an intersection off to the side of this road. The map says it goes through some national park forest or something.  IC5 is on the other end.”

“Looks like that’s it.”  Stara gestured towards a side road running at an angle away from the main one.

Wesa put on her signal and slowed down to take the turn.  A dark gray sedan in the rear-view mirror loomed close, slowing as it swooped into a tailgate.  She turned onto the winding road, snapped a glare at the woman driver speeding by.

The trees and brush grew wilder and crowded closer to the side of the road.  The one-story homes disappeared in favor of small fields and old, worn farmhouses.  They passed a campaign sign encouraging participation in an approaching tribal election.

As her eyes drooped, a blank expression took over Stara.

With a sudden rush of gargantuan presence, a forest loomed up out of the hills and turned the light to soft shadows.  A hush absorbed the two girls in the car; their senses dulled and enveloped by a sleepy drowse.

The road wound in a twisting series of curves, rises and descents.  Wesa noted the lack of a rail between her car and a ten foot plummet into a stream gully on one side, and the overgrown sheer slope on the other.  She shifted down and took the turns carefully, fighting the drowse with firm nibbles on the tip of her tongue.

The speakers played a new track of slow and regretful drums.  Stara dozed off into a disassociated state of half-awake dreams.

As the heartfelt refrain began, Wesa turned the music off.  The quiet rhythm of the drive lulled at her; she imagined kicking Julio in the butt and out the door of her room.

The smile on her face turned into pursed lips.  She blinked once, then her eyes swelled with blushing tears.

Wesa opened her mouth and struggled with words.  “Stara, I just had a daydream.”

Her friend jerked awake with a start, “Wha?  What was that?”

“I had this daydream.  I watched this guy riding in a car with some girl.  They were driving to the coast like us.”

Stara rubbed her eyes and said, “You want me to drive?”

Wesa said, “You don’t have a license.  This guy.  He was so sad, I saw that he’d given up hope.  This girl really dug him, but he was like a total buttmunch.”

“Great, a hopeless road.”  Stara cleared her throat and blinked herself awake.

“No, it wasn’t this place.  It was like the trees were telling me something they’d known from way back.  I wanted to tell this guy it was okay, he would be okay.  But he wasn’t listening.”

Stara said, “All sorts of people are like that.  They never listen to anyone when they’re depressed.  Dudes like that draw nurses  from all over—drag them through the mud.”

Wesa said, “Why did I have that daydream?”

“I don’t know.  Maybe you picked up on something that was really strong.  People leave marks on places when their lives get messed up.”

“That must be it,” said Wesa.  “There was this deep, timeless ache to this guy’s feelings.  He kept going on and on through this moonlight darkness, along a never ending road with this girl.  It wasn’t extreme; it was vast and hollow like an endless horizon of sadness.  All that guy could do was fall into it forever.”

Stara hissed.  “Damn, Wesa.  That’s messed up.  You had this just now, wide awake?”

Wesa took a sharp curve slow and easy.  “Totally.”

“This like that stuff you told me about, how as a kid you used to go places in your head?  Talk to people in their minds?”

Wesa made a puzzled face.  “No, not like that.  But kind of.  I never got feelings like this.”

The road straightened out and passed between two waist-high walls of flat, piled rocks.  The trees trended sharply away from the side of the road and evening light returned, bathing the girls in reviving expanses of vision.  Through the trees on the right, a well-tended farmhouse nestled at the foot of a steep hillside.

Stara said, “You sure we’re on the right road?”

Wesa eyed her friend, then huffed.