Short Stories – Sabibi Davidson

Babel: Stranger than Fiction

When I carried a smile on my face all the time. This ever-present part of my costume, look, wardrobe, and expression. It was my white flag.

“Look, I like to just be, I want to talk to you but don’t bring your shit, opinions, and too much violent babel over here!” That is what the smile was about. I didn’t need another group of cowboys, outlaws, and sass talking women in my life. I have a family. They had shown me a lot of that already.

My smile was also my way of hiding the beast, the shadow, and the opposite in my clutches. The smile was an innate room for the sadness, disappointments, and rough housing I had inside of me that looked like me. The critic who let me know when something was wrong. I ignore just about anything now. To some degree I must. I must come stepping back into my eyes to peer out and see what is going on. I have gone on a soul retrieval before to go and get the little girl that tried to hide in the underworld below the trees in a room, thinking she might be safer there. Even when I placed her in safe keeping inside a part of me I knew she would like- I still have to meditate constantly and walk very slowly sometimes to stay behind my eyes.

How I am feeling and one thing I have learned is not to listen to no one. I will listen to my gut, but I don’t take opinions lightly anymore because I have realized those who give opinions are probably afraid of something I am or could do. They want things to be designed their way for their comfort. Women I looked up to, the men who did things I wanted to do. The people I loved but walked away from because I didn’t need another disappointment and i could leave just as fast as they could.

Power says that doing such things will make you lonely. Indian gurus and Mexican sorcerers say that doing such things will make you detached, ready, and happy.

I am both.

I came to another country town with my backpack too heavy for some reason. I walked into another man who had far too much clothing in his sack. Toys to play with including his shaver. The most I brought I gave away recently. I won’t speak too far on these things because what I did has already been done. I gave away my Uno cards. I gave away my hacky sack play toy, because there is no one to play it with. A few articles of clothing I had to be brave and cry a little have also crossed the counter at the local thrift store. The bag they came in went to and I still have a heavy backpack because I refuse to get rid of my hand blender which has a food processor and attachable mixer handle. A woman wants and needs her smoothies.

We, me and the stanger, had been at a local man’s house pulling weeds out of his garden for room and board. What a kind stranger he gave me a pair of his pants, which are very comfortable by the way. He gave them to me and I wear them a couple of days throw them in the wash and put them back on. So comfortable. I just change my shirts.

A few days of fun and then he wanted to spend a major holiday in a bigger city. He’d met someone online and he wanted to see the fireworks. I felt I might miss him but when he left I didn’t so much. I helped to drop him off at the bus station and went with the local man to buy mouse traps for his home. I wanted him to buy the humane ones that catch them and you drive a bit away and let them go. He doesn’t like to listen to anyone either much so he brought the ones that you put the cheese in the middle of the trap and the trap snaps and kills the mice. When we woke up the next morning I think he made the mice really angry. They had bitten a few apples, thrown the walnuts, and pooped on the stove. I thought damn! You made them mad!

I haven’t really been singing. I used to but they were the same songs and I had gotten tired of them. I felt like I wasn’t giving it my all. I stopped singing the same old songs with hope that I would find new ones to sing and that I would sing them out loud so that the spirits I like would have songs to hear.

I have been in my own world. I figure this is necessary for me to come to my eyes. I have been helping foreigners improve their English. They have been teaching me French. I have even signed on to help a man who speak Arabic. Yesterday a man who speaks Portuguese reached out to me. He wants to improve his English and asked if I would talk to him. In return he would teach me Portuguese. Well first he asked if I was interested because he didn’t see it in my profile. I wanted to say no, I am not interested in Portuguese. But then I thought here is an opportunity. Here is a free opportunity to learn a language you don’t know. A language you haven’t cared about. Maybe you could use it some day or at least have it around. So I said yes. I need to say yes more.

Now when I am talking to someone my languages have been mixing up. I say Hola, Guten Morgen, Comment vous-tu? Oh dear. But what I most love about it is that no one has an opinion about it. The only ones I hear now is the ones where someone is correcting my spelling or context. Far away in a land that I do not know I can be myself. I can speak my quirks. One man wanted to know why I kept a green hoodie on. I shared the quirk I have about my neck and ears being cold. He nodded. The guy I dropped off at the bus stop the other day, he has the same quirk. I didn’t share mine with him he said it himself, that he doesn’t like the wind at his neck.

He was the second person to share his babel with me. A list of words while he tried to convince me I should drink hard cider with him. I drank apple juice instead and asked him to write the list. I think he had two drinks. He wanted me to write it. He only got excited and really wrote the rest when he pronounce at the pub that I should learn a few cuss words to boot. The first one in German he shared was shit. We had a little in common. That’s my favorite cuss word in English.

A day and five hours from the country I called home I am embracing that I had better make promises to myself and keep them as best I can rather than not. I had better live life so that life doesn’t live me. I had better dance my ass off. I had better look and stop trying to atone for what I don’t control. Love now! Practice now! Learn now!

My paternal grandmother passed away last year. My Father put up some of his property and some of her’s to pay for her funeral. My cousin took it and the deal was he would be paid back in a year or he could keep it. The year past and my sister found out about the deal. Which meant the property we had been told since we were little kids would belong to us when my grandmother passed and my dad was no more, might not belong to us anymore. For some reason as I listened to my sister’s very violent rant about what she wanted to do and who she was going to cuss out in a more white way sounded so beneath what I wanted and how I wanted to deal with this. I want no more parts of it and the only thing I could think of was that I hope my Papa who made it so clear before he died that the only way land could pass from one person to the next in our family was through each other and there could be no outsides, wouldn’t be disappointed with me.

That’s why my sister was so angry, my dad has only his children and his land but no real male son to inherit his “place”. We are his “sons” to carry on his line. I was thinking as she went on and on that I would give my son my last name to be sure my great great grandchildren could find their blood line. My dad had passed the land to our cousin and once our cousin was gone it would pass to his children and in his line. Yep pretty biblical and royal I know.

My cousin tried to use his best speech to explain why this was a good idea. My sister tried to use her most diplomatic cuss words to explain to him why he could kiss her ass and be thankful she couldn’t hurt him. My great aunt just held her head a little low, I think because she has witnessed her family unravel and the new generation speaks to each other like so.

I snapped my fingers at my sister and asked her to let it go. I thanked her for dealing with it, somehow she felt that dealing with it she was protecting me. She said she will load and I can shoot and that’s how we are supposed to be. She said while I was over here with peace she had been dealing with those MFers for me. I thought I want nothing to do with this. I wouldn’t like to have anything to do with them. I wear a smile for them. My smile says look this is my white flag… mask. It is and it isn’t real. It is partly a I love you too much to come down to your level and underestimate you, it’s partly don’t come over here with that bull Scheisse, and it’s partly don’t make my beast leap out and tear you to shreds I am holding it back for your safety and the care of what some may call my karma. Trust me you want non of this.

3 at a time. Johnson

First was the flap of the wings of a black solitary raven in the matching sky. She had traveled an empty space to spit the sun on first contact with something other than darkness. with in the wisdom of those eyes she flew with the 1st thought of sight on along a river of nothing until her claws were touched by welcoming dampness. marshes out of no where performed a welcoming mat for the bringer of light. immediately she spit out the sun from her beak and cawed the first song and moving her legs and chest to dance the first dance. the marches blessed the sun settled in what appeared to be the heavens. enough and not too much so as to keep the earth in warmth. welcome to the 1st day.

it was many years later when she raven wore her wings about her as a dress and walked barefooted, toes in the grass of the earth.

Certainly the light was spotted far off calling out the inquiring intelligences. They clamoured and they flew they materialized on the living mountain known as the first of land. watching the waters ,who knew it was blue. the seven muses in their robes sat by the rays of the burning flames and it was then that some began to notice they were not the same.

.Johnson

My daughters are not my own since i’ve buried them at the roots of an agar tree deep in the forest. they walked with me into the thick vines and high vegetation and they come to me now and then with their messages. I am man who could take a life and turn it to immortality. they wondered why i did not join them. why I changed my mind. how come I would choose to sit at a table in a chair with common breakfast and watch the world change daily in an organic way. organic has carbon and certainly will want to break down one day succumbing to the subtle flame. I say nothing to this. But i listen. I watch their pictures and listen to their voices when they come to sit with me.

Eventually I am sure I will grow tired and death will hold the curtain for me. but for now I am too curious for life. I thrive on the living and although I have taught those who were my children to take time and lose it, to take time and bend it, ignore time and borrow it. I am too akin to seasons and rhythms and wish to live with the tides following the will of the moon. I do this by an act of participation, empathic to life, and the story of how one comes and goes. I go the the register alone and he does not ask me where are my children. So consider it an exchange, the two for one.

Live my children in a myriad of ways. open doors and close them. but live and don’t leave her till you have grown too curious about the realm on the other side. for this is your birth right. children of the black bird.

– Sabrina

A Man Speaks Kindly to the Son of Ammitai

A Man Speaks Kindly to the Son of Ammitai

Preliminary erect projections a sweet moti-move-a-con of transformations,

Essential anions,

A sweet moti-move-a-con of information.

It was love but it was a version that has to be forgiven. It has to be forgiven because it was a variety touched by fear. The conflict was and still seems to be that variety of love. Although blood is spilt from war and hearts are confused by other subtle versions of war, other varieties. The true name for the conflict no matter what names it is given is, the info-war.

Was the fall of Babylon the beginning of mass confusion. Was it anger because of separations, not speaking the same language perhaps? What if when the precipitated touched the soils of earth and hid diligently inside her that being away from each other for so long was the true reason they could not understand each other. Do we not know that the greatest form of communication is intimacy?

What if by looking at each other they saw how Various they were from each other. The sexual organs turned inside out and outside in. did they know ahead of time that earth was a pool of information. leave it to the profane varieties to take the sacred and use it as a tool of war.

But it was love Jonah. It was the kind that takes your breath away. That’s the kind that lays pressure down and makes you breathe little sips of air. The kind that sits behind the eyelids and knows all and then there is the kind that stands guard in front of the heart space. Why in front of the heart space does this variety stand? The guard stands infront of the heart space because the throat moves too much and the stomach not enough. The heart Jonah, can be heard for miles although it beats faster it hums like the planet. So that love stands guard awaiting messages of angelic communication. It stands guard not knowing how much it is needed to be integrated. It is not needed outside of the heart but integrated inside.

But the guard revels in ignorance because if it finds out just how apart and how separate it is it might not know how to peace itself together. All things can go in either direction for infinite spans of time. So it stays right there without confessing it’s afraid to move because it is so powerful.

But the moon Jonah, the moon sways the children of water and the wielders of fire. The moon sways them and grandfather sun lights a path for them. Some days the guard will move in spite of itself. Taking on the darkness because it loves that afrodisiac. It is love is it not. That is why we think Trojan wars began with love. But love is information Jonah, all things are. Especially hear. Hear, information breathing, speaking, loving, making love to information.

So fear itself is simply information. Spirits communicate with informing pictures of information and so does plants. Feelings are simply information. If you ever want something get its information. If you are ever somewhere you had better know its information and who rules that info-space. Speak the environments language. You are a being in motion. Motion is the way that information travels, ions.

In: within limit, having function of

For: on behalf of, destination, equality

Ma: Mother

Tion: state, action, process, result

Ion: going

Information: a state of motion, active intention and journeying in mother.

YES Jonah, it was love. In all of its forms, it was love. In all of its variety, it was love. A reflection is simply information that gives you information. Now, lets talk about your next question, how to stop the info-wars.

Peices: Nephi – The mistress of the house

Im the story teller the soothsayer I hold in my very DNA all the stories and all of my children will tell them eventually. I have to tell you I wasn’t thinking of having children until I realized that many of them so many of them were around. Trying to be born and by non other than me. I felt that it was me who chose Satori but I soon found it was them who had worked their little magic into this equation. Picking him out for them it was in his blood and they wanted that to be apart of their own story.

Zachari, I found his name in my thoughts one day not too long before he was born. The last month actually all of that time I had taken the pleasure of sifting through aunti’s and old family names searching for a name but none of them felt right. And then Zachari came along. I knew what it meant and a few days later he was born. Zachari, God remembers.

Sure enough I told him the stories I remembered and let me tell you there was so many stories I remembered I had gotten them all over the world in my travels. Well, I hadn’t been all over the world but you could say I have done my share of traveling. Traveling and telling the people I met the stories that I had collected along the way. I even started to dress the part. A soothsayer of tall and fairy tales.

When I met Satori his eyes was present, too present some would say. Fully in his body is more like it. Light so strong I seemed to wince when he touched me. A man out and about and inside his own mind seemed like he could gobble up every thing else. He was familiar and I took to him like I would take to a brother I had grown up with although I hadn’t done such a thing. It was easy and sweet like god’s blessings. I imagine I called out for someone like him and he answered the ad I didn’t write. Cause certainly some other hand wrote a love like this.

The first day he asked me to tell him a story and every day after I could conjure up one. You know stories have a mind of their own. Maybe it was my stories that had brought him to me. I realized this majic one day when I was a kid growing up in texas. My cat Ara taught me about stories.

One day she had gone walking off her collar sat still on the couch and my heart raced wondering if I would have her back with me by nightfall. I couldn’t search for her at night. There was no way to sneek out of my mothers house. The ghetto houses loves burglarbars and I hadn’t mastered how to take them off yet. Well my friends and I sat on the porch wondering where she had gone thinking we’d better go looking and yelling and that’s when my little cousin comes up crying he wanted Ara back I didn’t like to see babies cry couldn’t quiet stomach an upset child so I told him she was in the backyard, elaborately. I told him she was on the back porch laying in the sun and I told him some of her secret powers. That she came to me and my dreams and that’s how I could know where she was with out looking at her. I was a gifted ellaborater. he believed my every word and when he jumped up from the front porch to run to the backyard there was Ara exactly where I said she would be swinging her tail in the air. Licking her paws as I described. At first my heart went racing again but then I thought to try that again. Could Ara have been back there as I described it because of my own words. Surely that’s what I was feeling.

While I was traveling I told many stories many of them of how good the food was, how nice the animals of the forests were, how sweet the weather was, how still the rain was and so on and so on. Till one day in Pierce, California I told the story of a man who could command the elements only to find him staring back at me in a loud room of music.

I could tell he was different I could since it, smell it off of him. Something about his confidence lead me to believe this. And when I touched him I felt I was holding a secret that would not be retold in my stories to anyone. I became the keeper of his secret. And his body was certainly a house of secrets. These secrets lived inside of him and I was only the mistress of the house.

A Gentle Man

The young gentle man over there is a magician of sorts, said the Counselor

to the monk. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this but is it not so that gossip

meanders in the conversation of holy men. Well spoke the monk, I think they

mainly gossip about God. Well then we are well within our rights, said the

Counselor, to speak a gospel truth about that young gentle man.

They were standing in the precipice of a garden complete with a living pond. If

I could paint a picture as picturesque as I have seen this garden you would see

the green grass tainted by falls ardor. The nectar of every plant not harvested,

showing off and ripe to the very points of their stems. The leaves a red orange

because the sun was becoming farther away from the earth or is it that the earth

was moving farthest from the sun. The blazing prince of our known galaxy.

The water in that pond had weird fishes who sought comfort in eating everything

other than their school. Even the birds did not bother them. They only sang to

join the chorus for the natural sound of our earth but their beaks did not venture

into that pond.

The trees, yes I must tell you of the trees, the oak family including the poison.

The apricot firmly rooted standing pretty in the center of all that was living there in

the garden. Then there’s the magician, illusionist, but truly an angel sitting in it’s

shade.

When he was a boy, started the Counselor, he went on a vision quest of sorts.

He set out from his mother’s home as the sun from our side of the sky and went

looking for his ancestors origins, to kneel and pray where they had kneeled and

prayed. Hoping to gain the residual power from their prayers, he searched.

He found himself in a nation state not that far from the isles of Cana. This is

where he did his works. Self observation, candels, and of course lots of praying.

What did he pray for Counselor, inquired the monk. A young man as giving

as he only asked for peace of mind. His form was falling from the grip of his

delicate psyche and it shook him so deep. The world was just a world to him

then not even sight of the waning moon or the bleeding setting sun could stir

him anymore. Even after the kneeling and praying and the reciprocity from both

he still had to go a bit farther. His people were indeed wanderers they prayed in

intricate places all over the planet it seemed. By the time he reached the third

place his form dragged behind him in the streets, not one person tripped. Only

babies, cats, dogs, and shamans stared at this activity. Even the raven and some

crows came to sit on this subtle chasis, because what he was losing was so

thick.

It came to be that a priestess came to his aid. She took the form away from him

and turned it into gold. He let her keep the fortune. She was kind enough to give

him half. My friend he will never have to worry about money again.

The priestess also lead him to speak with his ancestors who were honored by

his sacrifice and austerity. “I want to go to the places where my people are from”.

His grandmothers told him that he had gotten his wish by his own esteem. “But

I’m not there yet”, he told them. “That’s because you aren’t very clear on exactly

who you’re looking for”, they said.”If you want a place where people are from you

have it”, they said. He knew there was more. “I want to go to the place my family

is from”, he pleaded again. They snapped their fingers in unison and he awoke

on another planet.

I’m not sure dear monk which one.

He pleaded again,” I want to go to the place where you are from” he spoke into

the very universe and he woke up in pitch black.

Was he so ready for the true darkness all to be an impeccable warrior. An

immortal gentle man. You see here is a man who is a magician because he has

faced infinity and now his eyes shine like forever. There is no thought this god

could not fathom because he is balanced as the cosmos.

So you see dear monk you are right holy men do gossip about god.

The garden grew dark and the Counselor stepped away to return to his day. The

monk could only stand there in the precipice, still, looking at the man under the

apricot tree. The man’s eyes were closed, his body hadn’t moved in hours. The

monk’s curiosity lead him to walk towards the grand master magician.

He kneeled close in order to say words like; hello there sir, I hear you are a

magician, whats that like sir, can you tell me more, how can I myself be more

impeccable, how can I too be selfless and such.

But when the monk did kneel and look at the face of the man under the

apricot tree the magician began to stir and his eyes opened as like blinds. the

monk looked into the full on blackness of those eyes and saw all the answers

completely. You see, the monks eyes reflected the garden but the magicians

eyes reflected… infinity. The monk had never before seen such a precise

blackness. He lost his mind. He lost his form. That’s what happens when you

face the mother face to space.

Milk, sand + sugar

I have decided to commit myself to designing. For every structure must be a reason, a purpose. Below is the beginning the RNA of a new structure entitled:

Milk, sand + sugar: a Warm Invitation to be Held…

He said break my heart. A warriors heart is tender, a warriors heart is not safe from sound. A sound being a carrier of pressure a means of displacement, knocking, touching, rolling, and caressing you from your place of comfort. Comfort, in this case, a place to hide from darkness.

Mother. I calk forth mother and nurturing father. Light and darkness , void and what is known. Milk, sand + sugar. If you find yourself in this replica of a hug from them that cherish thier children and my interpretation of what it looks like. Built, crafted, arisen from what comes in visions and lighted by flames of inspiration. Then you have touched or witnessed being held. I am one past puberty and embrace tantra. Flow, organic, nurture, love making, relax., and dreaming meets releasing, cleansing, vulnerability, and trust. This is the blended stew suckling on creativities portion of milk. Ancient as sand, stimulated by sugar.

—

_ Suddenly designing structures meant confessing its intention and why it would be beautiful to have the living erected

Meet Yi (Featured in 2pi Journal Vol.2)

Preview of Chapter 2

Blessed Yi stepped his toes to the house of the Sorceress, who lived outside of the city limits in a dank cabin off a fertile highway and very close to a overtly dirty meadow. Avoiding his reflection in the mirror by her door, he thought twice about knocking or ringing the very worn bronze bell on the splintered wooden porch. Cracked red paint and the precision of a scent of something with many spices caught his sensory attention. This Sorceress had a reputation above par with many people. Yi had overheard some stories with her as its subject in some communities where he ventured. Someone would speak in a quiet knowing tone, of a woman in the woods very close to the city with miraculous healing abilities, who had seen their own grandparents before them. When Yi heard this he knew he could use such potent guidance.

He had never met her, this sorceress, before, but was astonished by tales of her and partly fear crept into his breath as he walked to her screen. How quickly his chest rose and succumbed, and rose and barely succumbed to a normal motion of inhalation and exhalation. The abnormality made his head swarm with a high and then a pain, but he thought of that particular faith of his and remained steadfast on his intent to see her. “Come in!”, she yelled . He nearly jumped. I wish Yi knew that he was feeling a particular kind of emotion for a particular kind of reason.

She was dressed up from head to toe in the body of a young man complete with nappy brown chest hair and cotton black boxer shorts that did no justice to cover the happy trail, and a bit too big for the private parts. The belly button jewel she wore shined a dull light in the dimmed daylight stream still seeping into the house, the sun was on its way to setting. Yi was expecting to see the person that matched the voice. Yet in his heart of hearts he knew this person before him was her, and he was subdued by a comfortable grasp in the air around him that made him think twice about moving too quickly. Yi was a smart man and although he knew he was no match for this magos, Yi also knew that too many movements spoke louder than words and if she could read him, of which he had no doubt, she might read something he hadn’t meant to share.

“What can I help you with, Yi?”, she asked with a lightness, as though she could give it to him on a plate from her pots strongly smelling up the house. “I’ve come for your guidance in how to calm the city. How can I get them to be quiet, to have peace?” he said, “…the city is so loud.”

“Well Yi,” she said, “…dirty coins make change no matter how shiny the nickels look.” “Besides, it’s only a program, Yi, and some of them there get touchy when you try to change their programming.” “Maybe the question could be, and this is only a suggestion, how do you stop yourself from being so loud?” His heart began to speed again as he noticed she was not looking directly at his face, but completely and without shame, at his body.

Yi’s stomach shuddered. “You feel that Yi?” said the sorceress, “you take away their comfort which they have grown up with and they might want to fight for it.”

“Why are your eyes so red?” she asked. “I’ve been burning my tongue,” he said. “With my pipe.” He pulled it from behind his ear to show it to her. “Oh!” she replied, “Now you know how words feel.”

“Watch this.” she said. She climbed the walls of the ceiling and hung upside down till her male bodied shell turned the familiar female shape and she slept like a bat with her feet to the sky. Yi stood at first with the lie of confusion in his midst, but in his stomach he knew their meeting was over. He went over in his head what she had said to him and tried to make more sense out of something he felt sounded too simple.

Yi bid the sorceress farewell and stepped on the road again leading farther away from the metropolis.

He came upon a path of yelling, playing, babies and toddlers. They were alone near a deserted overgrown highway. Thickets of vines grew close by the road and the area in which they played was filled with johnson, orchard, and bermuda grasses, as though it was once a place used heavily for the cultivation of something, he wasn’t sure. He did notice that the wildflowers blowing in the wind must be coming from the south, he thought, something he learned in his days of being a sailor at sea.

The babies and toddlers ran through these high grasses, some leaping like frogs and some running as fast as cheetahs and some laughing while running through trees. They turned themselves into vapors so as not to disturb the trees, then back into chubby or thin complex solids. Yi’s very mind was blown so well it hurt his head to see these fascinating images.

“We are the munchkin patrol.” The voice came from a little person as jovial as Yi has ever heard, and he turned to stare down into the tangled matted hair of a girl child who wiped her mouth of leaves and picked petals from her ears. Yi knelt on the ground to be eye level with her. He was honored to be spoken to by, and seeing clearly what appeared to be either dieties, demigods, but certainly a group of mental pedagogues. “What does the munchkin patrol do?” he asked. “We garden.” she said. “What is it that you garden?” he asked. “We plant seeds!” she said, her smile spreading almost into a wicked smirk. She was leading him somewhere and was excited about his questions because that’s how he was going to get to where she was pulling him, he knew.

“We water the seeds, we harvest the fruits, and keep the peace.” “Where is your harvest?” asked Yi. “You’re reaping it,” she said. “What seeds do you plant?” he asked. “You’re speaking them,” she said. “Where is the water?” he said. She spit in the air and said, “There!” Before her saliva touched the ground, it flashed into the clear hue of blue.

“What do you want Yi?”, she asked. “I want to stop the noise in the city”, he said. “You wouldn’t lie to a munchkin now would you, Yi? I don’t think you know how to care about their crying and carrying on… seems to me you might be conditioned to be emotionally stupid. Maybe a good fruit for you,” she said, as she held out her hand to produce a purple apple, “is to see the treasure in your own silence. Then you will be a BIG HELP!” she yelled. She clapped her hands and jumped up and down. “Importance can be tricky, Folly! Folly! Yi! You think you’re exempt from making the noise when you’re so loud yourself. Let them play! never stop them from playing.”

Suddenly the munchkin patrol turned to Yi and he could see now that they had surrounded him in a circle. How long they were standing there in that formation he wasn’t sure, but he was intimidated but relaxed. The tone of her voice was as a child’s and he had a feeling by the way they acted, with the trees running wildly through them and not destroying anything, that they would not touch a hair on his body in a disrespectful manner. Then they ran towards him with all the speed their little legs could muster and spit on the ground, and just as Yi fell on his knees to the earth to cover himself, yelling out loud for the anticipated crash, they dissipated, and the scent of ocean water went with them.

Yi had certainly seen quite a bit between the two meetings in this one day. First, with a Sorceress who clothed her self in the bodies of both sexes and yet never really intruded on his being. She even stated her intent to suggest something to him without suggesting it before pronouncing her impressions. Then there was the munchkin patrol, these wild children who obviously were more interested in playing than taking him seriously. Their intent had nothing to do with him but everything to do with their fun. Maybe, he thought, he did take himself too seriously, neurotically thinking he was so important that people thought cunningly what they would do to him to try to hurt him, instead of going on in their own worlds with their own things living and letting him live peacefully as they wanted to live. He thought about his trust of people and things working out in his favor. He took that knowledge in, like the smoke from his pipe as he sat on the grass still relieved and able to inhale. Yi stood and walked further south from the region.

He heard a voice shout,“Sir, can I just talk to you for a minute? Just your ears for a moment.”

“What is it?” asked Yi. “Brother, it’s my eyes. Sometimes I see just fine, then there are times when I feel that I’m just waking up after just having been awake, or so I thought. I just need to ask you something.” “What’s that?” asked Yi.

“Are you real?”

Yi laughed, “Last I checked, I was”.

“Well, said the elder man, a straw tattered hat on his head, jeans on his legs, a worn t-shirt on his chest, and most noticeably, the largest black eyes you have ever seen, “It’s this here river that you’re walking on, I fish here all the time, I know where you’re standing, there are no rocks for you to step on.” Yi looked down at his toes in a quick passing moment of disbelief, until he realized it was true, he was standing in the middle of the river and must have been walking along it for a while. He started walking toward the boat, but in an instance of hesitation he fell into the water. “Sir!” yelled the fisherman. “Grab hold of this!” He threw an oar over the side of the boat for Yi. “You can walk on water but you cant swim!” The elder man laughed till he held his sides from what looked like a joyful aching. “I can too swim!” said Yi, with defiance, “and if you want me to listen to you, don’t tell me something I can’t do!” Now even Yi realized his discontent for being told he couldn’t do something , when he felt he could do anything after what he had seen throughout the day. He calmed after his revelation.

“Touchy, touchy,” said the elder fisherman. “Let me tell you something ,Yi,” the man said, with a clear sense of belief in himself, “I like you.” He starting pointing his finger at Yi as he spoke, spitting at times when using certain letters. Some folks indeed do get touchy when you try to destroy their programming, and some are still trying to break the codes, and get touchy if you remind them that they ever had a program in the first place. “Well, now that I know that you’re real you can keep the boat,” said the fisherman as he stepped out and walked away. “I didn’t want to give a phantom a boat, might creep some folks out,” he said, raising his shoulders and making a surprised face. Yi stared at the man as he went off into the woods along the beach. He heard him still laughing to himself long after he disappeared from sight.

The Dirty Queen of Leeches ( particulars for & dedicated to Lydia B. Scott)

Here is a preview for a tale I wrote with out so much as a twenty second break between chapters.

The Dirty Queen of Leeches

Her hair disheveled as she leaped from the porch slamming against a fence it opened at the pressure. Her arms in fit of anger flung the metal back closed you could here it click shut. Feet, the sound of her shoes long gone. It took no time but so much time as she approached the corner. She looked back not really expecting anyone to be behind her but you know the mind can come up with some other stories in collaboration with the mental sphere.

I would imagine four or five other plays happening at that time, but really only one. She didn’t expect anything to happen but could feel that emptiness that space that is a representation of anticipation.

At the phone booth her toes played with neglected pebbles, rocks, and soda cans her fingers boldly grabbing at a phone that smelled of piss. The connection not needed to be identified although it was. The dial tone. Where was her intuition. Where were you then?

I know!

Singing softy in the bowels of her stomach. Singing truly in the depths of her womb. Sending trembles up her intestines. Ringing, cooing in the stomach. A phone is now answered on the other end by a temple line near the horn, near the brain, in the head. A thousand and one miles from the safety nest manger of the heart.

Oh say what you must to me dear child. She has spoken already for the solitude. The autonomy of her own thoughts that said she dreams of being greater more fairer than before. Better greater more fairer prayers like elliptical magic. Freedom’s energy lifting her own virtuous richeous mother carrying her a feet, a few inches off the ground in a heap of bliss and ecstatic enthuse.

A child who would love to reach out

lick the subtle electricity like candy canes

gifted by submerged lovers in the breasts keeping

who wipes the backs of wailing children turned to light tears

falling swiftly from their cheeks

caught on the cleft of the chin

running then falling sunken sucked in by cotton t-shirts

knitted by grandmothers who wear blue fabric tissued pants

on their backsides

in a group of other knitters using the leg bones

of kitty cats who laid their life down here to go traveling there

ditching one planet for the other

following a map they noticed in the rivers intimate eyes

when they saw moles on their furry paws

thinking they were kin to cheetahs

when they saw arrows in their tales

thinking they were kin to zebras

when she saw needles pointing waiting calling sweetly

in rhyme for lightning

and waiting still longer for thunder’s roar

who baby

who will notice behind the clouds a mane of gold and pubescent lion cubs

who made that sound ecstatic

that they sounded like their mothers in honor of their fathers lingum

touching deeply where he can only touch

they have known a love that looks and races across Atabay

known scorpions jagged peircing

because it went by so noisily

sprites still with might like forevers

keeping that spirit’s image in the cube of ice

green was the color of the strings falling lucid out the phone

when she had dialed a code

for beams she knew would come too soon

will you rescue me and mother what of my father

But you are him too

Share with me that sacred side of you so that he may know I love you ever still

fix my hair in the best of perfumed oils that when I shake my mane

children in far Italy wipe the tears from their eyes

they hadn’t known a scent so strong

That when I shake my mane

running my fingers through my hair

touching a person

unsuspected,

walking by

they will know that that scent was worn my bathed priestesses

who could bring

gods through to earth

Introduction to the Tools Master

The foolish covet his tools. The munchkins walk by his side. The dreamers admire his agility. He is not the jack but the master of tools.

Through out history and to this very day he has been a hoarder of names. The first step to being a master of tools is to be able to change tools at will with as much simplicity as a breath. You must be formless to be a master of tools. That chaotic organization, formlessness, is at heart what it means to be the master of tools.

He wears a suit of the finest of fabrics. He weaves it himself I’ve heard. It smells of the finest dark chocolate soil. His suit is a mirror for the spirits to use. His suit is a book of information.

I remember a girl named Jessica who unwittingly happened upon a tool of the Tools Master. It was in one of the places you least expect it to be. Laying at first in a section of her memories she hadn’t touched yet, there it was safe for a time. It was the ability to rally the spirits, I believe it was. It was the incantations, words, it was the very library for this type of art. The tools master is so well organized he utilized several other information holders such as gems and these hidden rooms in the memories of anything to store his libraries. But for Jessica it was different. Something in that selection touched her and awoke in her. It is not quite clear if the master of tools knew that he had done this. But I have heard that if you are able to access the tools he places in those hidden rooms in your psyche, you can keep the bounty. He made himself a pact that he will only take what you will not miss of his. I have faith in this. I want to believe this with all my heart.

I have been searching all of the hidden rooms in my psyche for a glimpse of a possible stored library. Although some of these opened doors have unleashed more than I thought would be there. For this I am grateful to him and his pact. I am grateful for the ways my body has begun to self procreate, creating multiple fluid bodies to join me on my search into the wonderland of my very mind. I appreciate that with this task I have become whole. Even though I can call forth the thunder, even though I can play wildly in the forests with the nesting spirits, even though I can dream and open my eyes without opening my eyes. I am sitting here in this park with my deck of cards secretly divining if I will find a library of his and become a magus of tools. Because for all of this to happen to me with just the intent to reach out for one library I can only imagine what it would be like to actually have one. And on the winds I spit these words that if I do find a library of his I will steward it like it was gold. I will care for it as if it was myself. I will nurture it as if it was a child. I will the will to play with this sacred selection of knowledge knowing that I cannot mention to you the rest of what I would be after. Hunters have their secrets and we are at war.

I haven’t seen Jessica since but I can feel something brewing. I think she has something to do with it. It’s like a warm hearty soup for the souls. I also heard she changed her name. Joined a team. The rest is a mystery. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be able to tell you what happened to her. I happened upon how to make myself a suit of the finest fabric. I wove it myself.