Open E tuning to make it sound like I can actually play guitar sorta.
Tag: Atmospheric
ia Ra (Poem and Song)
Poem Song –
I’m the paleolithic hunter
Imagination of the sun
And I run
And I run
And I run through the air and the ether and the atmosphere
The flame you become
Tells I am near
Lonesome is a fantasy
Presence is reality
I’m the skipper of duality
The captain of each sacred Sea
Ia Ia I a RA
Ia Ia I a RA
Ia Ia I a Ra
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She Sells Seahells – Part IV – Solomon’s Gift (Original Story)
“Well that there along the side…you see it…the sort of interlocking thing…yes…” I said running my finger along the edge. “That is the tree of life – the world tree…”
“Like in the Bible.”
“Somewhat..though this is a Yakut story likely given our guests origin…and the pearl atop really seals it as belonging to that tradition – the white mother.”
I watched the Turk. I knew that he understood English. Yet nothing that I said. Things that I was sure were familiar to him. Nothing of that had caused so much as the hint of a tinge of a change in expression.
In my experience Turks were usually lively. Maybe it was his role as guest rather than host that caused his ascetic reticence. Yet…no…that couldn’t be it. There was something off about this man.
He had not given any explanation of the strange box that he had insisted we help him pry from the Spanish. He said that they had stolen it. Though how they had effected that given its nature was beyond me. I suppose this was a problem of language. He had probably been taken together with the box and when we had first liberated him had gotten separated.
His face bore many marks of abuse. Apparently he had been ill treated. The Castilians are as hot blooded as the Moors and I wouldn’t put a single travesty past them once they were under the influence of zeal.
“Timurhan…” I said as gently as I could. “You know that we are men of faith…not the faith of Spain…no…we are not papists..we are free Englishmen and you will receive no coercion or abuse at our hands. As far as we are concerned your soul and your secrets belong to you and to God. That being said…we are mortals…and most curious about the nature of your treasure…is there any chance that you would share your knowledge…”
Timurhan sat in silence for eternities. Then he motioned for some parchment.
After some scribbling he handed it to me.
It was a series of dots appearing off the coast of Africa.
“You wish to sail to the Canaries?” I asked.
He nodded slowly.
Van Yost gave a low whistle.
“That is thousands and thousands of miles off course…” Harris began.
I held up my hand.
“Timurhan if we take you to the Canaries…will you sate our foolish lust for knowledge?”
Again the Berber nodded slowly.
“Well that is hardly an incentive…” Harris guffawed.
This was true. What I had difficulty in ascertaining was why the Spaniards had dragged him all the way to the Americas.
“I can see that you are a man of devotion…Allah has blessed you with a gift for silence…but I fear you may be misusing it. I do not mind the box so much now as I mind knowing what it is that finds you in Florida?”
This time he responded quickly in surprisingly good English. “I had been fooled. Those papal dogs had promised safe Harbor in the colonies. That is where I was bound before my fool of a captain got captured by your countrymen. Then the Spaniards freed me. Then you in turn put me back in English hands. They lied to me. Are you now lying to me also?”
I took a few moments to process this barrage of words.
“Well, I have promised nothing, I have simply inquired as to what would get you to part with your wisdom. I am not an honest man and I believe that statement lends me virtue. I avoid lying but as I have said I am carnal and as subject to sin as any. I will lie for days for my country for my family even for a fatter wage. Now I have bared myself to you.”
“So you have.” The berber said with the air of one considering some words.
“Now, tell me honored guest why is it that you sought the new world and now wish to return to the old? You are not setting a trap for us. Those are in effect the Caliphs waters…”
“The original project is now impossible due to politics…and I must return to perform a certain rite. I guarantee that you will not be molested so long as I am sent in advance with Solomon’s gift.”
“Solomon’s gift?”
“Yes, you have doubtless heard of Solomon.”
“Indeed.”
“This was gift..from the Queen of Sheba.”
“Is that all.” Harris quipped.
The Turk resumed his silence as if in penance for giving up too much too quickly. Well, that was good enough. There was much to discuss and I set off to find the Captain.
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She Sells Seahells – Part II (Original Story)
I was throbbing. Absolutely throbbing as a billion points of grain pressed into the exposed skin of my arm and face. Slowly the blinding light receded. It was replaced by a voice.
A gruff reeking voice. “Git up…eh…you git!”
I groaned.
“Halstead! retch’d derelict…up wit ya!”
I stirred. The sound of surf met my ears.
I raised myself up on an elbow as my eyes adjusted to the dimmer light of the sun.
“Dis right… up with ye, noaw..”
I stumbled up and immediately started to laugh.
“Who…who…who the hell are you?”
“Poor layd wuts that damned merchants sold to ya….”
“What…” I really couldn’t contain my laughter…”What the fuck are you wearing…”
“Ewd tink the crown ken clad us better…” Now the stranger was laughing with me.
I examined him. This had to be some kind of joke. Buckled shoes, some kinda capris, and an oversized tunic covered in thick cascades of unkempt ginger beard.
“Who the fuck are you man…seriously..jokes is good and all but where’s Danny?”
“Yir wits gon! Is no danny mong us nor in town. Ir! Trink dis…”
He shoved a dirty bottle of clear liquid in my hand. I smelled it. Seemed like water. I was painfully thirsty and my body hurt something fierce.
Who the hell was this guy. ‘Oh shit.’ I looked down and realized I wasn’t shirtless…and where the hell were my trunks. I had some kind of coarse tunic and bedraggled leggings that itched and oppressed with coarseness. The thought of being disrobed by the likes of this guy didn’t sit well with me.
All right I yelled standing fully upright. “That’s a great prank and all but really who the hell are you where’s Danny…why did ya leave me here at night…I coulda drown…”
Danny’s bearded cohort shook his head. “Mi lord but wut were in diz ween! Names Yost…remember..I pulled ew from the waves diz how thenk me ken no remember me…Yost..Van Yost ye trink addled boi. Rememver you your own name o?!”
Something about all those vowels. Van Yost…
“Where’s Harris!”
“Gadverdamme…woke now r ya? Guid…Harris iz profound buzzi wit dayt geitenneuker Timurhan!”
“The artillery…!”
“Powder iz secure…Kapeetan Deaf vaunted to teech lesson to you.”
“I may well have drowned! And the powder!”
“Iz safe you fool boy…dat Castillian dogs run off when we a fired…why you let em drunk ya?”
“I had to enter into a confidence…I did…get the key to Harris…I MAY WELL HAVE DROWNED! LEAVE ME PON THE SHORE!”
I launched with fists. But the old salt was strong and large. I hadn’t realized how tall he was till his long arm held me at bay like a tantrauming child.
“Noaw I say to forgit me title iz pardonable but what gratitude iz this ye soaked rat…shoulda left you to the sharks…” He spit on me.
More and more I recollected things. I apologized profusely.
“Well…allz well noaw but do no take evrey chance for poison..ye liar…INTO A CONFIDENCE…INTO A CONFIDENCE…klerelijer!
“You say the Turk has loosed his tongue?”
“Aye.”
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She Sells Seahells – Part One – (Original Story)
I was breathless. I was ecstatic. The soft sand propelled me forward with a rhythmic dampened crunch. I was a little tipsy. My friend seven years my senior lagged far behind. Not only was he older, but the call center hadn’t exactly improved his stamina. I had run track in highschool and never stopped running.
My legs were thick and strong and the exhilaration of the liquid liberty of a 21st birthday had rendered my companion a distant spec barely visible on the horizon. I jumped into the foaming waves.
It was dark. There weren’t many hotels here just a few snooty residential houses. The water was warm beneath a pallid moon and a billion brilliant stars. I sloshed about taking in all the sensations of dr
ink and the unparalleled joy of a young disciplined body.
“Listen you ocean…you great salty fuck…you’re mine…you don’t scare me! I’ll swim you. I’ll drown you with my motion.”
I treaded water as I watched the shore. It was so still so calm. I’d been high a couple of times more than a couple…but I had never felt this good. I’d fucked and it had never felt this good.
The combination of alkaline numbness, runners high, and the balmy air of an oceanside evening was the sublimest birthday gift that I could have received.
O but there was more!
I saw somebody else as my gaze fell to my left.
A girl. It was dark but I knew it was a girl. I could tell by the hips even though she was wearing a hoody. It was three twenty AM. What was she doing out here. Maybe she’d come from one of those rich dudes house. Rich girls always had the best grass.
…and the best ass…
I sprang to my feet and jogged in her direction.
I’d made quiet a lot of sound on the approach and she had doubtless heard my commotion in the waves. Yet I was within a foot and she stood perfectly still. In fact as I got closer I realized that she hadn’t moved at all.
‘Did someone lose their real doll?’ I laughed out loud. A boisterous laugh fed by the virility of young adulthood and the lingering whimsy of adolescence.
Despite my laughing she did not move.
“Hey girl…hey!” I said leaping in front of her.
Stock still.
I was beginning to feel odd.
“Hey are you alright…” I was facing her now. Her head was cast down the hoodie obscuring her features beneath the feeble aid of a waning moon.
Nothing. No motion. No sound.
Except…was…was she sobbing? If she was. It was the faintest sob that I had ever heard.
“Hey…” I said reaching out my hand…”it’s going to be ok…what is it bitchy friends…dick boyfriend…” just as my fingertips made contact with her shoulder…she fucking screamed.
I mean really screamed. It wasn’t just any scream it was a shriek.
“Great…” I muttered sarcastically as I nursed my ears. “It’s going to be even more annoying hearing the cops ask stupid questions and suggest rapey intentions now that I’m deaf.”
It had really hurt. It had hurt in more than one way. It took it a while to fully take hold. But I was suddenly…sad…just really really sad. I felt hot tears streak like lightning down my face…they were salty…so salty and so hot…I was choking on them. I let out a long low wail.
I felt an oppressive blackness. I could see nothing. And hear nothing…and feel nothing except grief…grief that dragged me further and further down down till it gave way to sympathy an overwhleming sense of sympathy and I opened my arms…
The blackness receded. She was no longer wearing a hood. My friend was nowhere in sight. She was beautiful…her hair a jetty shimmering black…her skin pale and smooth as porcelain…the eyes were such a deep pale blue. She regarded me with so much understanding in those depths and her arms outstretched.
We embraced and I felt the world begin to whirl. Her skin was soft, silky, warm…her breath was sweet…but I could feel the sadness return…I could feel it increase with every thump I felt emerge from beneath her breast. Our heartbeats were syncing…like my heart was slowly being taught to keep rhythm with hers…with each pulse…I felt strange primordial pain…and it increased…till all was bright…blindingly bright and bare and reeling.
To be continued.
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Athena’s Embrace in which Divisions Desolve (Poem, Experimental)
I have to guard the sacred fire
To teach the world to dance
I’m here to tell you that there’s a difference
It’s not all the same
I’m here to show you how to call things by their proper name
There is a proper name
That there is
There is a proper name
I have to guard the sacred fire
To teach the world to dance
I’m here to tell you that there’s a difference
She said…
Bare feet traversed the marble tile. As checkered and cold as the gaze of the traveler. Upon her brow a laurel within her grasp a blade.
I stood regarding. Calm descended for I was master of my flesh. This specter though fearsome fair would not cow me nor stay my stride toward father sun.
“I have stripped hair from my skull, I have dug tendrils from my rib, I have sung to vultures, and feasted on want. Woman, wisdom, I owe you not a shred of obeisance. You speak of fire and you see I am already charred. Now step aside and drop your mother’s pretense for I am no child.”
She laughed a silent laugh but loudly so loudly from each eye.
“Your tongue bleeds war. Scarcely have you been weaned o babe of the abyss. Cling now homeward for Hades weeps for its child.”
“I shall pass to drink and dance with shimmering joys, to bespeckle the sky with guide, and wonder. You speak of names, you speak of truth, so what pray tell is yours?”
A thin smile spread over the desolate beauty of ice.
A bird of night winged down between us. Within its talons a parchment.
The slowest hint of nod.
I unfurled the feathered couriers gift.
“Though art the way?”
Having read I looked in question.
The answer was the hilt of sword.
I knew. I knew and I plunged the testament within my breast.
She held me and I held her.
And the boundary nullified…dissolved…division…
And so I sang
That there is
There is a proper name
There is There is There is
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The King of Bohemia (Short Story)
The room was large with a staircase leading to an indoor balcony directly ahead of me. The crowd that milled about seemed enthused with giddy expectation.
I was uncertain about what this place was or why I was here.
The floors were marble. The paneling a rich heavy wood that may have been oak. Every member of the crowd was dressed in jazz-era garb, but after the European fashion, including myself.
A woman with neatly arranged hair and a long white glove tugged at my sleeve. Her hair was flaxen, but her eyes were brown, bright brown. They glowed with excitement despite the dim light of the chandelier.
“Isn’t this fantastic!” She exclaimed searching my features for a kindred response.
As I said. I had no recollection of what all this was. It was as if I’d awoken from a dream or into a dream. Like someone had flipped a switch and I’d assumed a new reality. Past and future seemed veiled. I could not penetrate them.
She must have caught my hesitation. Because her eyes began to dim, and a crestfallen, yet oddly threatening aspect overtook her delicate features. There was a definite air of danger. Not so much from her but from the air and the crowd. She was merely a pilot light.
“I can’t wait for it to start!” I exclaimed, trying as best I could to hide any note of affectation that may have slipped through.
“I know, I know! Every time it’s better and better!”
I felt another tug at my jacket. This time it was a man with a strong jaw and resolute eyes. He stood a head above me and was older. The shocks of white that streaked his hair when paired with rounded spectacles produced a stern and fatherly effect.
“Harry. Come here, Harry. Let me look at you.”
I turned around to face the novel conversation.
“Oh, dear. That’s no good. See how pallid you are. You must drink. Come on then!”
He wheeled round and led the way to a table that sat against the wall.
There was something about being called Harry that I really disliked. It wasn’t my name. Or at least shouldn’t be. But then again I remembered nothing. So maybe it was my name. But there was something beyond the possibility of mistaken identity gnawing at the periphery of my consciousness.
“See here. Look at it, look at how it sparkles, such a cheery thing, yes. Marvelous, we shall have you sorted out here and quick.” He said as he ladled some sort of soda from a crystal punch bowl into a port glass.
“Bottoms up.” It was more command than encouragement.
I hesitated. Something I was afraid to do though I didn’t know why. There was this overwhelming sense that questions were strictly forbidden. But, I had to know what was up.
“Where’s the guest of honor?” I inquired. Forming what was the most innocuous sounding question I could muster. It did, after all, seem like we were waiting for something. Or rather someone. It did seem like expectation had been ratcheted up to fever pitch. So long as I didn’t ask who the guest was…
“He’ll appear in due time. Punctuality never fails in the House of Hours. But in the meantime, precisely for this reason, drink Harry! For God’s sake…DRINK!”
There was no resisting the command. I downed the silvery green sparkling liquid in a single swig. It wasn’t unpleasant. There was a strong, bracing sort of citrusy aspect, and a hint of gin.
Then I felt it. The effervescence seeped into my bones, into my very soul. I felt as one with every motion of every limb in the hall. Excitement overtook me. I too was ecstatic. I felt the urge to spring and dance.
“There’s a lad!” The tall stranger said, momentarily resting an iron grip on my right shoulder.
With this, he disappeared back into the foppish crowd. I didn’t follow.
“Lucy!” I exclaimed approaching the brown-eyed lady. “Let’s have a kiss, Lucy.”
She turned her face away rebuffing my advance with a light hand against my chest. As soon as she made contact something felt wrong.
“Not yet! Harry!” She giggled though with a tad of cold behind the mirth. “Have you forgotten the etiquette?”
“But you look so beautiful! I want to taste your sweet lips to hold you close to my heart.”
When I uttered the word heart I realized what had felt wrong. Though why or how I knew it was beyond me.
“Why hearts Harry? Why would we need such things as hearts when we have such fine spirits!” She said raising the sparkling port glass up to her lips and drinking.
I was confused again.
She looked at me and smiled coquettishly and with what seemed like a twinge of pity. Before I could say anything she gave me a quick peck on the cheek and disappeared into the crowd.
I stood for some minutes my mind racing. Though it felt like an eternity my frantic search was quickly interrupted.
One of the swing players had produced a comically medieval note. At this, all the revelers stood still. From somewhere on the balcony which was now to my left a loud and triumphant voice called out.
“His Majesty, the chief of alchemists, the king of Bohemia!”
From a great door directly opposite the balcony, there came a mellow creaking, as it swung open to reveal a beturbanned man of moderate stature.
He walked briskly and wordlessly into the silent crowd. Brushing shoulders, tapping elbows, nearly twirling round his congregants. All of whom were absolutely thrilled by his strange, fleeting, though purposeful caresses.
As he approached I grew yet more surprised. The turban sat atop an English face. The upturned nose, the stiff thin lip, and those peculiar broad cheeks. ‘Bohemia, more like Bristol.’ I thought to myself. ‘An Anglo with a turban has usurped Prague?’ I was on the verge of a giggle.
He flicked against me. It did feel good, sort of invigorating. But I felt that he had noted the inner slight I had just had at his expense.
Because he stopped and eyed me cooly with pale blue eyes which were no longer friendly.
“We’ve got a spy, my friends!”
He pulled a mirror from behind my lapel. In the brief moment that my eye rested on the smooth glass surface, I beheld a revolting sight. All the pretty gentry that were gathered round were rotted. Flesh sunken into bones, denuded sinews, they were all cadavers!
I ran and pulled down a drape. The mirror was huge and all the circumspectly attired ghouls got a good look at exactly what they were. This sent them into a panic.
“Cover it up, o God cover it up!” A woman shrieked between frightened sobs.
“Why do we have those damned things in the first place!”
“It’s alright, it’s alright.” The ‘king’ proclaimed as he produced an evil looking ceremonial saber from the sheath at his side.
Before I could respond he had run me through. As I lay bleeding on the shockingly cold marble he knelt down and dipped his finger in my dwindling life force.
With this crimson ink, he wrote upon the horror holding mirror a number of characters which I was surprised to find intelligible.
‘Ad va el ho ata.’ The syllables sang out in my brain.
With this, he redrew the drape and the last thing I heard was his triumph.
“We’re gonna revel forever! This perfect moment! This house in time. Its timbers so strong! And stronger with each prayer. His angels can’t hold us. They can’t hold us. No. We won’t bleed out into the inky stars to be rewrapped by His whim! Michael is bound!”
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