I have decided to post some writings, of what I think will be a story, here on this blog, right now, because at first the computer I was using was totally lagging, and I couldn't gracefully read any posts on the forum site, to also give enough critiques, plus I want to post these right now, at this time and juncture. There are some tid bits, of short story ideas that I have posted on the forum site, and I hope to intermingle these all together, and at least come up with a pretty good gestalt of a book I can publish and really feel good about. So here are my two tid bits that I am posting right now:

--'The end of the beginning and the beginning of the end'--

“Another progressive morning”

The power was enough. The sky told him. It usually did. It filled in the gaps. And unlike so many other things, it wasn't forceful, and it didn't hate. The sky was personable, at least this one was. The other atmospheres were either corrupting, or already showing signs of. This sky had been with him since he began. And probably even before that.

He could hear it breathing, just as the walls would. The sky again showing itself as love, comforting even when a roof was over his head.

Everyone had different skies, and some, maybe most, shared the same ones. He watched as the clouds carved their name into one; just as fire can be beneficial, allowing for new growth and cleanness, the clouds wrote on the sky, even all the way unto the ground. It seemed too, that the sky was as a flower budding, it's molecules fusing and retreating, as with osmosis, just like his body was right now.

Astral projection had never really appealed to him, but now the universe spoke to him. It showed him that a person was everywhere that their eyes could see, no matter what the length or destination. This being true in power and relationship. Seeing life was just that: knowing what one saw, personably and technically, to whatever degree. This was also ironically why understanding could remain virgin, just as everyone's eyes are different, in themselves. And this was why some people were made up of black holes- because they were not considerate of what they saw, no matter what it was, whether grotesque or detailed, though they claimed their light and sight did reach out.

Freedom was made up of too much a pure substance, it was too beautiful, for anyone to dismiss it, concerning one's surroundings, and more, being loved. And many factions were said to be here and there, on this wing or another. This was the most important piece of knowledge and wisdom, to be understood by all who live under the sky, and this is how fire and water, and even lava and ice, were thriving and supporting the planet. And it was now that the rivers and oceans stretched out place by place, by the moon, under the fire of the sun, training by waves, all that grew, even men, women, and children- all peoples. So when the sun glittered upon the sky, it was all things that grew upon the earth that began to cry, sing, and speak.

Breathing underwater, and flying seemed to record all that was woe’d. So when I tell you that eternal things can exist now in the universe, and that water can even be fuel for fire, as with oil and acid, it should not be forgotten that man-made things can be healthy and prosperous, feeding the earth. However, it is the air that is preserved by zero-point energy, that fuels all that is birthed and sown, even those who rebel against this system.

Challenging mother earth never really ended well, and it is this which takes us to our present character.

Muscles rippled, as the strings of an instrument, through the whole body, as rivers cascading and cutting through rock, the earth, and the ground's elements. Bronzed skin, flavored gold, glimmered as a sword. The coastal area was set as a shoe, with it's peninsula and water, continually throwing sand. He threw his weapon down into the beach, his triangular sword sounding as it stuck in easily. One palm swayed silently behind him, as the iris' on the grass loudly took stalk. He never thought he'd ever see non fiction and fiction together as one, but now they came together in perfection, as wedding bells tolling, and as a vineyard and garden so plump.

This was it, this was the end, and yet also the beginning.

He spoke, "I'm sorry. I can't cheat, I already have the exact sufficient and abundant amount in me. With them, I am sober, my eyes, just as I breath and see. In and out. Clean and whole beauty. Also with 3-d. When I speak they act as electricity, with my whole body. Now with the music I read as I hear, also internally: “I shall get up, dance, and understand all energy.” Without them I am hungry and thirsty, but I follow what would get bored out, concerning me, and I create, beyond infinity.

"I am a new thing, indefinitely. And under my wings, within my very temple's core, I am all things, as my God, and my desire's reception, oh so contently. A contentment that breathes. I am and I have already.

"When my tool became meaning I became experienced. I've had mine, thank you, oh Martha my dear. Lighting tears apart the sky, as a scroll, aurora, and rainbows. Time became clear, breathing, the fourth dimension. My substance, life, and pleasure- revelation more than near, as a stuffed teddy bear. I hug and grip, what was a hallucinogen, meets control and self, love not put on the shelf." Though this character already knew that what was childish was unreal.

"I count, and keep, and bleed, fertilizing eggs in the heart, as rivers of pink, smooth, soft, delicate flowing flowers, desire turning fire, and flame, from want and need, hyper-poetically.

"I'm much like I am, let the love come to me. Grow on the inside, in myself I find beauty, love so reciprocate- beats giving originality, even to the dead and hopeless. Style erupting, like some sweet gravity, inter-connected, over-shining.

"I spoke, just when the rhythm came, I was heard, even before the bass. Lost projects, lost tracks..[faster now]..I have been in my God's trance, in the freedom of creation. I climbed for this high, His place, loftily scoping, like a God made tower, past oblivion..not necessarily release, but fulfillment, I don't think it's a sin..transvoyant settling, a resurrected door, materializing. Lesions forgetting, like wounds touching..and this is where I fly, this is where I am an us, even as my God, and even, concerning me, at first. [Deeper now] I am taken higher, my heart's wide open, God is high, my altar and sacrifice, yeah, my tool, as my life, from this mature made sober mind, being elevated from being contrite.

"As the sun shining I come to the surface, grabbing hold the horn of my life, and blowing it. I meditate on fear, and on how others do not survive, resounding the joy, a note so bright and near, a light of sound impregnably dear, stating that and this, and this moment- these shall last forever. Yes this is eternal, though not yet the best of the best, and so I run to make it even better: visions of laughter, of clouds of color, anthems that are solemn and somber, beats that are swinging calm and harder. At this moment I am free, free to wrap myself in the clouds and smell the earth's beauty. Song and dance, material and air, lively approach and rest from what is bitter, though all that is above the sky shall not always be here, or there. For only that which is carved upon the earth will remain, while what is solely outside shall have to wait, yes the eternality of the imploded ones, who have sold themselves to the universe, as if they wanted to seem prudent, and as if they wanted to seem higher, and yet also even not lift one finger- these, yes these, shall not remain forever, but they shall be made into the darkness' grandeur: that which takes, even what is dear, and does not shine out, but is only some sort of rule to bear. And thus I possess the furnace..and am shaped by what you did hear..I became myself, and all things, just as the salt configures."

“Torque of love”

His glasses dropped. This was all too much for him. Up in the lighthouse he could still see the sun setting. One thing about being too slow, as things were for most of this time of year, was how nothing would seem innocent anymore. This is why he had so largely tuned things up so much, and so often. The ‘retardedness’ he felt was probably one of the most ‘surfacely’ aspects to himself that there was. It seemed that whenever opposites worked out their way in his life, that double-negatives, and homo-retractions, as he knew them, and magnetism, would only really give him the fuel to the fire of what already possessed him. And this was what kept him going on his night-watches. But one awesome feeling he was always left with, even though the episodes still thrilled him, was how much he could, and was able to really give true appreciation to things. And perhaps this was also why every time he focused on anything, the feelings in him were new, and still subject to change, or even loss. He loved being wrapped up in the moment, and no ‘retardedness’ on his part ever took that away from him.

You might be able to call him some kind of a missing link, the way he was always short-sided in things, but there comes a time when feeling down or ‘complaintive’ just can’t be entertained; this was also what enabled him to be up for anything. Thanks to the work he had been doing on his language, though he still got tired when he spoke a lot, this even happening since his youth, it is a fact that he had found the skeleton key to life, and the fountain of his youth.

He was growing up, even though all his life he had felt like he was on a short leash. The scene of the water crashing on the rocks below was serene. Had he ever believed in serenity? He didn’t think so. Serenity, to him, meant carrying the depression of the lands upon himself. But perhaps this was what was now needed, or at least available. That would be and mean total mutualism and dependency, if that was also a good thing. He though of how serenity might be a good, and even great thing, if the sense of touch was included, taking away vanity. Maybe he needed a touch of the real world? Maybe he needed to look up a bit more, and just then, as he did, he saw the last of the sun’s light dip past the water, and the horizon. And then, almost instinctively, he took a deep breath. A last breath, if you will. He let go of the handrail and walked down from the lighthouse, kicking up sand as his feet sunk into the ground. The morning would come on it’s own. He shuffled into his house, putting an end to his profound thinking. It was one of those nights. Time for Mr. Tigris to spend his time on more solid things?

Just before he fell asleep he decided to quiet his inner monologue. At least he hadn’t locked his keys in the lighthouse tonight. And thankfully he didn’t have to be so careful up there, after putting the new railing on.