27 April 2008

The Mormon Hills

And the sun filtered through the tree tops, streaking the ground with shade. And the warm wind blew on my face, my hair into gentle curly ruffles. Your mediterranean surroundings, in the middle of nowhere right in our city. And the garden shed, with all your vehicles surrounded by white pebbles. You brought me to the middle of Mormon land.

With orange trees dotting the landscape, over looked by a mountain of fir trees. The beige carpet of dead grass and rotten orange fruit. And green roses caving the ratan swing on the porche, your dogs circling the area, their tongues wagging. The heat in the air, the bright sun and here in the dark I look out and find that there is much beauty in a world like this. I do not care to judge myself, or you for what we have become. I only know that what is wrong, may some times be right, when a heart or two needs a mend.

I know that you or this place that I embrace with extreme love, may turn into a prism of light fading into the sunset. But while I sip on the pretty drink you fixed, I smile and lick the sweetness off my lips and look at you looking at me, with just but one question on your mind.
You ask, " Do you like the drink?"

To which I nod, turn the swing away from your face and look back out into the hills. And you, knowing you've intruded, retreat, calling out to the rest of us, the people that made this happen, yelling that the food is done. I can hear you think, " She's got too much ego."

And I smile because I don't, only I make you think so. Only to protect myself from what you are to me. A train that I've jumped onto, that is to take me away from the place I dare not think of. A life of care free, emotionless love. Where just your body and mine, satisfy us. And when I challege you to calling me a whore, much later, when the sun's gone and your sky is dotted with the stars and that beautiful full moon, you throw your palm across my face, in anger. Though I feel the sting of your slap, I can't sense anger in me. Only I know, that my body isn't here, where you are now. But I ask, mimicking anger in my voice, n my face, "What the fuck, you cant slap me." And you shrug, reaching out for another drink.

I cant read your body or your eyes so blank. I can't tell what your thinking, your out of my league. And then you say, evenly with no other forms to read a reason out of your action,"That's the second time your asking, and I think that answers the question."

And you walk away, looking for the battery lights. No power. And when you come back, we kiss. We talk so less, we are so little. While we dance with our lips, I feel remorse. Incorrect. I feel nothing, but your lips on mine. And your arms around my hip, pulling me close. And then you lift me up, so I have my legs circled around you, and my chest pressed against you. Your hand in my hair, mine in yours. And we kiss. And she wails, the other one. She cries tears for the one that she's already lost.

25 April 2008

shifting plates, rising mountains, spurting lava and a new world.

new life begins this way, new friendships are built through these times.

but when change hits a person like life never did, it's hard to find something to hold on to.

14 April 2008

Heart, we will forget him.

Heart, we will forget him,
You and I, tonight!
You must forget the warmth he gave,
I will forget the light.

When you have done pray tell me,
Then I, my thoughts, will dim.
Haste! ‘lest while you’re lagging
I may remember him!

- Emily Dickinson

The Sentinelese

Lets go to the andamans.. and meet the sentinelese...




Esoteric isolation, help.


The Bageta had seized control of lower end of the island, while the Onga were driven to the smaller island of Siliphus. There they thrived, establishing a small society isolated from the outside. They made jewellery of linked metal, salvaged from overturned ships. The choppy waters surrounding the Island, kept intruders at bay, while those that survived the waters were met with stone spears and war cries.

It was said, where they lived, the Onga.. where you were one of them, your stomach never went hungry. But if you were one of the unfortunate who were not with them, you became the feed that fed them, on the desserted island that they called their home.

Meanwhile on the main island, the Bageta found that the military they had come to love, since it's help was vital for their win over the fearsome Onga was beginning to be the arm that was rotting. The incident that sparked the hate was when Colonel Mount held a party at the now abandoned Onga totem centre. Some of the prominent familes of the Bageta kingdom mingled freely with the most ranking officers of the millitary. And while they ate delicacies and drank the wine of the seven islands the coalition had won, few noticed an excited Colonel Mount grab at Saro Sena the wife of the only surviving Old Cheftains.

It wasnt a surprise that it was she, that was to excite the Colonel. Her skin made of smooth ebony and her bottom shaped like the classic vase. Her eyes were blackened with kohl and her hair braided and bracketed with shells from the seas. And while she froze at the Colonel's touch, others that held their kingdom's chastity at the end of their swords quickly stepped forward, still unsure on whether the move one of hostility or merriment.

The men of the millitary were quick to respond, forming a quick oval around the crowd. Convinced that this was hostility, the Bageta prominents drew out their assortment of swords and stone weapons. It didn't take long for the military to draw blood of the Bageta bourgeoise, it didn't take long for the Colonel to spawn with the Bageta woman.

And while the Onga greeted the Bageta with stone spears specifically aimed at the hearts of the enemy that stole their home, the millitary feasted on the sorrows of the dying Bageta men and women. They waited for the Onga to launch a counter attack. The Onga never did. They lay content in their barren land, feeding on the flesh of those following the alluring scent of mystery and exploration.