Nono’s Store

We were all living at Aunt Nono’s store at the time: My Father Kevin and Mother Nancy as well as my Younger brother Ryan. Aunt Nono was in California when it all started so we had no idea where she might have been. The electricity was out for a few months and so we were still getting used to making fires and lighting the old oil lamps Nono kept around the antique store. It had a cozy back room with a fireplace, all wood paneled walls. The front room was about as boring as any store front, and it’s big front windows saw through to the strip mall enclave outside.

I was never a big user of technology and my parents grew up in the 80’s so I don’t think the internet crashes really hit us as bad. Their big thing was the lack of comforts. It took hours to boil the course rice from the bag we salvaged and our clothes stank from lack of any running water to clean them. It bothered me too, but I could see it bothered them more.

But my brother, he never lived in a world without phones and the internet. Even as we sat by the fireplace with the pot boiling rice and the low firelight flickering across our downtrodden faces, he would take out his precious phone and the foreign blue-white LED light would splatter into the dark. His eyes wide and grasping for hope that he would get a connection again. Each time, it became worse to see; I just wanted to take it from him and throw it into the fire, but I could see it gave him hope and that was the resource that could afford any cost.

“Why don’t you just throw that damn thing away!” my mother said. Her face twisted with frustration as she huddled under Aunt Nono’s blanket.

My brother said nothing but clicked refresh on the unopened web page.

“Didn’t you hear your mother!” my Dad said by the firelight. He threw in a leg to an antique chair and the smoke smelled like varnish.

“Maybe it came back up! The government was trying to bring it back in places.”

He clicked refresh again and I could see tears in his eyes. I reached over and put a hand on his. He looked over suddenly with wide eyes.

“You’ll waste the battery.” I said

Slowly he clicked away the screen and put it back in his pocket.

“We’ll try again when we can move.”

The first month or so we had to live this way, sitting by the fire waiting for the rice was full of conversation. We’d reminisce over things and the places we went and how things might get closer to how they were. I always knew that things would never go back to how they were. I didn’t say anything, but I think they knew.

Now we just sat by the fire, watching the flames like the enigma of life. The only sound now the lapping of its magic tenderals on the pot, the snapping of ancient wood, and the occasional bolt of thunder beyond the thin confines of the house. There was no telling if it was natural thunder or not. The silence with each other was a fearful and tense comfort.

We had to find things to occupy ourselves. Nono’s store had a collection of strange knives and I learned pretty well how to throw them and a series of marks embedded into the far wood panels of the wall showed practice. My favorite was a sort of curved knife with a curved handle of bone with a large pommel at the end. I would idly learn how to spin it between my fingers. I taught my brother as well.

“I’m gonna look outside.” I said, standing.

My family looked at me.

“Be careful.” My mom said.

“I’ll look too.” My brother said and got up.

Beyond the thin wooden door was the storefront, still full of junk and antiques which were now of little value except to burn. An old globe, the kind you’d see in old movies in some rich guy’s study, stuck out among brass poles to a disassembled trundle bed. Coffee tables and handcrafted chairs with floral patterns on their cushions from a bygone but not a dissimilar era.

The big glass windows that looked out to the big parking lot showed the rubble and deep holes gouged into the tarmac. The other stores in the old strip mall plaza were dark. Old cars, either smashed into twisted metal or burned to a solemn husk littered the cracked and jaunted pavement. In the distance, a tall building was engulfed in flame. It had been burning for two days.

The sky was clouded with a low overcast that had been present for nearly a month, and tiny speckles of rain formed on the glass panes. Under my poncho and my brother under his blanket, we moved to the window and looked up. Beyond the clouds flashes of orange light could be seen and their mystery was terrifying and out of our control.

The two of us just looked and said nothing for a long moment.

“What do you think is going on?” My brother finally said as booms and rumbles reached our feet.

“I don’t know. The government could be trying to fight them.”

Suddenly an object burst from the clouds far away. Behind it carried a streamer of blue flame and debris broke away and spiraled in streaks of blue.

“look!” My brother said.

The object became more clear, and it seemed to be nearing us. An aircraft of some strange design. I couldn’t see any wings and my brother adjusted his old rayban glasses to see better.

“Get back.” I said as the craft broke apart further, it’s hulk rocketing down.

The craft struck the burning building and the largest part skipped off of it in a shower of fire and rubble. It moved very fast now in our direction and crashed against the smashed pavement at the edge of the parking lot. The sound was a tumult and the ground shuddered under our feet as it came to rest at the far end of the plaza.

From what I could see, it was not a government plane or design at all. Wordlessly we watched it as blue flames rose up to the heavens.

From the side a door could be seen opening and we pressed up to the glass to see. Several small blue humanoid creatures exited it and milled about the wreck, they had weapons of some kind and red spines flaring off of their heads. At the distance we were, it was hard to tell what they were doing, but they were the survivors.

“It’s them.” I said, and the primal fear took hold. We looked at each other and both bolted back to our parents.

“We NEED to go.” I said

Mom and Dad both looked up at us, breathing heavy.

“What is it?” My dad said standing.

“A ship or something just fell and some of them  are out there in the plaza.”

We took no time to hurry our things together. The hunger was what lead my dad to strain the half cooked rice, pouring the water over the fire and make for the door last with the pot in his hand. We left the embers for whomever might find it.

The four of us moved swiftly as we could out into the woods next to the highway and we did not stop moving until dawn rose the world into a grey.

Good & Evil Rush tomorrow

So for a while I’ve been working on this comic, It involves two foxes who may or may not be representing Yin and Yang as they try to deal with themselves and the world around them in parallel adventures.

The vast majority is not online but I do have a website where I plan to rectify that: http://goodevilcomic.com/

Tomorrow from 4:00pm to some time later (eastern US time) I’m going to be uploading a new page every half hour. If you would like to see it from the beginning here’s the link: http://goodevilcomic.com/comic/good-evil-chapter-1-title/

If you enjoy my writing, this comic is little more than a visual story, and I mean that because you need to have an open mind when looking at my drawings 😛

If you like Consider Subtlety please also follow Good and Evil. You wont be disappointed.

SCAN0001

Moment

Once so far away,

is now arrived,

is now behind,

is with us forever.

life is a moment,

long and incoprehendable

brilliantly arising, confirming,and deteriorated

A jump, a wave, a pulse, a splash

from calm to calm

and punctuated by pure sun warmth,

the cool immersion of water,

the tickle of green grass,

the mysterious dark,

Life is a moment of everything.

A fantastical Drop in it all.

Activity Update

I salute you. Thanks to all my followers and readers, you are great!

poster

So, For those of you who have been waiting for more Sci Fi fox or Good & Evil, I should not, but I must make the same unfortunate excuse as anyone who makes comics, that it takes a while. Since I’m not much in the way of drawing, It’s not that I’m working on one page for all this time, but I hope to put up many pages at once at once rather than keep the story so segmented for both. Issue 2 of G & E will be done soon. It’s a couple pages longer, But I will reboot the past issue with it.

Anyway, if you like my writing at all, please don’t hesitate to let me know. If you don’t like my writing, well, no one asked you. If you don’t have the attention span to read, then I guess I can only blame you for being uncultured swine. Since the majority of people rarely read past the first sentence, this is kind of an inside joke right now between you and me (hehe).
I made this poster, more comics will be soon, for now I leave you with space police:

 

 

History

Time does weave a magic thread,

It binds all things in beginnings and ends,

In life so full, new births, and deaths,

Exits ongoing in what is further sent.

 

what hand overcomes the last?

Evolution spirals and dies along,

After last setting’s past.

We cannot decern a new dawn,

 

Great walls of challenges met like imposable waves,

And thought that what sinks is gone,

Alas we forget that time’s waves.

Have depth beyond our own.

 

Nothing is born and nothing dies, such conclusion is an illusion,

Our fears of ends is in fact a lie, rather it is a transfusion into infusion.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Someone to love.

I want someone who will love me, even if I forget.

I want someone who will rub my belly, and treat me like their pet.

I want someone who will whisper in the dark when the night outside is cold.

I’d like someone to love me before I grow too old.

 

We’d dance among the raindrops and sing in the pouring rain,

With them would cradle sorrow and wash away my pain,

We’d laugh and sing and dance and play,

With them I’d give everything and every living day.

 

They would smile for no reason and laugh without a joke,

They would bring fresh air because the world around can choke,

They would tell me their secrets and we’d smile at our faults,

They would know it as no burden to trust in eachothers hearts.

 

We would take a stand against the world with war cries so shrill,

And when one would fall before their time, the other would love them still.

 

Yes I would love them without regret, if they would love me back,

and therein lies the ultimatum one cannot take back.

For the more you give, the more exposed

To hail of social rounds

And as another pet, be whipped into the ground,

For fear holds so tightly from straying into the open,

Fear of soft whispers becoming spite and broken,

That time will surpass the love we share and death take us alone,

And nothing but regret rains upon our shores

 

I do not fear for I am a rock

I will remain after the waves have stopped

And if you want,

We can both make love below the water.

 

There is sitting in a subway station,

A man without no legs,

Says time is coming to an end,

And nothing is left to beg.

There is a woman who gropes at darkness,

Because she has gone blind,

Yet she does not remain heartless,

The chicken crosses before the egg,

Gone in a way are morels, gone are the old ways of life,

But since when did the future care about what was past and strife?

THE WORLD TEETERS INTO SALVATION OR OBLIVION

and yet all will carry on,

how jazz and love, alcohol, cigarettes and fire,

winks, and pills, and snowboarding,weapons wisdom, and wit

windows, soundboards, and violins,

arise from dirt and spit.

Into where this fucked up train rides us, I don’t know where

But i know that there is denied us the ability to say no,

that there is strength in endurence

That there is grace in keeping faith,

that wherever the world lands us, that it wil lead us to some welcomed fate,

Who knows what will or may not be

when the pall of eventide rises

when the seas boil over, and the sun no longer arises,

when the earth implodes and all the fish are dead

and all the dogs, cats, and wombats are gone

Who knows what endless silence will overtake

Because all we are is fire, and a song.

 

 

 

 

Guitar.

Here I am.

There you are.

Am I alone again?

A point in space so far.

Fuck your pre-conditions.

I love who you are.

But I was born to suffer.

To watch with wisdom from afar,

I don’t ask for anything,

I wished my destiny so,

And now I pile drive myself,

into the warm earth below.

Mozart melting over 2

Audio Version

 

Drezden here. Last time I had regaled you with a exposition to my orchestral experience. No, I’m not talking about the first time I made love, but rather an affirmation, a testament  to the intricate nature of our reality (as portrayed by so many in our  past society) through music. I had sufficiently scotched myself up and was rolling along through a very impressionable consciousness when the confrontation with the bloody fingered man ended and the house lights dimmed to further draw the attention of the crowd towards the stage ahead. It was about eight thirty when the applause coxed out each of the violinists, cellists, bassists, flutests, basoonists, oboians, kettle drummers, snare drummers, French hornians, et all etcettera.

They gathered in their places to the light applause which began to die down. They arrayed themselves in a half circle formation, still standing (which made me wonder the prospect of a completely circular orchestra playing only to itself).

Just as the applause began to dwindle, they took a bow, which seemed to rejuvenate some enthusiasm, which resounded for a moment like a rouge wave on a beachhead. Then they sat and the Conductor appeared like some deity with a flourish of his magic music wand. The applause took off once more and died. The entire orchestra and the magic conductor man then turned to the audience and bowed. The applause resumed like a standing in church, to which I resolved to half halfheartedly participate.

The musicians then sat. The conductor then turned, and the applause died.

There was a moment, and then a breath, before the conductor raised his wand slowly.

One of the first chair violinists began to slowly saw the bow across the fragile instrument. It was quiet, too quiet, but just quiet enough to make out. It was a slow rocking back and forth that grasped at something ordered. It was taken up by the second chair, the third, the fourth and so on with all of the string instruments jauntily playing over and under each other in a vast rising volume of  dripping violins.

The cellists, and the bassists, nudged in awkwardly one at a time until there was a looming cloud of cacophony filling the room.  The scotch lurched in my stomach as it grew louder and louder, hints of No. 38 and a requiem in D minor arose with glimpses of Beethoven and Hayden rising into focus and then falling back into the broth of sound. The space seemed to be falling around with the sound. The people, the huge theater, began dissolving away as the sounds rose higher and higher until finally the ceiling broke and the orchestra culminated in unison with great powerful strokes of magnificent presence.

The musicians seemed to be at battle, firing shells of music into the audience below. From my balcony I pressed forward, my head cocked to the left to observe how each section called and recalled to each other. Glorious order in the static of our existence.

And yet when this climax had been reached, they saw fit to steal it away. The music acted as if a red hot iron had been pressed to it, shrieking in pain, squealing, as it rose and fell, once more dripping into a slow chaos. To this, the players stood and began to move together. The chaos resounding as they quieted and moved towards the back of the stage. The lights began to dim as they moved. They dimmed furthur and furthur as the sound died and melted into a raw moulten existance. The theater was black when the sound reduced to nothing more than errie plucking. They could be heard moving back into the hallways from whence they came and their sound left with the foreboding thought that they could appear anywhere, and when the lights returned it might not be the same reality I had become accustomed.

The darkness remained, and the plucking faded into silence in the dark.

I was dead sober when the lights returned, and a greater applause exploded through the crowd.

I was among them and I tipped my hat to their showmanship as well as their musical jest.

I checked the program to see that it was “Moz-Art a la Haydn” made in 1977.

The second song began as “Mozart’s own Violin Concerto No 1 in B flat” with the violin god returning to stage with many repetitions of appropriate times to clap. I decided that the reason for all this clapping business was to keep people awake. Not that I needed such encouragement, but as I said, it was an older crowd.

The piece wen’t through Allegro Moderato, Adagio, and presto with the Violin god (Mr. Tetzlaff) performing his own Cadenza (whatever a Cadenza is).

Mr Tetzlaff was the undoubted star of the show, standing next to the conductor (the undisputed second star of the show offering amusing and dynamic movements to the best parts of the piece). The man did not simply stand and play his instrument like a robot might, or how a preppy student would attempt, he was frankly on another level. He was too good to stand still, feeling each note and letting the motions of song reverberate through his body.

As he played the presto I recall watching his feet, standing there in the center of the orchestra in the center of the Lincoln center music hall, rocking out to a 241 year old piece of music emblazoned with his enthusiasm. His eyes closed, feeling the movements and letting his heels rise gently off the stage, his body lighter than the air around him, his form nothing but a fantastic energy in that time and space.

It was like he was soaring there, and I thought as I listened to the resounding sound of the entire orchestra backing him up and offering the depth, the totality of life as it were, behind him:

The more realizations you make are only that the world is vastly more intricate and complicated than you previously thought. This continues with each realization you make, and that may inhibit you to stop, to think that you couldn’t possibly make an impact on this vast thing that supports and surrounds your existence.  But you always have and always will make an impact in ways that are far more intricate and complicated than you previously thought.

What it took for that man down there, what it took for him to get there, not in some abstract sense of status, but for him to be standing on those wooden floorboards where he is now in the glow of the sound at the center of the room, his sound rising higher than all others at just the right moments next to the conductor. How he got to where he was exactly.

If you could see 4th dimentional vision, the hours and connections and practice it took for him to be there. And then on top of being in that spot, what he does with the notes and the way they strike you. The way he moves to lift off the ground trying to bring everyone around him up along on his journey. Each member of the orchestra trying to reach the same thing and yet perhaps realizing, perhaps not realizing where they are, working together as this organism.

It’s like they are soaring.

And yet then you realize that this entire scenario is just one aspect of the world and creation, that someone made each instrument their own and became one with them. That the violin is so intricate, infinitely intricate, and it is just one path to greatness, even if that greatness is just to stand before Lincoln center and soar for an hour.

And I thought, that was why it is so important to take things for what they are and not let what surrounds it cloud the vision of beholding greatness in such purity.

There are many channels to greatness and perhaps an infinite sky to soar if we can only find the way. 

It was at that last thought I realized that the fish scampi was battling alongside with the oyster h’ordeuvres and scotch I had on the Veranda. I contained myself THROUGH THE CADENZA WHICH WAS LOVELY until the applause marking the intermission where I adjourned at rapid pace to the bathroom. I pushed past several stuff shirted type men awaiting the third stall on the left, and retched into the sterling bowl in the lobby men’s room.

 

To be continued…next time

-Drezden