Found

Green dreams are the color of my pain, white the color of it's silence.  But it's only a shadow, there is no lost space in these colors, only dreams of floating sands.  Wishing for the torrent to reverse it's perverse flow.  To care so much, to feel the beat of the drums again, that is what I miss.  The obsession.
It is known, time is a wheel.  It is said, sleep when your dead.  Found.  What happens when your found?  What place is there in the After?  Ka is a wheel, it is known.  So what does Roland, last knight of gilead get after the tower is found?  Could he lay down his fathers guns and take up the hoe?  Sell leaf, nod and smile "yes, say thank ya'"  Would those hands, those killers hands, those slinger hands, ever be good for anything else?  How could he ever reach the top?
Ka is a wheel; both my nightmare and my comfort.  I am a seeker, but now I've found.  We all know what the next turn has for me.  Hunting the hunt.  I just need a new horizon to yearn for, a new god at my back.

Green Dreams

Waking driftings, nothing holding me down. Just a blur, just a passing frown. Green dreams of my children’s eyes. An imagine that makes me want to drop to my knees. Some thoughts are so big you cant think them. Some dreams are so crisp overcast glow, then burn your eyes. Then shine like ravens in battlefield skies. Dead ends are so mystifying to us, aren’t they? We always love to see that cliff or wall. But sometimes all I want to see is what lies behind it. What is it in me that drives such flagellation of other lives when all I have is now. Maybe it is in such that I allow myself to see what I hid from myself in my heart.

Pan en, then… Is that enough? Do we need more? Pan en pain, pan en tears, pan en silver light’s caresses. Theos en pan.

How can I turn wrong in such purity? Then why still fear my maturity? I guess that’s the lesson in these green dreams. Fear is not in my heart. The skies are overcast but wrap around us like angels wings. How can any of this be real when it feels so easy, so right. Just like in dreams when nothing seems to connect, and no one seems to notice, least of all the dreamer. What is the lesson if not that its very disconnected flow is a sacred Chao. What level do we perceive from? The Chao is a unique snowflake in Chaos blizzards dance. And oh how it dances and flows to its own beautiful music. Some can see past Chao and its twins, with grids of majesty and tearful power. Sometimes I can see the fragments spinning in my life and just accept them as they are. They still glint from the light source, for all fragments shine. Lost nows. It is these that we hold on to so tightly that we cut ourselves. Nows that can never be lost but in our hearts. When we despair of the break from now, and the pattern it follows. Will its edges be jagged or smooth? Will they be sharp or course? Gentle or hard?

But what, then, is this but window dressing? Would we scoff at The Three Graces if placed in the window of a Burger King? Would Monet’s fire be any less if placed in a rough hewn frame? Why do we dance so in the frames of our lives… All still shines from the soft sweet light at its center…

All I wonder about now… am I falling into it, or away from it? Do fragments spin away? Or past?

Time will tell… Time will tell.

Back again, for the last time.

Its all so familiar, fragments everywhere.  The day I got my first copy of WarCraft III, and I stayed up all night playing it here.  Then when I went to bed my brother sat down and played while I slept.  That was back before he changed, before the world changed him.  But not really, even then he was detached.  It had already started.  Funny, being in this place reminds me of the tales of how differently we see it here.

            Its been a decade.  How old was I?  13.  Christ.  Was I really?  How young I was then.  How… different.  I’ve changed much and more, but this place has remained the same.  Always the same.  Its so comforting to be here, I’ve lived here longer then anywhere else.  And its going away.  How sad, yet how joyful.  Its truly our past, and we should not fight its passing.

            That girl, who I tried to preach to from battle.net.  How did I work up the balls?  The things religion do to people.  What have you done to me?  And then she beats me at my own game, father an apologist, better equipped to shoot me down.  What a night that was.  I never really did talk to her again, not really.  Back again, for the last time.  That’s far in the past.  I never want to be so sure again, I never want to be so separate.  Will you forgive me?

            And even drowning in the past, I push back the veil a little bit each day.  Never have I seen the desert from the sky.  Its so dark out here, every star a blazing torch.  But its so different too, the skies have grown the same.  The city moved in.  Weird how it can affect the feeling of this place so.  What to do tomorrow I wonder?

            The old days on EverQuest, way back in the day.  WhiteWind and Jonze, Grindle and Fattious Ribsticker, and my friend who’s surname I stole and didn’t even remember his first.  Kasseopea, the bard.  Dozer, the paladin.  Smallwind and Roaringwind, Haeo and Haeoeo.  The day I flipped on the guild and gquit.  It didn’t last long.  That’s when I started Smallwind.  That was here too.  I couldn’t spell for shit back then.  How did they ever put up with me?

            What a weird trip its been here.  Life is a little bit crazy when it hits you all again.  I will miss this place, the last shreds of my childhood going away.

Missing

There is something I feel like I am missing, yet I know its something I have. I do have it, but its not enough. I am constantly surprised at myself. I’m no fool, yet sometime I feel like one. I’m not blind, yet I don’t see what you see. My world is a very different place then yours. Its okay, I love it here. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I just wish I would remember when in Rome, do as the Romans. I’ve let it cause some trouble now and again, but its also worth remembering that I am the stranger in a strange land. Do I have a home of my own? Where we can speak the same language, where we can just be. Its out there somewhere, I like to think I can feel you out there sometimes, calling me. Sometimes I like to think that you hear me when I call back. I say that as if its not true, how do I know you don’t?
When I look up at the sliver of a sliver new moon rising over the mountains. When I see its reflection dancing in the mirror. When the mud hens give me that look with their outrageously absurd face. It doesn’t feel so crazy an idea. What is crazy? There’s no such thing, there is just normal and abnormal. Statistics and majorities. The world tries to call me weird, and that’s fine with me. I would tend to agree with them, the truth is I am unusual. But the world does some very bizarre things too. There was a time, for thousands of years no doubt, where left-handed kids were thought to be simply obstinate. We used to tie children’s left hand behind their backs and make them write “the right way”. It sometimes makes me chuckle a bit, at the silliness of it all. There is no sense in thinking in absolutes like that. Right and wrong are equally illusionary. So am I wrong to think these thoughts? How could I be?
Here’s a secret that no one knows. I used to dream of an angel, Victoria. She would come visit at night as the world dissolved away, watching over me. I remember her wings, feathers long and white. Her face, always obscured, by haze or vale. She was secretive and sly, with a little smile, confident and enigmatic. Not a being one takes lightly. There was no singers or harps, just a quiet attendance. She was my focus, my talisman, and it was thoughts of her I used to still a ever flowing mind.
I tried so hard to believe my dreams were real. I tried so hard to believe my own lie. Some lies feel oh so good. Lies of caring and friendship, peace and grace. I miss her lies, or are they my lies? It doesn’t matter, she hasn’t visited in so long now. But there were others that took her place. Or did they? Maybe it was always her, just in a different guise. No matter, they have all fled, others occupy my twilight hour. Do I wait for her return? Should I call for the missing? A congregation of dreams. A counsel of fragments. What tune will we sing?

Unspeakable

I have been overwhelmed with a strange feeling. It was so ineffable, I don't think I understand it even now. It just started one day. I don't even know when it began, but I know when I noticed it. Then one day I woke up and felt it fading away like a sweet and interrupted dream. It was a such a sweet feeling, in its strange way.

Cold sunlight slanting in windows, shining its golden orange light on a white wall. Polygonal trees with sprites for branches, rolling square and pointed hills. Frozen passes with high cliffs all around. A small, cramped room under a humble castle. Simple walls of dirt and wooden logs holding up a rock ceiling. A school that flies away from danger. A fairy tail romance between a lion and a wolf. A bare birch tree against a clear blue sky. Sitting on an unsettled beach. Its warm on the beach, but the sun is hidden by clouds. The waves are silent and disregarded. Cloth somethings flapping in the wind, slowly shifting and creaking with the uncertain breeze. My feet curl into coarse and wet sand. In my hand a stately old book, bound in leather. A sense of total freedom. A sense that everything that needed doing is already done. A sense of melancholy nostalgia. A feeling of being so alone. Its not a bad feeling, it even goes unnoticed. For now... The smell of air fresh from the heater, being pumped into the room. The smell of brand new carpet, and of white painted walls. Of humidity and palm trees and the sea. Of rain and wind and air-conditioning. Of destruction.

Does it make any sense yet? I'm sure its all so meaningless to you. Each of these fragments have so much attached to them for me. They tell a story of a time that's long past, but still lives on in memory. Its not the fragments that have been with me these last days, but the feelings. The feelings bring the fragments, not the other way around. Why should they come back so strongly all of a sudden? Strange as it sounds, I think it all started when I took ill. It could just be coincidence, I know, but still... Its the only thing I could point at. And now that I am getting better I am losing touch with it all. Soon it will be gone, I know that. I will miss it, I think.