Seek 8: Return to Khaios

Walking and talking, waxing philosophical. Suddenly they hear the shriek of a couatl behind them. They run, but they know they can't outrun couatls. They pass a tree that has been struck by lightning or something, has a huge fissure down the center of it. They climb into the hollow, and Jonah uses the bios shard to close the tree around them. Cracking, popping, little puffs of dust with each snap before darkness surrounded them and they could see only a sliver of light--a single mote-- shining through from a gap in their covering. Hidden in the womb of the tree, robed in perfect night though daylight surrounded them on every side. They clasp hands in the dark, their breath coming in stifled gasps. Patrol comes searching. "We know you're here somewhere. You might as well just come out now, because if you go wasting our time, we might just have to tell our officers that we found you dead in the woods." Tear illuminated on Kara's cheek as

Kara, you have to understand some things about Khaios before we get there. I don't want you to be confused or hurt or anything, because there, people act differently than in Shibboleth or Secra. They're going to treat you differently.
I mean, I think I can handle it. If it's about skin, then I've seen it before, both in Secra and in Shibboleth.
The thing is, in Khaios, they're not going to treat you the same as they treat me. They're going to assume things about you, and most of them won't take the time to find out if those things are true. They're going to think you're something less than you really are, and they're going to hate you for being different than their expectations. I mean, I guess you've seen how the Uppers respond, but people like you--your own people, essentially--are going to hate you for being different and for not wanting to be the same as them. They're going to say things. They're going to call you things, and I don't want it to get to you.
(Maybe here is a good place to have the bird come through the bushes)
There was silence for a moment as the two walk. She thanks him.
Khaios comes into view through the trees. Kara takes off running "Woah! It goes on forever! Why didn't you tell me it was this amazing?"
"Wait, you mean you've never seen Khaios before?"
"No, of course not! We weren't ever supposed to go near it."
"So when I was leaving Khaios--"
"--I was trying to sneak a glimpse, yeah."
"I guess I just don't get how you could have lived so close to it all your life and never seen it."
"Well you of course had an extraordinary knowledge of Secra, even though you apparently lived farther from Secra than the people of Secra did from Khaios."
Jonah's face lit up with a laugh. "I guess you're right. I hadn't really thought about it that way before. I've always kind of seen Khaios as the center of everything, but I guess in the end, whatever world you live in, that's the one that really exists for you."

Seek 7: Randomness

As if he might drown out the clamor of his mind/the silence of his mind

At some point, we have to throw out some dreams to fit the foundations of other aspirations within our minds.

I don't know that I know how to be loved

Oh cursed me! Do I now forget the song that filled my boyish soul? How can I now recall that sacral song that graces me alone in heavy sleep, when Morpheus his works in me has wrought?

Include as little about he govt structure/politics as possible. This is supposed to be about the human heart, the line through the soul.

Ambiguity

Sometimes, there is beauty in confusion

And sometimes poets say the things they say

Simply because they hope the critics will find out what it all really means

So they can move on and live a normal life,

One unencumbered by those emotions and thoughts that make for good poetry--

The depression, the doubt, the loneliness,

The crippling fear that you might just write something

That would change the world.

If we thought we were good at what we are doing, we wouldn't be going to school.

The Lord will cleave the rocks of your wilderness and cause that sweet water shall flow forth from them

Firestorms over the slums, Jonah on the wall overlooking it, his arms reaching up into the infernal heavens, wondering why

Your sympathy for sale

gossamer

Wild landscapes--heath/wilderness, blackened trees, belly of the earth

Jonah and Mara go at one point to a place by the sea. "Can we come back here some day?" / "I don't know if we will ever come back. I don't want to promise anything I can't be sure of." / "I would very much like to come back."

That could be where they go in the end. House upon the cliffs where the winds whisper and the tides crawl up the shore and sink back into the mists.

How am I to navigate these waters dark

To understand htis unintelligible world.

Say, prophesy! Who is it that struck thee?

How am I to hear once more the songs of innocence

Over the clamor of my mind?

How am I to find grace in a graceless, faceless world

Everyone has a past.

"We used to come here to collect wildflowers when we were kids, back before..."

(Someone injured talking to Scout---Simeon or Jonah) "You won't understand this, but you feel like you're just not enough--like there's a part of you missing

-Irony in the fact that that's how she feels all the time b/c of her gender issues

Jonah always calls Scout pal, sport, bud just to annoy him (her).

gods trapped in a mortal shell: stay your hand, Prometheus--here is the fire.

I choose to live in a world of ideas, distilled from reality.

It was as though I thought that by being cold, the vapors of truth might condense upon my being/heart/mind

Pulling everything to it as oxygen to the firestorms over the slums

Red wildflowers charging from the dark earth, springing up form the cracks in the ebony clay

Device allows Simeon to listen in on govt. "Isn't that like, wrong or something?"

"Do you really think that they're not doing the same thing to us right now?"

Fire on the horizon brushed shadow onto the canvas of the sky

The river glowed beneath a starless sky.

Swallowed in the sunbeams

Our long forgotten infancy

Here in my purgatory beneath a copper sun

Sometimes I wish that I could just disappear, be swallowed up in the earth, fade into he gray of twilight--if only I could hide from my inadequacies. Consciousness and conscience are a purgatory.

Rage against the hatred and the un-love.

People listening, all day drowning in their noise

Write about people you don't understand from the point of view of people whom you don't like or understand.

Do you already have life so figured out that you've stopped looking? I can't comprehend your happiness, your peace that passeth all understanding--are you damned all, or am I? Or are both of us? Is your ignorance bliss or is my knowledge sorrow? Or is my sorrow ignorance?

Do I now awake, and dost thou yet slumber? OR do both in Morpheus's embrace now lie, one to rest and one to wander and to wonder? Do dreams dance before my wild eyes, or...

Summon the notes from the ether, bind the chaos of human emotion into lilt and motion, make the soul into a song

But what of the forgotten, the hidden ones, the worn out wanderers, reanimated at the call of dusk to endure a frenzied purgatory, to live out their life sentence ever in the twilight of humanity?

When the night streets are yours and yours alone, and the whole world is yours because no one else showed up

Oh, please pity the dreams--those who long fro sleep but seldom find it: those who even in rare slumber know not how to rest. Envy them their worlds, perhaps, but pity their knowledge and their pain. Look upon the hands raw and blistered by the sun as they pled to the heavens, their knees bruised and bloodied as they bent on the stony ground.

Hall of monuments --corridor of Founders' statues as Jonah walks up to courtroom

Fata Morgana

This world is only a passage to another world (a wandered in a strange land)

Capitalists still can't wrap their heads around the idea that people can be something else and still be happy or even proud.

You cannot contemplate the things of God without some distance from the world.

Science has now known sin

there is love enough is this world for everybody, if people will just look

Pure research--no goal in mind, no better filter, no new formula to cut costs--just discovery

Crystal seeding - crystal fibers grown, recrystallized, scratch glass and crystals form (flossy). Add stabilizers, weave into fractal cloth

Fields of oily stalks with flowers peeking up. easy to spot above the uniformity of the rest. Workers pulling them out, piling them and burning. Symbol of dreamers, "not good for anything." Striving upward, toward the empty sky.

Park with world in bricks used as intro to different continents. "And we would sit on the world and talk of paradise."

Seeding technis crystals to make fractal sails

Death is a forgetting

Man subdued by the mundane elements that he has subdued

Commercila/market district

Wealther merchants live on inner wall

big, broad street through market dist. at night, empty, patrolled by guards (Enforcers?). No permanent residents really.

tribal priests use technis/chakra to convince people of Great Spirit--Jonah sees through this but comes to find God in the end. First denies it. "It's like everything else--fake." Then acknowledges there is something higher, a God, but doesn't know how to perceive it or describe it.

Livestock pens for men (Mara to Jonah)

Why not live outside? There is space enough here for millions and millions beyond those that fester within the walls.

Eyes dull and empty, almost animal likebut with less of a will to sruvive

***Creative literature is too delayerd--it needs an outlet. Self publication, biweekly? Chapbooks?

We can't live in art.

-------------------------------

I quest outside but twice a day

To chase my wintry pale away

And then, with sun kissed cheeks, inside,

To taste the world--in reading, hide.

Popeye's on Tuesday, Kane's Wednesday, Thursday Buffalo Wild Wings

Chicken and lips shining with grease  (Larry from the battery warehouse)

Tempura tempting me, unagi wriggling between wooden spears, before sliding down my gullet. Eel sauce and spicy mayonnaise are  swirl of color on Da Vinci's canvas on the plate,

A starry night where Pisces shies from showing his fins

And the twin dragon sleeps upon the mountainside

The human experience is the poetry of poetry. Good poetry, then, must stir us to remember the joys and beauties that we have lived to experience.

How am I to speak my soul when it is severed from sensation? My cup runneth empty, so how is my soul to overflow, to spill out onto the pages of my shame and solitude?

" all that dreary intercourse of daily life"  Wordsworth

It was time that thought was added to your reason: heart to your charity, soul to your religion.

Modern media blunts the human mind

Poetry is what disrupts the daily doldrums of reality--the flecks of silver/gold scattered in the coal dust

Vulnerability of a new professor: mind still empty and full of dreams at the same time

More Transcription (Seek scraps and writing journal)

Simeon trying to convince Jonah to use technis. "You could create world, rebuild paradise."
"I will rebuild paradise, but it will be stone upon stone."
Eventually grows opposed to even using Onim, but he has to at one point to save people?

Flash flood out on flatlands. Dry earth, flows over, have to get higher ground --> basin drains off through river that becomes torrential, child swept up, drowns. Send of in river with candles.
Flatlands become a tool to discuss hardened earth/soul that won't drink in the life that surrounds them, flows over and about them.

Screams of chokros resounding through the darkness

These problems started a long time ago, before you were even born. You can't expect to fix them in a day
Acknowledge the struggle, and then be strong

Jonah discovers plot because he mispronounces word that is code word for secret society (watch word). "Can she be trusted?"

Pinions glittering in the fearless rays of the dayspring star

Open air museum - "This is my dream, my memory."

Writing Journal Transcription (Seek)

Seek Brainstorming

Raid, trial, work camp, flight, rescue/encounter, village, accusations, advocacy, intervention, hunting (villagers cool off), raiders return, race back to village, fight off raiders, face off/encounter with leader (scar-faced?), Kara saves (shoots arrow at Gecko?), shouts (others coming), Sal. Leg. liet. grabs reins, turns couatl around, looks back, lock eyes, rides off into night, swallowed by the darkness of the jungle (Heart of Darkness)

Smoke everywhere--old woman stumbling backwards, tripping over things, eyes full of terror--eyes lock, she runs away, and that's what makes Jonah realize that these are not his enemies. "These are regular people. These are children and old women." Crying from someone

Village packing up. Some to Shibboleth, some to Khaios, where their sons have lived for years.

In your language they would be called moon blossoms
Jonah grew up in poor district, heard some villagers speaking in marketplaces, knows some words in Old Tongue. Will have a teacher (little brother?)

Jonah silhouetted against the burning factory, etc. and as he stumbles out people in the streets cheer him on for blowing it up, even though he chose not to / tried to stop it.

Great free city in the mountains to the north.

Seek: 1

I've been mulling over a novel idea for about a year now, and it's been a lot of fun to think about different characters or scenes that I want to include, but I haven't really ever gotten around to plotting out the story, so I figured this would be as good a time as ever. I've been looking into the hero's journey of late, and I've realized that what I do have so far is actually pretty close to the beginning of the heroic journey, so I may see if I can kind of use the general model as a template to build upon. I've also thought about splitting up my story ideas into a couple of novels, as I have a ton that I want to address, but my fear is that I will lose track of the main ideas that I want to convey throughout the piece as a whole. I think what I've decided, though, is that each really is a different story, and I need to focus on one first (Jonah's) and then retell it in a second novel from another (Simeon's) point of view. Anyway, I'm going to start writing now, and I don't know when I'll stop.

Founders' Wall

[Creators' spark [eskra]: gods left it inside of mankind when they created him from the dust of the earth. It is this that drives man to write or sing or craft or create in any capacity, and it is precisely this spark that enables the use of the Onim. It is but a cold ember in the hearts of most, but within the veins of a select few--many of whom you would call Seekers--burns an undying spark than can be breathed into new life. It is the power of creation itself, the power that supposedly once brought forth life from the clay of these hills.]

Jonah shielded his eyes, the outline of the door blazing white, and when his vision returned, Jonah saw that a passageway had opened up leading into the dark of the Founders' Wall.
"Well, this is the end of the line for us," rumbled the taller of the two smugglers.
"What do you  mean? Where am I supposed to go?"
"That's not our problem. Our job is just to get you out of Khaios, and we've done tha--"
"No need to be rude, Jafra," the smaller of the two interjected. He was, as far as Jonah could tell through the thick woolen clothes, still a very large man, but his voice was soft, gentle--not like any market vendor he had ever met. "Just follow the passage and it will take you out. There is an old woman a few hours eastward who can give you shelter and food until you've figured things out."
"Thank you. [Embarrassed]. Thank you for your help." Just at that moment, a pair of mercs rounds the corner of a nearby building and begins pursuit.
"I'm sorry to be breaking up your touching little moment, but they already dropped one of us, and I'm not going to risk any of us gettin' fired up with their blasters--especially not," Jafra continued, turning to his comrade, "with your arm already messed up pretty bad from the hit you took earlier." Turning to Jonah, Jafra commanded, "Go, kid. Go now. The door will close as we leave." By this point the mercs are nearly there, and their blasters are spitting pulses of energy across the twenty meters between them and their pursuants. 

Pleasta Meecha

 Well, I was asked to write a blog post introducing myself for a class that I'm taking on John Milton, so I figured I would post it here as well just for fun. I am not a big guy on taking photos of myself, so any time I want to post one for a profile or whatever, I have to take one on the spot, so I've included an obligatory photo. I feel like when introducing themselves, most often people emphasize the same five or so things and then finish it all off with "something interesting" which invariably becomes nothing more than an extension of one of the first five things, so this time, I'm going to take a little bit of a different approach and share some things that not everyone might know. I hope you can get to know the everyday stuff about me from just regular interactions, here and in real life.

I am a technology enthusiast with reservations. I follow all sorts of cool new technologies, from transparent solar cells to 3D printers that can be used to print viable human tissue (to quote the oracle from Hercules, "...it's gonna be big"). I'm interested (though shamefully inexperienced) in lots of different forms of digital expression, from 2D art to filmmaking, and I'm really interested in reinterpretations of older forms, like spoken word poetry and the work of young and aspiring Youtube artists like Lindsey Stirling. It's secretly a dream to make a successful vlog or Youtube channel someday. I remain adamant, however, in my opinion that just because your phone is an egghead, mine doesn't have to be a "dumb phone" even though it's from 2005. I like a lot of the features of modern phones and stuff, but I know myself well enough to know that if I had a so-called "smart" phone, I would probably quickly get sucked into all the cool apps and other stuff. So, I stick with my museum-worthy RAZR. 

See, MSPaint isn't thaaaat bad...

Ever since I was 15 or so, I've wanted to develop a low-cost method of water purification for application in low-income areas. That's pretty much what made me want to study chemistry originally (that, and the prospect of going into food sciences and developing calorie-free Goldfish crackers so I could not feel bad about being practically addicted to them). I worked at a nature preserve for a summer and actually served on a municipal water council to raise awareness of water-born illness and to encourage "green" building techniques. Yep... closet hippie. Eventually, though, English called my name, so I can still be a hippie, just in different ways.

hospital bed

HOSPITAL BED

for no one really understands

the Loneliness of Death,

the Sorrow that ensues within 

those last few moments' breath.

and no one truly comprehends

the Pain of true Regret, 

the moments you would fain relive 

and words you can't forget.

One of the things that I love most about writing is it's an opportunity to develop empathy. In order to create characters, plots, or dialogues that are at all realistic, you have to frequently leave your own life, your own experiences, and drown yourself in the thoughts and sorrows and aspirations of people from all different age groups and walks of life.

More from Moscow

So, first off, I realize this is obscenely long, so feel free to browse, skim, read every 17th word, or do whatever else if you get bored of my rambling. I keep this in part for others but also as a way for me to be able to remember, so it goes into more depth than it might otherwise. In any case, this has been quite the week. We have now successfully located and eaten at three shaurma stands, one of which serves shaurma like they make in Dnepropetrovsk. Let's just say the french fries are a must. Hot sauce is also a major plus. These last few days have been really amazing in a lot of different ways. I guess I'll kind of start at the beginning and see where we end up after I blah-blah for a bit. 

Wednesday, we revisited the Temple of Christ the Savior, as the others hadn't yet seen it. I was honestly thinking that I'd rather go off and see something else instead, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to see the temple again, and we'll just say I wasn't disappointed. We got there and looked around for a bit before heading downstairs to the Temple of the Transfiguration of Christ, and we got there right as an evening service was beginning. The priest/cantor stood in the middle of the room, in an area partitioned off from the rest of the hall, and he sang the prayers before the iconostasis, which is basically a veil made of icons, separating the main court of the temple from what would have been referred to as the Holy of Holies in temples of early Judeo-Christian belief. I love listening to stuff like that: Old Slavonic prayers, the Latin liturgies, the Qur'an, the Torah during synagogue-- it all really speaks to me. Though in each of these I understand only a few words every once in while, I love the feeling that I get deep inside, and I love the look on everyone's faces and how their eyes get bright as if there's some hidden light that awakens at the call of the music. There in the temple, the cantor would chant his portions of the service, and then a choir, positioned off to the side, would chime in. I think Russian church choirs are some of my favorite. They're usually only four people-- two men and two women--, but they sing so beautifully, and when I think of what heavenly choruses will sound like, that's pretty much what I envision. Anyway, I was basically a thrall to the music. I could have stayed there forever and never grown tired of listening.