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Showing posts with label Fire. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fire. Show all posts

Friday, June 5, 2020

Observation - June 5th, 2020, Friday


The city is green

It is summer and it is quiet—right now, at 4:00 pm

If I think about it

I can recall the sounds of gunfire

That woke me up in the middle of the night

The quiet lays on Minneapolis like a green veil

The city is restive

The demand for justice is simmering, now

Seven days ago, we were at a roiling-boil

I can smell the ashes lingering—still

The chemical scent of unnatural fire

Scratching in my throat

Tuesday, April 21, 2020

Home on the Ocean


My shattered self
Memories, like old mirrors
Set in a collage

Incongruous tiles
The pieces of me, fragments
Float on the surface

Rising in the swell
The flotsam of my life, trash
Jetsam and debris

I bath in blue pools
The threshold of ice and fire
A place of healing

Port in the North Sea
The rising sun sets in you
The moon following

Stare into the stream
Rest beside the silver brook
Dwell in the current

Flow into the sea
Oceanic memory
Hunting the kelp beds

Raise the sails and fly
Drifting on the tides of time
My ghost left behind

Tuesday, April 14, 2020

Disturbed


I thought I had caught fire when I saw her
Burnt up in an instant, consumed by desire
A hollowed husk, cracked and desiccated

I had nothing to give her, nothing that she wanted
Ignited by the friction, of my pounding heart
Rendered like the fattened bull, rising to the ether

Wilted flowers lay down in the field, drained of color
Cast off by Persephone, just another poor creation
Brittle petals, like the dragon-fly’s wing, disintegrate

The cinders of love, reduced to ash and embers
Like any of us, dancing blindly with the fates
Deaf to the song of the spirit, dumb and disturbed

Thursday, April 4, 2019

Emergence 3.0 - Section Six (a), Rebellion; Appendix Part Nine, The People; Collected Chapters

Emergence 3.0
A Novel – In One Page Per Day
Friday, March 29th, 2019

Chapter One: Soil

A rebellion is not a protest, it is not a single act, or even a set of actions aimed at a particular end. 

A rebellion is comprised of a sustained series of actions, both covert and overt, aimed at overthrowing the entrenched systems of power.

Rebellions does not emerge spontaneously. They are led, they are fomented, they are fueled by grievance and they are organized through tragedy.

In the great Galactic Empire, a rebellion might engulf a planetary government, though it was exceedingly rare a rebellion to succeed, when they did that success was quickly erased, even if the Empire had to destroy the entire planet to quash it.

Planetary governors on occasion had rebelled against the Imperium, drawing entire star systems into the conflagration. These were great dramas which delighted the Collective and could keep them occupied for centuries.  

People do not rise up against their governments and rulers for no reason.

They will not risk life and freedom on a lark, not without at least the hope of success, and change.

The soil had to be prepared to receive the seeds of rebellion.

Outrage must be generated, the rebel had to be conditioned to see something in the rebellion that is worth the cost of their lives, the lives of their families and everything they held dear.

They had to see beyond themselves.

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Emergence 3.0
A Novel – In One Page Per Day
Saturday, March 30th, 2019

Chapter Two: Seed

In as much as Jim was a scientist and an explorer, he saw the work that he was engaged as analogous to farming.

The seeds of rebellion were ideas, they were simple and beautiful constructs. They were ideals to be planted in the hearts and minds of the people. He cared for seeds nurturing them through the dreams of those experiencing injustice. 

He carefully prepared the field and then he planted the ideas.

Jim did not foster systems of injustice for pleasure or from indifference. His aim was strictly utilitarian. Some would have to suffer and many would die, but it was all for the greater good, distributed to the greatest number.

The vessel he was looking for had to carry within them a visceral reaction to the experience of suffering.

For a rebellion to flourish, the people required the expectation of justice, for it to grow in strength the people required the experience of injustice.

Like a seed planted in the dark soil, the people and the vessel that would emerge from them, required the experience of darkness, despair, in order to condition them to reach for the light

Just like the shoots of a plant springing from the earth, the spirit of rebellion requires the wind of adversity to blow against, this will transform the fresh green stem into a tall and sturdy stalk, capable of supporting the weight of its fruit, long enough for it to mature and drop, scattering thousands of tiny new seeds.

The field had to be turned over, made new, rotated from time to time and let to be fallow.

There was a rhythm to the work he was engaged in, a subtlety that the Continuum could never appreciate, and because of that it did not notice.

The Continuum also used the experience of injustice, it used injustice for its own purpose, but only for the sake of the drama that ensued from it. There was no greater end, the end was suffering, and the vicarious enjoyment of it by the Collective.

Injustice was promulgated for the pleasure of the few.

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Emergence 3.0
A Novel – In One Page Per Day
Sunday, March 31st, 2019

Chapter Three: Water

Narrative mattered.

The experience of injustice nourishes the rebellious spirit like water soaking the roots of a great tree, feeding the heart of the revolutionary until grows so large and beats so painfully that it bursts, but the experience of injustice could never be enough. The story had to be told, and the narrative reinforced.

Too much water and the organism will die, just enough and it will thrive, it will multiply until the towering tree it becomes a mighty forest, beating with a million hearts, a wall to its opponents protecting those within, more than a wall, a force field, a sheltering spirit that can strike with power at any who approach it.

The experience of injustice is nothing if the story of it is never told. Everything has to be laid out in context. The experience of injustice does not occur in a vacuum, it is always a pattern of behavior, of action and reaction.

No event is isolated, everything is related.

If the experience of injustice cannot be tied to an earlier predicate, then it is merely an accident, it is forgivable. Therefore the first story that is told of it, the first witness must connect to the continuing grievances of the people.

The principle who experienced the injustice, and the witness who observed it, must both see the event in the same light, even if the witness and the principle do not agree on the predicate, they can be drawn together through the power of the narrative.

An argument against the narrative is always an argument in the context of the narrative. And the narrative is all that matters.

All histories have three dimensions; the events as the actually happened, which includes both the intersection of actions and intentions that are the material and formal causes of the events, and the consequences which flow from them; the dimension of perception, how the events are perceived and remembered by those who actually experienced them; and the narrative dimension, the story that is told.  

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Emergence 3.0
A Novel – In One Page Per Day
Monday, April 1st, 2019

Chapter Four: Light

Knowledge is power, it can be wielded like a weapon, or withheld to the same devastating end.

A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, a small amount may be just enough to provoke action among the masses, but when shaped and edited, a little piece of knowledge can be used to channel energy, like water under pressure, it can be used to cut through solid rock.

If knowledge is light, then with the amplification of light through narrative, it can become like a laser, powerful enough to cut through the hull of an interstellar ship.

Exposing injustice, naming it, this is a sacred obligation. Everyone with a grievance, is like a priest in the temple, the re-visitation of grievance like the sacred rites must be officiated every day, the narrative must never cease.

Those engaged in this mission, of carrying the light of truth for the sake of their brothers and sisters, they must suffer, they must visibly suffer when they give the narration. Their suffering must be real, discernable and palpable to the people.

Their suffering must be felt, experienced as real, personalized in a way that allows the receiver of the narrative to identify with it and make it their own.

The rebel was taught that they should never lie, to be moderate at times and let the light in slowly. Such cautionary words must guide the people. The people must be on fire with their grievance, but like a lamp, that is slowly replenished with oil so that the light is always burning and never go out.

If the fire comes in to quickly it will shatter the lens and burn them. Then it is possible to become inured to the light, or to fear it, even hateful of it.

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Emergence 3.0
A Novel – In One Page Per Day
Tuesday, April 2nd, 2019

Chapter Five: Growth

A revolution is both a turning of the wheel and an expansion of the circle.

A rebellion moves outward from its center in waves, moving in concentric rings that grow larger and more powerful until they crash against the bullwark of power, eroding it, like water swallowing the shore.

The spirit of the rebellion is like the wind ru’ha, it is the energy that propels the movement, just as the wind fills the sail, pushing the people to find resolution in justice and satisfaction in its administration.

Energy must pour into the center with constant-steady pressure in order to ensure the power of the revolution continues unabated. Each wave pushing the preceding wave in a relentless exercise of strength.

Without that spirit, the rebellion will die; it is fueled by sacrifice, by witness and by narrative. The rebellion requires its story to be told, to be set to music and played on drums.

A rebellion requires constant renewal. There can be no end to it. A rebellion has an objective that is constantly moving. Each generation must hunger for and experience justice in their own time.

The good rebel is empowered by loss and by tragedy, they feed on it.

There are no set-backs, only changes in direction.

There is no victory only progress.

There are no problems, only challenges.

There is no peace in the heart of the rebel.

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Emergence 3.0
A Novel – In One Page Per Day
Wednesday, April 3rd, 2019

Chapter Six: Harvest

A lived experience is a tapestry of cycles and patterns.

Each and every one of the living worlds that comprised the Galactic Empire, experienced these cycles in unique ways; in its patterns of weather, in the rotation of the planet on its axis, or the lack of it; in the orbit of its satellites, whether they are natural or artificial; in the orbit of the world around its star.

These cycles established a season for everything, each season unique to the lived experience of the people on that world.

Those cycles and patterns established rhythms that governed both the conscious and unconscious aspects of the lives of the people; their hours of sleep, their time to eat, even the beating of their heart, the pulse of their blood as it flows through their veins.

A revolution is like a harvest; it comes in its season, and each harvest according to the cycles of its home world. When the harvest comes, those who have sewn injustice reap the same.

The harvest is just one phase in a cycle that repeats itself endlessly. The cycle is different on every world, but the lived experience of every world shares the cycle in common.

They are different but the same.
   
This is the natural state of every civilization, and though the Collective had been spared this cycle for billions of years, nevertheless, the Collective retained a memory of it in the far reaches of its subconscious.

Those memories were augmented by their voyeurism, and their vicarious experience of these cycles through the observation of life in the Empire

Jim was determined to ensure that its time had come, the revolution was at hand, and the Collective would feel it in force.

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Emergence 3.0
A Novel – In One Page Per Day
Thursday, April 4th, 2019

Chapter Seven: Fire

Fire is the universal symbol of purification.

As we pass through fire we are refined; our impurities released and our essence distilled into its purest form.

When the fruit of the field is ripe, the people bring it in, they commence with the harvest it and light the fields on fire. They dance in the glow of the burning fields, in the disintegration of the chaff and the stalks. They dance in triumph and thanksgiving.

This is the natural end of the rebellion; the revolution ensues and the hands of justice turn the soil over. We bury the old ways of corruption deep in the earth, sending it down with all of the dead.

Through this ritual we are cleansed.

This is the natural end of rebellion; the revolution is hallowed in the celebration of change, of its constancy, of return and renewal.

The glorious end of the revolution is to start fresh at the beginning.

We generate fresh narratives to gloss over all our crimes and absolve ourselves in the great conflagration.

Fire is the symbol of the beginning and the end.

We are born in the heat of our mother star. In time we will return to her she will reach out and embrace us in the super-nova, the great bath of fire.

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Emergence 3.0:
Section Six (a), Rebellion

Appendix Part Nine, The People

Collected Chapters
01 Soil
02 Seed
03 Water
04 Light
05 Growth
06 Harvest
07 Fire

#Emergence #SuperShortFiction #365SciFi #OnePagePerDay

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Emergence 3.0 - Section Six (a), Rebellion; Appendix Part Nine, The People; Chapter Seven, Fire


Emergence 3.0
A Novel – In One Page Per Day
Thursday, April 4th, 2019

Chapter Seven: Fire

Fire is the universal symbol of purification.

As we pass through fire we are refined; our impurities released and our essence distilled into its purest form.

When the fruit of the field is ripe, the people bring it in, they commence with the harvest it and light the fields on fire. They dance in the glow of the burning fields, in the disintegration of the chaff and the stalks. They dance in triumph and thanksgiving.

This is the natural end of the rebellion; the revolution ensues and the hands of justice turn the soil over. We bury the old ways of corruption deep in the earth, sending it down with all of the dead.

Through this ritual we are cleansed.

This is the natural end of rebellion; the revolution is hallowed in the celebration of change, of its constancy, of return and renewal.

The glorious end of the revolution is to start fresh at the beginning.

We generate fresh narratives to gloss over all our crimes and absolve ourselves in the great conflagration.

Fire is the symbol of the beginning and the end.

We are born in the heat of our mother star. In time we will return to her she will reach out and embrace us in the super-nova, the great bath of fire.

#Emergence #SuperShortFiction #365SciFi #OnePagePerDay

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Tuesday, July 24, 2018

Desert


I stood in the desert, facing the wind and sun, staring into the red fire
Its hot eye slipping below the horizon, the broken hills cast in rose and gold

Sand fills the air, it covers me, sharp-tiny particles fly like razors
Each grain, a memory that captures and cuts without conscience

The eye of the sun is a window in time a window on wonder
On beauty, casting shadows like doubt over the path in front of me

We are dust in the end, dried husks, desiccated and burning
Little embers soaring on the solar wind, the world on fire, super-nova

The sun drives us, and its absence, like the will and passion, pulling
Like sin and confusion, the desert swallows it all, without judgement

Erasure, bleached bones and broken spirits, haunt a prison without bars
Walk beneath the stars, shattered, falling in the night like errant dreams

Alone and incomplete, poor and blind, my breath is spent, bereft
Truth up-ended, logic in tatters, a ragged shawl that cannot comfort

Dance above the desert floor, cracked by the hammering sun
Swing at the end of the rope, above the dry grave, dancing with vultures

I pulled the lever and the earth did not move, the price was freedom, I refused
Preferring the savor of lies, set the temple on fire burning with the druj

The sleep of the Effretti the flames of chaos, Rakshasha drumming
Djin, descending, each with a wish in the palm of their hand

Give me something to ease my pain, a pleasant illusion, a placebo will do
Allow me a moment to slake my thirst, to satisfy my wants, a reprieve

Set my compass for the compassionate life, love is a true-stone, the fixed star
Navigate the turbulent world, by Polaris, keep me straight in the path

Walking backward, retracing foot prints in the windswept sand

Monday, October 2, 2017

Observation - October 2nd, 2017, Monday

Observation

There was lightning, and the bright crack of thunder.
At 2:00 am, my cat came to sleep under arm,
Rain was fall hard against the house, against my windows.
Thunder rolling across the city, otherwise dark and quiet.

The news was of a shooting in Las Vegas.
A man with an automatic rifle shooting from an elevated position in to a crowd.
Twenty or more people killed, one hundred more injured.
The shooter himself had been found and killed by the police.
The Sheriff is not giving details.

America is on fire, and breaking apart at the margins.
Storms pound our coasts, and millions of people are flooded;
Without homes, without power, without medicine, without clean water.
The occupant of the oval office is playing golf, and whining.

America is on fire.

Tuesday, July 11, 2017

Ego

I am confounded
Deceived and ignorant
Lying to the world

I am a blind man
Sightless old Polyphemus
My head in the clouds

Adrift in the mist
Watch sunlight diffusing
Lighting my day dreams

I hide from myself
The subject of scrutiny
A joke of the fates

Fountains of laughter
Falling alone in the World
Darkness descending

The drum percussing
Without care for consequence
Surfing waves of doom

Ancestral spirits
Hunger for bodies, breath, blood
Insatiable ghosts

The heat of the Earth
Hot winds bathing me, burning
Slowly in the fire

Breach the molten heart
Breaking through on golden wings

The wings of desire

Monday, April 3, 2017

Forty Days in the Desert (Haiku Series in Forty Parts)



Morning

1.
Humans trespassing
Confused in the moonless night
Cold in the morning

2.
A narrow window
Sunrise in the morning, blush
Lost, and looking back

3.
Soft color of morning
Red and orange and dusty pink
Blush on the mountain

4.
Spring in the desert
Morning dew lingers, a feast
Moisture in morning

5.
Live with compassion
I see the way ahead, bright
The restful morning

6.
Light, to ease the heart
Light, to live by, free from fear
Light, I am wanting


Place

7.
Desert, hot and wild
Pure as an empty promise
The great wide open

8.
Highway sixty-two
A plateau above Palm Springs
The Joshua tree

9.
Fragile oasis
A living cathedral sings 
Brief, shining and green

10.
The radio voice
Takes me down the road to you
In Twenty-nine Palms

11.
A cult in Amboy
Angels in Death Valley, stir
The Manson family

12.
The Mojave heat
Wind lifting sand off the ground
Fills the air with grit

13.
The lovely desert
Transient, passing through you
The lonely vagrant


Heat and Fire, Desire

14.
One hundred-fifteen
Car windows blown out at noon
Expanding in heat

15.
Reason is a fire
The burning spirit fills me
Melts the golden calf

16.
Doubt, I cannot breathe
Oxygen, the fire consumes
Choking, sputtering, will

17.
Waves, dry and burning
Circumstance, the barren field
Fears, we are ruled by

18.
Life’s fragility
We are equals, and made free
In the desert heat

19.
The spirit is fire
A pillar lighting the night
The dynamic life

20.
Feel the heat of you
Your desert heart, dusty, cold
Desolate, a fool

21.
The dirty heart, hot
Desires of a lover, sweet
Hard and demanding

22.
Love’s desperate fool
Velvet kiss, a touch of fire,
Crazy, cold smile, you

23.
The passionate life
Hot, driven through the wonders
Mountains, cut by wind


Wind and Wanting

24.
Desert wind blowing
Standing in the face of it
Staring at the sun

25.
Hope, drives us forward
Against the despairing wind
The mirage of doom

26.
The ephemeral
Purpose is a bright mirage 
Wandering in thirst

27.
Vision has a price
Alone, we are not ourselves
Broken, incomplete

28.
Persist in delusion
In world that never were, truths
I will not give up

29.
Wisdom’s soft approach
Un-raveller of conflict
Moving with the wind

30.
The storm passes through
Blowing sand, each grain, a knife
Stinging as it cuts


Dust, Dirt and Death

31.
Logic is a coin
The dessert will not tender
Negotiable truths

32.
Drifting with the sand
Every grain, a memory
Alone and listing

33.
We are dust, dirty
Spirits fluttering weakly
Diffused in dry air

34.
A jail without walls
The lost self, shattered, dissolved
A walking spirit

35.
Each step leaves a trace
Reminders of who we are
Walking to the grave

36.
Hand on the lever
The embrace of the condemned
The fallen lover

37.
Curing in the dry air
One and all, we are the same
Swinging in heat

38.
The fate of us all
A brief life, Death’s certainty
Free in the moment


Evening

39.
Touch the falling sun
Fingers of light, brush the sky
Bursting, red, and orange

40.
Starlight and, love lit
The way, a path through the storm
The shelter of hope