Shamans

The path of the shaman is a way, not a truth.
There are as many ways to walk it as suns in the sky.
More: as many as all the souls that will ever be.
Everyone makes their own way, walks their own steps.

And this is the magic of the shaman: only, just, to see.
For a name has power, but to be known it must be understood.
Must be seen, and the way is seeing things as they are.
This is the heart of all knowing, of all magic, of all lore:
and it must be forgotten, to be remembered anew.
And every time it is a little different, as the stories we tell
are different, every time: no one tells them quite the same.

This is the price of magic, to see what cannot be unseen,
to look, and bear witness, and not look away. To judge,
because too many are scared to; to dream, and keep
the dreams alive. The heart of all ways is the wisdom
hiding in the heart of every child, sleeping
in the soul of everyone who looks at the world, and sees
what is really there. The trick of magic lies in this:
knowing it is real, and not, and moving between both worlds.

Suffer The Highest, For A Change?

thinking there is more
than survival is a luxury,
like fear, laughter, hopes

stars -- cold and bright
as remote as God
almost as uncaring

under You the children are burning
thrown into pits, shot in schools,
discarded by people wanting sons
-- You only give us silence
watch faith break against stone.

If we can draw tears from stones,
surely blood from God's heart?

Surely give voice to mute rage
lodged inside our chests?

I am so scared of myself,
of love, hate, everyone, of You,
my God, and this world we made.

I now understand a world drowning
in tears, for forty days. I do not
understand why You stopped crying.

If I was cursed to live as long as You,
I would never stop, always reaching,
and if the world fell through
my fingers, it would only be justice
for my silences and my sins.

Genesis of a God

You said you could read my mind
But there's nothing for you to find
Just the remains of aborted dreams
From another life, trying to be kind.

The world would drown in screams
You said, testament to love supreme.
For me you'd make a newer world.
I said I'd rather have some ice cream.

You spoke the words of Power, hurled
Fire from the sky. Made mountains twirl
And fall apart, made Time itself unwind,
But you couldn't make us a better world.

And this....

And this is the heart of all magic,
The turnings of time and space --
A terrible grief to make and shape
The world to a deeper place.

This was a world of loss and pain,
To take away and to sunder;
But to see the world as it is
Is a true way to wonder.

And this is the way of miracles,
The finding of true friends;
Dreaming with another's dream
And knowing nothing ends.

Nanowrimo '06: Plotting, and the title too!

Ah, the infection/excitement begins.... Having done nanowrimo 3 times so far, there isn't that much to do -- except switch genres entirely and see what happens. Three years of nanowrimo has taught me one basic thing: the resulting novels are NOT publishable. I hate editing. Hates it, my precious. It burns! Or, to be accurate, I like doing it if I don't have to tear the novel apart and rebuild it. Which is pretty much the result from nanowrimos.

So, midway though the drek of last years sci fi one that didn't work well, I decided to do something different. (Aside: the story I told was so far from the one in my head it was laughable, but the kitchen sink was cool.) So I decided that, for '06, I would do pure nano. Go for word count and to hell with quality. I doubt I'll be able to, but I'll try anyway -- effectively regurgitate up 50K in a week (or two) about the narrator getting up in the morning after. After what? Well, I'm not telling. Somewhat because I don't know yet, but still.

At least, courtesy of Fennec, I have a title: "My Cat Used to be a Buddhist"

Now to get literary and swamp it in foils and aluminium wrapping and saran wrap and symbolism and allegory and alliteration and aadvarks. (For the alliteration, y' know?)

Little Miracles

The miracle of love
Is that we do at all;
It's so easy to be trapped
In visions of a fall.

When there's so many ways
To hide behind our pain;
When there's so many people
We feel we could blame --

The touch of another's hand
Is proof enough we care
And all we need is laughter
And memories to share.

And when the light is failing
And we feel we cannot cope
There's always love to show us
That faith is more than hope.

La Fin De Siecle

The problem of a hero is that the saving's never done.
No matter all the wars that I have fought and won
Sometimes it seems as if I've only just begun.

Though my heart's as pure as a virgin mirror
The world's full of lies, of deception & disguise,
And I wonder once more: what am I fighting for?

Every gift's another burden only weighting me down,
And everything I could be is a sea in which I drown:
A hero without ideals is like a king without a crown.

Though my heart's as pure as a virgin mirror
The world's full of lies, of deception & disguise,
And I wonder once more: what am I fighting for?

But at every night's ending there's another dawn;
I have to believe there'll be one when I'm gone
For the sky is filled with dead stars that once shone

Though my heart's as pure as a virgin mirror
The world's full of lies, of deception & disguise,
And I wonder once more: what am I fighting for?
But when death is near the real hero need not fear.

Quiet Destroyer 52.302

aka: The Rise and Fall of YOMANK

The villain, calling himself super,
Posted on Flux's message boards.
There were pixelated pictures of me,
Crude jokes and hurtful little words.

He said he was greater than me
(Probably was, some fat greasy man
Barely fitting into a chair, piggy eyed)
And challenged me, man to man.

Me. Quiet Destroyer, the terrible one.
The only villain to defeat Captain Flux
(in battle, if not our war), but this pup
Said: "Your method, lol!, it sucks!"

His goal, so juvenile, so - so plain,
To cause someone to spill a drink,
Owe the other a new keyboard. As if
Anything in that required him to think!

He just posted things from the Simpsons,
Stole gags from Family Guy; and the fool
Flux, he laughed, typed YOMANK!
And was nothing more than a tool.

Afterwards, I found my foe, garroted
Him with an extension chord, but I
Had still lost the battle, Not made
Flux laugh - but I could make him die.

Candy Floss

In all our reaching outwards
In all our searching for,
Trying to find the gods
To mean more than we are.

We die and we are buried
Reclaimed and are dust
Vainly hoping we believe
Something will outlast.

To hope for more to life
Than the living of this one
Is just a wishful dreaming
When all is said and done.

Scientific conclusions

There is uncertain movement
Between dreaming and the now
Unable to find the reasons why
We settle again for the how.