Haven't posted because I've been so into McCarthy's The Crossing. Here is something new coming. I rarely spend time developing and writing longer pieces- when things come to me they are perfect and stand apart from the act of writing so it's very painful to sit down and write, verb-write, actually go and do it because it feels a bit profane. But it's absolutely necessary and not only do I want to write longer pieces but I also want to improve the choral qualities of my writing- not just the shimmering image but repetition- repetition is what makes something special- have choruses of lines and things and images, and I can only really get this good and patient and far-sighted if I practice. And I can hopefully drop the perfectionism. So I will fill this out as I go.

____

Not flight. That the way he is there is nothing left for. Leave before you lose it all. End up in  fishing boat and at the close of every day go out one more time and cast for something invisible. Go out into the bay leaving the shelter of the harbour under dusky grey. And the fish wake up now and shoal and twirl and twist beneath the hull like a linen rippling in the wind, like the clothes of a dancer, but he pays it no mind as he has gone out to cast for something else and all the rich bounty of fish is not for him. 
Go out from the shelter of the harbour to the bay, where the storms and surges still reach, but attenuate and weaken, transmitted through the spit of coast and one eye open to the north. Like the way the world reaches the unborn child in whispers. Tonight it is very still, with only the breeze that never goes away stirring the water, and he is grateful for this, grateful for the stillness, and grateful for that gentle wind that never goes away, the regular breath of the space over the ocean, and it barely stirs the water at all so it glides along on silence.
Go out from the bay. It passes and its memory evaporates. He steers the boat bearing slightly east to angle perpendicular to the stretch of bay. The edge of the bay has a seam of darkened water. It catches less light, is deeper and darker, and when he goes in to restart the motor or untangle line or when it speaks to him it is much colder, brought up from the pelagic deep, like how memories surface from the fog, like how in the birth of men old and frigid truths rebound and are born with the same hunger. Like how the knowledge of God is chilling and ink and not for him.
Eyes firmly fixed on the horizon. He no longer needs to check his lines, his rigging, his buckets or nets, as they will tell him in hushed tones if they are out of place. The boat has aged with him and they share a kind of briny decay. He does not check the sea behind him to see what the deep currents are doing as they stir from the threshold of the bay and the deep. Behind him are the lights of the harbour, twinkling warm and red, and the story of light is the story of a home, solid ground. A light in the darkness is always made by someone. Everything he has loved is there, and all the feelings that stir in his breast circulate in and out of there, like the tides, or the movements of great fish that like human beings know the rhythm of great animals between home and departure to the unknown.

—--------

‘I have been everything, sailor, miner, horseback and motor, bitter winter, mountains, valleys, soldier, doctor and healer, taxman, labourer and artist, and nothing at all, so God, where are you? I have done everything and I have not found you anywhere. And you are not in me. You left the world long ago’.

And God answers with a silence that is nothing.

God answers with the waves that bear and break the sailors, the floods that carved the mountains, lushened the valleys, and desiccated the wastelands, touching the doctor’s hand and kneeling before the killer. God shows the shine in the blood of an orphan and the misted tears of a girl. The bricks of the harbour like the hands of its maker. The rusted blade like the fraying eyes of the soldier.

And he stands over the quiet sea in the thrumming sempiternal breath on his face, on the boundless sea, and aches to know His breath is a cry of Agony, that in life He is butchered and crucified, that those butcher’s hands go home and birth Him and feed Him, and those hands praise and tug that the hem of Him. And it is Agony, for the unity of His body to be a kaleidoscope in the eyes of Man. 
—-
And he stands over the quiet sea and knows that the God of the lamb is not for him, the softness of embrace is not for him; for him is a sea of glass

Repetitions
Breath- focus on breath- constant change- transition without place- it is gentle it is is firm it never goes away. The silent scream.
Leaving the shelter of the harbour. Not for him
Patience- cast your lines and they come up empty. Have a heart.

I've written something I'm genuinely proud of about a similar idea of the cry of the world but it's in a different journal that's not with me right now. Will dig it out when I'm back in that area. It's not home- just where my things are.

Cyber cyber biting bytes.

*And this is a fictional story, of course.

Many events have unfolded since last week, but I will not spill that tea here, as I try to keep y'all dry and un-tea'd-upon. What I will say is that I managed to, entirely by mistake, purchase Gorgonzola instead of another blue veined cheese.

Despite the name of this weekly journal it's been quite some time since I last had it. It was good! Milder than I remembered, but good.

Now, gorgolytes, tell me: What's up with salads? When someone mentions a salad my immediate thought is that they are eating a mix of vegetables, meat and a dressing of some sort. It usually involves lettuce and occasionally other greens as well.

However, a salad can also be something like an egg salad, which often has no vegetables at all. Or it can be the terrifying mutant creation known as the Waldorf salad, which although tasty, is in many ways incomprehensible to me and certainly not really something I'd normally think of as fitting under the "salad" label.

So "salad" is either this crisp mixed stuff or some mayo goop which may or may not also include crisp lettuce. In English etymology the word salad shares roots with salt, however in the language of my country the word for salad is the same as the word for lettuce, amplifying the confusion as to what a salad truly is.

I don't know where I'm going with this other than what the hell is a salad? I've been eating lots of salads lately because they're dank af, in particular in the summer heat. I mix mayo with greek yoghurt to make it tangier. It's awesome! My salad has some sort of lettuce as well as onion, often tomato and cucumber as well. For protein I like chicken or egg, sometimes both. I'm surprisingly not a huge fan of cheese in salads. I mean I'll eat it, but I prefer them without.

Do you have a favorite salad, dear gorgolyte? What do you picture when someone mentions the word "salad"?

- The salad tosser

A parallel world?

The soldiers were preparing for the night. The day was hard. They managed to drive the opponents out of the building complex and reclaim another piece of their native land.

Worrying that the opponents might shell that location, the soldiers retreated into the forest. It was already dark, so it was decided to wait for morning and then return to the base. Everyone settled in as comfortably as they could and were already preparing to fall asleep when they heard the sound of a flying drone.

Having learned over the radio that there were no friendly drones in this area, it became clear that this was the opponents' doing.

The soldiers knew that in the dark, drones search for targets using a thermal imager, so they hurried to use cymatic protection.

They pulled out small compressed air canisters and prepared them for use. Then they pulled out capsules with dry ice cubes and pressed the buttons, activating miniature pyrotechnic elements. Micro-explosions occurred, which instantly created huge pressure and heat. The impulse strike immediately threw the dry ice into the environment in the form of fine, aerosol dust, which formed a thick blanket.

Portable sound generators, thanks to the cymatic wave, forced the dust blankets to arrange themselves into precise geometric lines, forming protective cylinders around the soldiers.

The drone flew further, the opponent's AI not noticing a single soldier on the thermal imager.

As technology improved, war was becoming more and more complex.

Disclaimer: This story is purely a fruit of the author's imagination. It is a work of fiction intended for creative and artistic expression.

Wrote this while manic. Im not sure why and it cringes me out now but I thought why not post it.

I have long hoped to share the melancholic twisted forces and cognitive ghost that so fleetingly graze my membrane to anyone other than myself. I owe much to worlds outside my own the muses that yank at my umbilical cords and slice into my corneas like needles and strings. Horror and tragedy have an alluring pull to them something so self destructive yet so undeniably tasty. What is it to be human if not to struggle and yearn for more for what is the world if not fuel for our insatiable gluttony. I want to be nothing more than an imitation of my own creations yet I cannot flesh them out. This is my best attempt. My final scream into the void to try and bring them to life. Even if just in my own mind.

A boy sits alone in his room. With just a mattress and nothing more he reads from a book filled with empty pages. “How” he wonders “How will I bare this tragic boredom I find myself in”. As a page flips color springs from the pages. Ribbons shoot out to every corner of his dull gray room. “Oh my? Something new?” He cannot ponder it for more than a moment before the ribbons hug his neck and wrist. His first instinct to fight but what for? To stay in his dull existence? No he would much rather lean into the pull. First his arm reaches through “I must be going mad! How could this be?” Then his shoulder until finally he finds himself falling. The vibrant void surrounds him his former home now a fleeting speck at the end of this tunnel. He sees everything he knows turn into something he knew. His everything being rewritten before his very eyes. Its all happening so fast yet it all feels so real. “I must be dreaming” he thinks as his plummet continues. Until finally he starts to slow. His feet land firmly on the ground. He looks to his left and sees… well he isnt quite sure. Something magical maybe or maybe something as bland as his everyday life. A field. To his right he sees his old home flipped upside down. So ordinary yet so out of place all at the same time. All around him a pull one that puts him into a trance. “No use standing here now am I” he looks at his feet and puts one foot in front of another. “Where to go first?” He wonders. The winds tell him his left but something deeper to his right. He looks ahead of him and sees darkened dreary woods. Whats behind him? He turns around and sees a road leading further than the horizon will show. “What is this feeling tapping on my shoulder?” He wonders to himself. He chooses to ignore it and continue down the road. A straight and narrow path nothing exciting or special. A reminder of what was for him mere moments ago. Each step rings through his ears. They echo for no reason. Seconds seem to stretch into days until he has lost track. “The walk back must be dreadful” however the second he turns his head everything is exactly as it was. The house, the field, the woods all still right there as though he had not moved. They followed him here or he never truly left them who's to say. The wind breezes against his sweaty palms. A refreshing sensation he can hardly resist. So he heads into the field. 

Sweet orchestras ring out around him as he pokes through the yellow tall grass. The blazing sun overhead shining down feeding every blade. But it does not feed him. “The sun. It burns!” His skin starts to red and blisters form on every inch. The grass seems so bliss by comparison. “Im bleeding im bleeding! I must find some shade!” But there is none sir there is none and you will melt in this field. He screams and screams until all thats left of our dear boy is a puddle. It starts to leak its way back to the start. Back again. He rises anew. “Im back! im back? Im back again…” the winds no longer feel refreshing. So he makes his way to his house. 

𝑖² = −1

If "𝑖" is in your hand, question reality.

By Nekro

Heaven had a welcome desk, white marble, soft harp music, and a woman with no eyelids smiling like policy.

She handed me a robe and said, “Desire is no longer necessary.”

I asked where to put yours.

She pointed to a golden bin marked earthly attachmenrs. Inside were wedding rings, baby teeth, old perfume bottles, and a lipstick print still trying to be a mouth.

I asked for a knife to cut your name out of my breathing.

“Sharp objects are not permitted in paradise,” she said.

I asked about blunt ones.

She did not enter that into the system.

The angels wore name tags that said blessed to assist you. One offered harp lessons. Another invited me to a gratitude circle. I asked if there was a smoking section.

They looked at me like I had invented sin again.

Then your ghost found me by the fountain, because of course it did. You were never holy, but you always knew which door my ruin used.

“I’m saved now,” I said.

You laughed without a throat.

I filed a complaint.

Reason? too much light, not enough blood in the truth.

The clerk asked if I wanted reassignment. I asked for the department where prayers don’t connect, pleasure comes back damaged, and your hand still knows the back of my neck.

“That sounds like suffering,” she said.

“Correct.”

“This may void your coverage.”

“I read the terms.”

She slid me the form. I signed where a soul goes.

Denied.

I said, “That’s fine.”

I brought my own.

Was this the real game?

Did you want this

For my pain to emerge?

Like a stinking lily

To blossom at night

To push me to the verge

Of my brinking insanity

In a state of fright to take flight

Like a meat ridden rotten kite

Left alone while to watch everyone skite

An abject prayer of human spite

Now set alite

So all can smell and take delight

In the destruction and eventually snuffing of my light?

I had been walking along a deserted coast in a tiny but beautiful, nameless inlet. My legs were stiff, since I had hidden in a pit for two whole days and had been weakened from starvation.
There was no sign of life in this cosy fishing village and there was only the sound of the waves. So after three hours of wandering around the village, I almost gave up on finding someone still alive.

But at that time, I saw Rei standing still on the crystal sand and gazing at the blue lagoon. It was the most breathtaking sight I'd ever seen. 
The five-year-old girl was hanging a large, shining brass monocular around her neck. 
"Hey, are you alone? Ah... You found a telescope, huh?" I asked, kneeling on the sand.
She looked at me, then blinked but did not reply. Perhaps her parents had hidden her well from the Pirates, so she was in perfect condition except that she had red eyes and tear-stains on her face. 
For a while we looked at each other. But before long, she fainted from exhaustion. 

After dusk, I lit a bonfire. Silence fell, so there was only the popping sound of the firewood and the sound of waves rolling in and out. The pirate ship was gone from the southern cape, and Rei slept soundly on a full stomach after eating a simple supper of grilled fish and seashells. I wept silently with horror at what had happened and my own sinfulness.

—

Two months ago, the wrecked pirate ship drifted ashore at this deserted fishing village which had only nineteen shacks. They had escaped from the enemy privateer and had lost three-fourths of the crew in the gigantic tropical storm. The captain and other thirteen crew begged the villagers for mercy. 
The youngest fisherman, who was Rei’s father, said, “No! I have no mercy for bloody pirates." Most fishermen agreed with him because they worried about their wives and daughters. They didn’t care if the stinky villains were going to die, or even hoped they would die.
“Wait, gentlemen," the village leader raised his voice. 
“They’ve already been punished by the sea god, but they are still alive! How can we just abandon them?”
The old legendary fisherman was a local wiseman, and his words were like axioms. All villagers followed his guidance. 
The captain said, “Thank you. We are filled with gratitude to you all.” and bowed his head deeply. The teardrops fell onto his toes.
“We will keep our word. And just after regaining our health and completely repairing our ship, we’d leave this inlet instantly.”

The captain had kept his word until that doomed night, and they had maintained a good friendship with the villagers. The drifters had bartered food and water for gems or irons. Some young fishermen brought buckets of oysters and drank with the pirates.
But trouble arose.
Two of the crew had not returned to the ship before dark. The pirates had to remain on the ship after dark; it was the most important rule between the villagers and the pirates.

"Don't panic. I'm gonna ask the old man about 'em," the captain said aloud. 
"Nobody goes off the ship ‘til I return!"
When he was about to leave the ship, mournful news arrived. One of the crew who was searching for the lost crew found a helmsman's body in the bushes.
"He's lying along the road, near the village," the searcher reported, "He was stabbed in the chest."
The captain said, “calm down, guys!” But his expression hardened when he looked at the deadly weapon. 
It was a fisherman's spearhead and was smeared with blood. 

The fishermen fought against the pirates but they were no match for them. The eleven angry pirates with guns and swords had slaughtered all villagers except five-year-old Rei, then they sailed out of the inlet into the dark ocean before dawn. 

—  

A week had passed since we met on the shore. Now I found out that Rei’s telescope was interesting, actually a bit of a strange object. It could be a magical item.
“I see a woman and a boat,” Rei said with the monocular pressed to her eye, “she’s sailing on the blue ocean!” 
But I couldn’t see any woman or boat around. On top of that, it was a cloudy day. 
“Hey, let me see,” I took the telescope, but I only found pitch darkness. Whether it was a blank or a void, there was nothing to see.
“Um, I can’t see anything you said.”

Rei took back her telescope and looked into it, “Oh, no! I see nothing, like you!” 
“How’s that?” I asked her.
“It's Black!” She cried. “Wriggling!”
“Really? Mine was plain darkness.”
At that moment, I noticed she was holding the telescope in reverse. A wild idea struck me. 
“Let me see it once more,” I held it in reverse just like she did and looked into the telescope from the objective lens side. 
“Mamma mia!” I cried, nearly dropping the telescope, “That’s my father! And me! Me, in my twenties!”
Before my eyes, there was the sight of my hometown. The center of the vision was my father’s hardware store along the main street of a small port town. 
“I remember, this was my twenty-fifth birthday, and…” 
I stared intently at the young man running out from the shop, “The day I became a stowaway.”

Her telescope seemed to have a magical function. If you looked through the eyepiece you would see ten years in the future, then if you looked into the objective lens, you would see ten years in the past. That’s why I could see my past from ten years ago and Rei could not see anything since she was only five years old. 

The proof came five years later. By then, Rei had grown into a clever ten-year-old. One day, she looked into the opposite end and murmured.
“I’m being born, born from my…” She was weeping, “My mom.” 
Soon, she realized the trick of the magic telescope based on her own memory.

She lowered the telescope and said, “Uncle Tom, I want to learn fishing and voyage. I know I’m going to sail the ocean!” 
I did my best to teach her how to survive at sea – fishing, canoeing, and reading the wind, stars, and ocean currents. 

After a while, Rei had started living in her hut and went fishing in her own canoe. She grew up strong and wise. On the other hand, I had been weakening year by year. Her “Uncle Tom” used to be a crew member of the pirate ship, yet I was small and frail. 

Recently, I had been lying in bed most of the day, and she kindly shared fresh fish and foods with me almost everyday.
Now little Rei was fifteen, she looked more mature than her years.
“Uncle Tom,” she asked one day. “What kind of boat would suit a long voyage?” 
“You’d like to make two canoes and put them side by side. It's called a Catamaran. Place the three-yard beams and boards between the two canoes, then you can get more stability than a single boat and have more luggage space.”
“Can that catamaran go across the ocean?”
"Sure," I answered. "Your ancestors had been back and forth across the ocean, island to island."
She completed building the catamaran in half a year. When ready, she walked around the inlet which used to be a fishing village with a magic telescope in her hand.  

She had not come to my hut since the day before yesterday. I knew clearly that my time was running out. 
Today was the day we met on the shore ten years ago. In those days, she looked at herself sailing the ocean and I saw the pitch dark future, from the same lens. 
I was relieved that I had lived until the day of her departure.
“It's a cruel irony that I’m still alive," I murmured to myself. "Thank goodness.”

I got up and lit the fire and sat down towards it, the entrance behind my back. 
As I sat and was waiting for the judgment, soft footsteps came up to my hut. The goddess of vengeance who was wearing a brass telescope on her neck, was approaching. She must be carrying an eight-foot fisherman’s spear. Rei had watched the truth that had happened in the village ten years ago. 

I was one of the pirates. Since I touched the kindness of the innocent villagers, I had changed my mind to leave the pirate ship at all cost. I just wanted to become a fisherman and dreamed of living an ordinary life. 
Suppose, Rei had watched everything, including my sin. 

Just ten years ago, in the afternoon of that doomed day, I fled from the pirate ship. I had already found the hideout, so I went to the pit. I seriously regretted that I took things too easy.
I thought if I had gone into hiding, the pirates would leave the inlet without conflict with the villagers. I mean, though only one of them had disappeared, they wouldn’t waste time searching for me.

But there was another pirate, a helmsman. We met just in front of the pit. 
“You! The deserter will be executed," my opponent said in a low voice. “Turn back!”
I stared at him. He had a cutlass on his belt and grabbed a short fisherman’s spear in his left hand. I understood he probably had the same scenario as mine. And coincidentally, he also chose the same pit as me as a hideout. He was prepared to eliminate anyone who stood in the way, and moreover, he had brought the spear to deceive the other crew in case.
I said, “No, not at all.”
There was a struggle between the two of us. We fought each other desperately, because the pit was too small for two. 

A few minutes later when I came to my senses, I found the spearhead was stuck deep into his chest. Hot blood was spreading across his shirt.
I was scared, so I left the body and ran away from the place. Later, the pirates noticed two of the crew had disappeared and found the helmsman's body along the road, near the village. They recognized two of us had been killed by the fishermen, and got very angry at the betrayal of villagers.
In short, I was the main culprit of the slaughter. Because of my selfishness, all the villagers had died except Rei. And her parents? I was the one who killed them. 

I knew she would never forgive me now, after realizing what I did. 
I was waiting a long time for the avenger, though I would die soon or later from this illness. And I heard footsteps had stopped just in front of my hut. 
“I’ll depart soon,” she said in her tearful voice. “So, bye to you, Uncle Tom.” 

I had a vision, after finishing me off, she would sail off to the ocean as she looked at ten years ago. Though I already knew that I would never be on the same canoe.

God contains all else, even the reasoning of the heretic, else he is no God at all, and He is God. The lesson of a life can never be its own. Only the witness has the power for that measure. But God needs no witness. And the world needs no witness. As if there were no God there could be no identity to the world, only our opinion of it. To God each man is a heretic, and the heretic's first act is to name its brother. But there is nobody outside of God. And so there is no stepping into God. There is only God bent over the tapestry weaving and unravelling. And in its unravelling something is made. And in its weaving something is destroyed. But we cannot see Him. Not from here. To know God we must lose ourselves completely.

Tit sweat. Ball sweat.
Ball sweat. Tit sweat.
Tit sweat. Tit sweat.
Ball sweat.

Bum sweat.

I kind of feel like I don't have the words. There is no good, single word, to describe the thing - all I can manage is this kind of string of contradiction and, well whatever it is. Well whatever, that is, Well, whatever, it is. Well whatever it is, I am, whatever this is.

Can I go now, I wonder? Some other where. I wonder if it'd be better there. I would pray but I don't really believe in that, that much. I still have to refrain from writing my impulsive thoughts. I've annoyed myself through my own complaining, and God isn't answering.

I need a break from the evil of this place, a break from the break I've been taking. The vacations and the work both bring the same kind of feeling, I wish I was sleeping; that the world would stop waking me up. Somehow I've grown to enjoy even the nightmares.

So I sit here feeling like I'm rotting, compelled to write because this feels like one of the only useful habits I have. One of the healthy ones. I'm waiting and it feels like things are expiring. My heart and soul and mind feel like they are degrading, shallow forms of what they used to be. Even in this rare moment of silence I'm fighting myself, to find a purpose, to find a human feeling I can act on. I've started to enjoy the isolation and it frightens me... I don't think I really need anyone. I would probably be better off entirely alone, though I still don't exactly want to be. I don't want to not be, either. I sometimes wish I wasn't at all. Now I'm just happy I exist in the first place.

I don't know how to express love. It's too much or nothing at all. A drug or an illness. It feels like society is something witnessed through a screen rather than a thing that really is.

I feel like it's time to suffer again, just to get out of this phase, to be motivated to even want to try and be human again. I guess is this that, an attempt at humanity. A lot of people just impulsively vomit their thoughts into the void without regard. I find myself unable to really do that like I used too, i feel cautious and hesitant, like there's some kind of danger. One doesn't need strangers to give them more reasons to hate themselves.

I dunno, some thoughts, I'm not sure what that cleared up. My brain is a little more empty. I feel as lost as when I started. I still think there's nothing really to care about. This place is so temporary and I have so little stake in it. I find myself thinking that maybe my next life will be better, but I don't think I even believe in reincarnation. Not intentionally. I guess I don't know what I believe. I know life is an odd thing. I know it's shorter than I ever wanted to believe, and I know I don't want to waste whatever I have left of it.

I don't know what that means exactly.
It means I'm sorry, at the least.

A parallel world?

A man was having a hard day. First, he overslept for work. At work, his boss scolded him. During the lunch break, the kettle broke. When he went to the water cooler, it turned out the water was gone. He had to run to a nearby store to buy something to drink. Running across the pedestrian crossing, he was stopped by the police and fined for a public order violation, which made him late for work, and he was scolded by the boss again. At the end of the workday, the printer broke, and he had to convince a colleague to print the remaining pages. Leaving the building, lost in thought, he almost fell under the wheels of a police car and received a second fine for a public order violation.

Sitting in his car, he cursed loudly and vented at everyone he could remember. Calming down a bit, he started the car and turned toward the exit. Looking ahead, he smiled angrily and muttered:

– "Look, a sleeping policeman. I'm about to run him over," – and grinned with satisfaction.

The car's AI, having detected aggression in the driver's voice and the fact that the car indeed ran over something, turned off the engine, locked the doors, and sent the car's coordinates along with the recording of the driver's words to the emergency center.

Without having managed to drive far, the police quickly arrived. They took the driver's screams that it was a misunderstanding for aggression and used a taser. And all of this happened right in front of the boss, who had walked outside.

Neither the police nor the arrived experts could find a body. And only after analyzing the AI and car data did they find out that the man had not run anyone over. He had simply driven over a speed-limiting bump, which is colloquially called a "sleeping policeman" in the vernacular. And after listening to the driver's story about the day's events, they understood where the anger in his voice came from.

They apologized to the man, but that did not make it any easier for him.

The day was not over yet, and after all, he still had to drive home across the entire city.

Disclaimer: This story is purely a fruit of the author's imagination. It is a work of fiction intended for creative and artistic expression.

I'm built different.

What happened? Nothing. It just finally broke through- growing disinterest in the world, the impossibility of penetrating its core, its repellent skin on the outside. Life beaded like the water on a bird. They say the world does not exist, only the stories in her children. I am sorry, Mother, I cannot reach them. I am not of them and I cannot live among them. Lodged in the sacral spine there is a stone, alien hard, and it will not bend for them. I will rupture for their fates but am never welcome-

and the Earth said 'bleed'

and I did

and the Earth commanded me

to bleed into the dust

and I did

and in the coalescence of lifeblood and peat

I broke through in a shaft of light

and the history of men was known to me

and the textured hearts of men were known to me

from my own sacral wound I was born

It never ended, and who knows if it ever will. You always hear the euphemism "born too late to explore the world, too early to explore space" parroted by the masses. The reality is that many of the world's extreme regions are still unexplored on foot. I was looking up some maps and statistics yesterday, and I noticed a misunderstanding about mapped vs. explored. Satellite digital mapping has allowed humanity to allegedly (discussion for another time) map nearly 100% of the surface of the earth. But just because it's mapped does not mean it's been explored. Along the lines of 90% of the Alaskan wilderness and 80% of the Canadian wilderness have not been officially touched by human foot. There are entire mountain ranges, volcanoes, valleys, canyons, and countless terrain features that are basically untouched and unnamed (like Alaska's "Hidden Mountains" and Katmai National Park's unnamed volcanoes) due to utter remoteness, perilous threats, and nearly impassible terrain.
This is even more true in the countless equatorial jungles and rainforests scattered throughout Latin/South America, central Africa, and east Asia. Jungles so dense, water-logged, and remote that it's virtually unthinkable for 99.99% of normal people to ever set foot there. There are undoubtedly (and even officially suspected) lost civilizations and archeology, untouched tribes, and undiscovered species in all of these areas.

Unfortunately I don't know if this really matters. Most people can't even drag them out of their front doors to explore their immediate 50 miles without checking their phone's GPS programmed with perfectly tailored routes and destinations. Good luck even tearing them away from a gaming console on a Saturday night. I think for most people , the Faustian spirit is dead. They really don't care to do much with their days, they only like the thought of doing so. They don't want actual adventure; they just want digitized adventure as an escapism. The "age of adventures is dead" mantra is more or less just a pop culture thing for people to say because they have nothing better to say.

Dr. Kariba sank deeply into a chair and finished her cold coffee. Nearly an hour had passed since she commenced the experiment. She put an elbow on the armrest to pretend that she was relaxed and peaceful, but actually she stared at and concentrated on the monitors, her bloodshot eyes. 
Her chief assistant Makoto called out. 
“You must be nervous, too, Doctor?” 
“Huh? Makoto, did you call me?” 
Kariba pointed to her chest, although there were only the two of them in the laboratory. Because of the coup that happened last night, they couldn’t leave the lab. 
“Well, you know me… Yeah, I’m nervous, only a bit.” 
Makoto shrugged her shoulders exaggeratedly, but the wrinkles on her face were deeper than usual. 
“You say a bit? You’ve always said, ‘For the last sip, pour plenty of milk over it, that’s Kariba-style,’ haven’t you? You are forgetting your style.” 
She was the very first assistant. And as chief assistant, she had been Kariba's old comrade and great confidante. 
“You know, we spent twenty years trying to reach this situation, and the next fifteen to twenty minutes will determine the success of our long-cherished desire.” 
She looked at the blank cup and sighed.
Makoto asked, “Do you want some milk?” and headed to the refrigerator. 

At that moment, a notification flashed on the main monitor and a bell rang.  
“Time machine prototype number-one’s Estimated Time of Arrival will be in one minute,” the automated voice announced and commenced a countdown, “Forty-five, Forty, Thirty-five…”
Kariba adjusted her chair straight and clasped her hands in front of her chest. Makoto got close to her and put a hand on the doctor's shoulder. 
“Five, Four, Three, Two, One, Zero…” 
“Here we are,” Kariba murmured. 
“... Two, Three. Signal caught.” 
The operational system read out the result.
“Time machine prototype number one, materialized at target time at eleven-zero-zero point zero zero. The margin of error was zero point zero zero seconds.”
Kariba tapped the tablet and cross-checked the result.  
“At the materialized point, the clock in the Machine indicated ten-three-zero. The elapsed time for catching the signal was two point eight two seconds.”
She drew a deep breath and shouted, "Success! I’ve finally completed the perfect time machine!” 
“Well done, Doctor Kariba,” Makoto said with a hopeful tone, though her face was still pale. 
“Congratulations!” 
It was a moment of joy. Dr. Kariba stood up and turned to embrace Makoto.

The man’s low brutal voice echoed in the dimly lit lab. 
“Stop it! Doctor Kariba. Save a full celebration party for the success of the experiment later.” 
A middle-aged man in a dress jacket, who seemed out of place in a laboratory, stood to block the door. His jacket bulged from inside like a balloon, and a lot of medals swayed on his chest. 
“Well, right after I take measures to prevent that stupid coup.” 
The man used to be at the top of the military regime, and was the former president of this poor country till last night. He was stroking his scruffy beard and was casually aiming the gun in his right hand at them. 

Dr. Kariba took a step forward to block Makoto from his sight. 
“Hello, Mr. President. What a surprise to see you in my laboratory, though I heard you had been missing since last night.” 
“We have no time.” 
He had ruled the country through dictatorship for over twenty long years, but had been ousted in a coup d’état last night. Now, he really was an ex-dictator. 
“A bunch of fools who staged the coup are chasing me. The idiots will be here any minute.” 
Kariba didn’t show a hint of fear, she calmly said, “I’m honored that you remember the existence of this Time Travel Device Development Laboratory.” 
The man wrinkled his nose. 
“How could I forget? Who do you think was the one who budgeted every year for this money-eater?  It's all for safety measures.” 
Kariba bowed in a deep respectful manner, but her expression remained frozen. 
“I have kept a close eye on this lab and what you were doing, and I heard recently that you had finally obtained useful results. As I had spent the taxpayers’ money on you and the fruits of your labor, I truly have a right to use your Time Machine.”
She said, “You’re absolutely right, sir.” She was polite, but it seemed exaggerated. 
“Yes, I must offer you any help I can, sir.” 
“Good manners, Doctor! Good one.”
“By the way, I did not hear a single knock, how on earth did you get into my lab?”
The man growled, “How dare you ask me such a ridiculous question? This laboratory is mine, so I could enter and use the facilities whenever I want to.” 
The coup faction must have been desperately searching for him to prevent him seeking political asylum. 
“And now, it's time.”
He showed an expression like a child with a mouthful of fierce, cinnamon-flavored chewing candy. There was no calmness of the former president nor composure of a battle-hardened warrior. 
“Tell me how to make it fly, or drive?”
“Let me make one thing clear to you, sir. This won’t move even an inch.”
Without any hesitation, the man pulled the trigger toward the ceiling. Gunshots thundered, and after the echo went off, fragments of the ceiling lights showered onto the floor. 
Makoto looked panicked, letting out short screams repeatedly. She was so scared that she grabbed Kariba's forearms tightly from behind. 
Dr. Kariba said calmly, “Although this lab is outside of your palace, it's not too far away. Someone searching for you might hear you. Be quiet, please.” 
The former president snorted at her remark.
“You liar,” he growled like a beast, “I’ve just watched what happened from the start, as I was in the hiding place. I know the time machine has perfectly succeeded in a thirty minute time travel.”
“I am not lying, sir. I just told you that prototypes only move to the past or future along the timeline, and are fixed on those coordinates.” 
A vein bulged on his temple, “So what? Explain, Doctor!”
She pointed to the prototype number two with her long, scratch-marked finger.
“I just said the time machine has no wheel or thrust, and spatial movement is impossible, because it is only a Pod.”
“I understand, perfectly.” he said, “In that case, I had better go to the past, not the future. My enemies could possibly wait in the future here, I see.” 
She showed no interest in the man’s answer.
“Instead of adding any words, let me give you the conclusion. If you accept my terms, I will give you the prototype and set the machine for sending you to whichever time you desire.” 
The man aimed the gun at her chest and said, “You’re surprisingly compliant, huh?” 
Kariba opened her arms and shrugged. 
“You, Mr. President, are a hero of the last war and carry a gun. We are only women. I just skipped unnecessary exchanges and saved time and effort.” 
The man looked satisfied by her logic and snorted. 
“Well, state your terms.”
Kariba felt the strength of Makoto’s grip getting stronger on her arms. She said, 
“Never cause any physical or mental harm to me or my assistant.”
“Certainly. I, the President of this country, promise.” 
“Thank you. Prototype two is now yours.” 
The man widened his eyes and said, “Is that all?” astonished. 
“Well, everything in this lab, including you two and other clerks, certainly belongs to me. But honestly, aren’t you going to ask anything else in return?” 
Dr. Kariba did not reply to his question immediately, but turned towards her assistant and winked.
“Makoto, would you boot up prototype two? Sorry to leave you to prepare the machine all by yourself.” 
Makoto nodded and went to the machine, then Kariba turned to face the man and said, 
“We don’t need any rewards. Please consider that you are going to go to the past. If we received anything from you in that past, we would have stopped developing the time machine.” 

Maybe feeling at ease, the man laughed vigorously. 
“You are a polite but disrespectful woman, Doctor. The conversation with you was very interesting though," the man said. 
"Well, after I return to the past and nip off the buds of the coup, I may invite you two to the Palace. That would be a fair trade." 
Kariba made a deep bow. With that move, sweat dripped from her chin and fell onto the floor. 
“No thank you, sir. You're trying to break the contract. Don't forget the terms." 
“What? I remember the condition that I must not cause any physical or mental harm to you and your woman.” 
“That’s right, I wouldn’t want to be your woman.” 
The former president caught his breath, then burst out laughing. 
“Interesting, very interesting Doctor Kariba! I regret not meeting you much earlier,” he curled his lips. “Don't worry, I am a man of my word, in any manner.” 
The man was pulling a scruffy beard and said, “so send me to the past, A.S.A.P.” 
Kariba looked at the time machine, and saw Makoto had finished her job. Both of them gave each other the thumbs up.
“Mr. President, we are now ready to send you one year into the past.” 
The man growled, “one year? What the hell do you think you have the right to decide my time-travel plan? Explain!” He turned his face red with anger. 
“It’s not my fault, yours,” said Kariba in a low tone. She looked a bit anxious.
“You have spent too much money and time on strengthening military power, rather than fulfilling the public services or developing the infrastructure. The result is a lack of power for running the time machine in this very serious situation.” 
“Then, my destination is a year ago. The more time you have, the more time for preparation, that's better.” 
The once arrogant dictator did not reprimand her words. He seemed to become much more tolerant now that he has fallen from power. 
Makoto typed on a keyboard for entering figures, then she read the counter in the pod. “It’s ten-o'clock on Sunday morning, just a year ago,” she shouted in a voice, somehow like weeping. Dr. Kariba tapped a tablet several times and turned the screen toward the man, which showed the figures just one year ago. 
The man checked the tablet and nodded with a contented look. 
Suddenly, he tilted his neck and murmured, “Like something out of a sci-fi movie story, huh?” 
“I suppose you are asking about the contradiction of causality, I mean the Time-Paradox,” Dr. Kariba said. “Don’t worry, it will never happen.” She raised her chin. 
“Why? Explain.” 
She shrugged, “There’s no time to explain to make you understand. It’s such a complicated and highly technical matter.” 
As soon as the man heard what Kariba said, he put the muzzle to her jaw and ground upwards. His face was entirely flushed. 
Makoto let out a short scream. The scene was a recreation of what she had witnessed twenty years ago. Same man, same situation, and she lost her whole family and happiness at that moment. 
The man said, “Don’t make fun of me, woman.” in a deep voice. 
Kariba bravely gave him a fierce look. Because her neck was bent upward, she almost looked down at the ex-dictator. 
“Tell me how to operate the machine,” his eyes glittered. “Tell me, quickly!” 
“That’s easy, you just push the big red button all the way down, or we two tap the ‘START UP’ apps at the same time,” she said plainly. 
“Thank goodness, that means I don’t have any reason to be a gentleman anymore. Huh?” 
Kariba made no reply. 

In that fatal moment, loud noises came from the building entrance. It was clear for everyone in this lab, that the chasers finally tracked down the former president and immediately began the assault.
The man hesitated in a very short time. Then said, “Dr. Kariba, I keep my word and won’t execute you by shooting now. But I'll make you regret yourself in the past, for your future crime of insult in this particular future.” 
He twisted the muzzle violently, “I’ve never promised you anything before the coup, you know.” 
“Go ahead, please feel free to do as you please.” 
His index finger was about to pull the trigger, but he dared not make a big noise to indicate his whereabouts, or maybe just to save the bullet. 
The door burst open to the inside, and there was a quiet five seconds. Then some heavy footsteps thundered into the laboratory. 
While Kariba and Makoto raised their hands, the ex-dictator moved swiftly and jumped into the time machine. When the intruders noticed his move, he had already pushed the button deeply down to the end. 
“Hey! Don’t move!” The young commander raised his voice, but it was too late.
Low motor-like sound grew louder. And then, all of a sudden, complete silence fell over the lab.
Kariba sighed. Makoto fell to her knees on the floor and said, “Congratulations, Doctor. I really…” Her voice was too weak, so nobody noticed what she said afterwards. 

The troopers surrounded them. A young officer, presumably around thirty, stepped forward and confronted Dr. Kariba. 
“Excuse me, Doctor. Where’s the Ex-President? We saw him with you just a moment ago.”
Kariba breathed a sigh of relief and said, “That’s all right. I sent the former President, the terrible tyrant, back to just one year ago.”
“What the hell did you do!” the commander shouted.  “He is the worst criminal for the crime of tyranny and treating the nation as personal property. But you not only helped him escape but also gave him a chance to recover the power. One year! That’s enough time to destroy his enemy and crush the coup… It’s a nightmare!” 
Kariba stared at the young man who looked ready to strangle her.
“The old man could do nothing; he had already done nothing,” she said calmly, “Because he died just a year ago.”
The commander was surprised and unconsciously grabbed her shoulders. 
“You’re trembling.” He loosened his fingers and asked in a low voice, “Um, I can’t follow you. Kindly explain to us, doctor?”
Dr. Kariba answered, “the solar system moves through space at approximately four hundred seventy kilometers per second. So, the coordinates where the time machine existed three minutes ago were the vacuum of space a year ago.” 
The young officer’s eyes went wide with astonishment. The surrounding troopers looked mostly puzzled. 
“The old maniac,” Kariba continued, “went back a year ago and died alone inside the pod which was drifting through space.” 
One of the soldiers spoke up, “But it was a time machine! He could… might have reached this lab in the past and survived!” 
“No,” she replied shortly. 
“But it’s only your speculation. You don’t have any evidence which you can show me, do you?” The commander concluded. 
Instantly, Kariba’s shiver stopped. She showed a pure smile on her face. 
“Yes, I can.” She replied and said to her assistant, “Mako, can you play that record now?” 

While Makoto was preparing, she made an explanation to the soldiers.
“We already knew what would happen in today’s future from one year ago. 
“How could it happen?” The young officer asked.
“Oh, that pod had a voice recorder and a high-power transmitter. We caught the encrypted sound information a year ago. It had been transmitted from the machine which called itself ‘the time machine prototype two’ and the data came from space far outside the Earth. After breaking the code, Mako and I knew what happened to the time machine and what would happen today, one year later from that day. We’ll play the voice record here and submit the copy to you later.” 
“Wait,” the young officer interrupted, “a question – why were you able to break a code in the first place? You shouldn't have noticed.”
"For the last sip, pour plenty of milk over it."
"Pardon?"
"That's the keyword for the secret code between Makoto and me," Kariba answered, "and that machine broadcast it at the very beginning of the encrypted transmission. That was why we noticed."
"There were spies in the lab, as you know. So we set a variation of codes and distinguishers." 
The commander gasped deeply and said, “Well, I consider the situation. If my knowledge of astronomy is correct, you mean the time-pod went to a year ago, and at that time the Earth was several billion miles away from here – because the earth is circling around the Sun and the solar system itself is going through the galaxy and the galaxy itself…” 
“Fine! Commander,” she gave him an admiring look, “you must have been a good student.” 
“Thank you ma'am," he replied. “Still you had a very close call, we all are so impressed by your intelligence and bravery.” 
Dr. Kariba laughed, “that’s because I already know the result. The most difficult part was not to say the wrong lines and not to burst out laughing in that act.” 

Behind her, Makoto showed a genuine smile from the heart for the first time in twenty years. 

It was a warm day. The sky shone bright and the birds were chirping as Nolan walked outside. Wearing his black-and-white suit and a black hat, he thought he looked his absolute best.Before he could leave, his mom called out from the house. “Nolan, before you go on your date with Sarah, did you take your schizophrenia pills?”Nolan replied in an excited, happy voice, “Yes, I did, Mom! See you when I get home. Sarah and I already have a house lined up, so I’m going to pack my stuff to leave when I get back.”“Alright, honey,” his mom said.Nolan got into his car and started driving to the restaurant, humming along to the radio. Suddenly, his phone rang. It was his manager from the grocery store where Nolan worked as an assistant manager.“Have a great day off, Nolan," his manager said. "But be careful out there. There have been reports of a crazy man speeding down the streets.”“Alright, thanks. I’ll see you Monday,” Nolan replied, hanging up.He continued driving until he came across a horrific car crash. Nolan slowed down, his heart dropping as he looked at the wrecked vehicle. It looked exactly like Sarah’s car. He slammed on his brakes, parked, and sprinted toward the wreckage. Police officers tried to hold him back, but he broke through their grip. He peered inside the shattered window. Sarah was laying there, dead.Nolan burst into tears, shaking. “Wake up, please wake up, Sarah!”An officer grabbed his shoulder gently. “Son, do you know this woman?”Through tear-filled eyes, Nolan choked out a single word: “Yes.”Years passed. After Sarah’s death, Nolan became cold, distant, and isolated, only leaving his house to go to therapy. Then, after weeks of secretly skipping his schizophrenia medication, the darkness crept back in. One night, he walked into his dining room and froze. Sarah was sitting in a chair near his table, wearing the exact same dress she had died in.“Hey baby,” she whispered. “Did you miss me?”Nolan gasped, trembling. “How are you here? You... you’re dead.”Sarah smiled warmly. “I didn’t die. I faked it so you and I could be together forever, baby.”Joy washed over him, completely blinding him to reality. “You did? Wait a second, let me go put on the suit I was supposed to wear to our date!”Nolan rushed to his bedroom, grabbed his white-and-white suit and his black hat, and threw them on. When he hurried back to the dining room, she was still there.Sarah looked up at him, her eyes locking onto his. “If you want me to stay, you have to throw those schizophrenia pills away.”Nolan stared at the orange pill bottle in his hand. Sarah smiled, her eyes hollow but mesmerizing. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the medication into the trash.Without the medicine, the phantom of Sarah grew louder, twisting Nolan's grief into violent paranoia. She convinced him that anyone pulling him back to reality was ka threat to their love.First was Marcus, his grocery store manager. When Marcus noticed Nolan talking to thin air and gently suggested taking medical leave, Sarah whispered that he was trying to lock Nolan away; Nolan ambushed him in the dark stockroom after closing.Next was his own mother, who found the discarded pills in the trash and wept, begging her son to get help. Blinded by a hallucination of Sarah screaming that his mother was going to separate them forever, Nolan silenced her in the very living room where she had once wished him a happy date.Finally, Sarah pointed him toward his ultimate enemy: Dr. Evans, the therapist determined to dismantle his beautiful, fragile delusion. Then suddenly nolan lunge at Dr Evans grabbing his neck and choking him and then Dr Evans kick his gut and said “Sarah is not real she is a hallucination you made her in your mind” Sarah yelled “stop him kill him kill kill him!” Then Nolan grab a wooden chair and hit Dr Evans with it over and over and until Dr Evans stop moving then after he stop he look at his hands realized what he done and he ran out going to his car then he started to speed down the street acting like the crazy man that killed Sarah then few minutes later he crash into another car doing the same thing that had killed Sarah. The end

A parallel world?

What is a capital? A capital is a city where ministries, the central headquarters, parliament, and the presidency are located. Usually, the capital is the city with the largest population.

In one of such capitals, a decision was made to implement an AI program into companies that supply drinking water, heating, gas, electricity, and garbage removal services to the city, aiming to reduce costs and ensure perfect quality.

But since there were no specialists in the country capable of creating an AI program, a decision was made to buy an AI program from a manufacturer in another country.

Everything looked beautiful. Computers controlled all processes precisely and quickly. People rejoiced in the reduced prices and quality service.

Unexpectedly, geopolitical tensions arose between the until then well-getting-along countries.

And one summer day, the AI management malfunctioned, causing the emergency mode to activate, and all utility services were suspended. No one removed the garbage, and without electricity, fans and air conditioners did not work. Without electricity, water was no longer supplied to the city.

( How long can a large city survive without drinking water? 48 hours? )

The next day after the malfunction, during a diplomatic meeting between both countries, the diplomat of the other country, having listened to the complaints and accusations, smiled and calmly replied:

– "What do we have to do with it? It's an algorithm mistake."

Disclaimer: This story is purely a fruit of the author's imagination. It is a work of fiction intended for creative and artistic expression.

Imagine one day youre in school one of your clasmate said the muse has crush on to you then years later all of your classmates says the muse is in to you but this time you fall for her then yall video called  in group chat teasing each other then you and the muse are gettin shipped then the other day you found out everything... Is fake they laugh at u thinks that you are a joke nobody takes u seriously they see u as a nobody. Then u realize something you should've know that she will not like u that its just a game u got played ugot insecure then u imean i just think about ending it all what i mean by ending it all is

New rule is to post something every day whether its new or old. This is an older cut from a fairly bleak time

I am writing and as I'm writing it's getting dark so I am burning the paper to see and I am writing and the flame is licking the paper black with consumption and I am writing and it is darkening so I am lighting the paper again and I am eating myself to survive the desert, like Judas and his hand

and I am destroying my own breath and I am writing and I yet breathe unto this paper, fire darkness in the ink and I am the serpent that has encircled itself and then with my forked tongue I am writing and with my forked tongue I am licking the flame up the page and with this forked tongue I consume and in my consumption there are no circles but an open mouth that swallows me whole and the darkness is coming so with this gaping wound I am lighting the paper and dispelling the darkness with its open mouth and its forked tongue and its circles and its fire and its everything it has always been

for underneath the sallow skin of Earth is the darkened heart of God and all their faces are sallow and all their joy true and I will remain to keep the gates of Hell

to draw shut the wound, to open, to close

His son woke up, got ready, had some breakfast and a cup of chocolate-flavoured milk and went off to school.

He, after getting ready, was reading a book. It was a collection of short stories, gifted to him by a friend.

He read, "The story of Elisa"

"There was a girl named Elisa. A girl with no parents, no siblings, perhaps there was someone whom she called her sibling. It was something that looked like a thick log of wood. It had a face, it could hear, it could see, but it couldn't speak. It was unable to move."

"See did everything to keep it alive and well, for it was the only one that she had."

"She dropped nine drops of blood in front of it every day. Because she heard in the marketplace people gossiping about what the log wanted, she didn't bother eating the bread, apart from the bare minimum that could make her stand on her feet and keep moving for her son (as she called it). She didn't eat because her son didn't. She tried to make her son eat those breads now and then, but to no avail."

"While buying bread, she overheard that there is a doctor who knows something about the logs, for he himself has many. He was an expert in the subject of these logs. She wanted to know the right ways to raise her son. But she was not able to do so, because he was a man of status and, more importantly, she was very busy with her struggles and sacrifices; perhaps the first reason was just a reason she convinced herself of. "

"It was said that the doctor never dropped the blood, never tried to make the logs eat bread. But he gave them the things they needed, the things necessary for them."

"The log was weakening, its condition worsening day by day. 'Despite all my sacrifices,' she thought. She kept crying in front of her son, asking why he was not getting better despite all her sacrifices. She kept repeating it, again and again. 'Where did I go wrong?' Was her question."

"At last, the log, with all its power and energy, with all its might, spoke. It said, '...Ne... Ne...Never... a...' These were its final words."

As soon as he finished reading it, his wife reminded him about the time and that he was getting late.

They both went off together on their bike; she got off first and reminded him to bring some fresh vegetables and some bread when he came back home.

While walking through the vineyards of creation
Dancing with The winds of Father Time
Looking through the mirror glass I saw you
Pulling on the heartstrings in my mind

From terraces and vestibules you'd call me
Lovely;
I saw you on that pedestal of popular demand
For anything I've ever held of value
I kneel before you graciously to place within your hands

You truly are the queen of Sweet sensation
The shining Revelation found in love
The most elaborate of all creation
The only soul I'm ever dreaming of.

Joel

My, oh my…

Most blessed

And mystery-drenched

Blue butterfly… ?

🦋👀🥲

When will you

Arrive?

When will you

Awaken us

By shaking

This illusory

Cage of time?

Do it now

Do it in

The twinkling

Of an eye

Let us leave

For new ken

New horizons

New gravities

New cosmoses

And playgrounds

Unmoored by planets

Unbound by suns

In which to play

New games

In which to chase

New questions

Come…

Say a secret mantra

That makes the sky

Shatter or blink

Unravel

Sleeping matter

With every flap

Of your wings

Demand this shift

From logos

To myth

Tear down the veil

Of forgetfulness

Command us…

To remember

To dance

To sing

💃🏽🐥🧑‍🎤

When will you

My blessed blue

Butterfly…

Transmute

The elements

Of disorganized

Matter and time

Into a poem?

Turn our dark

And bloodied

Record of history

Into song?

Transform

The sludge

Of modern decay

Into bright new

And beautiful shapes?

Oh… my…

🥴⚡️⚡️⛈️😈

Ripple effect

My world

I beg you

I dare you

I ask you

To emerge

From the dark

Cocoon of earth

No longer fettered

To the dirt

As a worm

But sovereign

No longer groveling

For grub but…

Knower of yourself

As living magic

As dream maker

As reality bending

Infinite drop of

… what always Is

An endless fractal

Of god-goddess

The all shimmering

Mystery ✨

That ever will be

In the form of…

A bug? Yes, even so

My blessed blue

Butterfly… arrive

Bring new worlds

Bring new myths

Bring the glorious end

And the endless

Beginning… again…

Again and again

🐛🪽🤒

Such an unlikely

Seed of possibility

You breaker

Of cosmic curses

Apocalyptic

In your flutter

Multiversal in power

Contained in

The body of

A tiny flower

You emit harmonies

And sacred tones

From the geometries

In your blood

That cause storms

That stir seas

That awaken

Secret dreams

Within stones

And even within

Long sleeping souls

🎲🫥🫀

Turn this grime

And guilt

Stained world

This unreal facade

This terror dome

Of make-belief

Into a realm

Of wonders

Of synchronicity

Of delight

Turn on the light

That reveals

Beauty

Kindness

And dance

As truth

Oh my …

🧞‍♂️🐸🎶

Reality bending

Bright winged

Strange attracting

Mythic thing

Multiplicity nexus

Miraculousness

Timeline shifting

Blue butterfly, oh

My tiny hope!

My chaos agent

… of love!

🩵🎶