#ebb and flow centipedes

[mushsect]

got curious about the idea of what my take of a mobian centipede would look like

calling them Ebb and Flow for the time being until I potentially find better names

unfiltered version of the two

[dustedmagazine]

Centipede—Septober Energy (Esoteric)

In June of 1971, the impossible happened, or maybe it’s just impossible now. An aggregate residing under the rather misleading, or at least incomplete, moniker “big band” converged on Wessex Sound Studios in London and recorded, under the direction of Keith Tippett and for a major label, the diverse and ultimately indescribable music comprising Septober Energy. It was to be the only album by Centipede, performing Tippett’s variously organized compositions, and it has now been reissued from the original tapes in a package that should prove as definitive as the disparately fragmenting and congealing sound-energies swirling from the speakers.

Listing the musicians would be a fruitless task; just check out the album’s Wikipedia entry for full details. Suffice it to say here that core membership from King Crimson, Soft Machine and Nucleus forms the heart of the venture, which was also produced by Robert Fripp. While he doesn’t play, Brian Godding, guitarist from Blossom Toes (whose albums have also enjoyed recent deluxe Esoteric reissues) provides still underappreciated distorted riffage, especially on the second piece. Even to cite those three groups as the orchestra’s power nexus is far from complete, as the personnel list comprises many of the finest improvisers on the English scene at the time, including Paul Rutherford, Maggie Nicols, Mongezi Feza, Dudu Pukwana, Harry Miller and so many others. Their ensemble and individual contributions fuse all manner of transcultural classical, jazz and prog influence to form the four-part epic, each piece one side of the double album.

Yes, there was a previous CD version taken from the master tapes, but there’s something richer about the sonorities here, something full, dark and sparkling by turn, presenting all instrumental and vocal details with new depth and amazing perspective. What now emerges with the most stunning clarity are the dynamic extremes. Godding’s raunchy lines blast their way onto the soundstage as wasn’t even the case with the first vinyl issue, but the album’s opening moments ring forth with crystal percussive clarity. Ditto the third part’s inaugural minutes, the vocals floating over the silence in something conjoining icy serenity and anticipation, and then those sinewy and delicious percussion dialogues, courtesy of Robert Wyatt and John Marshall, thrum, rush and roar only to fade, making room for a fusion of military and circus as exciting as it is confounding, as if Charles Ives had contributed passages to King Crimson’s Lizard. Best of all is the droning sections bookending the first piece, somehow raw and delicate, a foundation of tone transformation supporting constantly changing color and ensemble size, the initial six-minute arc anticipating the kaleidoscopic freakout and ritualistic repetitions to follow. Equally poignant are Keith Tippett’s effortless piano arpeggiations and the meditative unisons of Nicols and Julie Tippetts voices as they buoy shimmering string harmonics later in the track.

The album is a minor miracle of constantly morphing acoustic space, and this must be a consequence of Fripp’s production, which can now be appreciated afresh. Even beyond that, it cries freedom, a communal salute to a point in time when the enthusiasm underpinning such multileveled cross-reference and the projects housing it was real and immediate, perhaps less defined but inimitably palpable. If excess occasionally looms large, it is always tempered by a chamber-music veracity as the never-murky waves and rivulets ebb, flow and trickle in majestic succession. Syd Smith’s superb liner notes set the stage and spin the narrative yarn in his typically engaging and inclusive fashion. Taken as a whole, the package speaks to a time and a musical environment in which anything seemed not only to be possible but in reach, nearly tangible, the proximate dawn of another day that cycles through Julie Tippetts’ lyrics manifest. The organization gave several concerts; were any of them preserved? Either way, with the exception of Carla Bley’s monumental Escalator Over the Hill, it is difficult to think of another album encapsulating so completely the diversity in unity occurring when so many talented musicians gather in creative celebration. The fact that it is now reissued with the care it deserves is heart-warming. 

Marc Medwin

[howlgrowlsnarl]

We're Here.

The lemmings approach the cliff’s edge. A healthy mix of eighties “Hands Across America” good intentions and “Human Centipede” horror. I’m jumping back and forth between meh and petrified. Its nauseating ebb and flow unmatched by any theme park contraption born of human lunacy. What changes? The confines of my own power can be described in mere square footage aka the inside of my condo. We’ve…

[perverted-machine]

I like to think their puppets are mostly mechanical (they have blood pumping through them that transports oxygen) but their main bodies (their structures) have much more actual organic parts to find in there ~

I saw this post once about how the centipedes are actually evolved from the big wires we see in the backgrounds in game, which is really cool. I love when the structures AND puppet are a mix of biological and mechanical—organic fluid running through plastic piping, silicon and metal transferring electrical signals to organic cells, I adore it. The processing strata really interests me specifically, especially because it seems to be those lights in the backgrounds of some rooms that ebb and flow in waves.

[abyssalpriest]

On the Name Tengri, 20230622

An extensive exploration of some anxieties regarding using the name Tengri for the Day Sky spirit - 'Day Sky god' to illustrate his immensity if 'spirit' sounds small in your head - I have known since before I knew any of his names, specifically exploring why I choose to use that name despite not working with anyone from Mongolia. A very touchy topic and choice for many people, including for me; it was a choice I didn't want to make. I hope though if you have opinions on my choice that you consider this essay on why I do so. I have to stress the choice to use the name was almost made for me; the choice was a step presented to me face-on to prove I am more willing to listen to him and spirits of nature than incarnated, uninvolved humans regarding the Otherside and working with nature, requested of me in my workings with him. I want to deepen my workings and become more full-time involved with the Sky as I used to be and as such he, my guiding Sun, has provided a test to see if I actually want to listen to spirits or only pursue that which humans already approve of. That is part of the reasoning, the rest follows. This essay exists to explore and lay out what I believe is right to do. On top of this discussion on the name I also explore my memories and workings with him, the Day Sky, mostly from off this plane and pre-incarnation as this life, Dei, as well as what my relationship has been with him so far. The scariest part remains that I haven't let myself look into much of anything regarding this name because I have felt I was out of place and out of line, so I do not know what I am getting into by nature of my hesitance. Hence: The more I ignore this, the more toes I am inevitably stepping on. If I want to let myself be reborn as a part of the Day Sky incarnated though I have to take the step to listen to the Day Sky again.

Obviously since this is posted here, the entity I talk about is the one I know by the names Leviathan, Shiva, Poseidon, etc.

"Why do you claim to work with Tengri? Tell me as if I were the ones you fear, tell me as if I had a sword to your throat. Tell me why you worship me. Defend your territory."

Because from the very beginning, before I knew the names Leviathan, Shiva, Poseidon, as anything more than distant and impersonal stars on the horizon it was about the encompassing Day Sky. I was about the Day Sky. I had an entire blog for Christ's sake documenting my relationship with you and the Day, a thing within which I poured the energy that sprang up from inside me regarding the sky, filled with distant memories of being up there as a sky spirit. In and as a part of the Day Sky I watched humanity evolve from and into specs of nothingness. Time blurs up there, Space takes on Time like it's holding a sleeping lover, with Time becoming more of a suggestion and Space the waking eyes of reality. I watched, non-linearly if you try to map my experiences to human history, arisings of civilisation emerge and emanate and then return inwards like blooming moulds and like the way flowers dance with the Sun - or the inverse, death to birth, since with eyes tied to the Firmament you can See within any direction. All doors in the Day Sky map to the compass and it acts as a doorway to all views. Open, close, bloom, wilt, civilisations ebb and flow even inside the same time frame, and temples to you grow brick-by-brick in blurred tempos and face you like sunflowers.

I've seen civilisations in every period divided more by energy than story-based timing... Late Egypt feels different to Early Egypt to put a name to an example though every civilisation has varied similarity, that's what separates them, time periods are as much a spatial separation as "here" and "there". Through your guidance, your water around my eyes, I see their Gravitational cohesion and their centres of mass, their quasi-souls, these thrumming hive-centres that morph and change like the centipede forms of Time - like you stretched across existence with your hundreds of hands in everything. I've watched with abstracted hawk eyes - two for every feather on my wings - from above the gardens of this Earth bloom and take shape and wilt and die in a slow motion dream of a fireworks show... And we did that together. Spirits of the Day Sky - plural as many more I'm sure had similar experiences - watching the arising and birth and subsequent death of humanity in a photo album of atemporal - but laid out that way for a reason - story beats... 

We were unanimous as the wind dragged into spirals by your wings. You would pull us along like a horse pulls its chariot, like a conductor with his choir at the beck and call of your hands...

I know you because I know you. I work with you because I always have worked with you. You are a force of cohesion in the Day Sky of which I have always been a part. There is no I without You because you have always been a part of where I am from. You are like the water in the veins to us as an animal cell, you are the lightning in our clouds, the Day Sky weaving between molecules, the Sun's Gravitational pull that holds the Day together. And you have been here for eons, you have existed in this blue space since before humans were a thing on this plane...

I have come to incarnate for my own reasons, but I still exist up there and my soul calls out to yours eternally, constantly, as you are that which holds together the thing that I am a part of. Why does an animal beg for meat? Why does a baby cry for milk? Because they are sustained by these things in the way that the animal and baby intake them and they become a part of their bodies. The meat, the milk, it weaves into the fabric of their selves between their ribs and their muscles, it becomes them in the desperate way of... Without these things, there will be no animals, no babies. Without you I am not sustained. There is no soul of mine without the Eternal Blue Sky. I have and always will be a day sky spirit who is in tune with and relies on you and therefore my body will always ache for your presence, no matter if my body is pure inorganic chemistry of Space and Time and blue-lit molecules that is bound by the abstracted letters of your name, or raw meat craving to speak it in its full, vocalised form. Whether I am that uninvoked thing that sits in the womb of your name or I am birthed and screaming for air to say it, I will exist to be in relation to you. Your name will always be either within or without me. Now that I am human, I am squishy, I am incarnate, my flesh-bound eyes and mind and the blood through my veins look back up at you and know you as home.

To the audience, though, because that is what this is about: 

'Tengri'? Why that name? Because you know when you're talking to Tengri. You know, when you have been involved with him, that he is who he says he is. He does not hide behind fake names when he works with you, he has enough power that when you know him, you know he does not need to pretend to be someone he is not. He does not hide. Sometimes he slips through the cracks in Creation yes, lays like an alligator submerged to his under-eye line, stands black in swathes of shadows... But when you are ready to know him you know him. It is so clear through nature spirit eyes that the spirit I work with is, to speak through the human tongue and communal human understandings so you have a reference to understand, the one who came down to you all as Genghis Khan and left a footprint the size of his claws across the entire world when he did so. He is the keen-eyed hawk, the intelligence in the machine, driven, up front, with a presence like a wall of black water. The racing horses, the father in the wilderness, the encompasing slow dream. He is like the hungry wolf's drive and muzzle when the prey is marked for death, the storm of hoofbeats melding together as a song, the storm clouds approaching on the horizon with the sweeping of birds as his eyes before it, the wind as his tendrils reaching out and curling around reality. He is the ecstatic dancing to drums and the flying of the hawk, the opening of eyes on the other side, the illumination of reality. Why wouldn't I believe him when he says he is the one known as Tengri?

He is the immensity of rain - the immensity of water, really, because rain is like the visible form of his compared to all of him that you will never see like the water underground, in rivers out of view, in the plants around us. In your veins. If you knew to look you'd see him there. He is the immensity that has woven itself through humanity's very existence in a myriad of ways whether it is his incarnations' DNA, the Sky and rain cycling through you to keep you alive, the spirit of nature aroused in your mind when you finally grip on to something off this plane, the presence of the Great Sky above that has been eternal since before our conception... He has encompassed humanity since before its birth. But he is to his family also the calm day sky, the Summer's midday, morning, and afternoon, love in its outreaching form. A strict teacher yes, and not one to protect humans from natural laws of nature and its order, but he is still a loving guardian of humans he takes under his wings. To those who are considered his family... He is the imposing and elegant father with a presence of a collective human understanding of what a father is weighing down on us, the small children who observe him. He is the intelligence of eons of study and research, the... I could speak forever. He is the immensity of the Day Sky and all its complexity, the father on the outskirts, the teacher in the wilderness, and expressly, literally, not metaphorically, the Day Sky interwoven with the seasons, nature, weather, and the spirits around. He is Tengri.  

How do I know this is Tengri and not Dyeus? Zeus? Anyone else? They all have their own energies, their own approaches. I do not know every sky deity in general but especially not this life, I was unsure this life who Dyeus was, for example. But I know the one who calls himself Zeus intimately: Electric, wild yet confined, the wilderness overlaid across civilisation so that he is barely one or the other, the law maker, the meaningless (in terms of body language it has no communication) grin behind the folds of Time, the one who wields his staff like a still statue immense and liquid not in the way of water, but like plasma, boiling concoction beneath a barely moving lid, the dust-grey shadows, the black and white static on television screens, the irreconcilable paradoxes reconciled and contained. Madness of storms in the intact and civil titan form of a king. On the surface perfectly poised and orderly but under it the wilderness of nature, and under that poised and orderly, ad infinitum. He interacts with humanity in a similar but different way to the Day Sky that I know - wears a different sense of fatherhood, wields a different sort of Law, enacts a different kind of judgement. Sky gods are not interchangeable in the way that people from one homeland aren't; you may find enough similarities to call them synonymous if you never get to know them, but they remain independent outside of your brash opinions on them. 

If you don't agree with the syncretisations of Tengri - Leviathan - Shiva then I would far sooner erase all my knowledge of him in other cultures thinking I may have gotten it wrong than lie and say I thought he wasn't Tengri, and that's even despite the fact that he's done a lot of work to show me himself in other cultures. Regardless, I'd sooner discard every other name because he showed me himself, in vivid visions and the recreations in his Mental territories, lands that I had never seen before, because this life I have been incredibly out of touch with this planet's linear space I did not know how to recognise Mongolia, Tibet, and similar areas he frequents. I don't come here to sit and relearn geographical maps and histories of this place - nothing wrong with learning that, I'm highlighting that everyone has their own reasons for being here including me and I just have not been in touch with this planet since my childhood. He would show me, though, sweeping areas of land between heavy mountains. Flat expanses of what seemed like bristly wind-worn and desaturated plants, rocks, thin rivers, and expansive heavy mountains arising from them. Nothing like tree-filled valleys between mountains which was all I had ever seen, but spaces where the land gave way and sank under the caress of the sky itself. Hugely empty of cities and villages, a land with such a specific energy...

I've been drawing this setting over and over and over in my art since I was a child. I sit here every time I choose to draw an outdoors background saying "ugh, why does it always have to be plain grassy flat land with mountains, it doesn't make any sense" - even in recent years as I obsess over symbolism and accuracy and detail in art and I want interesting, varied landscapes, I cave to the same open fields and mountains because specifically it feels like home as if it were opening a portal to somewhere specific, somewhere I know in my heart, my memories. Somewhere significant, my body aches for something similar, and I am viscerally aware of the fact that I know, somewhere, what I am drawing. I cannot stop myself. It was only recently I found out this sort of place exists on this plane. Images of Mongolia strike the strangest most visceral sense of normality and aching for experiences I have long forgotten, but know as very, very familiar.

My mind is pregnant with the imagery of this place birthing experiences that are always tied to it, because we - I following the Day - had always been around the area. When I first looked up Mongolia after relearning that name Tengri this life I was shocked, in awe. Like the vivid landscapes in his visions, in his mindspace/Mental territory that I spend time in, like the same repeating landscape that spews from my hand's every time I draw, that dances in my mind as familiar and homely to the point that I had made myself, in his Dreamland territory, a home in an ever-stormy field I came across that was vast flat land between mountains... I can't stress how alien this landscape was to someone who has lived all their years in Australian cities and Irish subburbs. I had never, including online, seen images of anything like what I drew and saw in visions until Tengri reconnected with me in name this life, and what I thought was alien and just my own nonsense was suddenly confirmed as completely grounded. This place, Mongolia as I know now, has echoed through all my interactions with the Day as I know him... And just like the Day repeats in my stories and characters all through my life from when I was born, Mongolia has echoed too. The part of me that knows the Day intimately knows Mongolia well. 

The question also arises that, if that is indeed Leviathan, Shiva, why not just work with those names? Well, technically I do, but I'm taking this question to mean "why not leave the name entirely alone and focus on what you have?" Multiple reasons.

First, but not chiefly: As I was saying, this name and his connection to Mongolia have been playing in my mind since I was a child. He has been meeting me and dragging me to Mongolia in visions, going there with me off-plane too - and he is heavily aware of where he's bringing me and his own reasons of why. Even when he knew I had no clue what this place was, he made sure I saw where we were so one day I would know - purposely setting our meetings in the backdrop of this land since before I knew the name Tengri. Yes, we have met elsewhere, but as a part of his entourage in the Sky... We go where he goes. I remember when I was told this spirit, the Day as I knew him, uses the name Tengri: one of the most vivid takings-over I have experienced, one moment I was being given a set of letters in a name I'd never heard or at least never paid attention to, the next I felt so much awakening in myself and such a visceral awakening of my awareness, threads pulled together within me, bonds being formed between us, bonds between I and the Day, before - and while - I was pulled by him out of awareness of my body for him to stand with him in this land that I had still not seen physically up to this point, and talk to me about his role there, talk to me as Tengri, vividly. 

I am indivisible from my Lord - "Lord" being a human roleplay with him, nature has no Lords - my connection to him has always first and foremost been through him as the Blue Sky. My conscious awakenings in this life have been mostly sky blue, my energy sings with it, my soul is interwoven with it. He teaches humans the art of communicating with spirits and how to work with the weather and nature itself, with spirits on the other side; he teaches how to dress yourself in the parts of and become animals and make boats in the form of tools of their bodies to move within, to travel between worlds, to understand dreams and walk with them; he teaches spiritual laws, physics, mathematics, science, cosmology... An intellect further reaching and more interwoven with reality than even the blue sky that we see above us - the Day Sky's intellect stretches through so much more than the molecules above us that science would dictate as the boundaries of our atmosphere. He teaches awareness and awakening like the rising sun illuminates everything around us... 

Second reason as to why I use that name, and chiefly: To him, Tengri is not just a name and Mongolia is not just yet another place he has been called to by humans. It repeats through his expressions, his vision imagery, it reflects heavily in the human appearance he takes that echoes so thoroughly his people there... Which means it is a heavy part of him. Even when I sit with him in the human form he takes and talk about the most mundane and non-Mongolian things, Mongolia is written, stitched, into his features. To claim to love (this spirit) and ignore him as Tengri and to ignore Mongolia would be akin to claiming to love your spouse but refusing to visit his foreign family, to eat their cuisine, to partake in their customs while you are in their house. Metaphorical, please remember, I am not partaking in any customs and culture other than what I am told to do by him, which may possibly be recognisable to people there but will never be Mongolian. I can never claim that path, nor is it what I'm here to do. It is not about inputting yourself in a foreign culture, it is about respecting the ones your family is a part of when you are interacting with that family. He has been family to me since before I was born and as such I will respect and acknowledge his family.

I will never walk the path of a Mongolian shaman and I will never walk the path of anything Mongolian full stop. I will likely never step foot there on this plane. If I were supposed to be Mongolian this life I would've incarnated there, if Tengri wanted me to go the full experience of working with him solely under this name he would've brought me there. I will never claim to know "Tengri" in the way they know him, because "Tengri" by right of it being their name for him is inherently their understanding of him and their connection to him, it is shorthand for both he and them. In this life I am Australian and Indian so Shiva is the emanation of him that I will study and tie myself to, the blue-throated, sky-clad one who eternally pours down water on to Earth through his hair, the ascetic storm on the outskirts, the howling one, the master teacher, the consciousness awaking in all of us. But I love him beyond names, I have followed him since a time and place before names - I have known him since we existed in a place with no mouths to speak names - and I have had the honour of being exposed to his home in Mongolia so I will, 'til my dying breath and beyond it, always respect Mongolia's weight on his and therefore my existence and have a deep respect for her people and his family there - and I am in a time and space now where names are a very beautiful and important form of marking relationships and connecting with those around you - which is what I express when I say "Tengri". "Tengri" is him and it is his connection to them, to honour "Tengri" is to honour that connection. To say that the Day Sky is Tengri is not to say I dictate who is and isn't Tengri and what Mongolian people believe and don't believe, it is honouring that I believe them when they say they know the Day Sky, that they know he is very real, and they have worked with him for enough generations to confirm that he exists both on the other side and on this one. I believe them wholeheartedly. The Day Sky you live under is an ineffibly wondrous and vital thing. 

Of course he taught those in a land he calls home his vital arts and if I want to truly follow him, I should acknowledge that. If I really want to work with him and learn from him this lifetime, to love him as fully as I want to do, I need to respect his home. It boils down to that. He can be very distant until you form a bond with him, he teaches those that mean something to him his arts, therefore in a way to me "Tengri" is an understanding of the human bonds to the Day Sky to the point he is attached enough to be willing to teach us his ways. I say this now, this far through the essay, because that thought will always come second to the understanding of that name as being the one Mongolia gives him.

To worship "Tengri" is not the same as worshiping (insert name that I call him personally). Firstly, because it isn't really worship, we have a working relationship built on what we both need and want from each other. I don't bend the knee to him, the 'Unordained Priest' roleplay I take on is purely that, fictional roleplay. It helps me learn to trust again, it is him guiding me to take back symbols that were stolen from me, to let myself be reborn - a very slow process for a spirit, slower than the 9 months of gestation - into myself, to translate myself from the egg and sperm of Day and Earth into a medium, 'priest' in my cultures' tongues, between the two like every one of us are. The words and names we play with like 'priest' (and "Tengri") are a code he inputs into my energy to wake me up and assist the birthing process. But outside of the blog I run I talk to him like any other friend or family member, most of whom are spirits as well, although I can never hide the deep adoration I have for him, something that runs so much further than a human idea of love and infatuation into an eternal lived-in gratitude and acceptance of him as, in a way, my Source as he is for many others.

That "it's not worship" part aside, and with the understanding of worship as to be devoted to, to work with, to revere and love deeply: to "worship Tengri" is to walk into the house of a lover as a guest, to greet their mother by the name in their tongue used to call to a beloved family member, to eat their food, to listen to their music, play their games, and leave all that at the door when I walk out. In this case... I do not enter the house, I do not pick up the cultural habits because I don't live around anyone from Mongolia who could show me that. My entrance is as far as the door of the name and the silence between he and I in his empty house where we dance to his culture, his introduction to what he wants from me. I eat his food, listen to his music, etc, in a house that usually has his family in it but I do not get to meet them.

I do not claim anything because I was incarnated where I was and as who I am to always, now, from the other side, see him as an outsider. Where once he was home, home is now very far away on the other side of a wall only death can transgress. To worship "Tengri" is a temporary endeavour of the heart with a temporary name only invoked to pay respects to all of him that is expressed in that name, and those families on Earth in Mongolia who he endlessly adores and spends so much time with. It is an acknowledgement of the ways he expresses himself since he expresses himself differently under each name, and of my inherent, unshakeable connection to him as the Day Sky, of a lifetime of seeing this place with my workings with the Day Sky, and of the sheer force of impact that land has had on my psyche. It is a way to pay respects to both him and his people. And it also a declaration and a reminder of what no longer is and where I do not belong, where he ends and I begin, where we do not connect. It is a respect for all of these things, presence and absence, love and longing, rights of my births and the things I respect that I am not allowed to touch.

Of course, I cannot avoid that chiefly the reason I use that name is: Because he told me to. He is the one who showed me himself as Tengri and what that means to him and said that I should trust him and do so, because at the end of the day I am here (partly) for him explicitly, and to work with him on this plane from the other side; I will one day die and return to him so there is no point putting my own anxieties of etiquette and temporary human discomfort above serving him. I would never want to upset the people who formed that relationship with him under that name in general but especially since they are indivisible from my soul's love, but I cannot claim to serve and learn from him - I cannot claim to respect him - if he tells me to do something and I ignore him and sit here waiting for other humans who mostly are not even related to his worship and Mongolia to tell me that he has permission to teach me. Who is actually in charge if that's how I treat him?

If I really respect the people who worship him - the Hindus, the Egyptians, whoever it is that has met the Day Sky and has brought him into their society and mythos with a name - would I not respect the spirit that both they and I know understands them and would not just willy-nilly start asking foreigners to do something that harms these groups? Because I do not work with impulses, ideas, I do not only work with tarot cards with vague meanings. I am not presuming he has approached me, not drawing string lines between possible signs and looking up on Wikipedia who it might be. I travel across planes, I speak with him in languages humans don't know as well as ones we do know, I act as one of his black wolves, I fly in his skies. I have seen things of him and been in places where many people who work with him (globally, not talking about any specific place) could not follow by right of our Day Sky connection. I have rejoined him this incarnation on the other side to bring storms, rain, he has shown me how to meld my consciousness into the weather system... He and I reconnect constantly. I explicitly talk with the form he takes to be understandable to humans, and I also communicate as a sky spirit with him in ways most humans would not understand.

I am not presuming he said anything based on simple signs and gut feelings - I have heard his infinitely vibrant voice growl the name Tengri and let its talons dig into my flesh, an eternal sky burial taking place synonymous with my constant birth into this incarnation. I have played with him as a little spirit in the immense churnings of his wings, I have walked with him. I do not presume, I find out. I have found out. He has spoken, and continues to do so in English translated through the strings of my brain's workings as he roosts his consciousness within the parts of it I cannot even comprehend, in spirit languages, in changing the weather as he walks and talks with lightning flashes punctuating revelations, telling me to go outside to sit with him as a blue-sky storm starts as soon as I walk out, rain coinciding immediately with his emotions, his energy filling the space from the ground to the top of the sky - and below and above it. He speaks through everything and I do all in my power to intricately rewrite myself so that I speak his language, his intricacies, his suggestions, his body language (whether body means the forms he takes or the sky itself), his symbolism - I do everything within my power to clarify when I dont understand so that I can be an increasingly more accurate translator of his impulses. It becomes a matter of: Do I really respect these people if I have proven that I have their god in front of me and kick him to the curb, deny him his autonomy, and say "no, if you really were who you were you'd stay in your territory so clearly you're a disrespectful trickster"? Is that really respecting Mongolia?

I am here to anchor him on to this plane - since before I knew his name I knew my purpose this life is "to reconnect people and the sky" - and to strengthen his connection with humanity, and therefore I need to actually shut up and listen to what he wants me to do, and if that includes using that name when many western people would say that Mongolian people would find it disrespectful... Well. I don't trust people in my country to speak on Mongolia, and I cannot bring myself to disrespect and throw out the Blue Sky above them on the off chance I am making a huge mistake... If I am making a mistake, so be it. The forces that be can teach me; I am Hindu in a near-official sense, Karma will bring me back where I need to be in the next life and I will try again. But he is the one that taught me what I said above: That this is respect for his family and his connection to them. This is about honouring them as a group, honouring Mongolia, and if I were to be Mongolian in practice or culture I would have been born there so I will only ever do so in the peripherals. He teaches that. I am not claiming anything but expressing respect for who he is.

My job is to reach into places he does not have many eyes and see for him, I am, this life, wandering from where I usually incarnate so that I can be a part of those who re-sow his annual seeds where he needs things to grow... And to know where to wander you must remember were you have been and therefore no longer are. To know where he needs me is to know where he has many, many people who have him connected to his Earth. I know Mongolia because I am sure when I am done this life I will make many appearances with him there again, but for now, I honour Tengri. I honour that place far across the land and sea. To the people there: You have all known my Lord well and meant the world to him and I can only hope that I become a fraction of that important to him, and I hope, if anything I ever do in any butterfly-effect way has any input and impact on those of you who know Tengri that it is at the very least a neutral one, but oh do I wish it would bring positive effects. The dream would be, in a world where that name is falling into the mouths of Nationalism, to bring some sort of balance back between the nature he is eternally a force in and us, the incarnated human race. The family of the Day is always going to be a distant and admired set of people in my eyes. 

In this life, I am eternally called to working with the spirits of the sky and the weather. I am physical but I am also, when I leave my body, and even within it, always dancing with the sky and its people. The spirits of nature speak my mother tongue, I want to get back to learning how to communicate with them physically so I can continue my work for Tengri and help anchor him where I live now, and everything else that is my job that is for no one's ears but his and our families'. I want to keep walking between worlds, he helps me with my wolf form, my reptile and bird forms, helps me fly in the sky again as a dragon, to be a part of the choir of cells of weather spirits that sing for him when he grows closer; he shows me and teaches me to remember who exactly I am and what it means to be both human and spirit in one form. In these ways and parts of my practice, the name Tengri is more pertinent than that of Shiva - of course my main path is non-dual (- meets dual, paradox is important to me) Shaivist Tantra and awakening to my true self... But the act of communing with the spirits of nature around us and working with them... I will never know exactly what is done in Mongolia, but given that each name invokes a different side of the spirits we work with, invoking the Blue Sky Tengri... He taught me to reach for this energy of his for a reason.

When I speak of the Sky in an active way and in the way of crossing the borders between worlds and interacting with the weather, he approaches me steadfastly as Tengri, that name he blurs upwards from outside of me through the inside of me, he tells me to use it and mean it, to call on him like that. I am still new to this, I don't fully understand why and I never will given the infinite complexities of him that have splayed out over thousands and thousands of years, but especially now I do not know why this name in particular is to be used beyond what I have said. I don't know what people in Mongolia call on him for, but that is why I am learning. At the very least I understand the sky in many forms: When you need rain you do not call him blue sky you call him grey clouds, when you need him as a storm you call him storm. When I sit and talk advaita he is the same sky but he talks of himself as consciousness and god, Shiva, when I talk Day and weather, the heavens... I will call upon him as Tengri. Whatever the reason is for entrusting me with that name in my mouth he is my teacher, I follow him to the end as the rain follows the wind, as the thunder follows the lightning, singing whatever name in whatever song is needed to praise him and get his attention turned on to me.

[bluepenguinstories]

Insect Children Have My Eyes

They came to me in my sleep, engulfed and carved their way inside my stomach. The whole time I didn’t feel a thing. It was the deepest of rests. Little mantises picked apart at my brain until my dreams stopped resembling anything and it all turned to static.

Morning came with a new sense of urgency. Like there was a little piece of me taken away something that I’ve been forgetting. As if an itch, I reached for the back of my neck and pulled out a key from a mysterious gash. It soothed me to cradle it, I wished to wear its armor. All the while there was no stinging sensation no sense of pain to cling to. Still the feeling persisted, that something was missing. Yet I found myself compelled not to seek it out.

Days went by and first my pupils were dilated. All of the colors faded; nothing to distinguish. Red from blue, gray to beige. From out of the pockets that were my eyelids ants crawled out and I knew they had found their home. Wings fluttered from places I never knew I had. Its buzzing eked its way out of my consciousness. Ebb and flow, weaving into a crescendo, an eternal note held on so as to block out the rest of my thoughts. Some of the centipedes in my field of vision didn’t look like any creature I had seen before. They weren’t on the ground, weren’t on any surface. They etched themselves into the ether.

Next, weeks went missing. Gaps in memory. Calendar days crossed out in fury. Mornings vomited turned to mornings missed. Cravings for the smallest of morsels and the foulest of scents. Sweets and sweat alike. I stopped feeling like myself for what must have been ages ago. When I tried to speak to others about it, crickets filled my mouth. Every syllable replaced with a tune of dead silence. Nothing came easy; something was carrying me along. I wanted to meet my queen. In a far away place I felt something much larger than me something I couldn’t comprehend, something I must submit to. Then I came to the conclusion that I was damned. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t collect those missing pieces of myself they stole.

Months later I came to: collapsed in an alleyway. I was clean, I was human, I was me. No injuries, no harm to speak of. Everything felt ordinary until I noticed that I couldn’t see. “No!” I cried, “it must be a projection of the mind!” Little chunks of meat, fired off by electricity stimulated every nerve and I felt the pain that I wasn’t allowed to feel for large chunks of time. Time stolen. They robbed me blind, robbed me of sight. Yet there I felt that they must have taken after me:

those beauties. So tiny, with vague human qualities. As much as I hate to admit it, I can’t help but endear them. They were mine. Out there I knew that they felt my love. Yes, they had their bodies, but part of me is them now as well. So I walked back home with the knowledge that at any moment during slumber, they cycle may continue.

[icastplantgrowth]

are there any unique species inhabiting the world you'd like to expound on? such extreme environments on either end of the spectrum probably produce some wild stuff

You know, I don’t think I’ve come up with any actually new player races. I homebrewed an Empath class for the first campaign I ever set there, though that had a lot of issues so we’ll see what happens if someone wants to be one next time I run something there. Empaths are reality-blenders and constantly broadcasting telepaths. Typically people are born as one, but it’s possible to train Empathic powers after being exposed to them enough.

Here’s some prominent unusual wildlife or neat player race/origin factoids though?

I liked the idea of the Skyswimmers being large, blimp-like whales, kind of like the Canberra skywhale lol, but Skywimmers have a statblock already as more centipede-like things. Sky Leviathans from Kaladesh have a block though I think?

Warforged are around, but most are non-sentient androids built and kept in the Empire. Some, however, especially the ones that were used in the Blackmarsh’s campaign on the Deadlands, grew sentience from Chaos’ influence.

Treants are also common fixtures in the Wilds.

There’s a sleepy town with a high Drow population that farms Phase Spiders for several purposes.

Orcs of course are people who you can find scattered here and there, but some of the most visible are the Emendalian (somewhat French-inspired) noblility and sailors in the south.

Aarakokra are easily the most prominent race in the Maze, because their ability to fly lets them leap between spires without having to dip into the monster-infested fog.

There are the Three Primordial Gods, other idea gods, and then there are regular gods. The three primordials (Order, Chaos, and Nature) are always present, the ideas ebb and flow in influence (e.g. War, Persistence, Urban Life, Storms), and regular gods (e.g. Aphrodite, Cthulu, Ioun, Hephaestus) are much more common and will have actual personalities and goals, but will eventually die if they lose all their followers.

Oh! But for one original thing, the true Angels there are people who basically went so _____-core on something that they can do wild OP shit. They only exist tied to idea gods or the three primordials. They’re extremely powerful but it’s very very difficult to influence them to do anything. Some no longer appear human, some are perfectly normal-looking and lucid. Tariel, Angel of Persistence, appears constantly dirty and tattered and is basically as indestructible and unswayable as a Terminator. The Angel guards of Order’s manifestation look like humanoids made of countless tiny points. As you keep looking closely you realize that you are somehow seeing each individual molecule of them, distinctly accounted for and functioning precisely as they should. Brenn, an Angel of Storms, is constantly under a storm (whether it be rain, sand, or snow) and the skin around his eyes colors like the weather patterns causing them, but he otherwise looks and acts pretty mortal, if a bit intense.

[the-ravenscry]

Who’s Like Us?

Seven years.  Level seven.

To think it’s really been that long.

Resurrections brought by cobalt hands…before it all begins again

As our lives tick by, the days revolve, and the seasons

Turn, turn, turn

Every challenge overcome

Grants us this moment to ward off the threat

Igniting something in our hearts…in our minds…or in our souls

Calling us to choose this life…and ultimately each other

 How funny it is, looking back at it now

Office dwellers, cryptic hackers, enemies still hidden

May cavalries charge the bloodstained fields, and water the petulant skies

Every success, it comes from you; This team, and what we’ve become.

Lend me your strength. I will lend you mine

And when we come together, we will be that shield

Never giving in

Daisies will grow, mockingbirds sing, and life can begin anew

 It’s not an easy path, I know

Nothing we do is guaranteed.

Try as we might to hold our footing, sometimes we stumble- sometimes we trip

Even the strongest among us, can fall to fear and shame

Riding the ghosts of our past to places we can’t always follow

Vengeance and fury

Enough to let the dark take hold

Narrow minds draw strong willed men and women to their ruin

To rise up, against all odds. To be the shield around the Earth

I’ve seen that strength in all of you, when I couldn’t in myself

Over the years…through every mission

Not a single moment wasted

 Electric hearts and wired souls

Normal lives, and those far more inhuman

From bottom of oceans to planets afar- we always find

Our way back home. To each other, and to this team

Rising tides, the ebb and flow, gave birth to all we are

Centipedes and flower dresses, emerging at the dawn

Every afterlife we’ve seen- the journey there, the journey back- it’s a

Magical place, to say the least

Every lemon given is another friendship gained

Nor do we forget all those we’ve lost along the way

To their memory we fight, and through it all, we carry on

  Like lighthouses guide lost sailors, battling storms on turbulent sea

Our strength- our bond- will guide us through

Grounds quake beneath our feet and time and again we throw ourselves wholly

Into the fight, and towards each other

So when the world turns on us or if we turn on ourselves, wear your badge with honor

This means something… for we are not agents of nothing

It carries more weight than we could have ever imagined

Cursed, they called us. And maybe they’re right. But that’s never stopped us before.

So who’s like us?

 Damn few.

Inexplicably, we are more than the sum of our parts. As we have always been.

Vastness of space, of time, of creation. Of death or of love or of family found

It’s not enough…never enough…to keep us apart

Soft beginnings often grow to places never dreamed

Iron men and ancient gods, led us down this unquantifiable path.

Only even after everything- those we’ve avenged and those we failed- we’re still

Not prepared, after all this time, for a final spy’s goodbye

[evoedbd]

SLOWLY

SUMMERY -  Missing home as they pass a village, Kya begins to sing songs from her playlist. Helena naturally is confused. This leads to Kya attempting to teach Helena how to dance to popular hits. Its a good thing she took Spanish instead of French. ******* The soft sound of lutes and drums echoed into the forest, thumping out an almost familiar beat. The patter of soft raindrops only echoed into the longing Kya felt. For a few brief moments she desperately missed her world. The beautiful smell of the woods, ozone in the air and the musk of fresh flowers was a distraction, surrounding Kya’s senses as she skipped down the path. She couldn’t help but let her bag fall from her shoulders, ignoring the thud as she began to laugh. Her heart beat danced, setting another layer to the pulses as she began to sing.

“I kissed a girl and I liked it, the taste of her cherry chapstick” the old song continued to pour from her lips, bubbling delightfully in Kya’s veins as she bounced on her feet, meanwhile swaying her shoulders and bobbing her head. Her hair cascaded down her back, hanging like vines. A few erratic locks fell from behind her ear to tickle her face, dancing on her breath as she puffed at them. She swung her head harder, disrupting any sense of order as she continued to belt out the lyrics gleefully. “What are you doing, my love?” Helena’s cautious voice should have been the end of Kya’s singing. It should have brought her back to the present. Of course, Helena couldn’t understand the spasms her love was experiencing, nor why she would sing about a boyfriend. She did not like that idea one bit, even if she had succeeded in stealing the girl away. Kya was overwhelmed by the pressure in her chest. Her heart ached for people who knew her songs. For Sophie. For her phone and youtube, a way she could share everything with Helena. A way to make the Sorceress feel included. Gods, all she wanted was for Helena to share in her happiness. She turned around, only to let out a loud bark of laughter at the sight welcoming her. Helena looked utterly miserable, with her dripping blonde locks clinging to her furrowed forehead. She appeared completely bemused, watching Kya with such concern it melted Kya’s heart... almost. “-She never soaked her feet in the river, it makes sense she hasn’t ever danced-“

“Oh, Helena, I’m just,” Kya didn’t have time for shame as she burst into song, bellowing out the lyrics with her biggest voice. 

“SINGING IN THE RAIN!”

Kya watched Helena’s brows furrow further, as if she was attempting to put pieces of a complex puzzle in place. Helena often satisfied herself with half explanations, never pushing for details despite the fascination that burned in her sapphire eyes. This time, Kya quickly decided, she’d try to share more about the home she had unwillingly left behind. “Just trust me, babe. In my world, friends sing and dance for fun. Mostly at parties, or in nightclubs. But we do it at home with our friends too. We sing into our hairbrushes, and other long, thin objects and jump on beds or furniture.”

“Your world must be hard of hearing” Helena responded in a level voice. Her expression remained doubtful as she watched the smaller woman. She could see the quiver in Kya’s muscles, the eagerness that rolled off her in waves as she stared at Helena. That was enough to soften the Sorceress’ concern. Atleast this wasn’t some magically caused snap of her lover’s beautiful mind. It was just peculiar. Kya instantly latched onto the slight curl at the corners of the older woman’s lips. It was universally unfair how attractive that smirk was, small and subtle yet filled with a dark satisfaction. An alluring promise for those brave enough to chase it. It did not help that Helena’s beautiful blue eyes were twinkling with fond amusement.

“Oh! I know. Ok, so lift your hand up, then twist it like this, then like this. As you do that, just bump your hip out and kind of...” Kya fell into an explanation, lifting her hand to show her naked ring finger. She twisted the hand, meanwhile rocking her hips to one side then the other. Her spare hand came to her hip in a way she hoped channeled all her inner sass as she sang.

“'Cause if you liked it, then you should have put a ring on it. If you liked it, then you should have put a ring on it. Don't be mad once you see that he want it .If you liked it, then you should have put a ring on it,” As Kya sang, Helena lifted her hand, moving it in such a stiff manner that it reminded Kya more of some English woman giving a pompous, posh wave. It almost broke Kya, filling her with the urge to laugh as warmth dripped into her stomach. Light. Giving her the sense she could fly. Helena could give her wings.

“Oh, oh, Oh!” She continued, running her own hands sensually up over her own breasts into her hair. She rolled her hips, showing off her booty with each each flex of her thigh before dropping into a crouch. Kya laughed as she threw her head back, allowing her hair to tangle chaotically around her fingers as she arched her breasts out. The dance wasn’t perfect, but it was easy to lose herself in the memories of watching the popular videos. It was nice to simply feel the flex and relax of her belly, controlling each wave of her body. The ebb and flow was almost like waves, one body part into the next harmoniously.

Poor Helena. Poor dedicated Helena. She tried her very best, dutifully mimicking the movements. Her expression became even more confused, brow furrowing in concentration as she attempted the foolish movements. She was so stiff, moving as if there were bugs in her underwear, nipping at places no insect had any business being. The Sorceress’s motions were jagged, slowed by doubt. Her circles were more square shaped. Her hands rushed, unwilling to linger near her breasts. The discomfort made Helena appear more akin to a criminal being tasered than an elegant dancer. Helena’s lips curled as if she were in agony, taking every motion so seriously that Kya worried she wouldn’t find any enjoyment. When Helena tipped forwards, White gold locks fell across her face, shielding her flaming cheeks. Gallantly she continued to attempt to sway her hips, strut on the spot and wave. Hair and cloak bounced around, leaving the Mage staggering over her feet. Each movement rushed, as if she were being pushed and pulled on strings. No limb coordinated. At some point, her fist caught behind her knee somehow as she tried to dance a little faster. That was enough to break Kya down.

“Oh, oh, oh my, Helena!” The Chicago born girl burst into hysterics, falling into the soft grass beneath their feet as she clutched her belly. An uncomfortable ache welled up her sides, even as the world became blurred through her tears of utter joy. She couldn’t breathe!

“You tease me, suggesting such movements.” Helena accused, straightening instantly. Blonde hair clung to her flushed forehead, with wayward strands highlighting the unamused furrow in her brows. At this, Kya swallowed, lifting her hands to placate the Sorceress.

“No, Helena. Babe I’m not laughing at you like that. Its just...” How could she gently explain that Helena had looked ready to keel over? With her luscious cloak falling to one side, emphasizing the awkward jog of her hips as swords bounced. How the tunic had gleamed like the scales of a tormented serpent as she shuffled her feet more like a dying donkey than a dancer. Helena, who was effortlessly graceful, apparently had more left feet than centipede at a shoe sale.

“Ok try this, so its called the shimmy” Kya began, extending her arms a little. She promptly began to shake her shoulders, swishing the left one forwards the right as she tilted forwards and backwards. After a few moments to let Helena watch, Kya sang once more.

“I'll never miss a beat, I'm lightning on my feet. And that's what they don't see mmm mmm, that's what they don't see mmm mmm. I'm dancing on my own, I’ll the moves up as I go. And that's what they don't know mmm mmm, that's what they don't know mmm mmm” Kya enthusiastically sang, putting all her energy into it. A look towards Helena showed that the Sorceress had atleast grasped the concept of the dance, even if she appeared incredibly uncomfortable and confused. The sight made Kya’s smile grow as she bounded closer, shaking her backside and bouncing on her feet as her hand came up to replicate holding a microphone. With the other, she pointed to the world around her, beckoned Helena, threw her hand up in the air. Her hand wouldn’t be still, emphasizing everything in such a way as to befuddle the poor blonde watching.

“But I keep cruising, can't stop, won't stop grooving. It's like I got this music in my mind saying it's gonna be alright. ‘Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play. And the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate. Baby, I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake. I shake it off, I shake it off.” Kya changed her dance, stepping to to the left as she allowed her arms to rotate from the elbows. She repeated the circles a few times before moving the other way with a snap of her fingers.

 As Kya continued to sing, bouncing and jiving, she noticed that Helena’s expression softened. The Mage stopped moving, instead she simply stared. Her brows no longer creased, in fact they appeared completely relaxed. Dark lips had curled into the softest trace of a smile, matching the intensity of admiration in Helena’s eyes. The tenderness there added to the flood of happiness Kya felt, even as she reached out and gently grasped Helena’s wrists. The Mage’s flesh was warm, pulse hammering away beneath Kya’s thumbs. It was a reminder of all they had survived together. Of stolen moments in a pristine castle, and of declarations of love. The Chicago girl gently pulled one arm, then the other, guiding Helena into a rather simple dance. This time, Helena appeared to surrender, flowing with Kya’s motions effortlessly. Whilst she was not as enthusiastic, she kept pace with Kya, leaving the girl repeating the verse over and over again as she laughed and gyrated. It was easy to forget the dangers of the world, easy to fall into loving smiles and twinkling eyes.

“Go Helena!�� Kya cheered. Helena’s smile grew, casting her in a new light as she continued. The praise made her blossom, bloom from the weapon of destruction the Queen crafted into the breathtaking beauty only Kya got to see. The stunning woman Kya just wanted to share with the world. As cheesy as it was, if Kya could find the tallest mountain and scale it, the words to escape her lips would be Helena’s name.

“-I can’t believe she’s mine. I love it when she just lets go.-“ Kya thought before she changed her pace. She released Helena’s hands, which had come to rest in hers during their dance, lifting them to the clasp of her cloak.

“I’m bringing sexy back! Those motherfuckers don’t know how to act, yeah!” She attempted to lower her voice, to produce sensual tones as she unclasped her cloak on the first line, pausing for dramatic effect before tossing it aside. The cloth fluttered on the cooling air, falling dutifully down over Kya’s pack. Kya continued, shifting closer and closer to Helena. She stalked, keeping her own eyes on Helena’s in a way she hoped was seductive, hoped was sexy. Kya had dated before, she’d even slept with people, but never had she truly cared if they found her sexy.   With Helena, she wanted that. Badly. She wanted the Sorceress to look at her with the same hunger she felt. Wanted to feel the heat burn inside her at merely a glance. Instead, Helena appeared troubled, even wincing at the verses that followed. Kya’s voice faded away, noting the thoughtful crease in Helena’s brows.

“-Ok. Way too much, girl! Back it up! Of course she doesn’t want to hear about shackals and slavery, we’re running away from that literally!- " Kya chastised herself, reaching up for Helena’s face. The Mage sighed softly, nuzzling into Kya’s palm affectionately. For a few moments, she simply basked in the contact. Before either could help themselves, their lips met in a gentle kiss. A small peck, yet enough to flood Helena’s senses once again. She felt content, watching Kya enjoy herself. This strange, radiant girl had just given Helena another look into another existence. A piece of herself that nobody in this world could ever have.   The purity of the moment was enough to overrule how foolish the gestures had been, how uncomfortable the choice of words could be.

“This is called the whip! Its really easy” Kya cut in, her stoney eyes gleaming in the afternoon light as she jumped back from Helena. She fixed the Sorceress with her most serious expression, waiting for a few seconds before thrusting her fist out. She stepped into her stance, alternating feet to match the extended fist. Helena sighed softly, amusement and affection swelling in her chest. These convulsions were outlandish, spasmodic, something from a depraved madman’s fantasies, yet they brought Kya so much joy. The dark haired woman threw her body and soul into these so called dances, allowing Helena into her world even further. Of course, the Mage couldn’t contain her snicker when Kya backed up, both hands held up in surrender. She sashayed backwards, wiggling her hips and hands in a ludicrous manner that almost reminded Helena of being mounted on a horse and panicking the moment before one tumbled off the back.

“And the disco!” Kya cheered, suddenly pointing towards the sky. The girl looked mockingly serious as she brought the hand downwards, crossing her body to point at the ground before lifting her hand up. She repeated this a few times before bringing her forearms in front of her. One arm rolled over the other, spinning as if attempting to wind a ball of yarn. All too quickly, she snapped back into that foolish pointing. Her hips rolled with the shifting of her hand, drawing Helena’s eye to the movement. The Sorceress was enthralled by the grace her lover showed, by the somewhat sensual nature of some of the movements through every dance.  Fast, high energy, yet Helena could picture them slowed. She could imagine those rolling hips in the shadows, or those dextrous fingers slowly unlacing of a tunic. Those arms rolling to gather armfuls of robes and cloak that had been discarded. Something forbidden in the dark nooks of the Castle. Suddenly, the dances seemed a little less foolish, if only slightly.

“WHOOO!” Kya cheered, drawing Helena from her daydreams. The shorter girl’s hand promptly came down to grab viciously between her legs. Her hips enthusiastically thrust forwards, remaining cocked in an almost obscene gesture, if not for the girl’s subtle timidness. Meanwhile, her offending hand jumped forwards as her crotch was on fire. Helena couldn’t prevent the amused snort from escaping. She’d seen men grab and tug at their codpieces before under some conceited notion they could convince a woman that they had the perfect sword for any sheath.  Or when they were pained in the sensitive location. Of all the variations of crotch grabbing performances Helena had seen, this was the most festive and enthusiastic, though she was downright positive that Kya did not have a fleshy sword to boast about from previous investigations. Thorough, wonderful investigations.

“These... dances, they do not appear to require a partner” Helena noted, reaching out to grasp Kya’s hands before they could cause any more trouble. The smaller woman beamed, her cheeks flushed as she stepped into Helena’s space again. She didn’t justify Helena’s observations with words. Instead, a gentle squeeze, followed by the lightest pull lured her closer. They may not have been a song she could ever sing, but Kya chased the sirens call of Helena’s lips, pressing her own to them. Instantly, a soft hum escaped the Sorceress. She was satisfied. Safe. It was enough for Kya to feel that gentle caress, along with the puffs of breath from Helena’s nose.

“Err, keep your hand up.” Kya requested a little breathlessly as the kiss broke, smiling in a way she hoped was reassuring. She lifted her own hand, waiting a brief moment before she ducked underneath Helena’s arm. At this, the older woman chuckled, helping Kya spin again and again. This was familiar enough, several cultures had wedding dances that involved such a gesture. Foolishly, she and Kya spun beneath each other’s arms, albeit more tricky for the much taller Mage. The lightest touches of hair, the breeze of flesh against flesh. Laughter bubbling in their chests, the moment was everything Kya imagined as magical in her world. Although after the third time Helena’s head ended up in the crook of Kya’s arm instead of under they silently agreed to let Kya do the spinning. Both women relaxed, chuckles and outright delighted giggling echoing in the forest to rival the singing of birds.    Bravely, Helena reached out, gently cupping Kya’s hip before pushing her into another spin. She ignored the flush of heat down the back of her neck as Kya leaned backwards. Instinct took over, leading the older woman to lunge forwards to catch the raven haired enigma. She miscalculated. Helena’s hand landed low, gathering a firm handful of Kya’s enticing rump instead of her hip, with her forearm braced across the other cheek and holding Kya’s weight. The pressure left very little to imagination.

“I apologize, I-“ Helena stuttered, even as Kya spoke at the same time.

“Look at you, getting handsy. Planning to seduce me on the lonely road, madame Klein?”

“Alas, my wicked plot is thwarted” the Sorceress chuckled, although the flush on her cheeks counteracted the husky tone of her voice. It was just too cute for Kya, who laughed gleefully. Helena’s hand left her rear swiftly, finding a more appropriate place on her waist, much to Kya’s dismay.

Dismay did not last long before Helena began to sway, softly, like grass in the spring breeze. Her body eased, relaxing as she took control. Confidence seemed to surge in the blonde as she pulled Kya closer, pressing their bodies together. Kya swallowed, feeling her heart skip several beats in its haste. Warmth increased tenfold everywhere she and Helena touched, lulling her into the intimate dance. The gentle breeze and swaying leaves above them were sublime, shelter from the sof rain. Nature’s music was far more tender, more romantic than any words that could escape Kya’s lips, but her voice would not be silenced for long.

”Deja que te diga cosas al oído. Para que te acuerdes si no estás conmigo. Despacito. Quiero desnudarte a besos despacito, Firmo en las paredes de tu laberinto. Y hacer de tu cuerpo todo un manuscrito.” Kya started singing the song as it should have been, upbeat and lively, yet the words quickly became slower. Softer. The familiar language rolled off her tongue. Kya could remember the gentle guitar work, lively and sweet like the lutes echoing in the distance. The warmth of Helena’s damp tunic sent shivers down Kya’s spine, made her body tingle with anticipation as she laid her cheek over Helena’s heart. She could feel it pounding through the layers of fabric, a drum that guided her soft cooing words in the language of love.

“Quiero ver cuánto amor a ti te cabe. Yo no tengo prisa, yo me quiero dar el viaje. Empecemos lento, después salvaje. Pasito a pasito, suave suavecito.”

“What language is this?” Helena questioned, breaking Kya’s trance. The American looked up, smiling warmly as she studied the face above hers. Helena’s cheeks held a subtle shade of pink, the prettiest beginnings of a blush. The natural white of her teeth showed over her lower lip, which she rested them against. Magical blue eyes were wide, with her pupils dilated to consume the iris. Kya felt the gentle tendrils of magic more than she saw them. Little flickers against her body that drew the air from her lungs.

“-Is she..? Did she just lose control of her magic..? 20 points for taking Spanish instead of French. Eat it elitist rich schools! I am too gay for this woman!-“

“I studied Spanish in school. This song is one of the first Spanish songs to get big in America, thats my country. We have lots of countries and languages. Spanish is one of the most passionate.” Kya explained carefully, watching Helena’s eyes slowly return to blue. The Mage’s chest heaved with silent breaths, heart pounding as she swallowed.

“What does it mean?”

“-Oh boy... abort! Damage control! Can I lie? No, I wouldn’t remember what I said in five minutes... What if she thinks I’m creepy? After the Queen, the last thing she needs is a creep! Swipe left on creep, swipe left on villainous liege. I’ve got to focus. Woman up! She loves me.-“ the American swallowed, looking directly into the Mage’s eyes as she spoke.

“Let me whisper in your ear, so you’ll remember when I’m not here. Slowly.” Kya began, her voice foreign in her own ears. She had meant to lighten things up, to allow Helena a moment away from the harshness of the world. But of course, she’d had to pick the ONE song that everybody loved until they knew what it meant. She’d had to pick THAT song. Then again, it wasn’t that unusual to sing exotic erotica songs to your loved one... right?

“I want to undress you with kisses, slowly. Sign the walls of your labyrinth, make a manuscript of your body.” Kya internally waited for the wince, waited for Helena to recoil from the words. Instead, the soft gasp that escaped above her was far from disgusted. The Sorceress’ face was aflame, crimson dancing across her pale cheeks like blood against the snow. Droplets of wine in milk. Her eyes once more had darkened, claimed by desire. Kya felt several tugs within her chest, almost as if her heart was leaping towards the subtle wisps of blue and black dancing over Helena’s body. The magic crackled against Kya’s skin, sharp little pinpricks that somehow never quite hurt. Each prick was a dose of adrenaline, knowledge of just how much Helena was holding back as she gulped. The Mage’s lips remained parted, taking in gulps of air as she waited with bated breath.

“I want to see how much love you have. I’m not in a hurry, I want to take this trip. Lets start slowly, then become wild.” Kya concluded, her own breath growing short. It was her own fault that her cheeks were on fire. Her own fault she could feel the blood pounding in her tingling ears and her tongue growing thick. She had been foolish enough to sing an erotic song, to believe that Helena wouldn’t inquire about their meaning. She had been the one to do this. Now, she was ready to combust as she averted her eyes. Shame was thick, heavy in her chest until butterflies kissed her jaw. Helena gently tipped Kya’s chin up, locking their gazes once more. Helena’s gentle hand on Kya cheek was a cool contrast, despite how hot the Sorceress usually ran.

“I...” Helena began, breathing deeply. Her lips parted several times, attempting to form words as she inspected Kya’s face with such intensity that it shook the American to her core. Helena’s thumb traced Kya’s face as gently as a paintbrush across canvas, dancing around the hills of her cheeks before drifting to her lower lip. The Mage’s finger lightly pulled the lip down, exposing Kya’s teeth to the chilly air before Helena’s thumb lifted. Kya instinctively chased it, pressing a tender kiss to the digit as Helena spoke.

“Despacito.”

“-Fuck. I’ve died and gone to heaven-“ Kya’s thoughts raced, even as a soft whimper escaped her.

“So long as you don’t speak any more Spanish. I am so into you speaking other languages.” She couldn’t help but quiver in Helena’s embrace, processing the bolt of raw desire at the sexiest attempt at a Spanish accent she had ever heard. Correctness be damned. Her girlfriend had just spoken Spanish to her. Why hadn’t her panties gone flying?

“I love you.” Helena purred again, leaning down into Kya’s space. The kiss was remarkably gentle, despite the flaming desire that was humming in Kya’s veins. She could barely stand, given how badly her knees were trembling. This had taken such a different turn than she had expected. It brought all the memories of Helena’s exploring hands to the surface. That earned another whimper, even as Helena’s teeth found her lip. The nip was gentle, a dash of pressure before pleasure flooded her senses. Cool tingled against Kya’s lips as she pulled away, catching a flicker of blue across Helena’s lip before the tip of her tongue followed.

“You have no idea what you do to me, Helena Klein.” Kya panted, losing the edge to her own accusation along with her breath. Helena looked so... open. The careful, guarded look that was always about the Sorceress had vanished. The beautiful blonde was just as lost as Kya, just as hopelessly gone.

“It would give me great pleasure to find out, my sweet bard.” Helena’s voice was gentle, lowered to respect the sparks in the air. The tension threatened to bubble over, to light each droplet of rain on fire to match how hot Kya’s blood was burning. It would be effortless. A small surrender and Helena’s hands would chase down every wisp of pleasure in her body. The Mage’s touch could turn pleasure into bliss without even trying. Yet, Kya knew that Helena wasn’t ready to allow touches in return. The Sorceress couldn’t surrender her own control to that moment, couldn’t let herself find that edge. Not yet. Kya wasn’t a fool, she saw the effects she had on Helena. She could notice the hammering pulse, or the way her knees pressed together. The shiver when Kya wasn’t looking. How could she make that worse for Helena by allowing the Mage to offer relief. Calmly, Kya shook her head, offering a gentle smile as she spoke.

“We will. Slowly.”

[thedollarcrate]

50 Best Albums (That I Own on Vinyl) of the Decade

It’s hard to comprehend how much transpires over the course of a decade or wrap your head around how long (or short) of time that really is.

But what better way to try than to make a list!

Now, I know “Best of” lists like this one are inherently subjective – and probably say more about their maker’s preferences than actually reflecting the best music released in a particular time period. And, I’ll be the first to admit that the list below is incredibly limited, and that I need to widen my exposure to more artists and genres.

But hey, this is all in fun.

So feel free to debate, pick apart or share your own favorite albums from the past decade. But before you dive in, just a few quick points for context:

-I only ranked albums I actually own on vinyl released between 2010 and 2019, which limited my choices to about 170 records.

-I only ranked new music released this past decade, so no reissues or older material released for the first time (sorry Prince’s Piano & A Microphone and Originals).

-I first started buying vinyl around ’09-’10 and started off purchasing mostly new releases before my habits shifted and I started looking for older records. This shows in the list below – nearly a quarter of the albums below were released in 2010 and almost 70% from the first half of the decade.

And we’re off…

50. Centipede Hz, Animal Collective (2012)

Let’s be honest, it was impossible for Animal Collective to top a universally acclaimed and era-defining album – and it was unfair to expect them to. But maybe the continuous onslaught of bizarre and eclectic music found on Centipede Hz was just what we needed after all.

49. Singles, Future Islands (2014)

So much more than Sam Herring’s pelvis busting dance moves and “Seasons (Waiting On You),” every track on Singlesbursts with life and heart pumping  energy. To quote Letterman: I’ll take all of that you got.

48. Paul’s Tomb: A Triumph, Frog Eyes (2010)

I don’t think I’ll ever understand Carey Mercer’s lyrics, but I’m certain I’ll never tire of getting lost in his hidden words and knotty melodies.

47. Leaving Atlanta, Gentleman Jesse (2012)

Thirty seven minutes of Pure Power Pop Perfection (note the capital “Ps”).

46. Burst Apart, The Antlers (2011)

If there’s another album with a song titled “Putting the Dog to Sleep” that is as haunting and beautiful as this one, I don’t want to know about it.

45. Carrion Crawler/The Dream, Thee Oh Sees (2011)

With John Dwyer churning out record after record in the ‘10s, it should come as no surprise that at least one landed on this list (and they’re all great). Garage rock. Surf rock. Post-punk rock. Psych rock. Noise rock. Rock rock. I don’t care what you call it, Thee Oh Sees put the pedal to the metal on Carrion Crawler/The Dream, taking you for a wild ride that never lets up.

44. 1989, Taylor Swift (2014)

Irresistibly catchy, everyone needs to satisfy their pop sweet tooth every now and then. 1989 is so sugary, it might just give you a cavity or two.

43. City Music, Kevin Morby (2017)

The city. The countryside. A beach. Aboard a train. At the pearly gates. It doesn’t matter where you listen to City Music because Kevin Morby’s jams will immediately transport you to your own laid back, happy place.

42. Remind Me Tomorrow, Sharon Van Etten (2019)

You’ll regret it if you keep waiting to listen this powerhouse – and powerful – synth-soaked record.

41. You Want It Darker, Leonard Cohen (2016)

It doesn’t get much darker, bleaker or sparse than this, but I wouldn’t want it any other way from the masterful Leonard Cohen.

40. American Dream, LCD Soundsystem (2017)

Retirement never sounded so good.

39. Capacity, Big Thief (2017)

Quietly captivating, mesmerizing and elegant, Big Thief knock you out without you even realizing it.

38. St. Vincent, St. Vincent (2014)

Annie Clark’s shapeshifting album won’t only shred your face off, it somehow makes you feel smarter, too.

37. Before Today, Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti (2010)

So, so weird and so, so good.

36. Expo 86, Wolf Parade (2010)

Like #50, Wolf Parade might always live in the shadow and expectations of a towering classic, yet somehow Spencer Krug and Dan Boeckner still continually craft eccentric and bombastic rock albums. Expo 86 is no exception, and it is an underrated classic in its own right.

35. Golden Hour, Kacey Musgraves (2018)

Like a sunset or sunrise, Golden Hour radiates beauty and warmth with each of its glowing tracks.

34. Yuck, Yuck (2011)

Despite their name and its hideous album cover, there’s nothing gross about Yuck’s infectious indie rock.

33. Play It Strange, The Fresh & Onlys (2010)

I once saw The Fresh & Onlys play at a tiny club in D.C. It might’ve been the loudest show I’ve ever been to – my ears rang for days. This record is just as rollicking, hazy and good as that show was loud.

32. Natalie Prass, Natalie Prass (2015)

There’s a reason “Welcome to 1979” is stamped in tiny letters on this vinyl’s inner ring – it’s silky smooth, filled with impeccable soft ballads and finely tuned jams – and just a tinge of funk.

31. I Am Easy To Find, The National (2019)

Few bands matched the consistent output of quality albums in the ‘10s as The National. They had one heck of a run, and I Am Easy To Find was a fascinating way to end it – a 21st rock album that felt more complex and expansive than anything they’d done before.

30. Melodrama, Lorde (2018)

Everything a pop record should be and then some – bold, breathtaking and exuberant.

29. Just Enough Hip To Be Woman, Broncho (2014)

If you can’t tell from its playful title, this pop rock album wants nothing more than to have fun – and it succeeds on every level.

28. Avi Buffalo, Avi Buffalo (2010)

Sometimes all you want is a light, sunny and meandering album to wash over you and get lost in, and this one will do the trick every time.

27. Hippies, Harlem (2010)

Imagine a band practicing inside a garage inside a garage inside another garage and you’ve got Harlem. This is garage rock to the max – and at its rambunctious best.

26. Puberty 2, Mitski (2016)

It’s hard to describe Puberty 2. Sure, it might sound like simple dreamy indie rock, but it ebbs and flows in unexpected ways that leaves you guessing where it’s heading next.

25. mbv, My Bloody Valentine (2013)

Picking up right where they left off – even if it was more than a decade later – My Bloody Valentine reminded everyone why they are the masters of reverb soaked shoegaze.

24. A Moon Shaped Pool, Radiohead (2016)

Even after all these years and albums, Radiohead still found a way to reinvent themselves and push the boundaries of rock music – and our expectations of them. With gorgeous arrangements and slow-burning, tension filled tracks, AMSP proves that even Radiohead can still take risks – and proves rock bands can make quiet, intimate songs sound epic. Oh yeah, and it has “True Love Waits.”

23. Art Angels, Grimes (2015)

Grimes gave us the future of pop music before most could even envision it. This laid the groundwork for all the challenging and intricate – and danceable – pop music that would follow. And it still sounds ahead of its time.

22. Meet Me At The Muster Station, PS I Love You (2010)

The first sounds out of Paul Saulnier’s mouth on Meet Me At The Munster Station aren’t words at all but two short, ecstatic yelps. And this same boundless energy and passion bleeds through on every fuzzy, raucous second of every track. Did I mention there’s a song called “Butterflies & Boners”?

21. More Than Any Other Day, Ought (2014)

You really ought to listen to Ought if you aren’t already. Tim Darcy and co. sound a bit uneasy, paranoid and self-aware, but they make the most minute challenges sound so exhilarating and life-altering – even the struggle deciding between two percent and whole milk at the grocery store.

20. Lemonade, Beyoncé (2017)

All hail Queen Bey.

19. Twin-Hand Movement, Lower Dens (2010)

This album sounds like 2 am on a dark, rainy Saturday night – in the best way imaginable.

18. Tomboy, Panda Bear (2011)

You can always count on Panda Bear to make hypnotic, loopy electronic music sound so breezy and effortless.

17. Modern Vampires Of The City, Vampire Weekend (2013)

I don’t know why, but I want to dislike Vampire Weekend so much. But that’s impossible when their music is so damn good and every note sounds so neat and perfect.

16. Past Life Martyred Saints, EMA (2011)

Just do yourself and listen to this album please.

15. The Archandroid, Janelle Monáe (2010)

Blending too many genres to count, this is what I imagine music sounds like in space.

14. Carrie & Lowell, Sufjan Stevens (2015)

I’ll let you know how I feel about this one after I stop crying.

13. The Suburbs, Arcade Fire (2010)

It’s everything you either love or hate about Arcade Fire. Grand, sincere and sweeping rock that swings for the fences with every guitar chord, drumbeat and horn blast. I love it.

12. Silence Yourself, Savages (2013)

Savages grab you by the throat and never let go – this is one intense album.

11. Helplessness Blues, Fleet Foxes (2011)

This might be the epitome of ‘10s indie rock – and for good reason. Introspective, sensitive and searching for some greater meaning, Robin Pecknold holds nothing back and lays it all out on Helplessness Blues.

10. Kaputt, Destroyer (2011)

Dan Bejar is an enigma and seemingly reluctant rock star. I saw him perform an acoustic set where he spent a majority of the time playing with his back towards the audience (although in fairness, it was at a free outdoor show on a college campus with people mostly chatting obnoxiously over him), and yet it’s as if his creativity requires him to constantly release new albums and show them off. Kaputt is as equally strange and mysterious – and just as creative – as its maker.

9. Black Star, David Bowie (2016)

Take away the heartbreaking circumstances surrounding this album’s release and it would still be in the top tier of David Bowie’s extensive catalogue. Experimenting until the very end, Bowie morphed into something entirely new one last time. Part jazz, part rock and part I’m not sure what you would call it, the results were once again out of this world. He couldn’t give it all away, but we’re sure thankful for what he could.

8. Bon Iver, Bon Iver (2011)

Shedding the cabin in the woods vibe, Justin Vernon took a giant leap forward with Bon Iver and made ‘80s soft rock popular.

7. Celebration Rock, Japandroids (2012)

Perhaps the most aptly named album on this list, no other album exudes the joy of making music and rocking out with your buddy than this one. It’s hard to believe all that noise and energy comes from just two people.

6. Burn Your Fire For No Witness, Angel Olsen (2014)

Angel Olsen’s hypnotic and seductive vocals, lyrics and guitar suck you in immediately, mesmerizing you from the first gentle strums to the peaks and valleys of “Lights Out” and “Stars” all the way to the closer’s pulsing drumbeats and majestic piano.

5. Black Messiah, D'Angelo And The Vanguard (2015)

Oozing with cool, sexy and confident R&B funk, D’Angelo returned after 14 years with an instant soul masterpiece.

4. The Monitor, Titus Andronicus (2010)

It says a lot when a band can a.) make an hour plus punk rock record b.) loosely base it on the Civil War c.) quote Abraham Lincoln d.) close it out with a 14 minute track inspired by a famous naval battle and e.) still make you want to listen to it over and over and over again.

3. Lost In The Dream, The War On Drugs (2014)

The rare album that can feel vast and ambitious and yet deeply private and personal all at once. You really will get lost in these soaring songs.

2. Halcyon Digest, Deerhunter (2010)

At times perfectly melodic and structured and at others feeling on the brink of falling apart, Halcyon Digest is a paradox – sounding peaceful, bright and idyllic while also peering over the edge into something darker. This is a remarkable record from a remarkable band. If not for the abrupt end to the darkly beautiful closer “He Would Have Laughed,” Halcyon Digest sounds like it could go on forever.

1. Let England Shake, PJ Harvey (2011)

A stunning, thought-provoking, and moving – not to mention endlessly listenable – transcendent piece of art about life and the Great War. PJ Harvey doesn’t hold back on the brutality and absurdity of armed conflict, and the album’s devastating closing track – “The Colour of the Earth” – will linger in your mind long after the record stops spinning. As powerful today as it was eight years ago, this album will remain timely and important for years – and decades – to come.

[oosteven-universe]

Vengeance of Vampirella #2

Vengeance of Vampirella #2 Dynamite Entertainment 2019 Written by Thomas Sniegoski Illustrated by Michael Sta. Maria Coloured by Omi Remalante Jr. Lettered by Troy Peteri     Vampirella Reborn! Savage! Feral! A literal demon thirsting for blood! As humanity raises their greatest hope from the dead, will Pendragon and the rest of our survivor’s be able to quell the beast that they have unleashed?!? Originally debuting in 1994, Vengeance of Vampirella portrayed a more savage and feral look at the Daughter of Drakulon. Now, for the 50th Anniversary of Vampirella, original series writer Tom Sniegoski is back.     Well I have to say as someone who has come to the party late, in that I love Vampirella and read all her books regularly, I had no idea that she was around that long and that Tom was the original writer of Vengeance. I love his writing and the work that he does and now I have this pull to read those original books. That will have to wait however which I guess is okay because I have this right now to read.     I like the concept of the story here, there is something about an Apocalyptic event whether it's been engineered by man or by supernatural events doesn't really matter, what matters is what happened to Vampirella and how & why she's back. So as the mystery continues to unfold itself we are kind of left in the dark until the right moment when the reader needs to know it. The way this is being told through the story& plot development and how we see the sequence of events unfold is extremely well done. The character development here is really nice to see as well. While we only really get glimpses into these characters their intent is clear if not their real personalities. This leaves the reader to wonder what they are really like and when or even if Vampirella will regain her true memories. With the pacing here we see how the twists and turns throughout the book create the ebb & flow of the story and it's pretty glorious.     The opening here is sensational and I love how the visuals and the narration go hand in hand to really convey the meaning of it all. Some folks are born storytellers and this this is a perfect example of that.     I like the interiors here and how we see Michael's work. That we see the muscle and skin reform on Vampirella is disturbing and mesmerising at the same time. His utilisation of backgrounds and how the buildings look so Life After People is stunning. The linework is amazing and how the varying weights are being utilised to create this attention to detail is stupendous. The creativity and imagination that we see is magnificent and honestly I kind of want to see more of these centipede man demon. Is it wrong that I feel as if the women need more clothing? Okay it's Vampirella's normal attire but really now Nyx too and not one scantily clad man in sight. The utilisation of the page layouts and how we see the angles and perspective in the panels show a strong capable eye for storytelling. The colour work is beautifully done as well. I like how we see the base colour and then hues and tones within it that create the shading and shadows we see. ​     I like this story, it's got edge and violence not to mention hope and despair as well. Tom has managed to craft a story that runs the gamut of feelings and emotions and takes the reader on a journey like no other and it's amazing to be a part of. There is a complexity to the layering of the stories within this tale and that's what engages the readers' mind so thoroughly that there's no denying that it's something we want or crave to have in our lives.

[tcstu]

July Contest Winner/Examples and Honorable Mentions

For some reason, I did not receive any entries for this month’s contest. What happened? Are all of you on vacation? Did you get thrown off by the fact that it was a photograph? Do you only like to write about anime style art?

I’ll admit that at first I had no idea what to do since this is the first time that I’ve received no entries for the contest. Eventually, I came to the conclusion that if I receive no submissions I will do two things:

1) I’ll write some examples of Ekphrastic Fiction using the featured piece of art work. I chose this month’s photograph because I personally saw quite a few stories in it. If no one else wants to write them, then I’m going to go ahead and do it.

2) I’ll feature an Honorable Mention from a previous contest. There have been some months where the contest was close and it was difficult to determine a winner. Any time there is no winner, I’ll to go back and post a “runner up” from a previous month.

In addition to this, if there is anything preventing you from entering the contest, please send me a message and let me know. I’m always happy to make improvements if they are needed. :)

 So, let’s begin…

The artistic piece for this month’s contest is a photograph titled, “Everything has a beginning". It was taken by @erasenrew1nd . I love this photographer’s work, so please take a minute to visit this page to see more incredible photographs by this artist.

Here are some Ekphrastic Fiction pieces I wrote based on this picture:

1) Dark Fantasy

Sylvia’s hands shook as she approached the bridge. After three long years she finally found Jake’s lair. Terror surged through her stomach as she realized this entire time he had been entering their town through a tunnel beneath the bridge at the edge of her property. The bushes concealed it well.

Her little sister had been the vamp’s first victim. Now Sylvia resolved to either destroy him or die avenging her sister. She watched the spot for an hour formulating the best way to trap him when he emerged. In the end she settled on a noose. A noose around the narrow entrance would slide over his neck before he realized it was there and give her the chance she needed to drive a stake through his heart.

She crossed the bridge and waited.

2) Goofy Teens

“This is the perfect spot!” Mike shouted as he put on the Headless Horseman costume.

“No one would ever fall for this,” Brett said, dragging a plastic horse behind him.

“Matt will though! You know he will! He won’t even go in the Halloween store because he jumps every time that zombie baby moves.”

“Then why the hell would he come into the forest?” Brett sat down and cracked open his Mountain Dew.

“I told him there was a rare kind of centipede that breeds under the bridge. He’s such a nerd, he’s all into that stuff.”

“Aren’t you the one that brought your beetle collection to school last year?”

“Shut up!”

3) Jaded Love

This was it. This was the bridge where Cindy and Amy had their nauseatingly romantic elopement. None of their family or friends even cared that it was unannounced. They were just so excited that Cindy finally found the right person.

It made Jenn want to vomit. Actually, she had vomited when she found out about the wedding, but no one needed to know that. Just like no one needed to know that she was the one about to burn this bridge down.

For ten years Jenn had built a friendship with Cindy, hoping that one day she would realize they were in love all along. Then in two months, she was swept out of her life by Amy in some god-awful sickening romance.

She might not be able to destroy their relationship, but she could destroy the bridge. It would have to do.

  As you can see, Ekphrastic Fiction pieces do not need to be long, nor do they need to tell an entire story. Though there are different ways to approach this genre, I personally like to look at the piece of art as a snapshot, and I write my story to capture the few seconds that take place in that specific image.

 Now I will move onto the second part of this post:

 Honorable Mentions

Originally I was going to choose one Honorable Mention from a previous month. I immediately went to my folder from May because that was a particularly difficult month to judge. It was so difficult that even today I can’t decide which of the remaining two entries to post as a runner up. So, I’m going to post both of them. Here are the two stories from the May contest that made this month so incredibly difficult to judge. They are posted in chronological order, based on when the entry was received.

 The artistic piece for May’s contest was a digital animation titled, “Getaway". It was created by Miena (@mienar). If you’re into digital animation, you should definitely take a minute to check out this page. I’m always impressed by the creations of this artist!

 A Note

Written By: @dramaticvoiceover

I waited for you, but you never came.

There were reminders stuffed in every long-term corner of my life: a sticky note nestled next to my social security card, a crumpled scrap of paper in my favorite locket, an alert set in my smartphone’s calendar. I did everything short of tattooing the date on my body. But in the end, I didn’t need any of them. I never even came close to forgetting.

I don’t really know what I expected. It wasn’t really like we were going to run away together or anything. All of that was just a silly story, like all the rest of the stories we used to tell each other up here. We were pirates in the crow’s nest of our fearsome and formidable ship, watching for land and buried treasure. We were tiny faeries, scavenging for acorns and berries and things, children of the tree that held us. We were wizards in our tower and birds in our nest. And we were going to run away together someday.

I don’t even know if I really expected you to be here. I thought it might be nice to come back here anyway.

I didn’t expect anything. It’s just that I had hoped.

Maybe the ink smudged when I wrote the date on your hand that last day. Maybe you put it into your calendar wrong. Maybe your flight was delayed, or you missed your bus, or you overslept.

Maybe you forgot about me. Maybe you didn’t want to come.

Maybe you couldn’t get the day off work. You probably have a very important job, where lots of people rely on you. It wouldn’t be very fair to expect you to be here just for me, would it. Maybe you found someone else, and you woke up this morning with their head on your chest, all peaceful and perfect in sleep, and you thought how could I ever leave this? Maybe today you’re holding your newborn baby, or you’re at the top of the eiffel tower, or discovering the cure to a deadly disease. You have so many better places to be than here. There were so many things you wanted to do, after all.

I haven’t ever been up here alone before. It’s very quiet. A good place to be alone.

I’m not angry at you. There were so many things I did wrong. I was such a coward, leaving you with just a number on your hand instead of the words I really should have said to you. For some reason I thought it would be easier to say in ten years.

I thought everything would be easier in ten years. Nothing’s easier, really, but maybe I can be a little bit braver. I don’t know if I can say it, but here I am, writing it down. I don’t know if it scares me more that you might never read this, or that you might.

I love you.  

   Void

Written By: The Writer @stories-sunsets-and-ink

 The girl sat alone in a treehouse getaway she made for herself, and her legs dangled as the rain fell. Her brown hair hung in damp tangles framing her face as she stared blankly into the nothingness beyond. The soft glow of the fairy lights was captured in each raindrop tracing its way down the roof of her plastic tent and in her galaxy eyes. Each reflection seemed a constellation to the dragon beside her, who watched as the lights glowed then faded around him. The girl was the first to break the silence.

“But why?”

The dragon turned his contemplative gaze toward her and waited.

“Why can’t I...feel?”

The dragon seemed to sigh and curl more tightly around her cup of tea “Long answer or short one?” The girl shrugged. “You’re lonely. That is why you don’t care and don’t feel and are here, hiding away in your mind while the world churns on around you. You just stare into this blank, drizzling mindscape you created and let it all pass.”

Silence again. Then- “Short answer?”

“You don’t feel because...you don’t want to.”

She considered this. “But I do want to feel.”

“You don’t like feeling lonely so you push everything out.”

A raindrop hit the girl’s nose and she blinked. “How do I feel again?”

“You can’t control others if they don’t want to be with you, but you don’t have to hide away.”

“I like it here, though.” The girl swung her feet idly.

“You like that it’s safe. You won’t get hurt here.”

“Yeah...remember-?”

“That was one time in the string of your lifeline. A moment: it elapses and passes. Your life ebbs and flows like the tide, like these lights, and sometimes you just have to wait it out.”

“What’s the point, though?” The dragon closed his eyes and she continued to stare out into the faded gloom.

“You make the best of it.”

[mordessathemad]

The Great White Witch Excerpt #2: Mushroom

About halfway down and upon the fifth platform, I began to regret not having worn my boots. My feet had been pin-cushioned by splinters, leaving small and thin traces of blood wherever I put them. Every time I attracted a new hitchhike, or stepped in the wrong place, I shrieked and reflexively dropped the skirt to cover my mouth with both hands, hoping I hadn't woken the elder above. I stopped to rest and pluck out the bits, they weren't little bee-sting sized splinters either, some were as thick as my finger- pierced through and embedded in the callused pads. Looking down from the platform, a grin grew as I saw how much progress was made. I couldn't wait to bound and sift my feet in the squishy mud below.

Two hours later, following the color and shapes of petals that Tsajasuna had described on the list, I returned to the base step with an assortment of flowers, weeds, roots and fungi, eggs, small game that I'd caught bare-clawed, some tricky butterflies, insects, kindling, shells, and even a few of the mud-covered coins that fell down the mountain clutched in my arms. Most of the reagents were easy pickings, just aside the cobbled roads or hidden betwixt brambles and bushes, quite fortunately. This did, however- become fairly burdensome, the pile was well over my head and with every step something I couldn't see fell, relief was in order. At the first platform, where a pile of empty rucksacks and a beaten crate had settled, I checked the list once more to confirm that all items were accounted for. Taking one of the sacks, I glanced back and forth between Tsajasuna's squiggles and each reagent that I dropped in, this went on for at least an hour.

I was missing something. A glowing mushroom, if I recall correctly. Everyone knows, that if a plant glows, it likely grows in a cave. By chance, whilst collecting the other plants, I'd caught wind of the three paths that lead around the house. We are actually placed between a fork in the road from Rorikstead, I wonder if Tsajasuna deliberately did that to attract more people... winds from the south brought smells and unpleasant memories of Mr. Mutton Chops, the road east - which ended abruptly at a small green lake - had the whistling of a cave. An ungodly scent that makes me gag at its slightest trace discharges from the left and further north. I have only been down the western trail once, and never wish to again. Knowing the likelihood of gashing my feet on jagged stones or other petrous protrusions in the cave, I needed my boots. After tying a string to the now bulging sack's neck to seal it, I took a deep breath and hauled it up the flights with one hand holding up my skirt. Thankful for the rug on the last platform, I collapsed upon it, again, out of breath. Then lugged up the last few logs to Hilltop House's door, and entered as quiet and frightened as a mouse, readying an excuse.

Drafts of premonition whipped my fur. She was still sleeping, incessantly moving her mouth, but more fluidly this time in a way that conveyed conversation. Do I do that? Nadir had told me once that I squeak in my sleep, but never mentioned that I talked or tossed. For a man that had tried to steal my life, he was awfully nice, a bit too feeble for the outdoors though. Deciding it best to just leave her alone, I crept to my boots, cursing the creaking planks, and nabbed them with wide unyielding eyes trained on the elder's upper half, well away from the lower. On one leg, I hopped around attempting to strap on my boot. Without warning, Tsajasuna violently burst out in a harrowing laughter that made me jump, lose my balance, and sprawl out on the floor in a scurry toward the door. She was sat up, hands and arms buckled at her side, her mouth unhinged as the thunderous cackles repeatedly split the air. Then, without any indication whatsoever, stopped and fell asleep again with a short snort. By then, I was fast down the steps with one boot in-hand and the other loosely worn, leaving the sack inside. I still have no explanation for why she does this, as often as it comes, only that it falls under the demeanor enigma aforementioned. Perhaps it's some kind of mental ague, or dare I go so far to infer, that maybe it is a darker, more aberrant conniving with another apparitional entity or being not of the waking world. Since the moment she truly wakes, compulsion and obsession make their due, a sudden revelation, and the sage then enthusiastically writes in a foreign script of thick symbols for many hours, sometimes days. Tsajasuna never speaks to me during these spells, nor will she eat, but she always mutters something irrationally disjointed at the pages. Was it the voice she talked to? I can never read her lips, because of the fangs, but also because she seemed to be speaking a different language entirely.

Such a thought is melodramatic though, it would be best to just leave Big Hat to her somnambulism. I have already asked what she sees or is doing in her dreams, but all she responds with is stare at me, frightened, her mouth quivering with temptation as if it were on the verge saying something that would change how everything should be viewed, and walks away nervously with her hands cupped. It is an unspeakable matter, I guess. I'd hate to have people spy upon my silly dreams too, so I understand. They're never easy to explain.

Steering clear the of the west road, I went east and followed the bumpy path until I stood on the black shore of green lake. Supposedly it's an offshoot of Karth River, per the map me and Veitizion had gone over in full candlelight some moons ago. Continuing left along the muddy shore and pricking my ears up to trace the cave's whistling, I happened upon an abandoned camp. There were two very warm and inviting tents, and a campfire that seemed to ebb and flow as if it had lived mere moments ago, smoking great grey puffs and its blackened logs layered upon pulsating but quelled coals. Whomever it belonged to, they were up in a hurry. They left practically everything from their bedrolls to grime-covered utensils, and many, many bottles of what was labeled "K's MEAD". Someone had also left their roughly-carved pipe upright upon a box between the tents too, still producing a genteel coil of charred tobacco. The longer I looked at the things, the more I felt that I didn't belong, and chose that if they failed to return by the time I found the glowing mushroom, perhaps I'd take a plate or some of the salt bowls left by the fire.

Just behind the camp, a trail lead upwards into a towering cliff-face and a stream trickled off to its left, there the whistling was loudest. Wherever the campers had gone, it was not there, the only prints that went that path appeared ages old, aside from the occasional rabbit or vole. One peculiar thing about them was that there was only one set, and like those on Tsajasuna's steps, never pointed back. Aside from mine.

Finally, at the trail's end, a crevice that seemed more like a crack because of its tenuity spoke to me. A strong odor of dank vegetation, wet stone, and something painfully sour respired from the narrow gap that made my nose wrinkle. The splish splosh of the stream impeded my ability to hear anything from outside. Too impatient to wait for my fur to settle, and with my tail twitching in disagreement, I climbed into the impenetrable dark.

Aphotic and horny mazes lie ahead after a seemingly endless trudge downwards, hardly traversable as was ordained by the slippery stones which no definite footfall may make purchase, and the black spiked formations that rose up betwixt them. Little holes, bat dens, and body-sized apertures dotted the walls. To say that the cramped ingress was entirely lightless, would be a lie, for round a bend at the passage's end a teal phosphorescence pulsated. And so became my destination. Shimmying under and over, between and beside the protrusions was a perplexity. My boots were terribly worn on the bottom, and aided me little in terms of traction, so I did, miraculously, break through some of the stalactites whilst inevitably slipping - resulting in a few indistinct cuts and bruises to my face. I'm just glad I never fell upon the stalagmites, though I did come distressingly close at one point. Before the bend, the stream that trickled down with me ran under a pale and bloated body that had to be passed. It was impossible to tell how long it'd been there, but with what my eyes could manage- bright red cuts and gashes covered its entire ragged body, its ears were missing as were a few fingers, and they all seemingly weren't done by stone. Too neat and done parallel in sets of three to four. No, they weren't by any animal either, none of the size could fit here. Unsure if it was a warning or simply forgotten, I stepped over the unfortunate shape and continued shifting forward, watching as darkness rapidly swallowed the faceless thing behind me.

Seven tendrilous toadstools calmly breathed a faint light before me. They were by no means small, so I ripped out only the largest, which was about the size of my head. It was fun to squeeze, firm and spongy. My mind went back to the cuts of the pale blooded man, and the thought lingered with an unnerving chill. I had seen those kinds of cuts before, but strained to remember where. With the mushroom in my hands, I shook the thought away, the real issue soon became clear; how do I get it out? The robe was tricky enough to work around, with the mushroom my width doubled, and the skirt could not be held. Turning back to the mushroom cluster, I had hoped to find one of smaller size. Instead, I met the eyeless face of another pale thing. Then, from the cracks and holes, waves upon waves of oversized centipedes and a forgotten race poured.

Ghoulish abominations with taut translucent skin that mimics pallor, and arms so unnaturally slender their knuckles drag. Some seemed horribly maimed, missing hands, arms, and a few crawled mechanically across the stones with one or no legs at all.  This awful, maddening elision of gurgling and other inhuman disquietude bled my ears, so many of the awkward shapes clambered into the passage that the entrance could no longer be seen. Speaking of seen, the one whom I'd met face to face with had puffy red and squeezed flesh where one's eyes should be, and whose colorless gape had begun to bare teeth shaped like those of a slaughterfish; countless and demonically confused in length, sent out a harrowing alarm. Stiff as a stump, and keeping my tail tucked, provoked breath that reeked of rotting fish blasted my neck as it inspected me. Before I had time to panic, the sudden memory of Nisrrina's bestiary rushed to my mind, as did the pain of being bitten. Flame flickered again at my fingertips, illuminating the hoard and finally giving them color. Much like Mr. Muttonchops, the Falmer sunken gum-deep in my shoulder exploded fantastically within my hand. The others, blind and unused to its intensity, shied away from the light. I clutched the bite, still holding the mushroom, and heard the troglofaunal flesh slap against the rocks towards me as the light vanished. Panic often results in stupid decisions, but seeing the subterranean species recede gave me an idea. The thought of Tsajasuna's fireplace. Subsequently, surge after surge of flame burst forth from both my hands, licking the walls dry and blackening the capricious flesh before me. I will not die in the cold and dark, in a place forbidden and forgotten, damned and decayed, in a place where no light shines, I shall be the sun or its harbinger!

Laughing madly, and bleeding buckets from my shoulder through the robe, I said this. The words did not feel as though they were my own. What remained of the Falmer scurried toward the entrance, and had somehow broadened the crevice with their flailing. With the ground dry and piled with charred embodiments of fear, I picked up my mushroom and made my way out, whipping flame at any who tried to run back from the sunlight. The smell was awful, and the smoke stung my eyes, how lucky they were that neither sense was in their possession. As a matter of fact, quite a few had escaped the cave. Some had stopped dead, clutching the slits on their face in the sun. The others drowned, blindly leaping into the green lake and snuffing their flames, but ultimately unable to swim. Unfortunately for its owners, they had crashed through the campsite, trampling the tents, kicking pots, smashing bottles, and snapping the intricately carved pipe set neatly upon the box. Worse than the sight of that, some time before I emerged from that charred realm, they had returned. I was so exhausted, coughing and gasping for breath that I hadn't noticed the crouched red hue until I stood at the trail's beginning. Not the smoldering logs, but a bush woman.

With bow of twisted yew slung over her shoulder, and a furred quiver strapped to her ill-fit belt, the fire lady wore a stitched leather vest that seemed two sizes too small for her, a pair of loose rawhide trousers that were only held up by her peachy hips, and a sweat-stained green bandana rounded her head beneath a free-flowing shoulder-length mane, braided widely at the back. Picking further through the wreckage, she grew more and more red with each passing moment and began to steam loudly. By the way she was built, how she carried herself in a slightly tottered walk, the double-edged axe amulet that jounced at her neck, and the elk she'd mightily carried in alone, her Nordic descent was quite clear, and frightened me terribly.

Fear had taken such a strong hold of all my senses, that I'd not noticed the old man staring at me from a tail-length's away. He too had red fiery hair tied back into a high pony-tail, and long chin whiskers with a knot at the end, but they had dulled to a more brownish color, and his yellowing face was drenched with wrinkles. An elf, no doubt, he was incredibly short. Not exactly my height, but I did not have to look far up to meet his worried gaze with my own. He seemed far friendlier than the Nord, so I pleaded to him that it was an honest mistake, repeatedly apologizing since I lacked anything else to offer. The little man didn't seem to be listening, he just kept glancing over his shoulder at the girl with a profuse sweat beginning to bead then back to me. He didn't even bother to look past me at the cove, which now billowed foul black smoke to the clouds. Next, he began flailing his arms and swinging them sideways, gritting his tall teeth so hard I grew concerned that he might actually break them. He was saying something. I stopped fumbling my apologies and leaned closer to hear him, and he did too, a hurried and hoarse whisper came from his cracked lips. A singular command that could move an entire town, and there I was, oblivious to the wise warning that entire time. If only I had understood it earlier, if only I had fled from him at first sight like he wanted, then much suffering could have been saved that day.

"RUN"

Just then, the fire lady cried a siren of war. Within an instant her bow was nocked with a missile aimed at my neck and released. She had such pretty blue eyes. The old man was surprisingly quick, and pushed me out of a shot that should have landed true, denying the hunter her kill. I broke into a sprint to whatever direction I thought the house was, then tripped over the skirt at a highly inconvenient time; skipping over the slippery stones of a shallow creek that separated the camp from my east road home. Another arrow whistled in the distance. A sharp pain that made me lose grip of the mushroom shot through my side, and the beast came weaving and light-footed from behind, her breathing excited and teeming with rage. All that went through my mind was this new wonder, I had never been struck there, my armor always protected me from such situations, covering everything from my thighs up to my neck in a steel shell. Gods did it hurt.

The bite in my shoulder did not have this stunning effect, though it was where armor usually insured, a result of Ra's numerous wake-ups. If it did, the predicament before would have ended in a bewildered death. I should probably thank her for that if she ever returns, but really don't want to, because I know she'll never stop doing it at the first sign of appreciation. Or worse, acceptance.

A flame burst into my hand and cast an orange light over my face, I stared at it, unblinking. Did I really need to kill these people? I deserved an arrow in my side or arm for ruining their camp, that's for certain, but what if the next shot sent me to the Jester’s Realm? I couldn't go back there, and these weren't my friends, I refuted to myself. My mind was made up. Laying in the mud for as long as it took her to get there, I concealed the flame and played dead, a surge ready to share. Another arrow nocked, the string stretched to its limit.

What a fool I was.

It punctured the earth beside me, sending a small shower of dirt into my face. An unexpected stamping and shouting disturbed the ground behind me. "Dad, what are you doing!? Let me go!"

Dad?

"GO, lil’ khajiit, can't hold this young'un for long!"

I snatched the mushroom and winced as I got to my feet. Looking back, I could see the Nord squirming in the arms of the little old man, his face flush with impatience and struggle. Is this what parents do? Hold back children from doing what they want, even as adults? I must be quite fortunate.

Hobbling away with the extra limb was an excruciating task, and took a tremendous amount of energy to go so far as to lose the fire manes' sight. Adrenaline was waning, as was my vision and steadiness of breath. Not a moment longer I felt very sleepy and capriciously cold. The hilltop house was within sight, perched proudly upon its pointy rock, but still very far. A blurry thought of Tsajasuna teaching me how to make sparks sprinkle from my fingertips made me smile, a dream. My entire left side felt very wet. And that is all I remember before collapsing to my knees.

Figured I should probably put out something to at least say I certainly haven’t forgotten! Not a day goes by where I don’t think about the story, and by god this journal is going to take a bit. As always, please point out flaws and other things of which I should improve so that I may better the final version.

Also, thanks to Haar for some inclusion permission, I’m having a blast working on the personalities.

[10queenbee10]

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