Passivity Ego

Broken in second-hand silence
Passing obligation with idleness
Your role became manifest
Your dark infantile conscience

Buried me in hesitant remorse
Before my own crashing course
Collapsed my own self-made concourse
And left me with naught but self discourse

I thought you knew my hollow
I thought you felt the echo
Of silence, when really your hallowed
Passivity became your ego

The vacuous misery I became
When too young to remember the flame
That was scorching whatever joyful acclaim
I could never have overcame

What gave my hollow its first substance
Yet I rebelled against its abhorrence
And sought for some analogous significance
That I mistakenly thought might be our resonance

I thought you knew my hollow
I thought you felt the echo
Of our silence, when really your hallowed
Passivity became your ego

Insomnia

I don’t want to die
But this void won’t be denied
The cavernous plan I occupy
Is not the make-believe chamber from which I once revived

Your begotten heart I once glimpsed within my own void has become a token to feed my insomnia

I never wanted to love you
But my desire was never controlled through
My own logical taboos
I know not how to silence the emotional resonance I construe

Your silence becomes another token to feed my insomnia

I no longer know how to beckon your conversations
I no longer can push away the emanations
That only push you further away from me, my calculations
Yield nonsensical results from whatever castigation

I bury within my soul
And thus I admire all these tokens you’ve built to feed my insomnia

As I long for sleep but it will not come

The Three Cycles

Eliador was the purest of the Dùsgatàlaidar, being both pure of mind and of intention. Boundless creation existed within her and she became its symbol amongst the Dùsgatàlaidar and amongst all the planes of existence. Her wisdom was only surpassed by her husband, Entassada, with whom she shared an unbreakable bond.

In the elder days before the days of men, she walked among the mur (now known as trees) and elves and fey of what is now the mortal plane, befriending and teaching as she went. Life poured forth wherever she walked and she traversed the entirety of Everlast in those days, greatly extending the lives of the mur, fey, and elves. The mur were the first to endeavor their own creation and thus the bushes and grass and flowers and all the smaller greenery of nature were born.

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The Runner

He ran. Arrows thudded all around him and still, he ran. The rich tones of the warning bells permeated the wind and rain bustling past his ears and he did not divert. An arrow whirred before his face and he did not slow down. Indeed, each arrow seemed to fuel his speed and strengthen his resolve. It was these moments, and these moments alone, when he felt free. While the others rushed to find shelter in their ever-shuttered houses, he sped through the fields. The fear and uncertainty and hunger and loss melted away from his stride, and he was left alone with his race amongst the corn. Like a master artisan of old finding renewed purpose with each stroke of the brush, the corn fields were his canvas, the rain was his palette, and his feet were the brushes.

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Jupiter 1

Captain’s Log, June 3, 2232: Being a pre-EoE, I still find it difficult to adapt to the council’s not-so-newly-chosen calendar system. At least my personal logs are still allowed to use the old system. I think they humor me with this. Or maybe they just pity me for being so old. It doesn’t matter, I will die eventually, and the old system will be forgotten. It seems entropy will not be denied my generation, and honestly, we would not deny it if given the choice. We have entered Jovian orbit and preparations have begun for construction. J told me he loved me this morning.

Captain’s Log, August 1, 2232: Construction has progressed to the point where we are required to take permanent residence in the core. Many of the crew and passengers were nervous about this, but the move completed without incident. J told me he loved me yesterday.

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The Shannon Ferry

“How does it work, mister?” The old helmsman was in a daydream and found himself startled by the young boy’s question. He turned around.

“Well, that is a very interesting question, isn’t it? But, how does what work, exactly? How does the wind blow? How does the water flow?” The helmsman raised an eyebrow and swept his arm outward. “How does this mist form? And, why does it always smell so much like some wondrous childhood memory that I can’t seem to remember?” The old man’s face carried a puzzled look.

“No, sir. I mean, none of those things. How is it that the boat knows the way across? Mother says that only this boat knows how to cross The Shannon. She says that all other boats get turned around and wind up right back where they began. She says that only this boat can reach Albion.”

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I See Darkness in My Dreams

I see darkness in my dreams.

The darkness hints at a sense of peace just beyond the tips of my outstretched fingers.  But it is never truly reachable, like a woman for whom you bare your soul but she refuses to give yours even the slightest of glances.  It is a short-lived respite and I welcome its frigid embrace for the quickening moment that I am allowed; for I will soon wake up, and that is never pleasant. This brief moment of darkness–this gentle kiss from the Night Mother–is all I now await; all I now desire; all I now portend.

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Fort Stupid

Whatever was calling to him, Zero was certain he liked it. The further he went toward whatever the thing was, the more of them he came across. And the more of them he came across, the more of them he got to burn.

If only he could get a damned vehicle to work. None of them worked. It didn’t matter how much gas they had, or what kind of condition they were in, they simply did not work. Damn all this walking. Walk walk walk walk walk. He wasn’t even sure how many days he had been walking.

But there were more of them to burn in this direction, and so he kept walking.

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Fort Hilltop

“Twenty-one adults and five children, all present and accounted for, ma’am!” Jasper was always so formal.

“Good, now go get some rest, and please do not call me ma’am.” Alice knew that last part would be ignored, as always, but she said it anyway.  She couldn’t help but like Jasper. He was eager to learn, willing to work, and hadn’t yet adopted the doom-and-gloom attitude of most of the rest of the group.

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