You have entered the realm of a writer.

Welcome to A Writer's Landscape!

You have entered the realm of my mind where words play with the fabric of our existence. This is the map of my imagination: the very foundations of inspiration, musing, and thought splayed for your wandering eyes. Dive deep into the tides of these forces and experience my reality, my fantasy, my world; and if you should be so inclined, share your words with this land.

Peace and Love!

J Hart F

Thursday, March 18, 2010

The St. Patrick's Day Antithesis

Lola parked in the cemetery parking lot, which happened to be the only free parking near campus. As she stepped out of her car, Lola silently swore. Frat Row lay between her and campus, ten blocks away, and St. Patrick's Day celebrations would certainly be in full swing even at ten in the morning. Lucky Lola, not one block away presented a perfect opportunity for her practice her ignorance of the day.

Beer Pong... In the front yard... The entire frat was outside with a keg propped up on the steps. The good weather was going to make this St. Patty's Day worse than usual. Cheers of "Fail!" and "OH!!!" with the occasional "Chug, Chug, Chug, Chug....AAAYYYY!!!!!" through the close knit streets.

"Amateurs," Lola whispered.

Fortunately, she made it down the ten blocks with little encounters from the youth of the college. Well... immaturity of the college, because most of these frat boys were indeed her age. Once on campus, things calmed down a little and Lola was able to enjoy the beautiful sunshine of the first day over sixty degrees for the year. But instead of enjoying it outdoors, like the multitude of students mulling around, she went straight indoors to the cluttered hallways. Green hung from the ceilings; shamrocks and little leprechauns twisting in the air conditioned breeze.

Her first class was nearly empty, even though it was a masters course. "Amateurs," she whispered as she finished the easiest test of the semester.

During the break between her two courses, she decided to take in some sun. Though going out into public, especially on campus, was demoralizing on normal days, Lola hoped there would be solace on a holiday where most kids were too drunk by noon to function. So she sat with her iPod divulging contemporary Gaelic music while reading a book about the consequences of Christianity after Medieval times.

Out of the corner of her eye, a blond stick starts walking towards Lola. "Don't be walking towards me," she thinks to herself. "Keep walking."

"Hi!" she said gaily.

"Oh god," she thought, pulling down her ear buds to feign some interest in this eighteen year old cheerleader. Lola can feel her own face putting on that teacher look she's known for: eyes properly concerned with a sense of detachment and superiority, back straight, hands resting in her lap casually but ready to move again, and ankles crossed. Allowed, Lola says, "Hi," with extreme indifference.

"Have you accepted the Lord Jesus as your savior?" The smile on the girls face is politely cheerful and her green shirt blares "I speak fluent Blarney."

Lola doesn't hesitate. "You know, I'm still trying to accept the paint job in the bathroom. I can only handle one thing at a time." Her composure never faltered.

The girl's face tightens, trying to keep her smile but obviously lost for a response. "Umm... Ok," she bumbled as she attempted reinstating her confidence. No more was said as the blond freshman walked away.

Lola's second class went by much quicker. The overwhelming sense of accomplishment fueled the sands to filter more like a swift gale. On her way back to her car, Lola sees an old lady about to cross the street. The poor woman is standing here, hunched so drastically over her cane she couldn't get a good view of the street. Lola rushed forward to help her cross the busy intersection.

"Hi. Can I help you?" she asks gently.

The elderly looks at Lola with confusion and examines her from head to toe before responding. "Would you be a dear?" Her voice is weak and husky. Lola can't shake the impression the old lady should be on an air can as well. However, gabbing onto the thin, weak arm, Lola helps the old lady cross the street. "Thank you so much. Happy St. Patrick's Day," she says as she turns to start inching down the sidewalk.

Lola stood there to ensure the old lady was alright before heading back up Frat Row, something she'd been dreading since her final class was let out. Once the lady made it past the first block, a whole five minutes later, Lola decided it was time to move on. She pulled out her cell phone and texted the only Catholic she could think of: Twiggy. She texted, "Hey Twiggy, I just helped an old lady cross the road! What does that count for?"

Moments later, as Lola walked passed the first frat house, her cell phone vibrated. About seven boys were strewn across the lawn, barely conscious enough to register someone glaring in disgust. "Amateurs," she declared, loud enough for them to hear, as she pulled out her phone.

Twiggy had responded quickly: "Good for you! That counts for forgiveness of either 1 mortal sin or 5 venial sins! Happy St. Patty's Day!!!"

"Thanks Love!"

Lola kept walking, trying to ignore the stream of drunken hollers of lost minds asking "Why... aren't you ...wearin' any green?"

Finally, the slew of boys falling forward attempting to hold a conversation with a passerby, Lola couldn't take it anymore. One of the boys was in her way, trying to figure out why she wasn't celebrating this neophyte's holiday. "Where'sh your green? -Hic- You shhhould be wearing shome green!"

Lola sprang on his slurs, "If I wanted an institution to dictate what I should wear I would have joined the military or gone back to my mother's house. I would have a much better consequence by choosing either of those than wearing green today just because 'everyone else is'."

The frat boy's eyes glazed over as two of his buddies yelled "BUUUUURRRRRNNNNN!!!!!"

Lola smiled and walked away, pleased with her ability to stump a drunken imbecile even if the sport was simple. Arriving back at the cemetery brought much needed relief to Lola as she settled into her car, Willow, and pulled away from the drunken city. Her next stop was the running path overlooking the foothills with Fenway, Frenchie's oversized chocolate lab. "At least with Fenway, no one will interrupt my day."

Eva's Summer Day

Eva sits comfortably on the ground; the grass gently tickling her calves where her dark green pants were rolled up. Wearing no shoes had stained her feet green from walking on the warm grass. Summer had sprung vibrantly on the eastern plains; the rich greens bright after the long and sodden autumn-less winter. With the sun came life, and life is where Eva thrives.

The bounty of joy exuded by Eva made winter bearable, no matter its length and vivacity. Now, the consistency of happiness is replenished and her wants for the inner peace that swaying stalks, whispering leaves and singing birds can provide is witnessed away from the traveling lives. The sun's warm hands rest over he body, darkening the skin whose color was leeched by the falling clouds. Joy, happiness, gaiety, and peace warmed from without on an empty plain with trees casting soft havens of shade. A creek trickles over soft stones beneath the tree, sifting gently to the East; inspiring a calm rejuvenation in the heart for growth through the warmest times.

With a warmed back and enriched heart, Eva stands and walks toward the tree to find her next steps in peace. The earth below her felt cool in the broken shade from the grass. The soil gives way to the subtle pressures from Eva's steps, but fills the space once more as she moves on again. Her presence is one with the surrounding nature, as ever she wanted.

Stepping into the shade of the tree, whose head filled every inch in its branches, the cool air brushed feather like on Eva's cheeks; releasing the touch of the sun. The sweet smell of warmed flowers and the green scent of creek water mingle in the underside of the canopy. She sits down and places her back to the sturdy trunk, welcoming its rough body to massage her sun baked shirt.

She takes a deep breath, relaxing her shoulders and tasting the air around her. The gentle wave of life overcomes Eva as she sways with the slow turning of the world. Silence broken only by truth and its reality permeates everything around her. However, this truth is something Eva understands far too well. The truth of her own world was created by herself, and always has she been able to bend its will to the sanctity of bliss. That's why she smiles; why the sound of laughter and giggles coincides with her existence and company. Even alone, Eva can't help laughing.

The giggle escapes her again, under the restful vacation she occupies. Birds chirp along with it and the creek seems to intensify slightly, trickling its music along with her happiness. Relaxed, Eva sits forward from the trunk of the tree and lifts her hand in front of her face; turns it over and examine all sides of it. Eventually, she makes a fist with her thumb sticking out. She wiggles it and smiles to herself. The air lifts a little more, pulsing with the warmth of the summer day and cooling again in the shade. A breeze drifts by, lifting stray hairs from her head and drawing them to the east as it travels away from the distant mountains.

Eva moves her hand slowly toward the ground, placing the thumb upon an open patch of dirt. Everything becomes still, but the beautiful music of nature continue through the pause; the tickling gurgle of the stream in harmony with the lilting calls of the birds and the hushed voices of the leaves. As the moment passes, Eva lifts her thumb off the ground, relaxes her hand and looks at the yellow flower that has appeared so suddenly. Rapture echoes across the fields and the birds take flight from the tree above Eva: blues and golds and blacks fluttering into the open sky above the green fields, the brown dirt, and the clay beds of the creek.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

For Franchesca

She walked up the hill slowly, listening to the thick breeze jostling the tree tops hanging low and heavy with lush vines. Vibrant greens, bright with clear sunlight, were broken by beautiful white flowers; huge petals lilting with dew from an early morning rain. The air smelt of a crisp dawn: clean and cool, sweet with the aroma of jonquils and the refreshing ozone. Leaves brushed against her shoulders, leaving dark water droplet stains on her shirt. The sound of the ground under her boots thudded in a marshy slurp and the echo of the ocean lapping against a distant shore filter through the branches; she knows it’s simply over this hill.

And when she arrived at the crest, the drooping mangroves gave way to the site of rolling waves, thick blue with the reflecting greens of the trees which hung over the beach. The breeze came in off the ocean, bringing the thick scent of saltwater and sand beginning to warm under the bright yellow sunlight. Reaching up, she takes down her brown curls and allows the wind to filter through their tendrils away from her face; freedom surrounding the gentle freckles on her cheeks as she smiles at the whites, greens, blues and golds painted across her horizon.

White morning clouds drift idly in the distance through the branches of green. A hummingbird dashes before her, on its way to the next white flower. She bends down and takes off her boots, stuffing in her socks before she runs down the small slope on the soft sand to the warm waters. The grains massage her feet as she steps quickly, tickling her senses even before she feels the rush of water over her toes. Before she realizes, she’s walking along the shoreline, leaving her shoes on the hilltop far behind.

The day is perfect and peaceful, the signs of nature flourishing around in every form; the sea calls to her gently, rocking to a fro as the sun moves across the sky. And she knows where she is: home.

Quiet Heroine (Short Profile Essay)

Her passion reads easily on her body: a smile bright with enthusiasm, eyes reminiscing as her cheeks bunch up and hands wave in reserved dramatic waves, her voice strained slightly as she rushes through a description foreign to words. “…and when I cook them, they’re gooey and soft and the chocolate just melts in your mouth. My chocolate chip cookies are amazing!” she exclaims. I can almost see her mouth watering. Having moved so quickly through her other specialties, tacos and pasta, she lingers on the cookies which she can’t have often because her stepmother is always on a diet. Her imagination is certainly vivid enough to taste her morsels even now, in a stark class room filled with chatter.

Ashley’s wearing what I assume to be her natural attire: light blue jeans and a green shirt with a Roxy design on her right shoulder. Her hair is pulled back, a remnant of her morning routine with ROTC (I think). She sits nearly proper; back with only the hint of a curve left from slouching in high school, one arm casually placed on the tabletop in between periods of writing, the other in her lap. The most intriguing thing about Ashley is her blue eyes.

They hide something, and it seems like sorrow or fear. Perhaps something more sinister like wisdom and experience, and Ashley certainly has plenty of experience to draw into her understanding of the world. Her mother abandoned her when she was born. Abandoned may be a harsh word to use, but Ashley had to struggle without a motherly figure in her life and fight for a cohesive picture of a family and what good parenting is. She certainly has this definition.

Working at the Bay in Broomfield, and other recreation center pools, Ashley has the opportunity to witness many different types of parenting. Ashley is a life guard and swimming instructor, things she truly enjoys because of the adrenaline rush. “I don’t usually make saves… I mean, it doesn’t happen often. But when I do, I jump in, grab the kid and pull them out and continue to watch my water,” she says nonchalantly. She claims, as she looks around in amusement, that the adrenaline rush of making a save has faded over time. However, her self pride comes out again: shoulders drawing back as she sits forward. Judging by the angle of her torso, she crossed her legs as she leaned forward to talk to me.

The talk of parenting becomes comical as she describes some of the mothers she watches neglect their children in the water. The women argue with their husbands, their other kids, and their friends, all the while their five year old is drowning in the pool right next to them. Most of the parents let their children disregard the rules and they run along the edge of the pool, tempting fate and the barrage of whistles echoing across the water. Still, the parents don’t pay attention; and this is how she sets her standards of parenting. “I know I won’t be like them,” she says, and certainly she thinks back to her mother.

But Ashley’s most outstanding quality is her strength to overcome her own faults. Drugs haunted her for years, though she wouldn’t have known it as a haunting during the thick of it. Just the memory of the experience darkens her voice, shadows her smile, and drops her shoulders ever so slightly. For being only nineteen, Ashley’s sense of her own actions is extremely mature. And once you realize what has happened in her past, in regards to her mother and her addiction to drugs, the mystery behind those blue eyes becomes strikingly apparent. She’s fighting a battle with an image of druggies.

Not only is she fighting this image within herself, but she’s pushing that battle out into the world at large. She loves to read fictions dealing with drug and substance abuse; topics she knows very well. Her studies, she informed me, are in psychology so she can use her experience in rehabilitation centers. This way, she can help kids escape this dark world full of unhealthy friends, abusive relationships, and harmful addictions. She can repaint the rosy cheeks onto the pale addicts, show them how to go about their paths, bring light to their darkened minds. Ashley is certainly easy to talk to. No question seems truly off limits and her conversation is open and free. In a way, her voice begs to be provoked and dives into the presented subjects.

Ashley is a quiet heroine. Her past is hidden away behind a mature exterior. A mind filled with history is available to understand, and she is taking the steps to utilize this wisdom for the betterment of others. Already she’s saving lives drowning in a world of neglect. The very presence of a girl, a women, like Ashley allows for a more careful society to be achieved; where conversation about our past lives can change the attitude of the future.

Packing up her bag, she continues to chat with me. She talks about her engagement with ROTC and how she enjoys the discipline; an odd contrast to what I know about her rebellion with her parents. However her past may have shaped Ashley, she certainly knows where she’s headed down a road abundant with people calling out for her help. She will dive in to their rescue when given the chance, I know this. And perhaps there will be chocolate chip cookies for a reward.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

The Changed Earth (Part 7)

Two days, relentless and exhausting with how productive they had been. Knowing exactly how outnumbered they were, the inhabitants of the Keeling/Cocos Islands were opting to strengthen their defense. Hiding was not an option, and since the decision for an aggressive defense was made, Ethan had constantly been preparing. Little time to sleep existed; training was to be prioritized, protections needed to be built, strategies were discussed, histories were looked through, and social stability was encouraged.

This was Ethan's first moment for relaxation since the congress wherein he was elected to lead them in the matters concerning Charles. This was the first time to truly have his heart slow down, to allow his body to not require muscle contractions to keep himself upright. Ethan knew two days was his limit without sleep.

Within the sanctuary, he lay on the cool grass. His eyes closed before he got comfortable, and the heavy feeling of falling into deep sleep descended upon the mind. Darkness upon darkness wrapped itself within itself, and hovered around Ethan, caressing him into a soft lulling state. There were few moments before consciousness was lost. Footsteps softly caressing the leaves and grass upon the floor stepped calmly and carefully throughout the sanctuary.

Ethan woke up suddenly.

The light in the sanctuary was muted; the shades of blue, red and green of the Aurora Borealis, yet somehow even more bright than they had been originally. The sounds of the waves beyond the trees was completely gone, replaced by a whooshing of wind over the plains.


And a deeper, harsher voice popped into his head: The world is changing, Ethan...

Sitting up abruptly, Ethan knew who was outside the sanctuary, waiting patiently for him. He moved his body, and the movement happened so smoothly he found himself standing before he could remember moving his muscles to obtain that position. Looking around him, the light was so dark, but his awareness of the loneliness in the space was so complete Ethan felt he could see the entirety of the sanctuary.

The sound of the wind intensified, and the sanctuary started to spin so the doorway was before Ethan. Come to me, my brother...

"Akakios! What are you doing?"

Come to me...

Ethan stood still for a moment. His mind was struggling with the decision of whether to go or attempt to release himself from the nightmare he found himself in. Another whisper, though much more faint, whispered to Ethan in calm soothing melodies.

Worry not. The struggles of the dreamland are free of actuality. The land of the moon is strong in thought, weak in body; and temporary only with moonlight strength.

With his first foot forward, Ethan left the sanctuary quickly.

What he saw outside was a clear plain with a tree far down the way. The sky was covered in light gray clouds, the sun gone and the white sheen of the moon's light filtering crudely through the layer above. Glancing behind him, Ethan saw the doorway he had exited; it sat in the air connected to nothingness.

When his sight returned to the open plains with the tree in the distance, the outline of Akakios appeared beneath its shelter from the light. Ethan didn't like the dream world; the rules of reality were bendable and distances were mere feet away. And so he stepped once, and found himself nearly face to face with his younger brother. The tree smelled of rain and honey, humid sweetness of their hometown. Such a subtle memory lowered Ethan's defenses, if only slightly. As soon as Ethan realized he was starting to drift off in the dream world, which would allow Akakios freely into his mind, he asked abruptly, "What are you doing, Charles?"

"Remember that smell? That feeling of home?"

Ethan didn't answer.

"Oh come now, Diodoros. We have such little time to enjoy our history. Albeit, a history with little significance now." The landscape shifted quickly. The Aegean sea lapped against the rocky coast a little ways behind Ethan. Behind Charles was a small village; kids playing idly in the grass just off in a field and the adults working the farms while the breeze gently swept the smells of the earth all throughout the houses. "Don't you miss it, Elder Adair?" The sinuous tone was unmistakable.

Paying little attention to the illusion, Ethan focused clearly on his brother; his foe for all he cared. "What do you want?"

"Such anger!"

Be weary, Ethan Adair. The winds shift in ways unknown; the skies are darkened by intent.

"Why did you choose the name Ethan Adair? I've always wondered."

Ethan smiled. "I'm not playing into your games, little brother." Charles' face became rigid, impassible. Taking his chances, Ethan felt for the power of the moon; she sat directly above in his portion of the work. Its influence was strongest for Ethan: a full moon above, lying on an island whose oceans were at their peak, and the energies converging due to the moon's gravity.

He grabbed what energy he could, which was difficult since the illusion was not his own. Gaia aided the transaction; a Blue Morpho butterfly appeared above Charles and ascended into the tree to hang on a branch. A surge entered Ethan's body, and he felt his corporeal body tingling with the embued energies of the tidal forces, Gaia, and the moon. Keeping himself in the illusion, he shifted it slightly, testing his own abilities in the dream world.

The children disappeared.

Charles' face shifted slightly, a second or so having passed since he disengaged from his illusion. "Fine, if you won't play my gentle games, perhaps we should try something a little more... aggressive. That's what you're expecting isn't it?" His smile was wicked. "I don't want to let down my big brother."

The wind changed course, suddenly, heading directly toward the tree. However, the tree was no longer under Charles' control. The Blue Morpho lept from its branch and flew toward the oncoming gusts, growing in size with each flap of its fragile wings. Failing to notice his own surroundings, Charles reached out and pointed at Ethan.

Flames blossomed in his irises.

Ethan contorted his fingures into a symbol of protection and held his hands together before his chest. When the flames sprouted from Ethan's feet, they climbed around an invisible shield. He refused to detach his eye contact, despite the terrible hatred pouring from Charles' eyes.

The wind hit the butterfly, and both disappeared into nothingness: the abyss of dreams brought back into the real world. Charles felt the sudden lack in his world and turned his head to see what had happened.

Taking this sudden moment of freedom, Ethan moved into the tree, leaving his shield on the ground surrounded by flames. From there, he grabbed a branch, which came freely and silently off the trunk, and moved gracefully into the village without his brother's awareness. Moving into the center of the buildings, he planted the branch into the ground and made it spin into the dirt.

The facade of the dream world split into millions of jagged forms, and burst into a flourish of leaves which twisted and twirled in echos of tidal forces ripping apart a star. As they lifted into the air, they caught fire and shifted into vortexes of solar flares. Charles' voice resounded around the broken village. "I shouldn't have underestimated you, Diodoros."

"A seemingly constant theme in our relationship." With flames dancing in the sky, the ground cracking further under Ethan's feet, Charles appeared in front of the spinning branch. "What do you want, Charles?"

"TO KNOW WHAT YOU'RE UP TO!" he yelled with rage, firing spawning in packets around his head.

"You shall not learn this way," Ethan calmly indicated the dream world around him, wrought with chaotic beauty. Feeling the pull of the moon reach its peak strength, Ethan flicked his left hand out away from his body and transformed the flames into pockets of flowing water which began to rain upon the cracked landscape. "Nor shall we easily lower our defenses. If you wish to speak with us, peacefully, we will create an audience." Ethan knew this was upsetting Charles even more.

Charles reached for the branch, only to find it protected by Ethan's spells. The fire which graced his head burst into a brilliant radiance, creeping down his limbs to encompass his body completely. Reaching for the branch again, Charles broke through the protection and removed it from the ground. Every crack slithered back to the source and restored the scenery. "You cannot beat me, not with my powers so vibrant and lively!"

Ethan smiled again, though sympathy softened his blue eyes. "And you think you can succeed here? The dreamworld is not a battle zone, brother."

"I never meant us to fight here. Just for me to get into your mind."

"And never will you accomplish that."

"Don't think me so naive, Diodoros."

Relinquishing his smile to a more tranquil visage, Ethan brought forth his own powers, having only relied on what Gaia was willing to donate and the subtle pull of the moon. "Stop calling me by my birthname." Ethan felt his power welling around him, and sent it out, gently, sinuously toward Charles. Ages of practice allowed this action to come as second nature and he prepared to strike as soon as Charles showed rage again. "We both took an oath to the powers that be to adhere to the laws. I am your Elder, and thus you must address me as Elder Adair."

"I do not answer to the POWERS anymore," he bellowed, flairing in intensity for a second.

And that's all Ethan needed. Stinging like hundreds of wasps, the tendrils of energy tightened and entered Charles' mind.

They both gasped. Surprise spasmed in Charles' mind as he lost control of his own concentration as he became overwhelmed with fear. Ethan, on the other hand, was overcome by the sudden weight of power. He burned, as Charles surely burned with the power of Helios. Holding onto the fragile connection he had established, Ethan began to pull Charles out of the dream world.

The tone of Charles' voice became more real. "No. NO! This cannot be happening!" The sun shone brightly around Charles as he sat on the ledge of a green overhang, the southern seas blackened with ash under a blue sky clear of smoke.

"Now sleep, brother," Ethan said quietly, forcing a soothing tone through his stressted mind. "Sleep."

Charles fell into darkness.

Ethan opened his eyes and found himself drenched in sweat, shivering on the soft grass. He sat up and looked around, finding Alexis' staring at him with serene intensity.

She spoke. "I felt his presence here as you went to sleep. I came to assist you, but the protections were too strong. So I've waited, and lent my energies to Gaia as she saw fit. I hope it worked."

Nodding, he found his voice hoarse and dry, "It worked perfectly well. I never expected Charles to attempt something like that."

"He is stronger than we anticipated."

"Unfortunately, yes." The sigh sent violent shaking through Ethan's exhausted limps. "We'll need to fortify our defenses tomorrow morning. He'll not be awake for at least eight hours."

"I'll get started now." Alexis stood quickly and bowed. "Get some sleep, Elder Adair. You have more protection now than I believe necessary." She left the sanctuary and started talking to someone immediately.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Great Poetry in Trigonometry

Trigonometry has been an interesting source of inspiration recently. It has consistently been a place to start writing the next installments for "The Changed Earth" and is a wonderful place to laugh a lot. I sit next to a great friend, and we joke occasionally about life and what we're attempting to learn. Sometimes I feel it's my fault he's not doing so well in Trig... Admittedly, I learn math a lot faster than some (if not most) people and then get bored and start chatting when I should be not chatting so they can assimilate the same information.

Regardless, today was especially hilarious. He asked me to write him a poem, since we had stopped learning and were watching our Russian instructor do examples of what he had already taught thoroughly. So, I wrote him this poem:

To Jordan

There once was
a boy.
He liked
the mountains and trees.

I burned them.

He didn't like it. Said it was overly mean, and I attempted to tell him it was a post-modern poem: meanings lost in words that don't signify exactly what they mean, leaving this poem for an interpretation void of the original surface meaning. Regardless... he texted me moments later:

"Im bored. I hate u."

I was quite hurt, I must admit. I texted back "You hurt me" and tore back the poem I had originally wrote him. I was going to write him a very real piece which expresses my emotions toward him specifically. I wrote:

A tear,
falling softly within the heart...
Words that should
not harm
are driven by bones.

Solitude of mourning,
when light is harshest,
the hopeful yearning of

A tear,
I cry at your light.
Will hearts meet in
without the pain I feel?

Your lash stings skin.

Then he said "this is sad" and I explained that it's how his words made me feel. We had a good laugh over it; still I felt it was a powerful poem. There's more underneath what was written that even I can't accurately express. And perhaps it's really fear of acknowledging deeper expressions that only one person in my life actually knows.'s there. Teehee. Perhaps on Monday, there will be even more writing inspired from mathematical exercises.

Monday, March 8, 2010

Fog of Mid-Night

I watch the fog tremble in the breeze. Wisps caught in in hands, fingers twirling the minuscule droplets around the lamppost. The echos of early dawn vibrate under my glare.

(or it can be seen as a poem in this structure:)

I watch the fog tremble
in the breeze.
Wisps caught in hands,
fingers twirling the minuscule
droplets around the
The echos of early dawn
under my glare.

Demise of My Immediate Health

First of all, I would like to apologize to my readers. Life has forced me to establish a routine in which stress relief has been minimal and the freedom of thought has been stunted. Those of my friends who know what's going on... you can probably skip over this whole post. However... to enlighten others as to why my posts are a little darker recently, I shall explain the recent events in covert ways...

Here it goes...

About a month ago, something happened at my place of employment which sent my manager on a tyrannical rage to destroy the atmosphere created by the employees several years ago. And we're talking about four years now, if I may presume. I've only been at this job for about a year and a half now, and have thoroughly enjoyed the camaraderie freely displayed and encouraged. However, the occurrence which sparked this desire within my boss was inflated to a proportion uncanny to the store.

Rumors began to fly everywhere, walls were built and quickly destroyed (attempts at separating, dividing, and punishing my co-workers), and the overall atmosphere degraded so completely it started to bleed into my everyday life. Concerns were brought up and quickly a resistance was formed. At least, it was a subconscious resistance which stemmed from honest friendships and love. Our fears for security, our respect for friends, our desire for the truth has driven individuals into isolated frenzies against the oppression which has overtaken the workplace. The resistance of everyone clawing for their own peace, their own justice, their own comprehension and honesty.

The cannon fire happened a week ago (give or take a few days), and since then the shadow of stress has smothered my thoughts and inspiration so completely, I haven't even been able to read at night before I fall asleep. The words on the page linger ominously in dimmed lighting and my eyes simply close before I realize the situation has become so tiresome. The sleep that comes is restless and tiring... and after a solid week of this I have become sick.

I was hoping I could utilize these emotions and create a beautiful sequence for my story that I'm working on, but my mind simply turned off after the first few paragraphs which led to an actual event in the storyline. I was truly sad... I still am, that I can't continue the story with cohesive integrity to the characters and plot. Even though this installment is meant to be abstract and interesting, my mind wouldn't allow the words to flow freely. I'm not one to force inspiration and creativity...

Anyway, my writing has been quick little poems and dense prose. I felt the need to explain this before I posted them. Now you might understand the 'unhealthiness' of my writing currently, and I only say 'unhealthiness' because it is a bit darker and more sinister than some of my other stuff. Perhaps... And simply getting my feelings and thoughts out into the world helps me understand what I'm thinking... Anyway...

Friday, March 5, 2010

The Yelling Room

1. Catharsis

Metropolis bearing down on the mind, concealing the sun from hope and still demanding the onslaught of hustling speed. There's no rest, no patience, no friends, no peace. The eyes of passersby are cold and distant, feeling little of the humidity pressing its hot fingers across the brow, uncaring of shoulders pressing in rushes to push others away. Honking, tires rushing down the corridors, weaving, cutting, pushing, wrecking; the speed of life ticking in bubbles wrapped tight. The only relief from silence comes in determined groupings; stiletto princesses and trench coat kings planted stoically on subways talking idly in worlds unfazed by the infestation of the inhuman. Separation from the natural flashes by so quickly...

There's no release for the Boulderite cheerfully walking between the robots. Love is controlled, removed from the mind, forced to submit to darkened tunnels and staggering heights. And all she wants to do is yell; at the cars, at the stores, at the people, at the darkness, at the sky, the purses, the shoes, the walls, windows, birds, rain... Simply to release. Public and private lost between thin walls among the masses. A shout here reverberates to neighbors who shout back... No release when its thrown back through protection. She must submit to New York, or perish as her self in the myriads of loss.

2. A Return Home

She rebels, as only befits her heritage; the influence of Boulder permeating even her dress. Her affiliation with the sun pulling her eyes beyond the peaks. Yearning for the cleansing light of stars, of smiles. The need for trees, however anemic, destroys the fantasy of materialism running amok with the soul. Earth subjected to concrete where once salvation was sought. The heart of music, art, literature overcome by money, steel, and fumes.

Remembering takes her away, for however short a time, to soul mates sharing ideas in word, hugs pressed under trees on the mall, where buildings are low and miles are seen. The eye goes further than the body could; brings enlightenment without satisfying the needs and desires of nerves. Mountains transform magnificently to burden-less symbols of relaxation; the hotel to stress and noise. Mother's nagging more reminiscent of happiness than disheartened puberty, of slow revolutions than of disciplinary circumstances. Such innocent wanderings only increase the futility of existing in conflicting universes, and the swell of discomfort rises from the pits of her inner self. Vision eventually returns to wisps of clouds fuming from gutters and clatter of grates under the pressure of heels and the incessant barrage of "DVD Movie DVD Movie Prada Handbag PradaHandbagPrada..."

3. Escape

Only one resolution commits thought to action. One room, in a myriad of locations, closed so completely to the city. Silent in a way the gods can treasure in their minds, alone in ways fish know in the deepest seas, calm like the Buddhist monastery. Away from the world, shut tight to the stresses of life that only a center could provide. Within could be a couch and chair, at juxtaposed angles and in Zen design, calming candles and serene melodies, accented by a vase at the far corner underneath a picturesque sunset of a forest. Painted walls fading from a vibrant blue to comforting green with glints of gold near the ceiling give the attendant a peaceful atmosphere to utilize.

Regardless of the space, its purpose is release and relaxation in a city of impure adrenaline. Relaxing in the purest of ways: without expectations. In theory yelling is its purpose; screaming the profane past closed lips and into a soothing, cleansing, fair and (no longer) quiet place. Release, relaxation, retardation. Time allowed to pass however one likes, preferably slowly. And once this expression is achieved, the individual can return to the world a calmer person. The boulderite can have her day where expression is not hidden beneath suits and skirts, the eyes no longer having to bear witness to nothing but ahead lest the excitement sneaks back up into her chest. A simple room for the New Yorker's hidden emotions.

4. Think...

Monday, March 1, 2010

The Changed Earth (Part 6.2)

There are so many here.

Too many here... This is going to get out of hand.

Ethan looked around the sanctuary and the collection of humans that had assembled alongside the Council of Gaia. After speaking to their leader, Ben, an unavoidable understanding came between the. Ben had voiced it best by saying, "This is there home as much as it is ours, and if democracy is going to take place with our limited group of survivors, all who want to must be involved." Ethan couldn't press qualifiers for the participants and was forced into agreeing with Ben's stance. After all, Ethan's role was not to dictate the political structure of civilization.

But here in the sanctuary Alexis had the authority to limit discussion. Judging by her bearing, she already had a plan to deal with the large number of humans now filtering into her space. Her face was set: cheeks smooth and angular, eyes tense around the edges, brows arched in a skepticism, lips ready to speak as soon as the procession of oncomers ended. She had pulled her brown hair back out of her face into a low ponytail which fell to the middle of her back. Wearing a dress woven together from vines and leaves made her look like the manifestation of the Mother, though skinnier than Ethan pictured. He was proud of her choice.

As the last few entered the eastern doorway, Alexis raised her hand for silence. Many of the humans were already awestruck by the enchanted beauty of the sanctuary; looking up into the canopy at the twinkling lights and ethereal displays of color caught their breath. The few who spoke vehemently roused suspicion at the occasion and choice of location. They fell silent quickly upon viewing Alexis' stern presence.

Her voice was crisp. "Welcome. These are the gifts of Gaia, the treasures we of the Council use to ensure the ongoing harmony of this planet. With our hearts and souls, I welcome you to our home and into the physical presence of the Mother."

Many of the gathered shivered slightly. Ethan knew those few were already feeling Her presence. Marking them, Ethan knew who he would need to recruit if they decided for a more aggressive defense or for outright confrontation.

Alexis continued, "I am not aware of what Ben has told you, so I will bring you up to speed.

"We are possibly at war." Gasps came from many angles. "The world has changed. The entire ecological system has been overwhelmingly destroyed, and the hope for restoration lies with two groups. We, here, are just one of these groups. The other is... larger."

"Why don't we simply join up with them?" a curious man asked from the back of the gathering.

Eyes fixed on him. "Because the Elder who leads this group has asserted himself to full supremacy with little regard for the desires of his contingent. Democracy is the last of his aspirations. And his view of how the world should be run is in complete contrast to our way of thinking. Furthermore, he has already set his eye on destroying one of our own." Alexis looked to Antoni who sat next to Ethan. "What we have gathered here to discuss," she continued as she turned back to the larger collective, "is what sort of action we are to take. The council is not going to make this decision. You, as the future of Earth, are the only ones who have the authority to decide.

"Ben has made it very clear that all who wish to partake in these proceedings are allowed to. However, if this discussion turns into a brawl," she said harshly, "then it will be ended and Ben, along with his trusted advisors and friends, will make the decision for all."

There were no objections. Ben, who sat near the front of the humans, stood and walked next to Alexis. His voice, husky and tired, filled with the warmth of a calm authority and the hint of inherent wisdom, rumbled through the sanctuary like the voice of Helios. "We have already discussed some of these courses that may be taken, the Council of Gaia and I."

Ethan suddenly felt his stomach drop. No word of such a meeting had been conveyed to him.

"Regardless of the action we, as a society, take, I propose Elder Ethan Adair be appointed to a position of leadership among both our groups in the matters concerning Elder Charles Sadhin. His knowledge of his fellow Elder and experience with Gaia and Her gifts qualifies him as the highest ranking official on this island." Ben stopped talking and looked over the crowd. "He is truly a marvel, and I believe everyone here knows Elder Adair in some fashion."

Taking a step toward Ethan, drawing her dress to its length across the forest floor, Alexis reached out her hand to draw Ethan before everyone. "Elder Adair, do you object to this appointment?"

Ethan didn't know what to say. Of course he could refuse, and the thought crossed his mind. He was never one to lead anything, and much less leading a war effort was least desired. However, his expertise on his brother was certainly needed. Looking into Alexis' eyes, shimmering with reflected starlight and the mirage of an aurora, Ethan knew her argument through and through. He would not have to be a military leader, he would not have to lead any group, but his expertise of every world war, of war efforts, of history was needed. Ethan was the best advisor among the survivors of the Earth, period, in all matters. This title was merely a representation for the humans so Ethan could assert greater authority with his knowledge and ideas. Ben already gave his respect to Ethan, Alexis would never question his understandings and perspectives, but the larger population would, in time, begin to question his implicit authority if battles were waged and losses were had.

This was safety for Ethan.

"I accept this honor," Ethan said slowly.

Ben's voice took over again. "Are there those who appose?"

A few raised there hands, each of whom Ethan had not had the opportunity to meet yet.

Ben asked, patiently and commandingly, "With a majority either agreeing with or abstaining from this decision, will you acquiesce to the majority?" The few nodded in agreement. "Thank you." Ben turned to Ethan. "We are honored to have your wisdom in these matters, to guide us, and to lead us as you have for so many years."

Bowing his head, "Thank you, Ben. I shall do what I can to ensure the success of our society and the Earth, as I have throughout my life."

There was silence throughout the sanctuary, though a ringing reverberated through Ethan's mind like a concert of fuzz. Without thought, knowing eyes stared at him with intrigue, concern, and infatuation, Ethan went back to his seat next to Antoni. Once there, he turned to Antoni and asked hastily, "Why was I not informed of this?"

"Alexis wasn't sure whether you would allow her to nominate you without the support of Ben and the other Council members." This was the first thing Antoni had said to Ethan since his return. "We believe in you. We trust you. And above all else, we respect and honor you.

"I'm sorry..."

Caught off guard, Ethan couldn't respond quick enough. Antoni, back slouching in dejection, breath leaving his lungs in a low sigh, he turned away ever so slightly from Ethan.

"There is nothing to apologize for, Antoni. Judgments and actions cannot be influenced without ethical and moral recklessness." Again, the comforting hand of an Elder, pulling the power of Gaia into a gesture, landed on Antoni's shoulder. "Charles is under his own delusions and cannot see the world as it is. You have nothing to fear."

A smile, however quaint and forced, was welcome between them.

Ben and Alexis were talking low, obviously deciding who would speak next. The decision was clear from the start, and Alexis remained standing as Ben joined Ethan and the Council of Gaia. She turned back to the congress around her and said, "Now that this has been settled, we must discuss our course of action.

"There are two matters at hand. The restoration of the planet is the most important, though even this is negated by the necessity of survival. Which brings me to the next task: our protection." She began to pace around the sanctuary, always before the humans. Her eyes wandered between every individual, capturing their mind in her abilities. Ethan felt her magic weaving in and out of the crowd. He then understood what Ben and Alexis were really talking about. Her spell was sending them images, helping them understand what her words were attempting to convey, but would certainly lack. "What we face is daunting. The Elder we must protect ourselves from has harnessed the power of Helios, the Sun. It is a temperamental power, a devastating power, a treacherous and overwhelming power. But it must be understood that His influence is only strong during the day, strongest at high noon. We have the gifts of Gaia, which are with us always.

"This is our advantage! We can work day and night. Our abilities are not limited by the hour, and our course is just and true. Gaia will be with us, She will protect us, and we will thrive if we work together." She paused to allow her listeners to absorb the information. None were shocked, for the understood with a sort of deja-vu comprehension, thanks to Alexis' spell.

When she spoke again, her voice came melodically. "We must decide tonight whether we are to build a defensive strategy to counter Elder Sadhin, to attack and eliminate the threat he poses, or to hide so completely from his eyes and abilities that he can not threaten our society until we are ready for him to know of our existence again."

The air in the sanctuary grew thicker and lessened suddenly. Ethan felt Gaia surge with pride, filling the space with inspiration and relaxation. Fluttering blue wings danced before Ethan, and he stood to follow it outside. Instinctively, he knew the meeting would run smoothly without his influence, and the decision that would come he would abide by.

Footsteps sounded behind Ethan.

"Elder Adair?" It was Sarah. He turned and saw her golden hair, pulled back around her head and cut short, glittered with starlight and shining with the ambiance of the moon. "May I walk with you? I don't care for political discussions of any sort. I've always been one for action, you know."

"Indeed I do, come, walk with me and our little friend here. He's living for quite a long time."

Sarah regarded the Blue Morpho. "Is that the one you brought with you?"

Nodding, "I do believe so. It has been imbued with the magic of Gaia, I suspect."

Thunder echoed in the distance. The smell of rain seemed to wash ashore. Wind began to pick up, gentle rhythms brushing through Ethan's grey hair. He turned to face the wind coming from the west, blowing onward to the east. He smiled and took a deep breath. "Change is coming. And She says it will be a good one." The butterfly landed on his shoulder.

Watching with a displaced glance on her face, Sarah too took a breath of the crisp air filled with the scent of ozone. "Change, finally." She giggled at the irony of her own statement. "Change we can finally agree with, that is." Turning to the east, they walked to the shore to look out over the waves and talk about the paths they had taken in the past five hundred years. Concerns of the upcoming events were far off with the wind, wilting away over the ocean currents and passing through the veils dressing the life in smothering smoke.