Koronada

While sitting at a park cafe outside of Chicago on the Great Lake of Michigan, I met a possibly Turkish man eating an apple delivered to him in bag labeled as imported from Aragon, Spain. I was trying to write the latest best next great American novel, but had my head in hands over an increasingly empty coffee cup, the kind of tall cardboard and wax-lined with more paper to handle than would napkins carry and serve as coaster.

>What are you writing?

An accent troubling and fake, distant from the admixture of old mobster accent and flyover suburbs states accent that rules the region with iron phobia.

<Nothing at the moment.

>Do you see this apple, it comes from Spain, me they have told this, it is making for a time the taste, and your character, needs to feel emotions in the passing wind, in the busy streets our hearts beat for the rhythm, feet following feet, how far would he get with no soul?

<I'm not sure what you mean.

>Shoes have souls, people have souls, we can only go as far as those are strong.

<What about the emotion I mean.

>The apple is bitter, hunger I am to eat. The apple is sweet, everyone eats the tree, my emotion plant a tree or forget the tree or dream of fruit, it is not always a choice to eat one or the other.

<You mean, the impossible choice.

>I mean...impossible choice yes, but very real choices, what is you that thinks for the character this one? Why does he feel, or still, why does making choice fill his mind, it says a lot about him I think this yes.

He finishes his apple without leaving even seeds and washes it with a final sip of coffee, takes his folded newspaper and stands, walks to the kiosk and orders another coffee, returns to the table as I furiously write everything about the backstory and moral upbringing I can remember from the dark side of my mind. He returns to his chair, sitting his lite jacket reveals a weapon and he takes sunglasses out and wears them, then hides it and reads the paper with his sunglasses on.

<How will he be when something is unexpected or unwanted?

>You will know when character knows.

I wrote for ten minutes and felt awkward when the ink ran out, then the man stood and walked across the open area of concrete squares and used his weapon on a man, my eyes were ringing, my ears were drowned in adrenaline, and speckles of blood covered the back of my hand and my character study journal. He took something from him and without time was between me and the sun, a shadowy stranger wiping his hands.

>Do not tell them my face, yes?

<How did you know it was time to do that, he sat there all day?

>Do not describe his face, describe what he is knowing, and then character maybe seem human.

The man with no swagger or tire walked to a parked cab that fled extra quickly into a river of taxis. A new story begins with a new first chapter.





-/mjbanks

Lunikkh t'Kraith

Quiet here in the reckoning place

the sentient noise and the endless sleeping sea

my mind screaming with fear of what waits me

and make it thoughts and sensory emotion

to be here aware passes actions to the past

and am here in now and then wandering not

not wandering then and now in here 

but where i am the microbes blunder microcosm

outside of this planet's atmosphere four moons

four moons to wax and wane in frozen time

beginning eclipse, and ending eclipse

the setting and the rising of the twilight horizon

in immortal, this way, un unbearing, this way

outside the sphere of influence and dismay

that mortals weep and children play

and the atmosphere is just an end of life

as we know the nothingness nihilistic stares at stars

as if the sky looked up to the earth

and the earth looked ever down again

and from the night sky a night moon watches me

after the night carrying only starlight

any darkness echoing against the body

at the starts against the world

all the many moons of darkness

with the daylight skies are echoes of fires and life

why the plasma of two great eclipses battle the atmosphere

where ever day makes dawn and dusk

whose light bounces within the world and sky

winning prize of fire's rest and mountain's eye

wander to the center of the sea and seek land

winds of change move over nations

winter pushes against brilliant sand

whereof another star watches like the pendulum

between the day and night in the lavish

where the summer and winter will not ravish

is the worst for place to sleep among them

the histories of towers and shadows demanding

with the memories of pages demanding

make this place for every wandering moon and star

to live in the place between day and night

the night sees the sunrise

the day sees the sunset

sharing discord sowing state of dishonest seed

in the request of remission of time's paucity

or is it pausitude, or passingness, 

and the sound of flowers blooming like thunder

in the rumbling caves of time

that the only war is wasted to find three moons

three moons watch while I sleep

three moons watch while I eat

three moons watch while eternity cannot wait

they are the best three to be

to survive the beneath the sky without so much as why

always watching two of four and never watching one

with time to see beyond the air

as winds winds engrave a mountain stare

and in the time forgotten in the particles we share

wondering what sleeps deep within them

and what moons think is down there
and would time have found a cure.

Lunikkh t'Kraith

(The Kraith's Poison)

Terracultural

'He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.'
~ Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, Aphorism 146 

It had distracted me to see so many images and so I entered delusions, it was only with my powerful memory and superfluous albeit hefty at times thot process that I haven't written an unfiltered blog lately.

Zombies, you all know them, you all love them, we all try to do our best not to offend them, so that they don't devour us for no reason. In their defense, it's all they know how to do, they can't really be productive or cook up something zingy. The card says you could've used zingity split. They wander together, they wander alone, I've even seen them following vultures circling - just wandering around in a circle because that's their devotion as we watch their arguments for doing so fall apart.

Satire, word.

As we listen to the songs the same and start to complain about things that won't be controlled, surfaces from the silent and still-set darkness ocean, the argument of weapons. It'd be violent of me to write about activism. It'd be passive aggressive to make a mockery of pacifism, and it'd be absurd to say that there were no crimes before big rocks could be held. 

I'm writing about this elsewhere.

I'm not sure if I've seen a bird smile. I know I've seen birds plant their eggs in dens of others, not because they expected it to work, but because they have only one emotion that takes over their mind, and will retaliate if the host doesn't abide. This is to paint a wider plot.

When my cat sees me smile, it thinks humans are big, dumb, versions of cats. It's easy to confide in truth, cats run from humans a larger predator like themselves, cats nestle to masters, for what they recognize as safety, from ancient emotion. They control that emotion and the picture writes itself.

Our animal brain draws life from the fires at dawn of time, and our human mind is still picking and choosing, finding and losing, which part of the chimera we will become. This is also why being undead is a science, not some art. Well, tbh there is good zombie television now and then.

The male shows his prowess to attract a female, like the stories in the geography books, and now because there are so many humans, she is prepared to do so likewise, but at a later stage. For point of fact, his hunger for her is a main element and the state of his soul, or your preferred scientific metaphor, is a defining factor. I'm not sure what she's doing, I'm a dude, she asks questions, I don't answer with questions personally, I'm not any of you, this isn't advice on the subject. Next paragraph.

Next clause?

If you're still reading this that means we have a lot to learn in less than a minute. If you're remembering this, wow you have a good memory, look at other people. Spacing out paragraph for lithographic acuity.

We are closer than ever with cities and farther than ever with distractions and this is trope, the brand we recognize as pass thru life, and in just that living. There are cities where the peacock spreads his feathers and the fittest wins sometimes by being fastest, this fact isn't a mating ritual, it's the human race. She can choose, he can choose, this is review for this blog-post, a piece of the conclusion, which you may or mightn't agree. In the cities, sometimes the busy metro-family (tribe) sees a visitor smiling and thinks this smiler is an idiot. Hypothetical, word, that citizen in mind to the tourist may see the entire city-population not smiling and dour, down and sour.

We smile across distances, the bird doesn't have teeth, the big cats we've become have. Those budy people wouldn't spend the calories to smile at - everyone - let alone make contact long enuf for it - in this sense.

Therefore, friendliness of the rural people, should not be exploited. They smile to welcome another human heart from solitude. I argue that their joy is read in their words. Likewise, the smile of a citizen would be rare and if seen, more-probably genuine from them, their emotions shouldn't be exploited.

How before the why.

In a busybody's time to smile, they don't use practicing smiling, so maybe they're not good at it, yet you can show them. You can show the foreigner to be more efficient in due turn, many hands make lite work.

We've come to the rule of law and the law of rules, I'm verily assuming this is the principle in the ying and yang duality, see previous/later posts, search engine.

When they know where they are in the space-time-continuum, the universes, they can peacock or choose, or choose not - smile or bustle thru the hustled planet, this to be themselves, but there is wilderness in us, and the reverse is also true, we are above the food chain, but still the previous humanity. That darkness at the edge of the universe. Sometimes they see too many of the visitors smiling, and they would punish them for it, this is the abuse of logic. The left attacks the right. Sometimes they see too many zombies not smiling, and they would punish them for it, this is the abuse of emotion. The right attacks the left.

The who and how of it.

You can ban rocks, it doesn't mean people won't throu them. Rocks are a metaphor. You can ban the roots of grass you hate because it's the wrong color/behavior, but it doesn't mean the grass won't grow. Grass is a metaphor. This level of control is considered a balancing act, and in this paragraph I'm even having trouble wording this, the behavior in a war that mustn't be won, but finished or avoided. When we see a sad city and decide to smile or see happy tourists and decide to explore, it might be our mass murderers think there aren't enuf smiles, or that when masses of mass-murderers (empires) see too many smiling, they decide to bring hell to earth. With all these memetic connections, even some wander into the dark area unknown, where writers and artists hide among you, and you tell them the killers you like need help and those that you don't like should be ended.

Teach the momentum of things - the heart of logic, the mind of emotion, and you will see it in your life, and you will show it to others, so that we don't all collide at the worst time. Oh, and explore other planets. Earth is the home-world, not lone-world.

"We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far."
~ H.P. Lovecraft, The Call of Cthulhu 

/mjbanks

Hero's Eye

You might list a dozen more steps before you finish the laundry and move on to the second chore on your original list. If you had to consider every small, low-level detail of every task in your day, you would probably never make it out of bed in the morning. Using a higher-level, more abstract list makes your day manageable. Abstraction makes complex tasks look simple.

Now that I have your attention I want to write-on-record. Let's look at this like a problem, just in case there are a few suicidal punk bitches still out there. Unfortunately, I only know what I know, and that often doesn't grasp with reality and certainly is at war with populism, I'll explain soon enough if that was a cliffhanger thought.

When I looked at the numbers of suicides in the military, I was stupefied, questioning my faith, if this is you, I don't mean to be condescending, frankly these are the people supposed to defend us, and for some reason they cannot save themselves, for matters of legality regarding libel, we can say their resolve has dissolved. The numbers of the dissolved are at record highs, for this I, a (lifelong) fiction hobbyist, considered that account of them had merely slipped into the field of espionage and taken new soluble identities, but for the numbers this couldn't be completely true. In my interests, anything possible, I even minimized it, considered 'it is only them and not me' and likely am in the hereafter. Theoretically, I could blame anything plausible and almost anything assumable, that state of nature to the nature of the state, it's a long list.

I like fiction, but we need an actual event to make the leap of faith, then we can continue. It is important to realize, there are people in our time that strap explosives to themselves and then explode, we call those people inbreds. They are following an unspoken code of honor held amongst old thieves and newborns, if you can't handle it yourself, don't ask for favors to get it done. What these people don't realize is soldiery and police are a piece of any family and the ones we have are just that, merely for a bigger family. Corruption is a poisonous specter, an enemy of mortality, like any other a view in depth at this is my point.

I've said before that enrollment practices could be improved if recruiters would play movies about demolition engineering and talk about the shooting range, they make a lot of promises and the shared understanding of threat goes largely unspoken. If killing isn't your business, then economics is your game, because it's a supply and demand game. There are people who commit military abandonment, I'd like you didn't do that, but being in a distinguished military you came from a successful country and you'll make some good babies and teach some good lessons, in some remote impoverished corner of the world. In my own ordinary way I briefly denied it was true, I imagined that it was a way for anarchists and speechifiers to discredit the service altogether, but then I realized they can stop enlistment. 

That only leaves one scenario that fiction embraces well but to be curt isn't easy and is written using universe. There has been a death in combat, enemy or ally, that has happened, and what we call grief floods our vision. That, coupled with all the formative concerns a fighter thinks, becomes a problem and instead of letting it go, they feel that the person is dead, that time should erase the dead. To remove them from ever existing, in regards to never becoming an enemy, to never adding a kill to a list, to never putting a human weapon so far from the west. It begins to pile, and when it shits is rains.


Often is the case that when the spies and spooks snap and commit treason, their minds are filled with thoughts of what they want, basically that they keep hoping for fantasies until they betray the groundwork. So I offer you this advice: don't imagine those who you have left or lost or laid to rest have something better, for they have gone from this place, imagine them in heaven (or hell) as if they had not made the bad choices that took them. All bad places are roaming prisons, and any place can get bad real fast. The trauma afterward supposedly can be terrible, and some can't make it on the outside either, your dreams should be what you miss the most, this is true for everyone. Imagine something that has no choice, when we dream it is no different, a beautiful lady can't resist you because you're broke, or a steamy dude dream, it's a different age.

In any case, don't imagine what you think someone else needs to make it through the night, or you might miss them and what prop item you gave them in your nightmare; think of what you want for yourself after this and think on it; I always think about the one food that I miss the most, that I'm going to eat when I get home.



~