blog has moved:
http://www.heliconstudios.com
Wednesday, November 02, 2016
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Down.
That seems to be a title in many of my posts.
You may not know why I sing "come on people now, smile on your brother, everybody get together, try to love one another right now" when I'm standing on the side of the highway begging for a ride.
Drums.
Dancing.
Woah, never written anything above dancing before. I fell asleep last night thinking of drum beats. Couldn't stop. I could literally feel exactly how it would feel to play those things.
I found space in Salmo and can practice now daily. Preparing, bitches, for what I don't know.
People get excited about things. Too excited sometimes.
Sunday, March 04, 2012
Humans are awareness points. Nothing more. Love it.
Sanity is a cozy lie. Susan Sontag.
I am beginning to believe that the things that I do. My so called day to day activities. The dancing, the legally and morally questionable activities that I partake in, the funventurous adventures that I help to initiate. All these things that I do. They will be measured as inconsequential when my life is reviewed by whomever is interested enough to do so. The fact remains however, that all though appears to be a response to externally occuring stimuli.
It seems to me at times that I stumble on things. A man walking in the forest in the dark is likely to find something that he's never experienced before.
Continuity.
As a concept, it is a way of understanding events. I reality that we live in; that I live in, appears to me to be continuous. What I mean by this is that there seems to be an endless, uninterrupted flow of stimuli which my mindbrain interprets as visual, auditory and tactile sensation. Through the interpretation of information provided by my sense organs, I am provided with what i am compelled to believe is an accurate view of that matter of reality which exists on the opposite side of the skin which I refer to as mine.
Never, under sober conditions, have I experienced even a temporary lapse in my perception of reality. If my recollection of past perception is accurate, and I have percieved no lapse in the continuity of reality, there are several possibilities.
There first is that my perception and memory are correct. As presented, what we often refer to as reality exists as a continuity7. A constantly changing, yet persistent paradigm. That is, reality exists, in an uninterrupted, continuous flow of what I percieve to be matter.
Option two. Reality exists in a state other than an uninterrupted chain of moments which may or may not be causally related. In this case, my perception of reality is not consistent with those aspects of reality not directly referred to as the perciever. In this thought, my mind has created the appearance of continuity.
The other option is that my recollection of events is incomplete or innaccurate and I have indeed experienced lapses in the continuous flow of reality.
I exist.
'I' is a construct. It includes the idea that somehow the self, or more specifically, the go (ego) is in some way separate from reality.
First. The ego is separate from the universe, and that which the person refers to as I would continue to exist in the absence of all that not considered I.
Or. It wouldn't.
The perception that the brain interprets from information provided by the sense organs relating to the environment as a whole exists, is permeated by, influences and is influenced by time. All of the perciever/creator/spaciotemporal eventa qua matter that the brain experiences takes space in what is referred to as the present. An immeasurable time which exists between what has already happened and those things which have not yet come to be.
What is commonly referred to as the past, those events that have been percieved and are said to have happened and those events termed to be in the future exist in the present only as potentialities.
As far as the human being, existing in time-space is concerned, the past no longer exists, but did, and the future has never existed, but will.
The border of all that which has happened and that which could happen is where that which appears to exist does so.
I have a question, readers. Is there a framerate to reality? A monad of time, that, if interpreted with the right interpretive method, would allow us to see the solid reality skipping along our perception like a stone over water.
I am beginning to believe that the things that I do. My so called day to day activities. The dancing, the legally and morally questionable activities that I partake in, the funventurous adventures that I help to initiate. All these things that I do. They will be measured as inconsequential when my life is reviewed by whomever is interested enough to do so. The fact remains however, that all though appears to be a response to externally occuring stimuli.
It seems to me at times that I stumble on things. A man walking in the forest in the dark is likely to find something that he's never experienced before.
Continuity.
As a concept, it is a way of understanding events. I reality that we live in; that I live in, appears to me to be continuous. What I mean by this is that there seems to be an endless, uninterrupted flow of stimuli which my mindbrain interprets as visual, auditory and tactile sensation. Through the interpretation of information provided by my sense organs, I am provided with what i am compelled to believe is an accurate view of that matter of reality which exists on the opposite side of the skin which I refer to as mine.
Never, under sober conditions, have I experienced even a temporary lapse in my perception of reality. If my recollection of past perception is accurate, and I have percieved no lapse in the continuity of reality, there are several possibilities.
There first is that my perception and memory are correct. As presented, what we often refer to as reality exists as a continuity7. A constantly changing, yet persistent paradigm. That is, reality exists, in an uninterrupted, continuous flow of what I percieve to be matter.
Option two. Reality exists in a state other than an uninterrupted chain of moments which may or may not be causally related. In this case, my perception of reality is not consistent with those aspects of reality not directly referred to as the perciever. In this thought, my mind has created the appearance of continuity.
The other option is that my recollection of events is incomplete or innaccurate and I have indeed experienced lapses in the continuous flow of reality.
I exist.
'I' is a construct. It includes the idea that somehow the self, or more specifically, the go (ego) is in some way separate from reality.
First. The ego is separate from the universe, and that which the person refers to as I would continue to exist in the absence of all that not considered I.
Or. It wouldn't.
The perception that the brain interprets from information provided by the sense organs relating to the environment as a whole exists, is permeated by, influences and is influenced by time. All of the perciever/creator/spaciotemporal eventa qua matter that the brain experiences takes space in what is referred to as the present. An immeasurable time which exists between what has already happened and those things which have not yet come to be.
What is commonly referred to as the past, those events that have been percieved and are said to have happened and those events termed to be in the future exist in the present only as potentialities.
As far as the human being, existing in time-space is concerned, the past no longer exists, but did, and the future has never existed, but will.
The border of all that which has happened and that which could happen is where that which appears to exist does so.
I have a question, readers. Is there a framerate to reality? A monad of time, that, if interpreted with the right interpretive method, would allow us to see the solid reality skipping along our perception like a stone over water.
Friday, March 25, 2011
I don't remember what this was titled. Gets heavy though.
"The Dancer believes that his art has something to say which cannot be expressed in words or in any other way than by dancing... there are times when the simple dignity of movement can fulfill the function of a volume of words. There are movements which impinge upon the nerves with a strength that is incomparable, for movement has power to stir the senses and emotions, unique in itself. This is the dancer's justification for being, and his reason for searching further for deeper aspects of his art."
I should be writing when I'm not dancing. Perhaps I'll use this as a warmup of sorts.
I've been under a roof with constant warm food and protien for four nights now. My body is beginning to recover, muscle mass is beginning to return. I feel stronger everyday, even though I've been dancing myself to the point of exhaustion every day..... It's been wonderious. Mysteriously wonderful.
I feel like a factory worker dancing in a lighbulb factory. Lit up. By light bulbs. I still can't feel my right pinky due to train hopping mishap in southern Washington state. Oh no, they're onto me.
I've still got the impression that there are those who know more than they should. I suggest a pseudonym. I believe that's how it's spelled. I had to look at it for a california minute to figure out if it looked right. I'm referring of course, to a false name. A name that is not the same as the legal corporation that your legal name "in capitus maximus paranoias", or whatever it's called sounds like. It could be similar, but doesn't have to be. New name. Check. New birthdate. Check. Lose ID. Check.
Now, I'm not suggestion. Not a suggestion. Not suggesting that you go about and change your name. But it could be fun, couldn't it? Then, perhaps there'd be less of a connection between you and your actions. Or the "you" in the "legal" sense of the "word" and your "action" in the "literal" sense of the "word". If you could have heard the pronunciation of those words. Said in my mind with such a ferocious accentuation. I'm not even sure if I'm using real words any more. Any more than I was once.
Could he perhaps be hiding gems within the random ranting of the written word?
Had you stopped to ask yourself that.
I have a theory. It's a fairly simple theory. It references experience and the thought patterns, or even actual thoughts if actual is a word that can be used to describe thoughts. Is there a connection between what a person puts into their mind and the thoughts that the mind produces? Novel experience leading to creative thought. Or thoughts.
I was going to conduct a so called "thought experiment" in which I showed that the person cannot have the thought "I dislike *Paradigm X* until she has come into contact with this paradigm.
What the fuck am I even doing? Sending these thoughts to the vast unknown of the internet. There is literally no real-world reward for this behaviour. It is useless. Completely pointless. Filing hours of my day. Under the W folder, for wasted. Back under this roof, I'm bored. And I can only dance for so many hours per day. I get uber-tired.
So if you're reading this, fuck you. Go do something. Spend one less hour searching facebook or blogging or whatever it is that we're doing on this screen and spend that hour getting better at something, you'd be incredibly good at something. And, if there's one thing I've learned today, it's that a +1 to blogging skill is not going to make a huge lick of difference anywhere.
Friday, February 25, 2011
The week I fell.
This week I fell. Down, down down.
There are so many things I could put in this post, but i fear that the internet lords of Google.com will control my thoughts forever if I put them here.
I've learned about anarchism. No, not the "fuck the system" schwilly kids that litter the streets of every major city in the world. Claiming that the only way to change the system is to buy the two most taxed items on the face of the earth. Tobacco and Alcohol. I mean real Anarchism. The kind that's going to eventually get me and a whole lot of other people into some trouble when the government starts causing more trouble than they're worth.
The trouble is, they're way past the tipping point, in my opinion. And nowhere is this more obvious than in the dominated states of no-opinion. Civil liberty is not something that the average american is familiar with. Mostly because, they for some reason have no desire for it. Much like the average Canadian, they're plugged in (to the internet, music, their phone, ect) most of the time, and are extremely effective at ignoring the world around them. This is a good thing for the average north american, becuase they're lives are often extremely dull, leading to the classic "cow eye syndrome" found in the extremely bored and extremely medicated. Also cows. It's that glassy disconnect, perhaps hinting at their prayers that since they've been so good in this life, that the afterlife is sure to be heaven.
BUT WAIT!?!?!?
What's this? A happy person? Oh NO! DOES NOT COMPUTE!? Head down. He's just another one of those homeless people anyways.
I like to go to centers of higher education and look for smart people and religious institutes looking for enlightened individuals. I rarely find either at either building. I said one EYE-thur and one EE-thur. It makes that sentence a little less ugly.
Oh, I'm in Arizona. The state where you go to jail for having any weed. ANY! I've been baked for two days straight though. NARF NARF!!! Fucking cops. ALWAYS FUCKING WITH ME! In california anyways, they were always fucking with me, here I've only gotten in trouble once. They said that my breakdancing on the street was causing a distrubance. It took four cops to get me out and I threw a couple disses their way before I peaced out.
On the subject of getting in trouble for dancing, last night I got into a couple clubs for free. In the first club, I was the first person on the dance floor, but the music sucked so I was kinda just playing around, you know. "Normal" dancing. I would hear a song I like and bust out for a little bit, but nothing too crazy. I really wanted to kill it. No challengers or real spectators. Actually I did have a couple speccies, but still decided not to bust it out. Soon there's people dancing everywehere. Girls humping, the whole lot.
Tap. Tap. My left shoulder gets touched.
"yes?" I politely ask the roided up bouncer who's touched me. There are two of them. I can smell the hair gel and insecurity ironically displayed in the security gaurd.
You have to leave
Why?
You have to leave
WHY?!
We have the right to refuse service to anyone
YOU GUYS ARE PUSSIES! --I can be such an imbocile when I'm angry, feel slighted. Disrespected.
As I'm walking out however. I slow down. On beat. As always. but on every fourth (or whatever), I turn and front right in these guys faces. You should have seen them, my two faithful readers. Two grown men, flinching every time I pop. Pop / flinch. Pop / flinch. They wanted to hit me so bad.
I'm on the street. Figure I'll give the club thing one more try.
I go to this place that's also adertising no cover that night. Last night. Thursnight. I walk up to the bouncer at the front door. Super nice looking huge black guy. It's never the big dogs that wanna fight, but those little motherfuckers never shut up. Good thing we don't give steroids to little dogs. Then we'd have muscular people with little dog syndrome. Jesus.
Are you going to kick me out for breakdancing?
He laughs. No.
So, I can go in there and breakdance and you're not going to kick me out?
Laughter again, yeah man.
Fuck yeah.
He checks my backpack and I go inside. Beats a little slow for all out breaking but after I set my things down and remove a couple layers (mistake) I start putting on a popping session for all the little school children who have come to the bar looking for some random hook ups as they do every thursnight at this time. Oh, there's also a girl on a pole. They watched me.
Tap. Tap.
Come outside with me. Says another huge black bouncer. They must breed well. I follow him outside. Just as I open the door I look past the bouncer at like four more of them. Situation assesed, I respectfully listen to what the man has to say.
We have a dress code. Hygien. You have to leave.
Oh shit! My bad, yeah that's fair enough. I turn back inside.
Why are you going back inside?
All my shit's in there.
Okay.
As I take two steps inside, I pretend to trip, catch myself on the ground with my right foot, roll forwards onto a stab and roll again onto a half a knee spin then gracefully stand back up and continue my walk as though nothing happened.
I collect my things and walk-pop out of the club.
Total time in clubs, 1 hour.
Possible competition from bitches? None.
There are so many things I could put in this post, but i fear that the internet lords of Google.com will control my thoughts forever if I put them here.
I've learned about anarchism. No, not the "fuck the system" schwilly kids that litter the streets of every major city in the world. Claiming that the only way to change the system is to buy the two most taxed items on the face of the earth. Tobacco and Alcohol. I mean real Anarchism. The kind that's going to eventually get me and a whole lot of other people into some trouble when the government starts causing more trouble than they're worth.
The trouble is, they're way past the tipping point, in my opinion. And nowhere is this more obvious than in the dominated states of no-opinion. Civil liberty is not something that the average american is familiar with. Mostly because, they for some reason have no desire for it. Much like the average Canadian, they're plugged in (to the internet, music, their phone, ect) most of the time, and are extremely effective at ignoring the world around them. This is a good thing for the average north american, becuase they're lives are often extremely dull, leading to the classic "cow eye syndrome" found in the extremely bored and extremely medicated. Also cows. It's that glassy disconnect, perhaps hinting at their prayers that since they've been so good in this life, that the afterlife is sure to be heaven.
BUT WAIT!?!?!?
What's this? A happy person? Oh NO! DOES NOT COMPUTE!? Head down. He's just another one of those homeless people anyways.
I like to go to centers of higher education and look for smart people and religious institutes looking for enlightened individuals. I rarely find either at either building. I said one EYE-thur and one EE-thur. It makes that sentence a little less ugly.
Oh, I'm in Arizona. The state where you go to jail for having any weed. ANY! I've been baked for two days straight though. NARF NARF!!! Fucking cops. ALWAYS FUCKING WITH ME! In california anyways, they were always fucking with me, here I've only gotten in trouble once. They said that my breakdancing on the street was causing a distrubance. It took four cops to get me out and I threw a couple disses their way before I peaced out.
On the subject of getting in trouble for dancing, last night I got into a couple clubs for free. In the first club, I was the first person on the dance floor, but the music sucked so I was kinda just playing around, you know. "Normal" dancing. I would hear a song I like and bust out for a little bit, but nothing too crazy. I really wanted to kill it. No challengers or real spectators. Actually I did have a couple speccies, but still decided not to bust it out. Soon there's people dancing everywehere. Girls humping, the whole lot.
Tap. Tap. My left shoulder gets touched.
"yes?" I politely ask the roided up bouncer who's touched me. There are two of them. I can smell the hair gel and insecurity ironically displayed in the security gaurd.
You have to leave
Why?
You have to leave
WHY?!
We have the right to refuse service to anyone
YOU GUYS ARE PUSSIES! --I can be such an imbocile when I'm angry, feel slighted. Disrespected.
As I'm walking out however. I slow down. On beat. As always. but on every fourth (or whatever), I turn and front right in these guys faces. You should have seen them, my two faithful readers. Two grown men, flinching every time I pop. Pop / flinch. Pop / flinch. They wanted to hit me so bad.
I'm on the street. Figure I'll give the club thing one more try.
I go to this place that's also adertising no cover that night. Last night. Thursnight. I walk up to the bouncer at the front door. Super nice looking huge black guy. It's never the big dogs that wanna fight, but those little motherfuckers never shut up. Good thing we don't give steroids to little dogs. Then we'd have muscular people with little dog syndrome. Jesus.
Are you going to kick me out for breakdancing?
He laughs. No.
So, I can go in there and breakdance and you're not going to kick me out?
Laughter again, yeah man.
Fuck yeah.
He checks my backpack and I go inside. Beats a little slow for all out breaking but after I set my things down and remove a couple layers (mistake) I start putting on a popping session for all the little school children who have come to the bar looking for some random hook ups as they do every thursnight at this time. Oh, there's also a girl on a pole. They watched me.
Tap. Tap.
Come outside with me. Says another huge black bouncer. They must breed well. I follow him outside. Just as I open the door I look past the bouncer at like four more of them. Situation assesed, I respectfully listen to what the man has to say.
We have a dress code. Hygien. You have to leave.
Oh shit! My bad, yeah that's fair enough. I turn back inside.
Why are you going back inside?
All my shit's in there.
Okay.
As I take two steps inside, I pretend to trip, catch myself on the ground with my right foot, roll forwards onto a stab and roll again onto a half a knee spin then gracefully stand back up and continue my walk as though nothing happened.
I collect my things and walk-pop out of the club.
Total time in clubs, 1 hour.
Possible competition from bitches? None.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
To Panny, and everyone. Hence the sharing.
What i've grown to realize is that whenever i meet someone, that first 20 seconds is all they know about me, it allows me to form the person that they meet. Being mindful of all emotions, actions and words allows me to create the person that I am from the person I want to be.
As a person knows me for longer, that image becomes diluted. Not necessarily a bad thing. But, your life is your tapestry rachel, and you are the painter.
Grab that fucking brush and paint, girl.
and, what's the worste that could happen?
Bodily harm?
Emotional harm?
Death?
All these things, though painful don't scare me.
well, the feeling of the unknown does.
But that's about it.
The possibilities are infiniteWho do you WANT to be?
How do you want to behave.
What do you want people to know about you?
What do you want them to see when they look at you.
Look for it in others and they'll see it in you.
You judge, you see them judging.
Love all and all will love you.
It's not those with all the answers that know everything, but those with the questions.
So, I'm gonna stop now.
Friday, September 03, 2010
Afternoons and Coffeespoons
Someday I'll wear
Pajamas in the daytime
someday i'll have
a disappearing hairline...
Perhaps not. I've got a lot up there. Strangely, my hairline is disappearing, but it's moving from the outside in, not the front back, back front or everywhere at once.
Just got off the phone with Marlene. Old boss. Sort of. Barnie's daughter. Love her.
Here I sit, in my seated position. Legs bent, back straight, eyes only slightly glazed over.
If you've got access to Afternoons and Coffeespoons, put it on.... Now. I'm about to. There it goes.
I've succeeded in finding myself employment in Victoria, British Columbia. Well, sort of, Sooke. At adventuresooke. rads.
What the hell am I going to write about? I don't feel like I've got anything worth sharing with the world inside my head. Without the inspiration of another person, I'm left with the void of my own being. Too many possibilities bounce around my head. From images of the dogs that would abe showing in the room if I opened my eyes, then they stop and I focus only on the keys, my fingers, remembering where each key is, stroking it with expert precision. Perhaps a spelling mistake here or there. Inspiration at last.
This morning I woke up in a park. In vic, a person acan camp in any park between the hours of seven and seven. It's pretty much the greatest thing of all time. If there was a name for the person that wrote these things, it would be speakable with the toungue of a dog. A simple bark to let the world know that I'm here.
I close my eyes again, and listen to some song lyrics. They bounce around enough to make a person wonder why music even exists. Well, it makes me wonder why music exists. Plahying music can be quite liberating. Liberating from thought, fear and self0oppression in much the same way that dancing can be. I applied to a dance instructor position. I hope they respond to my email.
Currently clothed, though naked yoga is the greatest yoga and spiders are fearful of onions. They hate them.
Eyes closed. A thought of a lotus is again overshadowed by the images of spiders and dogs. The wolf spider, with spider body and senses, a wolf's head and the temperament of the king of spider rock. Her spell is that of carnage and her spirit is reversed like the inside of a volume contar.
Feared enemy of the wolf spider is Hermetacles. But the rivalry between Hermetacles and the wolf spider is overshadowed by the loathing the spider has for Leeroy McTavish, slayer of spiders and wolves alike. All sizes. Wrist-mounted miniature crossbow locked and loaded, with onion-tipped bolts at the ready.
He moves silently through the forest as only a man raised in such a place could. Carefully, he picks his way along the rocks, careful not to slip, step too heavily. Rocks stay where they were, unaware that "The" Roy has made his way through the area. Once a party of three, El Keego and Johnny Boy dropped off after the first apex of the mission. Even their lights are unable to find The Roy.
The lagoon to his right is a lagoon that has been around since the dawn of time. This was the stuff that birthed the first beings. Things which existed. THINGS WHICH LIVED. tHINGS WHICH EVENTUALLY CRAWLED THEIR WAY OUT. Crawled their way out to contemplate the pools from which they came in some distant past from some distant future. The Roy was a being whose contemplations of the moon led his mind to the center of the sun. In a cycle that included the mind, moon and sun, but that was a future The. A The that does not yet. But soon will. Is becoming. The lagoon is filled with the most basic and sensitive of terrestrial creatures. Creatures with no spines, which live in the saline depths of the warm post-mordial stew. I love those creatures in a way they cannot love one another. He hopes to one day achieve something for their benefit. So they may some day crawl out of that soup. But, he's got to pick up a shit ton more garbage first.
The moved mindfully across the darkened rocks on the shore. Lighted only by the moon. not a full moon. Fading. It's star power, being poured out. Back into the sky where they belong. He dare not light his plastic, yellow flashlight purchased for him by his grandmother in a moment of sheere frustration on both of their parts, for then his post-comrades would spot him, allowing them to find him; stopping him from completing his mission. This mission, as it will forever be known. The Kraft Dinner Mission. Or KDM.
The premise for the mission was simple.
Lead a small party across the island, to the edge of the lagoon and prepare. One standard issue Kraft Dinner. Water only directions. It sounded so easy.
With the scouting and party leading ability of The Roy, the treck across the island was easy. Staff in hand, he led his companion through the elven village, filled with the children of the forest with much ease.l For you see, The Roy once lived in those parts, and knew the lands well. He was friendly with the locals. They were his friends. The wild mushrooms they had eaten together gave them all the strength of the forest. But, the forest was empty now, their laughter and cries are no longer heard, and the darkness is now. Tough to see in the dark. Even for the Roy.
The Roy leads, lighted only from behind, through the elven forest, by the darkened pathy of stumpwood. Rotten odours lift from the forest floor, tickling the nose of The Roy. Disorientation. Confusion. Panic. It obviously grips The Roy, as he spins, gasps and begs for the light. His companion does as instructed and becomes relieved to learn that The Roy has regained his orientation. His panic has subsided.
All for now.
Pajamas in the daytime
someday i'll have
a disappearing hairline...
Perhaps not. I've got a lot up there. Strangely, my hairline is disappearing, but it's moving from the outside in, not the front back, back front or everywhere at once.
Just got off the phone with Marlene. Old boss. Sort of. Barnie's daughter. Love her.
Here I sit, in my seated position. Legs bent, back straight, eyes only slightly glazed over.
If you've got access to Afternoons and Coffeespoons, put it on.... Now. I'm about to. There it goes.
I've succeeded in finding myself employment in Victoria, British Columbia. Well, sort of, Sooke. At adventuresooke. rads.
What the hell am I going to write about? I don't feel like I've got anything worth sharing with the world inside my head. Without the inspiration of another person, I'm left with the void of my own being. Too many possibilities bounce around my head. From images of the dogs that would abe showing in the room if I opened my eyes, then they stop and I focus only on the keys, my fingers, remembering where each key is, stroking it with expert precision. Perhaps a spelling mistake here or there. Inspiration at last.
This morning I woke up in a park. In vic, a person acan camp in any park between the hours of seven and seven. It's pretty much the greatest thing of all time. If there was a name for the person that wrote these things, it would be speakable with the toungue of a dog. A simple bark to let the world know that I'm here.
I close my eyes again, and listen to some song lyrics. They bounce around enough to make a person wonder why music even exists. Well, it makes me wonder why music exists. Plahying music can be quite liberating. Liberating from thought, fear and self0oppression in much the same way that dancing can be. I applied to a dance instructor position. I hope they respond to my email.
Currently clothed, though naked yoga is the greatest yoga and spiders are fearful of onions. They hate them.
Eyes closed. A thought of a lotus is again overshadowed by the images of spiders and dogs. The wolf spider, with spider body and senses, a wolf's head and the temperament of the king of spider rock. Her spell is that of carnage and her spirit is reversed like the inside of a volume contar.
Feared enemy of the wolf spider is Hermetacles. But the rivalry between Hermetacles and the wolf spider is overshadowed by the loathing the spider has for Leeroy McTavish, slayer of spiders and wolves alike. All sizes. Wrist-mounted miniature crossbow locked and loaded, with onion-tipped bolts at the ready.
He moves silently through the forest as only a man raised in such a place could. Carefully, he picks his way along the rocks, careful not to slip, step too heavily. Rocks stay where they were, unaware that "The" Roy has made his way through the area. Once a party of three, El Keego and Johnny Boy dropped off after the first apex of the mission. Even their lights are unable to find The Roy.
The lagoon to his right is a lagoon that has been around since the dawn of time. This was the stuff that birthed the first beings. Things which existed. THINGS WHICH LIVED. tHINGS WHICH EVENTUALLY CRAWLED THEIR WAY OUT. Crawled their way out to contemplate the pools from which they came in some distant past from some distant future. The Roy was a being whose contemplations of the moon led his mind to the center of the sun. In a cycle that included the mind, moon and sun, but that was a future The. A The that does not yet. But soon will. Is becoming. The lagoon is filled with the most basic and sensitive of terrestrial creatures. Creatures with no spines, which live in the saline depths of the warm post-mordial stew. I love those creatures in a way they cannot love one another. He hopes to one day achieve something for their benefit. So they may some day crawl out of that soup. But, he's got to pick up a shit ton more garbage first.
The moved mindfully across the darkened rocks on the shore. Lighted only by the moon. not a full moon. Fading. It's star power, being poured out. Back into the sky where they belong. He dare not light his plastic, yellow flashlight purchased for him by his grandmother in a moment of sheere frustration on both of their parts, for then his post-comrades would spot him, allowing them to find him; stopping him from completing his mission. This mission, as it will forever be known. The Kraft Dinner Mission. Or KDM.
The premise for the mission was simple.
Lead a small party across the island, to the edge of the lagoon and prepare. One standard issue Kraft Dinner. Water only directions. It sounded so easy.
With the scouting and party leading ability of The Roy, the treck across the island was easy. Staff in hand, he led his companion through the elven village, filled with the children of the forest with much ease.l For you see, The Roy once lived in those parts, and knew the lands well. He was friendly with the locals. They were his friends. The wild mushrooms they had eaten together gave them all the strength of the forest. But, the forest was empty now, their laughter and cries are no longer heard, and the darkness is now. Tough to see in the dark. Even for the Roy.
The Roy leads, lighted only from behind, through the elven forest, by the darkened pathy of stumpwood. Rotten odours lift from the forest floor, tickling the nose of The Roy. Disorientation. Confusion. Panic. It obviously grips The Roy, as he spins, gasps and begs for the light. His companion does as instructed and becomes relieved to learn that The Roy has regained his orientation. His panic has subsided.
All for now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)