The Few Of Us

Isaac shoved gloved hands into his thick coat after giving the command to lower the dinghy onto the icy still water. After two months of a sightless voyage the expedition party to the Edge, as ordered by the Theorcratic Union, has finally reached their destination.

Isaac had full faith and trust they were doing what would have been ordered by God. The Great Congress communed for months before giving their full endorsement to use the tempered curiosity as given by God to explore the extent of their world so that they may be closer to Him.

The dinghy touched the silent water and Isaac gave notice to the crew it was time to depart.

The seven members selected to hike the Arctic Crest swung their packs over their shoulders and started down the dangling ladder to the boat.

The journey to the snowy shore and hike up the crest was uneventful. A deafening cold silence greeted them broken only by their footfalls.

They snaked up the snow covered mountain single file without a word.

At the summit of the arctic Crest they gazed beyond into the endless darkness that had never been seen by human eyes before. The drones they launched in years past never survived the intense electromagnetic bands that emanated from the Crest.

The darkness before them was suffocating and terrible. Powerful and forbidding. The gradient marking the Sky End was directly above them. Like a painted blue dome fading to black that was just with the reach of their technology.

As the rest of the crew reached the top and the sound of their movement quieted they could hear a distant hiss. A low white noise familiar to anyone who spent too much time at the choir.

The Ocean Fall.

Isaac turned, pulled at this scarf and raised his snow goggles. “Men this is what we have come to seek out. The edge and to bask in the glory of that our Lord created for us. We shall return and the people of our world can take one more step to being closer to Him.”

They started down the dark side of the crest toward where the ice sheet met the start of the ocean fall.

The temperature was eerily warmer during the descent. The crew loosened their scarfs and commented how the air tasted metallic.

Reaching the dark shore one of the crew unslung his pack and snapped a cord which caused it to start inflating.

After a few minutes the pack unfolded into a raft to use on the remainder of their journey. The rest of the crew loaded their equipment and shoved off into this new untouched sea.

They had to do very little rowing as the current naturally took them towards the Ocean Fall.

The low hiss now dropped an octave and could be felt in the air. A slight low pressure that meet their chest.

After some time Issac measured their speed and took note they were just about to pass the point of no return. The event horizon.

The crew started unpacking the aeroraft. Adam pulled out the canister of fire clay which was submerged in kerosene to keep it stable. They fastened the cloth of the aero dome's ends to the hooks which lined the edge of the raft.

With the canister in the middle of the rocking boat one of the crew dialed a knob until it flailed open like an aluminum flower draining the kerosene to a lower chamber. Four of the crew members held up the silvery cloth as flames started shooting out of the canister.

Like a slowly waking serpent the balloon rippled to life. Super heated air breathed life into the iridescent cloth as they coasted ever fasted towards the edge of God's world.

After about ten minutes the raft has been transformed into a balloon basket about to ascend away from the ocean fall. Slowly and steadily the transform raft lifted off the sea at the same velocity it had been being carried at. The edge of the ocean fall had been suddenly brought into perspective.

They rose higher yet the sound of the ocean fall just became more deafening. The edge was clearly defined against the darkness.

Sooner than they expected the fall was right beneath them. It didn't look like a typical water fall. Rather it was as if the ocean was bent at a slow large angle down into a darkness that extended forever.

They passed over the fall. The extent of Gods world. The darkness seemed to swallow them up.

All of a sudden a massively terrifying and flawless chrome face with empty eyes slowly rose from the darkness accompanied by the low roll of the trumpet, now at such a volume it drowned out ocean fall. The sound’s pressure clouded the crews senses and made it difficult to look for very long.

Behind the polished metallic face billions of gears, pinion and cogs spun with the energy of a thousand engines as jets of steam shot out periodically cooling the terrible contraption. The solid facade was held up by a powerful silver beams joined at massive golden pivot points which extended into the darkness and under the ocean fall.

Slowly it stretched open its mouth revealing a blinding light which flooded the darkness. It seemed emit a high pitched whine along with the low trumpet that stung the crew's ears.

In one instant the crew exploded into sparkling dust and the face slowly lowered back into darkness.

Is this thing on?

Anyone still interested in doing this?

I'm going to make a song post this weekend...

-B

Blue in Green by Miles Davis

It was a chilly fall evening, the perfect kind of night where a person might throw a hooded sweatshirt on over the jeans and T-shirt that were comfortable during the warmer day.

She said there quietly, gazing at the patterns in the block hardwood that was resonating the sound through out the flat, as the turntable played those notes, sounding so perfect and clear in the nearly empty old house. It was one of those once beautiful "historic district" area homes in a city that was now overrun by violence and corrupt by cynicism. Still there were some beautiful souls who still lingered there, and she was in the company of those strong artistic types.

And though didn't she know it, they were helping to shape her.

She had listened to this album before with her grandparents as a young girl, but she couldn't really exactly place or remember the songs. However, they were just so familiar.  Like the taste of Johnny Walker Blue label on the lips of her lover, the songs enticed her in a way, but also had a strange comfort. There was a kind of assuagement that came with the hazy memory of that alcohol smell. It had been Grandpa's favorite and his skin was always faintly permeated with the sweet, harsh scotch whiskey mash.

This record had a similar juxtaposition of something that was both a little dangerous, but was full of just enough comforting elements to make it okay. She sat on the floor of her boyfriend's room, completely enthralled in the music, thumbing through his artwork, the books that were strewn all around, all while taking in the smell of crisp air filtered with softly falling leaves though the open window.

Just then she looked up to see him returning, her hypnosis partially broken, but more so simply redirected upon him. He would have been achingly handsome if not for the goofy grin that never took more than a few moments to surface upon his lips, and a voice that teetered on that of a Looney Tunes character. She loved him madly, as all seventeen year old girls loved their first physically manifested "love".  However,  there was more to their relationship than that;  she had become close with his small group of friends, local indie rock dudes who would later cycle through and make appearances all throughout her life. All she knew now was that these new friends offered older, more established pallets and were just what she wanted and needed. New books, movies, and music; more local events. Art galleries. Live shows.

All of these things, as well as this one perfect evening that was unfolding between them were leading up to the crescendo.  There had been just the right combination of booze, familiar comforts, and of course;  Miles Davis, that lead her to her release. With her shining, dark eyes dimly illuminated, he moved his hands around her waist and gentled lifted her up off the cool, polished, laminate pine and onto his bed, just as the music became even more amplified.

Afterward the record continued and reflected the perfection of the way it had all aligned. She lay there contented, thinking of nothing at all outside of the beauty in the notes, and all she was surrounded with.

Things ended badly, of course, as they almost always do; but she never quite forgot that night, or a number of other things that she would be forever be grateful to him for. Through the years and anger subsided and she held on only to the good memories.

Soundtrack. TCM - Keep Hope Alive

He lost count after passing the Marathon station. ‘Five? No that doesn’t seem right. He’s been driving longer than that. The fifth time was just before Taco Bell.’ And that gas station had the familiar flickering “M” that’s gone neglected all summer. He sat there, alone, in his overheated piece of shit car. Kept his mind busy traveling back in time to the moment he left work recreating the timeline of landmarks he passes on his way home.

‘Ah, seventh. Yeah because I was already into the warehousing district on the sixth.’ He thought to himself, pointing at no one.

Arm rested on the window he looked out into the darkness between the dark aluminum buildings. Dirty weeds reached out of small veins of soil that splintered across the concrete. It was hot and stagnant. An updraft of murky air rose from the dirty street bringing with it the heavy scent of asphalt and gasoline; with just a hint of skunk-like anti-freeze. The noise of the now-distant city collapsed into a single waveform and carried by like a low, constant wind.

The isolation of it all was comforting. The thick blanket of night and white noise providing a sense of protection.

Until the fear of an imaginary stranger coming out of the shadows shattered that comfort. Jumping awake he glanced at the engine temperature and turned the key in the ignition.

He’s owned this car so long that its idiosyncrasies became his. Like an old couple he could tell the instant something was wrong.

He didn’t get but three miles before the engine stuttered for a split second and the dash lights dimmed. Like some super human with x-ray vision he could look through the dash and visualize the cardboard shim he placed there the month before had moved slightly causing the spark plug cables to arc against the engine block and shorting out the electrical system.

Pulling over once again to adjust the shim he got out not even bothering to turn the car off. Lifting the hood he was met with spiderwebs of light that flashed along the engine block, radiating from one of the cables. He pulled the sleeve over his hand and nudged the chunk of cardboard under the offending exposed wire, insulating it from the exhaust manifold. He slammed the hood before the worry of being seen got to him.

The moment he put the car into gear it the engine spilled to a stop.

Silence. No dashboard dings or console lights.

‘What. The. Fuck.’

Removing the key and reinserting it in some hope as to reset what just happened he tried start his car.

Nothing. No starter, no click, nothing. It was completely dead.

He started to panic. Looking up and down the street he saw the light from a convenience store down the road. He planned out a route across the shadowy abandoned parking lot of a street, ramping up any interactions he might have to have on the way. If he could get to the store he could call his dad for help. But he had to make it to the store.

He locked his doors and started on his way up the dimly light road. Half way there he could hear the rhythmic  pulse of music. Getting closer he noticed where it was coming from. One of the old warehouses had been invaded by ravers for the night. As he walked curiosity of identifying the song battled with the sudden realization he was yards from a hundred stressful complex social interactions.

It was a pretty familiar trance song. ‘Battlegrounds? No. Maybe a remix?’ he thought while sweeping his vision for any people who might be wandering around.

‘Oh definitely a remix. A Liam Howlett one at that. I dig it. I’m going to have to look for it when I get home. If I don’t die out here.’

He picked up the pace as the music faded behind him. So far so good. Nobody to make eye contact with. He was thankful for that.

Pretty soon a dirty sign with the words “Scott’s Party Store” hung over his head lighting the way to the pay phone. Then he froze. Where the pay phone should have been was just a gaping hole with some wires and trash growing out of it.

“FUCK” he said out loud. Hearing his own voice for the first time that night. It sounded loud and he quickly spun around to see if anyone might have heard him. When he did this he also noticed the store was closed.

He sank into his gut and started to panic. Walking to the side of the building where it was dark he sat down on the warm concrete among spots of dirt and broken glass. ‘What the fuck am i going to do?’ he repeated in his head.

He started to get pissed. Pissed at his car. Pissed at the store. Pissed at himself for having this complete non-condition that seems to make his life impossible to operate in. The anger started to quell the fear.

His only option was to go back to that warehouse.

Ironic that the same social fears that kept him from fixing his car in the first place lead to this moment of having to face them.

He marched back down the street not thinking. Determination damming the flood of anxiety he would other wise be feeling. He’s always wanted to go such a gathering. Never before has he wanted to do something so bad while being paralyzed by fear of doing it. Such a simple thing for most yet merely thinking about it would summon a rain of imaginary reasons he shouldn’t.

Closing in on the warehouse he saw a heavy steel door jutting out from weathered cinder blocks that encased this oasis of noise.

Nerves shuddered in his gut as he meekly reached for the handle and felt the pulsating static of the sound saturated handle reverberate his arm. He took one last look  down the road at his car before pulling open the door and walking in.

Secrets

I make valid attempts at hiding mine, I promise.

This sentiment is so untrue.  I'm completely transparent and it's easy to see my flaws and push my buttons.

Any idiot can do it if they just pay attention for a short while...

My heart is just still too cold from the years of being unsure,
But the warmth of my libido never stopped me from making any of the numerous bad choices,
that to be perfectly honest, I never regretted.

So I'm only as good as I pretend to be, and try as I might;
I just doubt my demon days are completely over.

However, I'm trying,

And the transgressions have become much less offensive.

345: Soundtrack. New Order - Regret

This song came out in 1993, when I was 13 years old. Up to this point, I "liked" a lot of music that was influenced by my parents and my brother, but hadn't really gotten into any kind of my own identity as a newly angst ridden teen. I was going through the process of recently getting my period and these extremely large breasts. (I had my first training bra in the 3rd grade, I was nine or so, but they had become more prominent with this finally hurrah of puberty.) Talk about awkward.

I listened to the radio A LOT. The only channels that came through in this area were either Top 40 or adult contemporary. I'm extremely grateful for the commercial successes that hit for this band, the Cure and Depeche Mode in this time frame. I have no idea what might have become of me if not for that.

This song peaked at #28 on the US Billboard Top 100 list. The band made a video for "Top of the Pops" on the set of Baywatch. As odd as that is, it still somehow makes more sense than "World in Motion" to a lot of people in the US. I loved (still do) soccer and I'm sure that New Order's UK following doesn't have any questions about what a big freaking deal it is have been the countries theme for the World Cup, but I digress.

This song played in the background, over and over and I knew every.single.word. but I somehow missed the impact it had on me until I was older.

I rediscovered this song when I was in my early 20's. I was shopping at a shoe store, heard the chorus overhead, and without a thought, started singing along. It became stuck in my head, the mother or all ear-worms, endlessly looping throughout my brain. However, I had no idea who or what it was. It was also popping up on the radio and various places more often, due to the band Orgy releasing a cover of another New Order song, "Blue Monday" that had recently made a dent in the alternative radio charts.

I was hanging out with some friends, and mentioned it to my friend Laura. Laura worked at a local record store, and was a cyber punk/goth goddess who knew just enough about pop culture to be the "go to expert" with this sort of thing. This was of course before she came to know "'Tina"; but that's a story for another day, and was still a few years later down her timeline. But I digress; I sang the snippet I remembered from the chorus for her; "I would like a place I can call my own, have a conversation on the telephone..."

She looked at my very plainly and said; "It's New Order. You know...the same band that did the original version of "Blue Monday"."

"Are you sure? I could have sworn it was Erasure or something else."

"I'm about 93% sure, but feel free to look it up."

Well, I did. Laura was right, it was indeed New Order. This was the first and last time I would question her about music. This was also about the time I really dug deeper into those "essential" new wave/synth pop bands more deeply. Sure, I listened to the Cure, and as I previously mentioned, I  knew the Top 40 hits from  New Order, Depeche Mode, and Morrissey that briefly surfaced in the early 90's, but I didn't know the albums. I wasn't listening to the Smiths or Joy Division. However, after this happened; I drove right in. Shortly after a few months of discovering my new found loves that were instantly put into heavy rotation, Laura gave me CD she thought I would really enjoy.

"People who like Morrissey all really seem to dig this artist, and this album is killer," she said. "Give it a listen and let me know what you think."

That CD was a promo copy of Gene's "Drawn to the Deep End." I loved it instantly, and it still stands as one of my favorite albums.

Writing challenge: Book titles with new stories

A writing challenge that is, so far, between Plex and myself.

The challenge is to write original works based off of just titles of exiting books or stories. The new works shouldn't have anything to do with the original work beyond the title (unless by accident).

So list 10 book titles or story titles of books that you really liked (or out-right loved). Then pick 5 titles from another list to base your new writing on. Any writing style can be used.

One story should be done by the end of the month for the next five months, starting in March.

Here is my list of 10:

1. Magician: Apprentice
2. Foundation
3. How Few Remain
4. Kaleidoscope
5. Nightfall
6. Under the Banner of Heaven
7. Cat's Cradle
8. Beggars of Spain
9. The End of the World News: An Entertainment
10. The Windup Girl