the passing clouds

his feet swung back and forth and up and down unable to find rest. an unlaced shoe stained with grass and dirt and the blood of invisible enemies bounced against the side of the oversized barbeque.

“that one looks like a pig. no…maybe a mouse.”

grandma, always wearing a peculiar smile, loved this game.

“where? which one?”

“the one with the nose. right there.”

the passing clouds lay scattered before the blue canopy of space. white opaque shadows darkened and lit up the crisp clean air. a dove and its lover flew through their line of sight leaving a streak of silver in its wake.

“where do clouds come from grandma?”

she paused. “they are God’s stuffed animals.”

“does God ever get lonely grandma?”

“oh, i doubt it. but he knows that sometimes we do and so he shows us these clouds to comfort us.”

a ray of sunshine shot between a turtle and mickey mouse. nearby, a cat lay in a rose garden shifting on its back from right to left and left to right receiving the suns breath. flocks of geese arrived home from their winter sabbaticals announcing their return. birds sang. dogs barked. a symphonic masterpiece of life arose from every direction. with a satisfied look the boy smiled as grandma ruffled his dirty blonde hair and turned to leave him to dance wildly with his imagination. he returned his gaze to the passing clouds resembling mountains scattered throughout space and rhythmic time. mountains that ate planes and stars only to spit them out disgusted by their metallic tastes. some days those cloudy mountains would freeze as if posing for some cosmic picture, moving only slightly because of the ache in its knees. and the longer you watched those mountains, the more they would shrink and look less like mountains and more like dirty eraser marks as if god himself continued to refine and perfect his panorama.

many days the boy would play this game with his grandma. their combined minds produced a startling effect of wisdom and innocence. he loved searching the heavens with her hoping to catch a glimpse of the handiwork of an Architect who refuses to stop giving. sometimes she would sing songs to him. songs of children laughing and flying and eating and fighting and exploring distant lands. songs of adventure and un-ceasing pleasure. and if time froze, it would find two children, one small in stature and the other small in fear, refusing to let time rule their fates.

other days, the boy would lie alone on his back letting his eyes pierce the deep blue sea. he slowly would bring them down watching the color fade from blue to grey to white as they rested upon the distant hills. he studied those hills and wondered what travelers forged strange lands to make their homes here. he would draw detailed pictures of them knowing that if he ever moved his visions would be etched into eternity. and all the while the silent clouds passed.

the summer days grew long and peaceful. children ran barefoot through orchards and waded in creeks. parents had picnics in overcrowded parks drinking their wine and toasting to the gods for their abundance of good taste. summer would dissipate into fall and fall would disappear into winter. the sky would be covered in a blanket of grey water and some days those blankets would weep. they would weep for pain, for loneliness, for suffering. and each tear that fell healed the ground. but the boy was never reminded that he was not alone because blankets do not bring about the comfort that he needed. only shape-shifting stuffed animals could do that. so when those winters finally shed away its icy breath and the sun returned to bring warmth to the frost-bitten earth, his grandma would remind him that though he may feel alone for a time, spring would always arrive. and spring always brought about the passing clouds.

time passed and grandma had to move away. the boy grew and grew until he became a young man with a job and a checkbook to match. along with responsibilities came stresses and busyness. and as if the chain only lengthened with more responsibilities, hardships came soon enough as well. it was as if time itself had pulled the rug out from underneath his weak legs and darted off into the distance. some days, he too would weep for loneliness and sorrow. only his tears would not heal the ground but rather flood his drainless world with salty pains and windowless prisons. he was getting older now. getting older makes oneself face the reality of life. people breathe their last breaths and pass into other realms to god knows where. others leave on one-way trains to some unknown future. and still others close themselves off to the reach of one another becoming but mere shells of a life once lived. and so when those days came, and they came frequently, the boy would step outside and breathe in the fresh air. he would stare at the passing clouds and be reminded that spring always came and sometimes it was there and he never realized it. and as he gazed at those clouds, he felt that far away, someone else, someone older in age yet more hopeful and youthful in spirit, was also looking at the passing clouds, being reminded of the days when little boys with large hearts and hopeful imaginations would look at the sky and laugh knowing that they were not alone. and that...that was just enough for him.

posted by jon havens

untitled

i know a place where people grow achromatic by the hour. they watch the clock spin its tiny, unforgivable hands, and drink to their downfall. and every night, just before reaching cold, starchy beds, they feel the pigment leave their eyes, sucked dry behind the sooty pupils. there are no frescos. there is no such thing as sapphire crystal and orange marmalade. there is no ingenuity. confections are sharp or sour or both and no one drinks up the world through straws. i know a place where no one enjoys the horizon in late afternoon, and soon the space above them is obsidian without much notice. stars never glow warm like small beacons in the night. they never lead anyone home. brilliance lives its short life in the wet shadows, away from all things living. no ones hair grows strong and soft like white honey. no one spreads vanilla across their pillows to dream sweet and long through the dark tide hours. and just before reaching starchy beds, just before the pigment is gone, there is a very small part of them that wonders why...
take heart, i know a place where everything opposite of the above occurs.

posted by drew carlascio

field of substance

in keeping with the theme of bones...

my bones, like the cracked valley, are dry and splintered. they rest with others on a shattered floor, cold and obsolete. it gathers and collects, then waits and gathers again. some bones are large, like great mammoths of strength wandering to and fro throughout the land awaiting their rude blast. some are small, like negligible writing scribbled on large canvasses of gold. still others shake and quiver from some dream of life; some promise of alteration. and while the wind stirs and gathers its young, those bones wait and remain. and in the stillness, silence screams.

but from the four corners of the world, a sustainable breeze will blow, hard and fast. a hurricane of gale force. a tornado of cataclysmic strength. the earth will shake its atrocious foundation to bring freedom to rusted chains. tendons will coalesce. capillaries will join. flesh, dissipating like spilled water, will run over bones. skin will touch skin and life will run its marathon. the earth will scream and the galaxies ears will bleed.

but a few bones will remain among the field of substance. some big. some small. and as those new beings leave the valley, they will make sure not to crush the strata of the lifeless dry bones. because one day those bones…my bones…will come to life as well.

posted by jon havens

where the skeletons dance and sing

then, quickly and without warning, the sky went grisly and blood soaked. clouds from white to wild apricot wine without the slightest hint of disaster. i watched the whole thing unfold. i watched my bones shiver, like an old horror movie. the skeletons dance and sing and laugh and make you go cold in places you've never gone cold before. i watched the sky expand and burn. i watched it dipped and damned in the lakes of hell and left to dry, hanging in the heavens. the sky can be a violent place when the sun decides to leave us. who can blame it, staring down on our world all day. who can blame it for wanting to melt us to the core. its last burning march before it dips behind the grey ocean. and who can really blame the sun if it never wanted to look down on us ever again, its molten veil spilling holocaust over the water for the last time. and i watched this all unfold before my very eyes. the fire, the violence, the crimson atmosphere, and somehow amidst the quiet battlefield above me, i felt right at home. i felt comforted, like i could reach up and wrap my arms around the color. i felt myself shiver cold, as the sky spun wide, and the skeletons laughed.

posted by drew carlascio

"the caves" part two

sorry, it's taken so long. i wish i could say that i've been working on this ever since but that would simply be a lie. here it is...

i must confess, the caves are comfortable. any sort of connection to the outside world became but a passing memory while the presence of isolation filled my chest. the air was not quite as fresh inside. its stale touch gave me the feeling that my lungs had a heartbeat of their own. as i breathed in, curiosity. as i exhaled, truth. but it’s comfortable. a nice change.

as i ventured deeper inside the growing addiction, my feet found water. but it was not a refreshing feel. this water felt old; as old as desire itself. the stillness of my reality was so different from the outside world. but it was a nice change. comfortable.

the sound of my feet splashing through the water brought a thought of adventure to my mind. despite the fact that hundreds had ventured this path before me, i felt i was treading on it anew, like a pioneer tracking across unknown territory. each step brought me further to some prize, some ecstasy of life. something inside me told me to turn back but that voice was silenced by the piercing scream of allure. so, i went on.

the cave began to get smaller and water colder. my feet grew numb and my knees weak. as i passed the narrowing walls, i could see a change in the cave. there were images on the walls; images of struggle but then conquest, passion and then fulfillment, dreams and then reality. people ran but never grew tired. they laughed and never grew weary. blood coursed through my veins and crashed into my heart forming a collision which sent a rush of adrenaline through my legs. the water now came up to my waist as i pressed on.

i had now been in the cave for hours. i could feel my mind swimming, searching, dreaming of more. the deeper i went, the more i longed for it. why did i declare my honor against this? what evil is in curiosity? what is light? what does a bird’s cry sound like? what of the feel of love? it all became but one desire and one passion…to experience all of the cave. every corner. every rock. every desire.

suddenly, without warning, something grabbed my leg and pulled me underwater. in the confusion terror struck me: the myth had now become truth. i struggled and fought with this creature and it begged for my life. its clawed hands dug into my flesh and tore my skin from its host. my head found air as i screamed out in immense pain. the creature had released its hold as i stumbled backwards into the cave wall. my torch was extinguished by water and my searching eyes found nothing but blackness. i could not see my predator but every part of me understood that it could see me.

i gasped and panted and writhed in anguish. blood was flowing from my side. all was still for but a moment. then, the sound of splashing water. it grew louder as the creature came near and grabbed my feet again. i screamed and tried to hold onto the side of the cave. but my strength was no match for my enemy. he ripped me from my only hope of rescue and dragged me underwater. upwards, i shot into the air as i was now being held from my neck, suspended in gravity. i could feel the creature’s hot breath upon my face and heard its demented breathing pattern. in its presence i felt the multitude of death. upon that very breath rested the lives of countless others who dared to venture into its domain. i gasped for air and it conceded as it threw me against the wall.

i awoke in what felt like years later but was probably only a few hours. i found myself lying upon a narrow precipice. how i got upon it i was not sure. my right eye was swollen shut and my feet were covered in blood. my hands showed signs of struggle; like a lone prisoner scratching the wall to hear some other noise besides his own heartbeat. a great piece of my side was missing. i was in shambles. i had not known where my enemy went off too but knew that it was important to depart immediately. slowly, like an elder rising from their slumber, i moved. every part of my body ached. i put pressure upon my feet but collapsed. they could not hold my weight. crawling would be my own way of escape.

my bloodied hands reached for rock after rock upon the ground. i moved slowly and gained some ground. foot by foot, meter by meter, i dragged my mangled flesh away from my disaster. i wept as i crawled. i wept for my cynicism. i wept for my selfishness. i wept for the countless others who went before me and did not make it out alive.

as i moved and time passed, my limbs became less rigid. like oil upon metal my arms eased up and strength returned to my legs. i stood and gazed at my hands in surprise. the wounds had disappeared. i sat upon a boulder and examined my feet. they too were healed. my side was as normal as ever. but my eye was still swollen shut. i dove into the water. as i held myself under, a tingling sensation shot over my face. these waters had healing powers. strange that the very waters which saw me ripped me to pieces brought mending life. as i rose from the water and the blurriness began to cease, i noticed something up ahead: light. the mouth of the cave was near.

i started to run but my legs lost their balance and i fell. i laughed as i lifted my head. but my laugh soon relinquished for i realized that i had not lost my balance, the ground had lost me. the entire cave was shaking and collapsing. i shot towards the light as fast as i could run. all around me rocks came crashing down. i groaned as i ran: not out of pain but out of the thought that i would be lost forever. the light grew bigger and smaller; bigger as i grew near but then smaller as the fallen rocks began to block the entrance. i reached the mouth, climbed upwards towards my last hope of life and dove out in the sunlight. the sound of the collapsing cave ended. i turned and no longer saw a cave. my time of terror had ended. a new day had begun.

posted by jon havens