Talenkynic remembers Zylmor

The tension inside the bubble of Dromdrevc was exhilirating. After years of painting portraits of politicians and rulers I was alive. My natural artform of landscapes, based only on images created by others on Zylmor or still images captured by what you would think of as photographs but with more depth was despised in the city. My family lived on the far continent in the open, I communicated through mind-talk weekly, mother complained about the dust, father moaned about poverty and my sibs, Tessina and Zeuteronomy chatted about friends I had known, at the time of the genocide I had been exhiled from them for seven of your years and had grown from the child prodigy of eight to an almost fully developed female of fifteen. The last year had been particularly fraught with anxiety to escape as my time of captivity was over as soon as I reached sixteen. Credit-bars were delivered monthly to my life-parents as payment for the enslavement of their youngest child. As a small child Dromdrevc was awe-inspiring, a giant atmospheric bubble guarded against the elements, tall towers of housing units, business blocks and in the centre, a tower of shiny metal that reached up to the very tip of bubble, it was in here, the Royal Campus that I was to live and work. Work, I discovered was not to use my natural talent of reproducing vast canvases of landscsapes from memory or mythology, but was to catalogue an ever increasing number politabubs and the ruling charters. Charters were families who could prove their lineage back to the beginning of time, there were usually three or four clans living in the campus, they were a vain bunch, each portrait was proudly hung in the main concourse and because of their jealousy, repeats were frequent. One man-crown had a portrait booked every season, every colour found in Dromdrevc had been used in his costumes, each one more extravagant than the last as his girth also expanded. It was in his chamber I first heard about the Concavity, and the Galymonter people who yearned the power of Concavity. Galies as they were known had come from the neighbouring planet of Prusson, at first wanting to trade and as the polit-bubble was on seasonal break the Charters met with them and thrashed out a trade route between the peoples but their vanity made them show off the Concavity Orb, and exaggerated the properties of the laws of the index of refraction, with the wave velocities over-rated. I had never believed in the power of the concavity orb and had joined with other non-believers, we met in the concourse only three of us at a time and discussed possibilities. We were the brightest minds on all of Zylmor, punished we felt for being so intelligent by enslavement as children. We pondered on if this was to knock our inquisitive minds to an imaginary block as the tasks we were given numbed us. Piotreya, an inventor of vast electrical circuits spent her time making and changing light sources for the Charters and Yandryl was poet and playwright, he voice could lift you to the highest peak, he wrote ditties for the politabubs and their families so instead of being stirred by his words we slept by them. We had all completed our formal education in our early years while our sibs were still studying, attaining levels of expertise we had mastered at three or four. The Charters did not like us meeting together, so we kept the meeting light, with fake linguistics to suggest a frothy impromptu tryst rather than the reality of theoretical discussions on propulsion, experimentation and the politabubble. Each of my portraits contained a symbol of rebellion to inspire the unruly. Piotreya linked systems together until she had voyeuristic control over the whole subsystem within the bubble ans within each ditty that Yandryl created was one phrase that did not fit but was code for our mini rebellion.

kitties

Rainbows IV

My homeplace, my homestead was in an isolated area in the west of Dromdrevc. It took three days to travel to the capital in the pod, three days of looking out at the sidings go by. On Zylmor our transportation system used channels like earth canals with no water, during the night when it rained these channels were used to divert water for use in production of gas. transportation ceased in the evening, pods were raised to ground level during the night and the water rushing underneath was soothing. Those three days and nights were the only time I spent alone on Zylmor, I was escorted to and from lessons

rainbows III

We didn't have rainbows on Zylmor, it didn't rain during the day, the first time I remember experiencing rain on earth I thought the sky was falling in, it made no sense to me.
In Dromdrevc we were in a climate controlled bubble so we saw neither good or bad weather, the lights dimmed towards evening and brightened again in the early morning. To be honest it could have been any length of time, I don't recall days getting shorter or longer as they do on earth. in my homeplace it rained during the night, I would hear the pitter pat on the roof of the homestead, I call it a roof but it wasn't a separate structure like here, it was integral to the building. Days on Zylmor were bright but chilly, we could never have considered wearing as little as a t-shirt outside, we were always wrapped up and because of the air composition we had breathers on always. Inside the buildings piped gas kept us suitably aired. I don't remember playing out in the street as children in Kerry do, we went to lessons, came home and performed chores or homelessons. There was no time for play or chasing rainbows

rainbows II

rainbow

I love rainbows, http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/staticfiles/NGS/Shared/StaticFiles/Photography/Images/Content/highway-rainbow-nicklen-696533-lw.jpg
THey always make me feel uplifted, so many stories from my childhood involved following rainbows. Surprisingly none of my memories involve hunting for the money or the pot of gold but that somehow, dreams were fulfilled in someway.
I still smile when I see rainbows but sometimes it is bittersweet because Ross can't see them.

Terminal Rain

It rained, the roads washed away,
It rained, the washing stayed wet,
It rained, the cats hid under cars.
Raining, raining more, terminally raining

How Low Can you Go?

The low ebb is descending
A rhyme from a pop song
Reverberates the background
It’s melodic chant daring her lower

Tiredness all around no respite
Sleep depravation increase the tome
No good news war sickness
No puppy dog tales only poverty
Take it to the chorus litany of woe

Shutters coming down
Closing up shop
Humanity good bye
Sign off gone for a while
I’ll be in bed

Rhythmic clapping
Stomping feet
C’mon Eileen
Darkness surrounds
No white light

Judgement descends how long to stay
Am I ready to depart or interlude
Difficult decision in trance like mode
Get it wrong county homeward bound
Heaven can wait let’s breathe in

WRITING - an acrostic poem

We can only dream
Regaling the theme
Increasingly extreme
Trooping the regime
Internal esteem
Never will redeem
Great words in bloodstream

Collaborating with Rabbit

I started collaborating on a story with a rabbit tonight. He started it and I gave the next bit and we have repeated once more. Each segment is getting longer and I only hope he is copying and pasting the story someplace or it will be lost to the ether. I am pondering if he is going to write more tonight or will i have to wait till tomorrow, it is like writing with instant feedback and a new twist. So far an american has travelled by plane destination unknown and a person has monitored his brain during the flight. We are using stumbleupon's way of sending webpages to each other and so it has no save function. what if it is the best work i have created and i have no record of it. It would be like the most vivid dream that tomorrow you can't remember.

Pole Panther

Fluidity of fallacious moving
Astounding and amazing
Centrestage
Doing your thing
Crouching prowling
Stealthily cajoling

Talons flicking
Attention catching
Flesh flash
Showing with swing
Touching rubbing
Uneasily stirring

Meagre creatures unable to perform
Unless spellbound
By the feline queen

Homecoming of my Hero

A hero is defined as (in mythology and folklore) a person of superhuman qualities or a person, typically a man, who is admired for their courage or outstanding achievements. These qualities epitomise my hero, my son, he is the man I ring when I need to mull something over, he keeps everything in perspective for me. He helps me look at the big picture, to see other people's point of view and he is the most fair person I know and .....
he is on his way home, I have missed him dreadfully, we usually talk at least once a day and since he has been gone I have only spoken to him about five times in the last three months. Of course he won't have missed me because he has been on a big adventure, challenging himself to the limit as usual.
I hope as he grows older he keeps that gentle side to him, that he cares about other people and as it is now less than 12 hours before I see him again I hope I manage to shock him on Sunday morning doing something he never in a gazillion years would think his little no self esteem mummy would be capable of....

Motor Mouth

my mouth - god bless it
has arms and legs and motors on
at 200 miles an hour
it sprints along faster an faster
vying for a place in the
world mouth games
pink lips moving
yellow teeth gleaming
sharp pointy words burst
without a brain to stop them
it should carry a warning
emblazoned in Red
and there's always a butt,
usually me, but sometimes you,
smitchy litchy bitchy words
callous unthinking brutal words
and whenever you may meet it
to my mouth
don't forget to say
Shut Up

Hanging By A Thread

Margaret Reidy, a murderess of some repute
Resided in an ordinary terrace
Red velvet curtains façaded the blood
Cement and brick hid bone and hair

Margaret O Margaret what were you thinking
Allowing the coppers to search your home
Were you so conceited, so full of glee
That stupid men would not have a clue

You should’ve asked a design guy
They would’ve been able to advise
Red velvet is super with purple brocade
But with pale blue calico – quelle horreur!

It was just your bad luck that day
Sergeant Briar an aficionado of design
Having a secret life as Lily O’Brien
With red velvet his favourite frock style

Background

29th August 1948 The body of local eccentric Nancy Ellen Chadwick was found in the street outside Margaret Allen's house.

Nancy Chadwick was an elderly widow known to be a little eccentric.

Margaret Allen was a 42 year old lesbian, her mother had died in 1943 and she had not taken it well.

In 1945 she received medical treatment for attacks of dizziness and she became depressed.

On investigation the police discovered blood stains on the wall inside the front door of Allen's house. When asked by the police why she had murdered she replied, I was In one of me funny moods and the old woman got on me nerves. Had she not made this statement she may have been able to plead insanity which was almost certainly the case. Her defence failed and she was hanged.

The murder weapon was a hammer which Allen had used to batter the 68 year old to death, raining blows to the head. At her trial she was dressed in men's clothing. The trial took only five hours and the jury reached their verdict in only 15 minutes. Although a petition was raised to try and save her only 162 signatures were collected.

12th January 1949, Margaret Allen was hanged at Strangeways prison by executioner Albert Pierrepoint.

Missing

I thought I would miss them, being away five days out of seven and I do, I miss everything about them thegood, bad and ugly. I miss Aaron's appetite, Séan's humour and Ross' company. I miss Séan's nagging, Aaron's nipping and Ross' selfishness.
But I did think that when they went away from home the missing that I historically would've felt would be diminished. This hasn't happened, I miss Ross so much since he has been in Alaska, but he is home on Saturday and I will pick him up in Dublin with such a stupid grin on my face. Séan is coming with me so I will not be bored - nagging for four hours - whoppee doo. Aaron is in Rossendale, he arrived this afternoon and has a match in an hour. I am already missing him. he was so sweet at the weekend, so helpful with the kittens. The good news is that since he has been gone Séan and fatherSean have managed to load thirty three bags of turf to home.
I even miss drawing in the turf- how sad am I.

Lara

Lara is ten tomorrow. Happy Birthday.

A Personal Rant

When I was sixteen, actually on my sixteenth birthday I let it be known I didn't want to deal with my father anymore. There have been a few times over the years that I regretted this black and white decision but stuck with it having inherited a certain amount of stubborness. My kids grew up not knowing him and when eventually they met, he ignored my two eldest boys and honed in on the little one, he obliged and they bonded to a certain extent.
Go forward almost thirty years and history is possibly potentially repeating itself. I can't go into details because this is a public blog and this is a very personal rant. Men can be really stupid, no matter how smart, intelligent or sporty they are. I hate the way they make females feel. I hate they make us cry. I hate that we allow them that power. I hate relationships and how hard they are and how they can just crumble and disappear and it isn't your fault but you are made to feel like it is all your fault.
How do I help keep the lines of communication open when all I really want to do is punch the male involved in the face. I am not a violent person, but ooooooh really want to.

Music and Madness

The music of earth is so diverse, people find music out of throwaway objects, they are inspired by everyday sounds, emotions, and people. Belting out a song of unrequited love is not unusual and the arrival of karaoke allowed ordinary humans to get up on stage with a microphone, sing off key and still get applause.
Conversely in Dromdrevc we did not applaud, if the Charters liked something you did, you stayed. I had no proof for years but I understood inherently that if I displeased the Charters with my art I would be disappeared. Amongst the slaves, because there was no bonding allowed we never knew who would be sitting with us to eat, we barely knew their names and at meal times not only mind speak but mouth speak was banned and dishes were served in silence. There was music in Dromdrevc, whilst we worked a beat was rhythmically sounded on drum, when it ended work ended. I often pondered on the slave who created the beat, were they capable of so much more, like the rest of us. Zilpanda, had music in her soul, she had an ethereal quality as if she was somewhere else. We mind spoke once in the outer shell of the politabubs chamber. She was a slave-sculptor and created statues of the Charters in shiny iridescent forms that moved in the winds of the corridors of power. These creations were beautiful but a sadness radiated from them as if a part of Zilpanda'ssoul leaked into them. She was pale, always pale, her hair was jet-black with three blue stripes running horizontal, it was her hair that first caught my eye and for months I waited for an opportunity to speak to her. Back home there was a boy with hair like Zilpanda's, a tall strapping youth who worked with the natural rock in the area creating furniture. His name, lost to me now, was often spoken, our people thought him mad. He sang to his rocks, a love song, a song so clear, so personal it was almost embarrassing to hear. I wanted to speak to Zilpanda, to see if she was a relafem of his, to chat about my homeplace. I wasn't often pining for home, I quickly realised that my family had dumped me, sold me like a shekwal of Iffoldo cheese, bound up and forgotten, but on seeing Zilpanda I started to dream of stanzas of my life before I was enslaved.
When wanting something so much, of course it stays just out of reach but eventually it happened that we were on the same corridor in one of the places that the dreaded shockwave could not dig through. The other thing about wanting something so badly is it invariably lets you down, and I was very let down by my convwesation with Zilpanda. she was mad, she sang to me of her madness, her undying love for rock. I knew of course that she was a relafem of the boy from my homeplace, they all must be different shades of madness, I also knew somehow she was slowly dying and then I began to hope, to hope that in her madness and her dying she make a dramatic exit, not just disappear. I refused to want it, but each night I proclaimed to myself that tomorrow would be the day that Zilpanda made her grand mad exit.

Flower of the Future

I have never been a lover of cut flowers, the kind purchased in the florist and unfortunately everyone around me knows this. I don't understand how people can say " I would've brought you flowers but I know you don't like them" and then not bring something else instead. It was my wedding anniversary yesterday and because of the weird living arrangements I went on a date with my husband. We went to the Liberty Grill on Washington Street, I has Salad Nicoise and Sean had a lamb burger, we both had fries which were the most disappointing aspect (why do chippers manage to peel real potatoes but restaurants can't) and it was a lovely evening but no flowers. After twenty two years not a petal between us.
In my world of tomorrow I will accept flowers graciously and I will be given flowers (hopefully from the garden) and also hopefully not sent but brought. I might have to wait another twenty two years before Sean gets the message though.

Tomorrow's Harvest

I am learning how to take good photographs, I am learning to sing, I am learning how to write creatively, I am learning how to do echocardiography, I am learning how to check pacemakers, I am learning how to cope with an adult child with a disability, I am learning how to live my life in the light of God.
None of these learnings is being forced on me, even the work related ones were my choice, my decision to move to Cork to further my career, my decision to part-time parent and marriage.
So why for someone who only wants to come home after work, mess with the kids and play a computer game or two do I challenge myself by learning new skills. I am not driven by money, I am not driven at all, but I think now since I have been walking with Jesus I can do more and not give up. There is a litany of given up projects from art to sax to baking to diy. I wrote a poem about it called Finishing but this was before I started to finish things.
Tomorrow I will be able to sing confidently, my photography will have a gallery show, I will accomplish my work related tasks, I with Ross will overcome more barriers and I will continue to bask in the glow of the Lord. Tomorrow, imagine opening night in Killarney Art Gallery with me singing in the corner, okay so a little ambitious but something to work toward! More learning.

The Lines of Yesterday

He was hawking, he spent his days hawking to tourists, he hated tourists, he loved his country, his land. In years before he had wandered with his family across the desert hills grazing goats, making simple wooden furniture for nearby villages, ekeing out water, and then in the evening gathering with the other men and boys, praying and eating. The meals were simple but lasted all evening as they lounged on cushions in a fashion that for centuries had revived them for the day ahead. Today he lived in a house, a small one, with his wife and children, the children learned their lesson at school, no longer with the call of the desert within them. In his house was a car, freezer, microwave, television and computer. No more did he spend his evenings with the menfolk bonding, praying, eating. Today he ate with his wife silently and then watched the news on tv, he was tired and often goes to bed early. The lines on his face, etched the paths in the desert, in his world they show the laughter, the sorrow the hard work of moving caravans every night or so. The life of a nomad was hard but today the life of a hawker is banal and tomorrow the life of this man managing to live his life according to his his religion despite the technological influences, the tourist worlds colliding, cultures mixing, blurring the edges but this man in his tomorrow will keep his beliefs whilst the earth around him turns on it's head.

When these photos were taken we were young and naive, but already some of us had lost what is most precious to a girl. Two had thrown it away with great abandon and the others would in time give it lovingly to their first true love.
It didn't matter in those days, it wasn't important, only now in the tomorrow of these lives does it matter. Not the losing but in the way we lived our lives. We were disrespectful to ourselves, we went into situations that were not safe for any of us. More than one of us "dated" inappropriate men, too old for us. Looking back these lolita type relationships fill me with disgust, how could we have allowed ourselves to be swayed by these men. As I look now at young girls I know why. Girls seem to have a need in them to be liked, to fit in and only the very strongest girls make it through without giving in to peer pressure whether by drugs, drink or body.
If I could go back and do it again I hope I would have the strength to be strong to study, to concentrate on my learning and leave the social side behind, I procrastinate much on the subject but I also now I would never be strong enough and I would be swayed by whatever is popular at the time.
I was in the company of a woman on Saturday night who like myself was on the periphary of drug tasking in the 70's and 80's. Both of us had a shocking taste of the underside of this world, she came across an overdose in a friend and I saw the results in my sister. This put us both off ever trying drugs. No amount of shocking discoveries stopped me down other routes of self destruction. But no matter how hard I tried to die it wasn't to be and now I am thankful for that.
Tomorrow, my tomorrow now, I am strong, I can live in this world in my own way without being swayed by peer pressure.

Temperance Bar Tomorrow

Tomorrow I will open a temperance bar.
That is my dream, to produce and sell ginger beer, black beer with raisin, sarsaparilla, root beer, dandelion and burdock all with ingredients to hand producing beautifully aromatic non alcoholic beverages. A place where people can meet without the haze of alcohol inducing rose coloured glasses, a place for young people to gather without the peer pressure of getting smashed.
On Saturday I was at a concert and everyone there was approximately the same age. There were not many of us, about twenty, but we were there to see a beautifully raw and gravelly soulful voice. I lay on a sofa with my diet coke (no coffee - in a hotel!)I had the best time but hated my diet coke. I wanted a hot Vimto or a pull of black beer.
Tomorrow I will open a temperance bar

Worry over Tomorrow

Of course sleep evaded me, each time I dipped towards a wave of slowing pulse and regular breathing a thought would pop up causing my heart to race and my stomach to turn. Anxiety is your word for it. I would often get it in Dromdrevc, my mind-speak was of the level hautrev a higher level than the average proponent, although I kept it a secret it meant sometimes I would inadvertently listen to others speaking. I discovered that this wasn't punished making me suspect the Charters and politabub did not know or understand hautrev, the Charters could only mouth speak and the politabubs were suck ups.
It wasn't an easy thing to control, when it first started I still lived with my parents, I was about four and one morning awoke to screeching in my head, simultaneously I heard a boy crying and my parentfem telling her lifemal she was having another baby. Wow what a lot to hear, I also heard that elderfem was coming so I hastened to be dressed and brushed ready to be berated for not being smart/pretty/long/short/thin/fat but at least I would be hygenifresh and in clean clothes. I was having a new sibling, oh and my sibmal was in trouble I had better go and sort him and get him ready for the elderfem barbs.
On a subsequent visit, elderfem told me I had the gift of hautrev. We had gone for a walk along the dust channel near my homeplace. The whirring swirling patterns of the dust at it traveled to the collection point were mesmerising me when elderfem stopped me looked deep in my blue eyes and started to mind-speak whilst watching for my reaction. "You hear things, things you shouldn't, important and non important you hear everything. It will be time soon for your naming and I want you to take the name Talenkynic, it is an ancient word, so ancient that only a few of us know the meaning. It is not used often, but it will be yours"
"Does it mean something, elderfem"
"An irritation, minorfems are an irritation, especially a bright one like you. It's meaning is found in the creation of Zylmor, it means end of world."
"Thank you, well I don't mean thank you but at least I have a name even if it means I endworld"
"Listen to me, you will be going from here one day, an opportunity will form there, but for now that is of no consequence. You need to control the hautrev or you will get caught out, crying over a sib that did not breathe when you weren't told, and getting ready for my arrival these things will find you out. Your talent, Talenkynic needs to be hidden, from everyone, try to ignore the mundane, the tame animals, stupid fools and minormals and fems. We will not talk of this again, you need to implant the name Talenkynic into parentmal's mind, it will be a test - pass it and I will reward you, now go be a minorfem while you can"
Our words on Zylmor were shorter with less meaning than on earth but this was a translation close to the truth because I was there but fantasy too because my mind as everyone's warps over time making the "me" a goody and everyone else baddies. Making us look good when we really should hide in shame.
I think the hautrev is coming back I am getting waves of feelings, not my own, but others, sad people, lost and found people, as I think more on this I don't seem to get many waves of happiness. Earthpeople are a miserable bunch.

Tomorrow Came Early

I slept through the night until a dream interrupted me, it was so vivid, cartoon style glimpse of the future.
I was going to visit a gravel pit, not sure why or how I got there but when I did there were huge towers hundreds and hundreds of feet tall and not very wide or deep. Fast forward to me leaving the gravel pit and I was on the upper most floor, although floor is a misnomer, it was a vehicle park but the vehicles were packed so tight I had to manually swing my vehicle out tip toeing on the precipice and pulling the air-vehicle out (low tech meets hi-tech, I guess) and then I flew off along the "road". In the vehicle there was a map, a 3-D representational image of the terrain and at what level I was to travel. The controls were mostly automatic, calling out destination and I arrived.
When today arrived and I woke up I contemplated how this dream related to this life or my previous life on Zylmor. I could find no parallel, on this world the most advanced vehicles and mapping would not compare and car parking there is no way I would manually drive out of a space with my feet outside the car it would make no sense. Equally on Zylmor we were very advanced as a species, mind-talk and the evolution of order but the workings, the nuts and bolts of Dromdrevc were low key, buildings were not seen to be built they just were. Maybe because I was much younger then everything seemed new and exciting, but we didn't have teleporters or other Star Trek gadgets, even the orb of concavity was not surrounded by hi-tech computer banks but a clear wall similar to earth perspex, a complex polymer that bounced if touched but stood erect and solid as if a pane of earth glass.
No, this was a new dimension, this vehicle park tower, and why a gravel pit, even here on earth if I need gravel I ring a man who can and he goes and brings me gravel. Why would I travel to a gravel pit? As with all dreams the detail is lost and only these few glimpses remain. What could it possibly be alluding to: a new tomorrow, a new planet, a person from Zylmor in mind-think with me. I will sleep on it again this evening and ponder the wisdom of the night