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The Mere Tide

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  #241  
Old 09-04-2018, 08:48 PM
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I like the way your right eye looks

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  #242  
Old 09-04-2018, 08:48 PM
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A man needs his sleep. So how turns the worm chin what's up with you?

Hahaha i had my friend take the picture immediately cause i thought it would look badass. Blue is not above vanity
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  #243  
Old 09-04-2018, 09:01 PM
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None of us are above vanity. I would open that up a beauty.
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  #244  
Old 09-08-2018, 07:36 PM
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A sad silted drizzle tintypegrayed the windshield and the steady brooming of the wipers brought into clarity again a grayer morn and the forward traffic and a moon like a scoria coin. Futile lustration cannot wash away the oppidan dregs into storm drains of the same. A coordinate of void inseminated by a stellar grande mort developed to this paradigm of lithic taxonomies perambulated by orders of spalpeens and coxcombs and loons and other pilgrims under gamp or wishing to be. Cellular conurbation, mitochondria of power plant and lubric fabs so delicately analogous reproducing its own furnishings and means of spread within itself.

Deddent mean ta do it.

But you did.

Dachni braced her fists against her temples. Giver pollygie swen backed.

She wont be there.

Dachni looked up. Went way where?

Home.

Whyd they home?

They needed to go back. They couldnt have tolerated the city much longer.

Teller come back.

Youll see her again.

Dachni yanked at the pilot's arm. Teller come back now.

Anaya put the truck into autodrive and pulled Dachni close. Has she departed forever? A month, two at the most, shell visit at the basilica or youll visit her summer grounds. Do you believe that?
Is it true?
Tis. In the interim youll have phone calls. In any case a separation is in order. She wasnt angry. In fact almost conciliatory and defensive of you against condemnations but that is a mistake because she will be angry and needs to be so. Had she forgiven you ere her anger it would have festered and poisoned you both. Asides were scarcely longer for the city ourselves.

Why not?

Reasons the same. But she understands why you did it and that will go a long ways in mitigation.

Were accident.

Was rage. But I explained why.

The truck halted for a light. The traffic flowed through the intersection bracketed by pedestrians on the crosswalk. A row of shavers had set up on the sidewalk under umbrellas to shear beards or grizzle for legal tender. Shaping them into the styles of the day. Dabbing the pared sycosis with alcohol wipes. The lights flashed green. They turned. The pilot stared straight ahead.

What Im about to tell you, you shouldnt hear. Youd have found out on your own. Youre not stupid. I hate it when you think yourself stupid. You would have learned but the schedule of these lessons says their mastery proper aught be ere graduating infancy when we are not yet able to reckon the fullness of our mistakes and quick forgotten. Its supposed to be a wordless learning. But your teachers abdicated and youve lost too much. That Im sure of. You cant read people. You dont look at them. Youre clueless when it comes to others and your loyalty evaporates in merest suspicion. For you there is no intermediate between the wheen of doubt and its confirmation. And then break cup and spill remorse. The unrueing artificer who crafted you omitted sight and set you out telling nothing. So Ill do it. You need a guidance our authors would disallow. For all their labor is for the maintenance of a mystery which is also their worship. Crack that, to let slip a flicker of the shine is to violate the very essence of the sacred. But there is a word unknown to me that depaints the concord of feeling I bear towards you that impels me not to abide your tread without warning. Here is the truth few speak: It is only through each other we emancipate ourselves. And only through knowing and who knows you? Your secret name. Who but I? I know of all paths they seldom change and even less so abruptly yet here I wrench a bend in the road that maybe a turnoff will present itself or some distant landmark siren you off the road. And maybe it will be I save you from nothing. It remains up to you and though I uncover to you your own fate and so allow the election of some opposite course yet it may be the chords to that reckoning are too perdurable for your severing. But the bend is their understanding, that you had nothing else, that you have been friendless, homeless, bereft of nation and bereaved and hounded as a lame hyena halfjawed but proud that battled lions so to protect the leopard watching afar from a bough. To say you wanted to be the hero.

Two days later she was returned to the basilica but not before a final humiliation. On the morning of her departure she went on her customary walk and perchance happened upon a new face. A bum snuck onto the intercity bus and having no means of returning to his slum had taken up residence beside the bakery. When she came out with her confections he begged her alms and Dachni hawked a stained sugary loogey into the weathered altar of his palm. When she turned Laurence stood looking on in his sack jacket and he took out a pocket's banknotes and let them to the beggar.
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  #245  
Old 09-13-2018, 10:09 PM
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Hey guys and gals so good news and good news. The short story Ive been working on is nearing its end and after a month-month or so to edit should be available around I suppose the late of November. I had a lot of fun with this one, its definitely a quicker paced and way less detailed picture but with none of the realism sacrificed and with an emphasis on military life. Its also helped me work through some personal baggage as well. I dont think its unknown that I have a serious grudge with Russia but in the writing I had to set aside the personal hatred I hold to create characters instead of caricatures or projections of me own noggin. I still would rather this world reduce to a nuclear wasteland then to exist under Russian hegemony but I can at least view the average Russian as a human being now whereas in the not too long ago I denied it altogether.







May that year saw two extremes in the weather. The first was almost a drought. The last of the floodwaters steamed off and the winds out of the west wheezed off the topsoil and left the pounson to roach under an oven sun. Half a month of long bloodslaked dusks and the dust like a glebous spume that no battening could keep out and noon after noon the heat roused her where she sprawled in polluted sudor among her drenched bedsheets like a victim of homicide. Rising groggy and vertiginous and her dusty hair matted to her ghostly cheeks and opening her little colored porthole to take in the choking breeze. And scarfed and goggled broomed into being whole snaking dunes in the nave. The fifteenth day began a fortnight of rain that flooded the basilica again and the dunes washed away and then it was June.

In the shower the roommates maintained a wary deference one to the other. The child tolerantly welcoming of the wash, her soaping up and shampooing with a strawberry formula. The long sufferance necessary to comb straight her panicky snarls.

Nature nevermore be your divan nor hairdresser. Adorning (as she does) tiewigs with last season's death
Or present's dying
Aye shes a petulant messer
Never giving whats new
And often foul breath

Anaya setup a barber's chair on the altar and fitted it with a booster seat and dusted it down with a bench brush. From the chancel steps Dachni watched and poked any fish that swam too near and studied anxiously the cart of barbicided supplies adjacent the chair for who knew what surgery was their purpose. The pilot whistled and she rose and toed the great black fiend lurking in the murk.

Seen ye afore.

Come on.

Dachni climbed into the chair and kicked to settle.

Anaya fluffed a checkered cape over her and buttoned the collar snugly behind her neck. And what can I do for you today miss?

Yer what notioned the crazy out.

The pilot grinned. Trim and a shave then?

Dachni withered dejectedly. Doan fuck up the hair. Theys harly much pretty left.

I promise.

The pilot misted her hair damp with a perfumed water and combed straight the last of her tangles to length. Her hair reached below her elbow. By my measure another year it would be as long as you are tall.

Never figgered it so lawn.

The pilot twirled shears out of a jar by an eye ring. Shoulder length say? Maybe a little longer?

Ok.

The pilot viced her hair and the curt snip of the shears severed the strands in the blade meet. She felt the soporific that was the blunt of the steel's gentle alight upon her crinion. Her eyes fluttered and she purred off into a tingling doze.

Wake thee.

Mm.

The pilot held up a mirror. What do you think?

Dachni turned her head. A side of her head accommodated now a dozen cornrows and the excess in the front flowed down in as many free braids.

Thats pretty neat.

How about that shave now?

Of what?

The pilot rubbed her cheeks and the child mimicked her to understanding.

Aint haired there.

Everyone should have a shave.

Anaya wrapped her face in a steaming towel and lapped the razor upon the strop and when the blade was honed she whipped away the towel and lathered her face with a shaving brush of minx hair.

Mm.

She pulled her face around, peeling off the foam with the razor.

Mmmm.

In her room she donned a blue, silvering with age, t-shirt with the sewer dripping logo Vecto Toad steampressed across the chest and denim shorts with frayed weft threads hanging out the shorn leggings like a curtain. The pilot in curious wed of royal and industrial garb, pumpkin colored trousers kept to waist by a fat cashmere belt with cam buckle and a formfitting undershirt under a turquoise caftan vaguely Islamic in its primitive embellishments of sterling swirls, windthrown stars and vining medallions flowing out the cypress shieldless torse supported by stag and kaig, that lethal beast of Aienagias, and up the lapels and towards the hinds like a dynastic lineage yet to be bred.

Where are your socks?

Dachni wiggled her toes. Wherer yose?

They rendezvoused at the entrance Dachni now besocked and besneakered, the swelling in her mended foot shrunk at last to its daint dimensions. Even so the skin showed a ruddy magenta at the rims and its range of motion was much diminished. e swelling in her mended foot shrunk to its daint dimensions. Even so the skin showed a ruddy magenta yellow at the rims and its range of motion was much diminished.

In postnoon whiteness the church grounds had transformed into a steaming glade out which larkspur protruded like imperial tears frozen and lilies not yet matured to the size of dishes floated like green areolas. Reeds young or cropped like spouts rowed the water betwixt the unblossomed stems of laceleaf and columbine carnation and begonia hyssop and mallow. Winds galed their prepubescent fragrance to and back but otherwise all this peccant lushness was pavidly tranquil as if out of dread of the basilica as though its lithic buttresses might disturbed articulate and slike its unholy bulk across the terrain with fanged portals, dragging behind its egg sac until after many snags on the muricate earth it tears and miscarries a hell premature.

A few natable troggins floated in from nearby markets. Cans. An empty bassinet. Fruit crates. Winter jackets. Who did not foresee winter again? Dachni sat on the pontoon boards and touched ripples in the water with her sneaker toes, repelling the fish struggling through this brephic underwater jungle becoming gulping earthworms.

Theyre gonda drown it dries.

Aye.

Can ye take back?

The pilot said what had not occurred could not be recalled but in memory and was she remembering these fish would bake in the humid garden that would be and she rolled her trousers and stepped down from the pontoon into the water.

The child reached out after her. Hey.

The pilot glanced back, sat on the edge of the pontoon and the child mounted her shoulders, clinging to her caftan while the pilot groped the waters. The fish scabrous under their mucous sheens, thin tail spines enwebbed. When the pilot had caught all she started towards the woods ladling water over the fish every few steps. Dachni covered her eyes to pause her going but the pilot navigated without impairment. They crossed the road. Dachni closed her eyes. The scratching of the talons muted against pavement. How the water changed the sound. In the woods the birches wore new bark white as paper and their leaves admitted an immaculate laminate upon the waters. She listened to her wade through bracken. Pushing away windfelled branches, floating logs, isles of bark. Assured ford of seamless waters.

Why aint water has seams.

Samurai learning shodō were forbidden ink unto time as their fingers could equal their thoughts. Art guides the fingers. We know where things should be.

Sparrow notes rained down from behind the leaves into the babeldom drone of locusts but the great acedia within had been reduced to murmuring. On the lake pier the pilot released her catches in a fishburst of riffled streams. Floating at the center of the lake was a drowned deer.

There are stories of revenge and stories of forgiveness and somewhere along the journey it becomes evident what order the story belongs. For we are buffered all about by forces so irresistible as to subvert the nature of most any, turns devils saints and drag the beata down from heaven to wallow in the toilets of the pit.

Will they be ok?

Until next we fish.

Anaya?

Yes?

Her arms tightened. Will ye have a sorry?

Of course.

Giva kiss.

The pilot lifted her from her shoulders and turned her and bestowed the kiss requested and the child threw her arms around her and pecked at her neck.

Kiss kiss kiss, the child intoned.

And in soft antiphone. Kiss kiss kiss.

On the pontoon the pilot wrung her trousers and the water vanished through the spaces between the boards. They walked to the carport and slid into the truck cab. The pilot turned the engine.

Get us on the road.

The AI backed them out.

Wheres ta go?

Out of here a while.

But where?

How about a park?

In Harter?

Why not?

Its far ways. Whys wrong with Materpull?

You know whats wrong with Matraple.

Said ye cared of it.

People might still be a little raw.

Let em be.

The pilot smiled. Alright.
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  #246  
Old 09-18-2018, 10:35 PM
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New peoples have arrived what is their deal? Who is this mysterious masticator of our hero's braided mane?




The turnoff was hardly a mile distant. The pilot wheeled port and soon they were past the town marker with its brief hagiography. The houses moments later come into view squatted in blanched rainwashed resplendency. The streets not quite flooded. A porter in outsized rubber galoshes was unloading crates from his boxtrailer into the front of a convenience store sandbagged at the door. Other businesses above sea level were open. A few pedestrians avoiding the little traffic and the granular waves they shored. Some to notice others to not. The Deputy of Affordable Housing was oaring a rubber raft through an alley. A newspaper boy bicycling, his front basket full of wonders, leaving silical scrolls half out the mailboxes like rolled tongues. The pilot slowed to a stop.

How much?

Three dollars, he said wiping his brow. Three dollars.

The pilot deposited a silver eagle into his breastpocket and boy sorted through his basket for an unsubscribed scroll and synced it to the server of the Archipelago Register and handed it through the window. The pilot drove on, arm chickened out, somewhat cognizant of storefronts open or closed and full of wares. Past Holiday's clinic where he looked up from his sweeping to inform a patient that his hours were from ten to four.

...its 2:58...

Past the library and around the school to Matraple Tot Lot. They parked and the child scooted after the pilot as she got out.

In the playground were more children than she could remember congregated. Long haired, daint, straight of bangs or pony tailed, dirty, swarthy, pachephalic or ventripotent, freckled, mobile incubators of flu or pox, hued noon hues, emitting a grand melee of pealing, crying, laughing, a chorus, a sustained heterotone, the yackety-yack tessitura of a thousand peripheral worlds and somewhat unreal, concord of jubilee half-notes mispronounced by fear or estasy, the sudden outbursts of reproval, stymied embarrassments, thin braveries behind tears or regressed into lallation over the unceasing shoe clap raising red dust shimmering through the laurence in a cloister of pure ubiety where all are reprieved of past and future rung round the ambitus of adolescence marveling so rotten with remorse and jealousy. He clutched an anxious blond and curly his mathom talisman and snuffled and turned to run. Accruing hurts that will torment them in age if age they reach. Awing at the outsized parlousness of their feats. Rejoice but know thy judgment comes in guise of pebble or twig or crumb. They sadden quickly. They mope, they triumph. The ding of a bat can arouse spirits. Some shirtless in unknowing lewdity. Incipient romances bloom, their incondite conflict of interests forming but not yet manifest, revealing their selves before they learn to hide those selves in their selves, the unhidden selves too unformed to be properly hidden. The crazed sequence of causality guides their run and whirring geometries of arbitrary games that require the dizzying zigzag by rules are dictated. None here adheres to panmnesia though all mildly suspect or suspect without reservation a malevolent panpsychism without the bounds of this haven where their caretakers hold vigil.

Dachni looked at the pilot.

Yer saided of a sometin.

No.

Hess ye does.

The pilot leaned against the hood. Theres war in all of them. You can see it. How many will end in the lupanar? How many in the service? How many will be guilty of the crime of lugulary? They will instill the red dust with fear. They will put fear in red dust.

Mebbe bestis not ta go.

Try. For many this will be the only occasion for innocence theyll ever have.

Prolly not.

Probably not. Thats the crime I suppose. Go on.

Wheres your be?

Yonder bench.

Dachni looked to a bench where two mothers sat with their lactivorous spawn fastened to their breasts.

Ok.

Dachni stepped through the short chainlink gate to the realm sprawl of playground equipment and it was no small feat for her to understand her seeing. She looked back. The pilot was at the bench and the breasts were covered now. Dachni hobbled to the longest line that was to a slide. Several wide eyed waiters with grape smears over their mouths regarded her wordlessly.

Hidy.

Some helloed back. Others averted their gaze. Dachni wasnt sure what was expected of her so she kept silently beside and watched the line dwindle ahead as each child ascended the ladder. When it was her turn she had to go slowly favoring her good foot and arms to boost herself up each rung. Sitting under the hood feeling dumb, the metal hot through her shorts.

Hurry up.

She pushed off. A cool breeze rushed over her but when she opened her eyes it was not stone racing up to meet her. She slid down twice more because a trio of friends did and then she followed them to the monkey bars. They swung rung to rung as though theyd never left the trees but when the child tried she could scarcely keep her grip and it was only the terror of the fall that got her across. She hugged the sidepole and slid down. One of the boys pointed at her in disbelief.

What happened to you?

Dachni looked down at the withered cicatrix. Slightly raised or depressed. Strange white darkening of sprite white flesh. She didnt answer. Someone else inquired as to the erroneous blank of her eyes and she went away. She squatted by the carousel but nobody invited her to ride. The cheery faces flashing past. Bright teeth clean. She ran her tongue over her plaqued dentition. She sat on an empty seesaw chair and waited for someone to come but no one did. She pushed off a few times and after a while she sought out the three again. And found them at the tree swing. They were as tall or taller then her but she reckoned them much younger. They dismounted and waltzed dizzy and giggling.

Is ye cared to play?

They look at her where she stood just beyond valance and shrugged and ran off towards the sandpit. Dachni tried keeping pace but to run was agony and she stopped after a few steps. The three called out to her but she sulked away to the swingsets where she moped about until a vacancy presented itself and she narrowly beat another boy to the seat. He stood by impatient and glum. She observed how other kids made themselves go and she tucked her legs in and kicked out and soon she was rising. She shut her eyes tight and kicked and tucked, cherishing the momentary weightlessness at the extents of her amplitude. She was at this for almost a half hour, blind, mitigating the hot sun on her skin with the wind, saved from yielding her seat for the intermittent abandonment of seats by others until a boy tattled to his sow that she was hogging the swingset.

Aint ye a fuckin cocksuck, she hissed as she slid by.

She wandered back to the seesaws, apparently the most unpopular of equipment, and while she sat there she felt something tugging at her head. She looked down at a shy blonde of about five chewing on the end of her braids. Dachni thought this abnormal but then what did she know of the habits and customs of towns.

Hello.

The little girl waved. Lost and bug eyed.

Does ye wanna take the other seat?

The girl shook her head. She was searching the playground for someone and the someone was jogging hither.

Allie quit eating her hair.

Its alright, said Dachni.

He was a boy and he pulled the girl.

Sorry about that, he said. She chews everybody.

Said it werentint no mind. Hey ye doan care on the other side uhs ye?

Im playing baseball.

Fuck is that?

His name was Andrew Mansell. A broadshouldered lugger with big hands, a flat nose that had already been broken. They walked out to a weedy field nearly flooded and mostly of mud. Along the way he explained the rudiments of the game omitting the sordid history that had led to its decline.

You can be on our team. Were the Jackal Cats and theyre the Blue Bears.

Ta hell is a jackal cat. And when did ye ever seen a fuckin bear kiss blue?
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