My worker bee picked me up early in the morning and brought me down to the spca adoption center with the hopes of picking out a pet....
"You wont be taking one home today, today is just to look, to shop..."
As if picking a friend could be that easy, just go in and shop around for a while, get a FEEL for them.
My heart twisted in knots as I stepped through the door, animals all of them, caged and wild eyed with anxiety or docile with jaded acceptance. Every one of them desperately needing a home, some one to take them into there arms and love them and care for them.
I don't know why I put myself through this... Going into animal shelters and pet stores and even going as far as to peruse the pet section of craigslist. Kills me EVERY TIME.
Towards the back there sat a squat cage on a small platform, and inside where four young cats, all of them solid black. Most of them came up to the cage walls and peered out, but far in the back one simply rested, the runt of the little with a small paper tag like a hospital bracelet reading "Mopsy". As I approached her side of the cage she lifted her eyes to mine and what I saw melted me to the core. Mopsy was not only the runt, but one of a litter of kittens that had come under horrible abuse. She had gotten the worse of it, patches of hair had had to be shaved off around her under arms, her ears with thick with black gunk from ear-mites, and her left eye shone solid white with cataract.
"From an injury" the young female staff member said, and wouldn't tell me any more.
When I extended my fingers to the cage she rubbed the side of her face lovingly against them and looked out at me, squinting and staring with that one good eye. She had seen the wars, been through the ringer, been through hell and back, took a licken and kept on ticken. Mopsy was world weary at the tender age of two, young even for a cat. But something in the way she looked at me prompted me to ask that she be removed from her cage and brought to a small adjacent room for me to socialize with her.
As she was lifted from her cage, she did not protest, simply went limp and allowed herself to be carried, though her eyes told a different story. The good eye bloomed wide with terror and distrust of the woman who now held her and carried her along. Her claws gripped her shirt as if expecting any moment to be tossed at the nearest wall.
One in the room Mopsy was placed on the floor and saw me enter. She starred up and me with that single eye and again her lids drifted into a mellow and relaxed squint. A moment latter she rolled onto her back exposing her belly to me. I got down on my haunches and stroked the fur there. It was soft, like the inside of expensive slippers. She purred with reckless abandon and again rubbed her face along my wrist and hand, marking me with her scent. I decided right then and there that Mopsy would be my kitty, that the following day I would return for her, to take her home and into my humble home, and far more humble life...
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Monday, May 28, 2012
Mojo: Chapter One: The Fuzz Factor
I would tell people that I always wanted a black cat named Mojo. In retrospect, I have no idea why. There just seemed some charm in the concept, in the name and the very idea. In my previous apartment I was not allowed to have pets, and through various circumstances I had ended up in the basement apartment on King Street, which did. Also: In this new environment, I was completely alone...
So used to rooming with my brother was I, that waking up to an empty apartment seemed pointless. I would sleep as long as I could and spent my waking hours either waiting for the phone to ring or sitting idle at my computer. In the time between, however, I had made a friend. Gabriel Richard was his name, a thirty something man that intermediately lived with his mother or in cramped section eight apartments and was strickened with nigh crippling obsessive compulsive disorder, had a love for queen and other classic rock bands bordering on obsession, and was blessed with a genuine attitude of kindness towards others that was refreshing in comparison to the bleak jaded voice of those who I had befriended in my past.
When things went south with Ben, Gabe was there to pick up the pieces. He helped me clean out the old apartment, separating me and Ben's belongings the way one would for a divorced couple. Then came the task of finding a place to stay. I had been terrified by the prospect of ending up in some sort of group home, and was gladdened when I found the spacious basement apartment on King Street. The eccentric landlord, an elderly man named Dallas Wayne Crickenburger, was one part WWII vet, one part geriatric cowboy, add a dash of dementia, mix well, serve warm and friendly.
It wasn't until after I had moved in that I realized the distance I had placed between myself and anyone who could offer me company. Gabe was my only friend at the time, as there was some distance between me and my long-time friend/ex-girlfiend Rebecca, but he lived clear across town in Belmont and had to ride several buses just to bridge the gap between us. He tried to be there for me, but nine out of ten days I sat alone in silence, silently begging for company that I was too afraid to seek out.
So there I was, keeping tract of time by the passing of Tuesdays and Thursdays that marked the bi-weekly appointment with my social worker, at the time a friendly former punk rocker-turned mental health professional named Senna Magill. It was she that reminded me of one of the major benefits to moving into that place, so far from removed any source of social interaction: Pets.
"You have to implement something I call the Fuzz Factor." She told me in an official manner, with eyes barely concealing there loosely hidden mirth.
I took the bait.
"What is 'The Fuzz Factor'?" I Replied, "I'm dying to hear this one."
She looked at me for a moment and her good humor finally broke loose and she cracked a wise-ass smile.
"I'm glad you asked!" Was her sarcastic reply, "The 'Fuzz Factor' is a human beings innate love for all things fuzzy and cute used to combat mental illness or depression, kinda like a service animal for a blind person, only more fuzzy and with less responsibilities save for just being there and being loved upon."
It clicked in my head like the hammer of a gun, ready to fire and finally accomplish SOMETHING towards feeling better, something about being less of a mopey bastard and more of a whole human being. The Fuzz Factor, it made sense in the simplest of ways, I had always shown affection towards animals, especially cats, and I was now in a unique position to both own and provide for one. I had the new apartment, the restrictions on my finances were being loosened and readied for me to handle my own money, and I desperately needed both the company and the affection.
AND I already had a named picked out...
I would call this little ball of fuzz that I would take in, care for, and ultimately befriend MOJO.
And the stories we would live through would be GRAND indeed...
So used to rooming with my brother was I, that waking up to an empty apartment seemed pointless. I would sleep as long as I could and spent my waking hours either waiting for the phone to ring or sitting idle at my computer. In the time between, however, I had made a friend. Gabriel Richard was his name, a thirty something man that intermediately lived with his mother or in cramped section eight apartments and was strickened with nigh crippling obsessive compulsive disorder, had a love for queen and other classic rock bands bordering on obsession, and was blessed with a genuine attitude of kindness towards others that was refreshing in comparison to the bleak jaded voice of those who I had befriended in my past.
When things went south with Ben, Gabe was there to pick up the pieces. He helped me clean out the old apartment, separating me and Ben's belongings the way one would for a divorced couple. Then came the task of finding a place to stay. I had been terrified by the prospect of ending up in some sort of group home, and was gladdened when I found the spacious basement apartment on King Street. The eccentric landlord, an elderly man named Dallas Wayne Crickenburger, was one part WWII vet, one part geriatric cowboy, add a dash of dementia, mix well, serve warm and friendly.
It wasn't until after I had moved in that I realized the distance I had placed between myself and anyone who could offer me company. Gabe was my only friend at the time, as there was some distance between me and my long-time friend/ex-girlfiend Rebecca, but he lived clear across town in Belmont and had to ride several buses just to bridge the gap between us. He tried to be there for me, but nine out of ten days I sat alone in silence, silently begging for company that I was too afraid to seek out.
So there I was, keeping tract of time by the passing of Tuesdays and Thursdays that marked the bi-weekly appointment with my social worker, at the time a friendly former punk rocker-turned mental health professional named Senna Magill. It was she that reminded me of one of the major benefits to moving into that place, so far from removed any source of social interaction: Pets.
"You have to implement something I call the Fuzz Factor." She told me in an official manner, with eyes barely concealing there loosely hidden mirth.
I took the bait.
"What is 'The Fuzz Factor'?" I Replied, "I'm dying to hear this one."
She looked at me for a moment and her good humor finally broke loose and she cracked a wise-ass smile.
"I'm glad you asked!" Was her sarcastic reply, "The 'Fuzz Factor' is a human beings innate love for all things fuzzy and cute used to combat mental illness or depression, kinda like a service animal for a blind person, only more fuzzy and with less responsibilities save for just being there and being loved upon."
It clicked in my head like the hammer of a gun, ready to fire and finally accomplish SOMETHING towards feeling better, something about being less of a mopey bastard and more of a whole human being. The Fuzz Factor, it made sense in the simplest of ways, I had always shown affection towards animals, especially cats, and I was now in a unique position to both own and provide for one. I had the new apartment, the restrictions on my finances were being loosened and readied for me to handle my own money, and I desperately needed both the company and the affection.
AND I already had a named picked out...
I would call this little ball of fuzz that I would take in, care for, and ultimately befriend MOJO.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
The Day of a Thousand Nights: Part One: A Truly Modest (yet somehow troublesome) Proposal
Thinking back at the beginning the day started out like many I've been through before it, at one thirty in the afternoon...
I awoke several times before finally giving up the ghost and downing a cup of delicious coffee, thoroughly inundated with powdered french vanilla creamer and two heaping spoonfuls of sugar. I spent many a morning in the years past sucking down black espresso, which has the taste of liquid burnt ass, and have promised myself never to look back. The coffee I drink, I sip, I ENJOY. Its purpose is not just to pump my veins full of caffeine but as an integral part of my waking ritual. I sip, I smoke a cigarette, I sip some more, I ease into the mid day like most people ease into a favorite pair of highly comfortable gloves, as to say: slowly and enjoying every minute of it.
Then, without warning, the loneliness struck. I picked up the phone and called my mother: busy... I called the few friends that I have: busy, preoccupied, available but very far away. Nothing left to do but set out on my own, it was close to the first of the month and I still had and ample supply of greasy bills and there far less greasy digital counterparts in my bank account, and they burned in my pockets like hot coals on the soles of a witches feet during the inquisition.
I made it as far as the mail box before the first impulse to turn back struck, the heat in the hallway was stifling and I argued internally that I was wearing leather pants, not proper attire for ninety degree weather (I further visualized my social worker jotting down notes, something along the lines of "inappropriately dressed for the weather"), and I decided to instead check the mail.
Inside was a flat square envelope inscribed with the words "gamefly" (think netflix but for video games, REALLY think "superfly: now with more game for every playa"). I knew at once exactly what game it was, kingdoms of amalur: the reckoning, or, as I had been calling it: kingdoms of anal-whore: I reckon. It was GABE'S game, one that I had ordered at his behest purely to cease his constant reminders and gentle nagging that I had "promised". Every time he used that word I pictured him as an overly large toddler so caught up in the concept of a promise that he felt that if one were to be broken it would forever break not only his trust, but his very spirit.
I grudgingly walked to the bustop, the game still in my mailbox. Pulling my cellphone from my leather lined pocked I dailed gabe's number.
"Hello?" an aging woman's voice answered after a few rings...
"HI, yeah its Zak again, can I speak to gabe?"
"Yeah, hold on a second, I have to YELL" Was her answer, and yell she did, in the unmistakable blow-horn tone of a mother to her son, albeit normally this would be reserved for a MUCH younger son... Gabe, as it was, is 35...
"GAAAAAAABBBBBEEEE! TELEPHONE!"
I couldn't help but to snicker, and though she heard me she didn't comment on the matter. Distantly through the tiny receiver I heard my friend in the background asking who it was, as if anyone else ever called him. Soon the phone on the other end jostled and changed hands.
"Hey, you just called a minute ago?" Responded that very same friend.
"Yeah, guess what SHOWED UP TODAY!??!?" I said sing-songedly into the cell-phone.
"What?"
"KINGDOMS OF AMALUR! You want to come over? I'll pick you up at fashion square!"
"I don't know, let me ask my mom..." Was his response, but I KNEW he was ready to shit his big-boy pants with excitement over his precious game finally arriving.
Through the phone, an epic but all too frequently occurring battle took place, a battle between man-child and overbearing mother. I could feel the sting of her incessant nagging just as readily as I could the dull hurt of his uncaring and thoughtless "whatever"s. Finally the battle was won, and Gabe, Jester of his own private domestic kingdom, stood triumphant.
"Yeah, I'll meet you at fashion square, bring change for me to ride the bus..."
He then hung up shortly after my curt response of "awesome" which was spoken in a stutter of stifled boyish giggles.
And thus, the day was set, that day, YESTER-day, and the night that followed would be glorious indeed...
I awoke several times before finally giving up the ghost and downing a cup of delicious coffee, thoroughly inundated with powdered french vanilla creamer and two heaping spoonfuls of sugar. I spent many a morning in the years past sucking down black espresso, which has the taste of liquid burnt ass, and have promised myself never to look back. The coffee I drink, I sip, I ENJOY. Its purpose is not just to pump my veins full of caffeine but as an integral part of my waking ritual. I sip, I smoke a cigarette, I sip some more, I ease into the mid day like most people ease into a favorite pair of highly comfortable gloves, as to say: slowly and enjoying every minute of it.
Then, without warning, the loneliness struck. I picked up the phone and called my mother: busy... I called the few friends that I have: busy, preoccupied, available but very far away. Nothing left to do but set out on my own, it was close to the first of the month and I still had and ample supply of greasy bills and there far less greasy digital counterparts in my bank account, and they burned in my pockets like hot coals on the soles of a witches feet during the inquisition.
I made it as far as the mail box before the first impulse to turn back struck, the heat in the hallway was stifling and I argued internally that I was wearing leather pants, not proper attire for ninety degree weather (I further visualized my social worker jotting down notes, something along the lines of "inappropriately dressed for the weather"), and I decided to instead check the mail.
Inside was a flat square envelope inscribed with the words "gamefly" (think netflix but for video games, REALLY think "superfly: now with more game for every playa"). I knew at once exactly what game it was, kingdoms of amalur: the reckoning, or, as I had been calling it: kingdoms of anal-whore: I reckon. It was GABE'S game, one that I had ordered at his behest purely to cease his constant reminders and gentle nagging that I had "promised". Every time he used that word I pictured him as an overly large toddler so caught up in the concept of a promise that he felt that if one were to be broken it would forever break not only his trust, but his very spirit.
I grudgingly walked to the bustop, the game still in my mailbox. Pulling my cellphone from my leather lined pocked I dailed gabe's number.
"Hello?" an aging woman's voice answered after a few rings...
"HI, yeah its Zak again, can I speak to gabe?"
"Yeah, hold on a second, I have to YELL" Was her answer, and yell she did, in the unmistakable blow-horn tone of a mother to her son, albeit normally this would be reserved for a MUCH younger son... Gabe, as it was, is 35...
"GAAAAAAABBBBBEEEE! TELEPHONE!"
I couldn't help but to snicker, and though she heard me she didn't comment on the matter. Distantly through the tiny receiver I heard my friend in the background asking who it was, as if anyone else ever called him. Soon the phone on the other end jostled and changed hands.
"Hey, you just called a minute ago?" Responded that very same friend.
"Yeah, guess what SHOWED UP TODAY!??!?" I said sing-songedly into the cell-phone.
"What?"
"KINGDOMS OF AMALUR! You want to come over? I'll pick you up at fashion square!"
"I don't know, let me ask my mom..." Was his response, but I KNEW he was ready to shit his big-boy pants with excitement over his precious game finally arriving.
Through the phone, an epic but all too frequently occurring battle took place, a battle between man-child and overbearing mother. I could feel the sting of her incessant nagging just as readily as I could the dull hurt of his uncaring and thoughtless "whatever"s. Finally the battle was won, and Gabe, Jester of his own private domestic kingdom, stood triumphant.
"Yeah, I'll meet you at fashion square, bring change for me to ride the bus..."
He then hung up shortly after my curt response of "awesome" which was spoken in a stutter of stifled boyish giggles.
And thus, the day was set, that day, YESTER-day, and the night that followed would be glorious indeed...
Monday, April 16, 2012
God Complex, Part: Two: The Council and The Fall
Ahead of them on on a high podium sat the councils leader, sitting defiant of his form and revered by all before him. A penguin crafted of faux fur and likely stuffed with plastic beads and polyester filling. On his brow, a crown of exotic feathers so elaborate and vibrant as to put to shame the headpieces of all else present, around his neck a number so large as to defy reason and the very physics of the small laminated card it was writ upon.
When He spoke his words came out in the high squeaky voice of a muppet...
"HEY, guys! This is a VERY important day for all of us, JUST LIKE YESTERDAY!"
The murmurs of the crowd hushed as he plainly intoned.
"Here and now, then and always! HA HA HA!" Was the crowds unanimous response.
The old man jammed his elbow into my side and leaned in for a hushed whisper...
"Don't let there appearances fool you, they take this form as to not shatter the minds of any mortals present, each is a fierce, and oftentimes unimaginably horrid, God of the Realms..."
The head of the council went on to speak of matters that I could not follow, more or less understand, often lapsing into various languages that were alien to me, but still spoken in the ridiculous accent that was a cross between kermit the frog and big bird. The old man, taking advantage of the focus on the head of the council, reached out with his foot and nudged one of the clay figures off of the shelf, and as it struck the ground it imploded into a small and nearly silent display of purple-yellow light.
He took this moment to stand before the council, and speak. His words came out in harsh guttural tones completely different from that of the muppet king, but the meaning of them were lost to me behind the barrier of language. I could only hope it was going well.
Curious of the nature of his actions, I peered over the objects on the shelf before me. One appeared to be a plastic replica of a futuristic weapon of some sort, no more than a toy. I reached out my foot and nudged it off the shelf, and it fell with the same affect as the previous. The old man gave me a subtle smirk and winked at me, though I knew not what he meant by it.
This went on like this for some time, I caught only brief segments of the preceding, of the old mans insistence that I live, and various others arguing for either my demise, or for no action to be taken at all.
"HERE AND NOW, THEN AND ALWAYS!" The crowd spoke in unison, it appears the session had come to a close.
The old man rose from his seat and took a small bow before exiting the room, me following close behind. We walked in hushed silence towards the elevator and when we reached it, he glanced over at me and appeared to remember that I was there at all.
"OH! Perhaps I should tell you, you've been given a second chance, as I had hoped..." He said with a smile, "But it wont be easy, you are to be dropped from the wall of the acropolis at sunrise, and must fall through time and place to your destination, the moment and location of your passing... with some MINOR alterations of course." That last sentence was hushed and followed by him clearing his throat...
"How... how did I die?" I asked hesitantly...
"OH! No small matter, a twist of fate landed an insurgent suicide bomber out of place and time at the Virginia renaissance Faire, and at the VERY booth you then occupied. It seems he was very disturbed by the whole matter, confused as well, and set off his explosive device the moment he saw your boots..."
I then wished I hadn't asked...
"I need you to punch in the code for the acropolis please," He asked as if it were no small feat.
I starred at the ever shifting keys of the elevator and as I lifted my hand it gravitated towards several buttons of its own volition. We entered through the door and began the long trek upward through time.
Back at the acropolis, surrounded by the ancient stone pillars and rough cut ruins he took me to the edge and placed his hand on my shoulder.
"You know, you could stay... I could use someone like you on my staff." He asked hopefully.
"I don't know, I think I'd rather just go home."
"Very well then, but remember, as you fall you fall not just through space, but through time as well. The sensations will be very disturbing, but do not fear. I've created a platform of sorts minutes before your demise for you to "land" on, and you SHOULD survive the fall."
It was the word 'should' that had me worried... but I didn't have chance to object, as his hand on my shoulder then shoved me over the edge and into madness.
Falling through the clouds that rung the stone edifice was one thing, I had never been skydiving but I'm sure that this was not much different,but one through them it were as if I were plunging down passed an elaborate and ever changing skyscraper crafted of neon light. All around me the world reconstructed and deconstructed and while it would at one moment seem i were falling, at another seem I were being lifted or thrown across space. bellow me a prismatic shimmer grew close, then further away, then closer still and it seemed often that I would miss it all-together, until in a rush I collided with the moment in time I had left. Time rushed to catch up with me and I could see myself reforming from decayed matter and progressively aging backwards to the moment I had left, and as it reached it I fell to the ground as if struck by my future selves.
I got up off of the dirt and saw a familiar sight, the vendors tent I had been in when this all started, only the rack of boots was conspicuously missing, and instead of the swarthy looking man stood a common bar wench who approached me.
"Are you al'right me'lord?" She said, ever in character, thanks gods for the staff of the ren faire, ever dutiful.
"Yeah, I think I will be..."
THE END!
When He spoke his words came out in the high squeaky voice of a muppet...
"HEY, guys! This is a VERY important day for all of us, JUST LIKE YESTERDAY!"
The murmurs of the crowd hushed as he plainly intoned.
"Here and now, then and always! HA HA HA!" Was the crowds unanimous response.
The old man jammed his elbow into my side and leaned in for a hushed whisper...
"Don't let there appearances fool you, they take this form as to not shatter the minds of any mortals present, each is a fierce, and oftentimes unimaginably horrid, God of the Realms..."
The head of the council went on to speak of matters that I could not follow, more or less understand, often lapsing into various languages that were alien to me, but still spoken in the ridiculous accent that was a cross between kermit the frog and big bird. The old man, taking advantage of the focus on the head of the council, reached out with his foot and nudged one of the clay figures off of the shelf, and as it struck the ground it imploded into a small and nearly silent display of purple-yellow light.
He took this moment to stand before the council, and speak. His words came out in harsh guttural tones completely different from that of the muppet king, but the meaning of them were lost to me behind the barrier of language. I could only hope it was going well.
Curious of the nature of his actions, I peered over the objects on the shelf before me. One appeared to be a plastic replica of a futuristic weapon of some sort, no more than a toy. I reached out my foot and nudged it off the shelf, and it fell with the same affect as the previous. The old man gave me a subtle smirk and winked at me, though I knew not what he meant by it.
This went on like this for some time, I caught only brief segments of the preceding, of the old mans insistence that I live, and various others arguing for either my demise, or for no action to be taken at all.
"HERE AND NOW, THEN AND ALWAYS!" The crowd spoke in unison, it appears the session had come to a close.
The old man rose from his seat and took a small bow before exiting the room, me following close behind. We walked in hushed silence towards the elevator and when we reached it, he glanced over at me and appeared to remember that I was there at all.
"OH! Perhaps I should tell you, you've been given a second chance, as I had hoped..." He said with a smile, "But it wont be easy, you are to be dropped from the wall of the acropolis at sunrise, and must fall through time and place to your destination, the moment and location of your passing... with some MINOR alterations of course." That last sentence was hushed and followed by him clearing his throat...
"How... how did I die?" I asked hesitantly...
"OH! No small matter, a twist of fate landed an insurgent suicide bomber out of place and time at the Virginia renaissance Faire, and at the VERY booth you then occupied. It seems he was very disturbed by the whole matter, confused as well, and set off his explosive device the moment he saw your boots..."
I then wished I hadn't asked...
"I need you to punch in the code for the acropolis please," He asked as if it were no small feat.
I starred at the ever shifting keys of the elevator and as I lifted my hand it gravitated towards several buttons of its own volition. We entered through the door and began the long trek upward through time.
Back at the acropolis, surrounded by the ancient stone pillars and rough cut ruins he took me to the edge and placed his hand on my shoulder.
"You know, you could stay... I could use someone like you on my staff." He asked hopefully.
"I don't know, I think I'd rather just go home."
"Very well then, but remember, as you fall you fall not just through space, but through time as well. The sensations will be very disturbing, but do not fear. I've created a platform of sorts minutes before your demise for you to "land" on, and you SHOULD survive the fall."
It was the word 'should' that had me worried... but I didn't have chance to object, as his hand on my shoulder then shoved me over the edge and into madness.
Falling through the clouds that rung the stone edifice was one thing, I had never been skydiving but I'm sure that this was not much different,but one through them it were as if I were plunging down passed an elaborate and ever changing skyscraper crafted of neon light. All around me the world reconstructed and deconstructed and while it would at one moment seem i were falling, at another seem I were being lifted or thrown across space. bellow me a prismatic shimmer grew close, then further away, then closer still and it seemed often that I would miss it all-together, until in a rush I collided with the moment in time I had left. Time rushed to catch up with me and I could see myself reforming from decayed matter and progressively aging backwards to the moment I had left, and as it reached it I fell to the ground as if struck by my future selves.
I got up off of the dirt and saw a familiar sight, the vendors tent I had been in when this all started, only the rack of boots was conspicuously missing, and instead of the swarthy looking man stood a common bar wench who approached me.
"Are you al'right me'lord?" She said, ever in character, thanks gods for the staff of the ren faire, ever dutiful.
"Yeah, I think I will be..."
THE END!
Thursday, April 12, 2012
God Complex, Part: One
The air was crisp a clean, a perfect spring day, a mixture of heat a cool so sublime that it tickled the senses and made you want to inhale the air through your nose with every breath. I say was, perhaps IS, maybe never... My mother, sister, and I stood in an open field surrounded by a bustling medieval marketplace, but its all a facade, just over the hill sat a parking lot filled with suvs and hybrids and clunkers alike. We stood at the cusp of time, between what once was and what would be.
Allison fiddled with her garb, trying to get the complex series of chords and eyelets to hold and hold comfortably, my mother simply took it all in, and me? I was ready to browse. I took off on my own then, looking for a vendors tent by the name of "A simple Peddler" where the online merchants list promised a variety of medieval and renaissance goods ranging from swords and weaponry, to leather mugs and straps.
I came upon a hill and asked one of the friendly, always in character staff if anything was going on behind it, if there was more to see and do. He told me no, but I ventured forward anyway. Above the hill stood a pavilion peopled by the staff of the Virginia renaissance faire, discussing the ins and outs of the days events. I didn't stay long, still eager to find the prizes I sought.
Further beyond stood the tent I awaited, lined with garb and jewelry and various nick-nacks of the lives of those in the yester-years. I spoke with the woman running the tent as she arranged various items of clothing on a circular wrack.
"What size are you?" She inquired, but enthralled as I was I hardly heard her.
"Huh?"
"What shoe size hunny, we carry a variety of boots and footwear." Was her curt response to my confusion.
"Oh, size eight..."
She then quickly shuffled through the wrack, pointing out which boots she had in my size, and which she did not. It was all very commonplace, nothing out of the ordinary for that day, for ren faire day. Our conversation went on like that, her showing me her wares and me, beginning to ponder if I had withdrew enough money for that days festivities, until an odd man approached where we stood. He had the look of a gypsy and the eye of a comical villain, dreams are so literal sometimes. I dropped the large chunk of segmented amethyst I was holding at the time and a portion of the puzzle fell behind the shelve it had been sitting on. As me and the shop-keep struggled to move the shelf to get at the interlocking piece behind, a flash of white light overtook me and my surroundings were suddenly and incredibly changed.
Before me and miles bellow me stood a rising acropolis, pillars of stone in rings where each circle rose higher than the last, and on top of all of them sat entire cities crafted of living rock. I soared through the air, arching down and around this scene as rain filled the air around me and water poured from every crevasse of this impossible structure. At its apex stood a pump-house, with an old but strong man furiously primed a hose in an attempt to spray clean the surface of the buildings around him. He was bald on top with an almost anachronistically large beard hanging pendulous from his chin.
I "landed" near him, and without a word began to aid him in priming the pump as he set awash the stone structure with niagra falls levels of torrents of water. Suddenly the pump locked in place, and as it did so the rain that fell before ceased. The old man dropped the hose he held and leaned against a stone pillar, seemingly exhausted.
"Where am I, is the usual question..." The old man said to me then.
"I'm either dead or dreaming..." Was my quick response.
He looked at me then, bushy grey eyebrows arched noticeably.
"Smart man, come with me."
As we walked down a series of staircases and across rough cut stone walkways he explained to me my plight, which it seemed we shared.
"You've died prematurely..." He said to me,without hesitation. "and this is a problem for me, because great men are had to come by."
I merely listened...
"The thread of your fate was cut short, and thus those of all you WOULD have affected or altered altogether. Without this, my design is all but ruined."
The word "design" had me intrigued, while I had always hoped for a grander scheme to things, lingering thoughts of chaos plagued me.
"I have to take you before the Council of Gods, and argue for your continued existence, give them reason to believe you are integral to all our survival. It won't be easy, more than half of them have fewer followers than I, and they would LOVE to see my schemes fail."
He spoke of such this with a conniving simplicity that it betrayed years of belief in me, he was just as much a man as any man, and less a god than a great manipulator, a politician working the pantheons of mans deities.
He took me to a grand elevator, reminiscent of one standing the the lobby of an archaic office building or hotel, only the numbers on the lit panel shifted position and changed from numbers to letters to symbols I could not discern. He quickly punched in several of the ever moving digits and a loud hollow ding issued forth from the smooth reflective doors. The grinding of machinery could be heard from behind and the doors slid open, he then quickly pulled me in just before they slammed shut behind us. The girl from eponena played out in monotone musak tunes from all around us as we were lowered through the bowels of creation. All around our secure confine unknown sounds boomed and crashed and rumbled as a sense of displacement took hold of me, a feeling of being in several places at ones but no-where at all. The unsettling sensation passed and the doors again slid open, and out I was pulled the doors again shutting far too fast behind us.
The lobby we entered was different in every sense from the stone pillars and ancient edifices we had left behind, I found myself in what for all intensive purposes was any hotel lobby in America. As we quickly walked a long I noticed a black sign with individual letters clicked into a perforated background, it read:
"Council of Gods!
In session: Today and always.
What was, what could be,
and what will be,
sometimes, ARE!"
Outside a large doubled doored entry way sat a folding table with several feathered hats placed upon it, each with varying numbers and colors of feathers. The old man took a hat with several earth tone feathers of impressive size, and gave to me a leather strap with a single feather rising from its center. He tied the head piece onto his brow and I did the same, never questioning the validity and reality of the situation I had found myself in. As well as doing this, he pulled a laminated card out of his robes, that contained a rather large series of numbers prominently displayed on it and hung it from his neck.
We entered through the doorway into a large chamber lined with wooden bleaches, and in each chair sat a plush penguin, all of them wearing a feather headdress, all of them with a number card like the old mans hanging from there necks. We sat at the far end of the chamber near several large racks containing an odd assortment of random things, from old action figures, to discolored lumps of stone, to seemingly organic carvings of things my mind couldn't place but recognized as the works of intelligent and creative designers.
Everything seemed about par for the course according to what had already occurred, that was until one of the toy penguins began to speak...
Allison fiddled with her garb, trying to get the complex series of chords and eyelets to hold and hold comfortably, my mother simply took it all in, and me? I was ready to browse. I took off on my own then, looking for a vendors tent by the name of "A simple Peddler" where the online merchants list promised a variety of medieval and renaissance goods ranging from swords and weaponry, to leather mugs and straps.
I came upon a hill and asked one of the friendly, always in character staff if anything was going on behind it, if there was more to see and do. He told me no, but I ventured forward anyway. Above the hill stood a pavilion peopled by the staff of the Virginia renaissance faire, discussing the ins and outs of the days events. I didn't stay long, still eager to find the prizes I sought.
Further beyond stood the tent I awaited, lined with garb and jewelry and various nick-nacks of the lives of those in the yester-years. I spoke with the woman running the tent as she arranged various items of clothing on a circular wrack.
"What size are you?" She inquired, but enthralled as I was I hardly heard her.
"Huh?"
"What shoe size hunny, we carry a variety of boots and footwear." Was her curt response to my confusion.
"Oh, size eight..."
She then quickly shuffled through the wrack, pointing out which boots she had in my size, and which she did not. It was all very commonplace, nothing out of the ordinary for that day, for ren faire day. Our conversation went on like that, her showing me her wares and me, beginning to ponder if I had withdrew enough money for that days festivities, until an odd man approached where we stood. He had the look of a gypsy and the eye of a comical villain, dreams are so literal sometimes. I dropped the large chunk of segmented amethyst I was holding at the time and a portion of the puzzle fell behind the shelve it had been sitting on. As me and the shop-keep struggled to move the shelf to get at the interlocking piece behind, a flash of white light overtook me and my surroundings were suddenly and incredibly changed.
Before me and miles bellow me stood a rising acropolis, pillars of stone in rings where each circle rose higher than the last, and on top of all of them sat entire cities crafted of living rock. I soared through the air, arching down and around this scene as rain filled the air around me and water poured from every crevasse of this impossible structure. At its apex stood a pump-house, with an old but strong man furiously primed a hose in an attempt to spray clean the surface of the buildings around him. He was bald on top with an almost anachronistically large beard hanging pendulous from his chin.
I "landed" near him, and without a word began to aid him in priming the pump as he set awash the stone structure with niagra falls levels of torrents of water. Suddenly the pump locked in place, and as it did so the rain that fell before ceased. The old man dropped the hose he held and leaned against a stone pillar, seemingly exhausted.
"Where am I, is the usual question..." The old man said to me then.
"I'm either dead or dreaming..." Was my quick response.
He looked at me then, bushy grey eyebrows arched noticeably.
"Smart man, come with me."
As we walked down a series of staircases and across rough cut stone walkways he explained to me my plight, which it seemed we shared.
"You've died prematurely..." He said to me,without hesitation. "and this is a problem for me, because great men are had to come by."
I merely listened...
"The thread of your fate was cut short, and thus those of all you WOULD have affected or altered altogether. Without this, my design is all but ruined."
The word "design" had me intrigued, while I had always hoped for a grander scheme to things, lingering thoughts of chaos plagued me.
"I have to take you before the Council of Gods, and argue for your continued existence, give them reason to believe you are integral to all our survival. It won't be easy, more than half of them have fewer followers than I, and they would LOVE to see my schemes fail."
He spoke of such this with a conniving simplicity that it betrayed years of belief in me, he was just as much a man as any man, and less a god than a great manipulator, a politician working the pantheons of mans deities.
He took me to a grand elevator, reminiscent of one standing the the lobby of an archaic office building or hotel, only the numbers on the lit panel shifted position and changed from numbers to letters to symbols I could not discern. He quickly punched in several of the ever moving digits and a loud hollow ding issued forth from the smooth reflective doors. The grinding of machinery could be heard from behind and the doors slid open, he then quickly pulled me in just before they slammed shut behind us. The girl from eponena played out in monotone musak tunes from all around us as we were lowered through the bowels of creation. All around our secure confine unknown sounds boomed and crashed and rumbled as a sense of displacement took hold of me, a feeling of being in several places at ones but no-where at all. The unsettling sensation passed and the doors again slid open, and out I was pulled the doors again shutting far too fast behind us.
The lobby we entered was different in every sense from the stone pillars and ancient edifices we had left behind, I found myself in what for all intensive purposes was any hotel lobby in America. As we quickly walked a long I noticed a black sign with individual letters clicked into a perforated background, it read:
"Council of Gods!
In session: Today and always.
What was, what could be,
and what will be,
sometimes, ARE!"
Outside a large doubled doored entry way sat a folding table with several feathered hats placed upon it, each with varying numbers and colors of feathers. The old man took a hat with several earth tone feathers of impressive size, and gave to me a leather strap with a single feather rising from its center. He tied the head piece onto his brow and I did the same, never questioning the validity and reality of the situation I had found myself in. As well as doing this, he pulled a laminated card out of his robes, that contained a rather large series of numbers prominently displayed on it and hung it from his neck.
We entered through the doorway into a large chamber lined with wooden bleaches, and in each chair sat a plush penguin, all of them wearing a feather headdress, all of them with a number card like the old mans hanging from there necks. We sat at the far end of the chamber near several large racks containing an odd assortment of random things, from old action figures, to discolored lumps of stone, to seemingly organic carvings of things my mind couldn't place but recognized as the works of intelligent and creative designers.
Everything seemed about par for the course according to what had already occurred, that was until one of the toy penguins began to speak...
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Life is but a Dream
I dream of shapeless horrors...
Things that shift, that squirm, that consume...
There are variations on the theme, the place, the time, but in the end its always the same: They destroy me all else.
In my dreams these things are flesh incarnate, the embodiment of disease. Like amoebas they are formless, ever changing, but they are life. All life, the way our DNA contains the basic structures of all life merely reconfigured to form fly or man, and without that guiding hand we would be them. A living mass of tissue whose only purpose is to eat and grow.
I think of the movies and books I've seen in the past where this idea was present, what might have seeded these horrors into my consciousness: John Carpenters The Thing, The Blob, many others... None of them close to my sleeping minds concept. They are conscious, willful, and ravenous from countless millenia of imprisonment within our mortal shells.
In my dreams I see them, but there are moments when I feel my dreams have come to pass. I had one such moment of recall today. I sat at my computer exchanging messages with a distant friend, and in that moment I knew... I had dreamed this, and in a rare moment of clarity I knew exactly when, the night where I was released from the psyche ward, when I lay my head on my pillow and surrendered to sleep, I knew this moment would pass.
Are such things possible, the deconstruction of life to its base essentials to where it exists more distinct, more alien, than anything we have seen before it? I do not know, I do not CARE to know. Some things are best left to the resting mind to ponder, to fear in sleep and feel that sweet relief when you awake and realize it was but a dream. Life is but a dream, and death is an awakening.
Please let it be just a dream...
Things that shift, that squirm, that consume...
There are variations on the theme, the place, the time, but in the end its always the same: They destroy me all else.
In my dreams these things are flesh incarnate, the embodiment of disease. Like amoebas they are formless, ever changing, but they are life. All life, the way our DNA contains the basic structures of all life merely reconfigured to form fly or man, and without that guiding hand we would be them. A living mass of tissue whose only purpose is to eat and grow.
I think of the movies and books I've seen in the past where this idea was present, what might have seeded these horrors into my consciousness: John Carpenters The Thing, The Blob, many others... None of them close to my sleeping minds concept. They are conscious, willful, and ravenous from countless millenia of imprisonment within our mortal shells.
In my dreams I see them, but there are moments when I feel my dreams have come to pass. I had one such moment of recall today. I sat at my computer exchanging messages with a distant friend, and in that moment I knew... I had dreamed this, and in a rare moment of clarity I knew exactly when, the night where I was released from the psyche ward, when I lay my head on my pillow and surrendered to sleep, I knew this moment would pass.
Are such things possible, the deconstruction of life to its base essentials to where it exists more distinct, more alien, than anything we have seen before it? I do not know, I do not CARE to know. Some things are best left to the resting mind to ponder, to fear in sleep and feel that sweet relief when you awake and realize it was but a dream. Life is but a dream, and death is an awakening.
Please let it be just a dream...
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