Captain’s Log

My mind was all a jumble. None of this was supposed to happen. It was all her doing. She knew my weaknesses as she knew everyone elses. She knew I couldn’t resist a soul in need any more than I could resist an opportunity to be a part of a good story. She was playing me, stealing my spirit away one friend at a time. I had had enough. Time to do something about it all. And so I called upon the one power I was certain would be anethema to her, and prayed that my strengths were still more potent than her weaknesses … and more importantly, on the ineptitude of my friends in my particular branch of faith.

She wanted to bind us all to her. So be it. That was exactly what I would set about … my way. The way that scares them (Rachel, Pink Bunny, B.J.)

I planted my seeds with care. I stroked her ego when I could do so without endagering my soul. I played up the role which she had so erroneously tried to force me into. It was close to the end … all of us who were closely involved could sense it … but none more than the two of us. She knew I was feinting, and I’m certain to this day that she, nor anyone else, did not know what I was up to.

I threw together a day in advance, unlike my normal fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants method, and prayed that it would fail horribly. I think I secretly prayed that it would botch so badly that it would end me.

This time I had everyone help me, as though they were some kind of acolytes. Everything was working horribly at the saturday market, which put my mind at ease. The laxidaisical demeanor of those involved was crucial to my plan, and pained me terribly.

Alright … time to purchase the foci. Continuing my act, I put all thoughts of planning from my mind … for if I knew that I was planning it all to fail, the ritual would be impotent. There must be sacrifice, and I must go to the slaughter. Wooden bowl? Check. Come on, there are hippies everywhere! Laugh it up, people, laugh it up. I never once laughed with them. Laughter was not in me. Sage? Sure! Check. Metal chalice? Just make sure there are no markings of any kind on any of it, guys! Oh, a seriel number … is that the best we can come up with? It’ll have to do. Check! I *will* make this ritual work in one days time or … I don’t know what. Candles … white ones. Get them. I had tried to drown myself days ago, but none of them knew it. Fate wouldn’t even give me that simple release. My whole demeanor must have been very dark, serious, and brooding. Perfect. Onward, then! Much to do!

I don’t remember much of anything from those days, especially not right before the ritual. The drive back … I couldn’t tell you the first thing about it, except that I was answered questions about the coming ritual vaguely and cryptically, unable to pry myself from my focus. I must build up enough energy (wa, karma, chi, whatever you want to call it) to make this work. Everyone remember to eat a full meal beforehand, I don’t want anyone passing out or getting hurt. I think I was clutching the first aid kits that I had lifted from my boat, still in Jantzen Beach then. Somewhere deep inside I was concerned … terribly worried … but I had to push it from my mind.

That night I found the right vow … these days I can’t remember anything about it. I know everyone thought it was long. They have no idea. My frame of mind would not work with this spell … I was too evil … too controling … too fearful and confused. Impure. The spell was one of primordial bonding, a spell to help us realize that we were all in truth the same person. I would never be strong enough to make it work with my spirit in such a weakened and damaged condition. I had to clear my head. First I commited the vow to memory, then, leaving Dan and Jeff to the rest of they’re night, set about cleansing my soul of all it’s thick fallacies. I reduced myself as near to nothing as I could, before even beginning the ritual, and in emptiness, found oneness. The night air and sky is perfect for that. Thank the Lady it wasn’t completely overcast. A good omen.

We all met in the playground at the park behind some place Dan and Jeff used to live. It was perfect. Somehow the energies of the night were working in my favor. Then I saw them, and my hopes (but not my resolution) were dashed. She’s actually playing in the swingset … how fitting. Perfectly antagonistic! WHEEEE she cried. Fucking whee. “A fucking playground? How does he expect us to take this seriously?” she yelled across the park and into the suburban beyond. Deep inside I was grinning with a wicked satisfaction. Double double toil and trouble … fire burn and cauldron bubble. Something wicked awaits you in the deep places, you faerie fuck. Outwardly and inwardly (but not that DEEP inward place where I was grinning, and not the deeper STILL inward place where I was empty and everything) I let out a groan. She was fucking it all up. Ender caught on quickest, Jeff and Dan were there and they had a feeling something wasn’t right with me. Good, we’re still in touch. Jason and Ben came next, with Mindi and Rachel last. Ah Mindi, my darling, I’m counting on you … I eyed the first aid kits, knowing without knowing. That little voice inside … this kind of magic doesn’t work on HER kind … she is not of OUR realm … I shoved it out of my mind as quickly as I could, replacing it with visions of the stars above and the molten earth below.

I bade each of them take a candle from the bowl, leaving myself with two. As I was leading this ritual, it was my place to carry the One candle. I then arranged us in the fated order … with those closest to me close to me, and those most entwined in her grasp on the opposing end of the circle (Circles have no end? Right you are! And how naive.) I would then lead the way from our realm into the deep places, instructing everyone to follow in such an order that the circle would unwind itself and reform perfectly upon reaching our destination (if indeed I made it that far.) This meant the order was as such: Michael, Jeffrey, Ender, Jason, Ben, Rachel, Mindi, Dan (and thus back to Michael.)

Everything went exactly as it was supposed to. We unraveled, we left behind the trappings of day to day life and went out of our well lit safety-zones (each of us had our own, and I am no exception) and off into the darkness.

Every time I would pass by this one particular spot on that road, I knew I had crossed (at least partway) into Somewhere Else. I felt it the very first time I ever walked down that road, and this time was no exception. As soon as I felt that chill run up my spine and those strange whispers in my mind (which coincidentally was simulatneous to my noticing the cacophany of frogs groaning into the Wisteria Night) I knew I might just have the strength after all. Shadows danced as only still shadows may dance upon the trees and gravel offshoots that some called driveways. The air was still and teeming with life. “Make it stop.” I heard loud and clear, as though someone had yelled it straight into my brain. The frogs might have all just hard heart attacks, they silenced so quickly. Damn her … damn them. Don’t they know I can’t resist them? Don’t they know they’ve been killing me? She knew. I don’t think they did. Every undisciplined curse that erupted from the lips of the mouths which were attached to bare feet etched a painful line into my unknown soul. “This could have been thought through a little better,” I heard muttered with intent for my ears. Bittersweet, this love. How foul kindness can be. Control yourselves, you undisciplined cads! If any of you had the slightest idea what I am about to get us all into, perhaps this might actually work … then we’d all be in real trouble. As it stands, two people in mortal peril is a high enough price to pay, let’s not add to it.

I kicked the door in and lead us all inside. Glancing back, I saw that Rachel had to be lifted inside (the steps leading up to the door had all but rotted away) but I wasn’t sure by who. No doubt Ender was involved in that. I bade Mindi set the medkits (dutifully carrying them ^.^) just before the entrance to the room … their very presence a testament to the doom that awaited.

The circle collected itself in the dark room, and I had to walk everyone through each step. As soon as my mouth opened, however, I was no longer myself. I was the magic.

All the merry
All the merry
All the merry little children

Watch them laughing
Watch them dancing
Watch them listen to my music

Sweet symphony
Sweet mystery
Sweet enchantments for your children

Whispers softly
Whispers calling
Whispers merry in the twilight

Float, you children
Float, my music
Floating happy into twilight

Call your children
Call out to them
Call the children home to mother

No more music
No more children
No more laughter, only silence

Forever laughing
Forever dancing
Forever children of the twilight

Weird dream last night:

I was outside at this ranch. It was sunny, the grass was golden, and the main building/stables/barn thing (it was really all of the above) looked slightly delapidated yet well used. Everything was very picturesque, really. I walked inside and there were a few people in this room and they were chopping at these practice dummies with some kind of blades that I couldn’t really identify. Inside, everything was mostly gray and there was hardly any furniture, just a table with some stuff on it. The setting reminded me of ranches from my childhood.

Anyways, as I’m watching them, this wicked looking bald dude turns and very stylistically chops this guy … not really in half, but from one armpit up through the other shoulder, so that the head and one arm hit the ground. After he swung he kept spinning so that on the backswing he chopped off the first three fingers of the severed arm before it hit the ground. He caught the fingers in mid air and returned to a ready stance, all in one fluid motion, and smiled at me maniacly (one of my own smiles. It looked AWESOME!) As I started to back away he non-chalantly tossed the fingers (all still connected) onto the table and as they hit I noticed there were many more fingers on the table. Quickly I glanced out a nearby window into a courtyard and there were fingers all over, on display, in glass cases, on littering the ground. At this point I turn around and walk determinedly outside.

A group of people are outside and one of them (a leader?) approaches me and welcomes me warmly, very glad to see me and how am I doing and such and such. It seemed genuine and practiced. He went on to explain that this was all part of the organization behind non-denominational churches and how they had influence over just about everything and what not … the whole time I’m trying to just walk away without getting on anyones bad side.

Well, eventually I just up and leave and he starts following me, so a break into a run/jog and he just keeps coming, not really running but still catching up like a villain from a bad horror flick. I make my way into some kind of church/school and this guy is holding a lecture/sermon/class of some sort, and the guy following me isn’t anywhere to be seen but I know he must be close. Before I can sit and try to blend in the class is over and people start leaving. So I slowly get up and before I can even start moving to the door the guy holding the lecture approaches me and says hello. I ask him what this group is all about and he says that they’re mormons and that they can protect me from the people following me if I become a mormon too. Before I can really give a response, the guy from before walks in the side door and starts heading for me, so I walk out the opposite side door and escape again.

Now it’s night time and I’m in the city (it seemed like a cross between S.F. and Portland meets The World of Darkness) with (of all people) Cassie. We’re having a good time, out on some walkway between buildings (looking over the edge, there are a lot of these between the buildings.) We’re laughing and having fun and being silly like we used to be and she starts randomly playing with the railing, hopping up on top of it and holding on with both hands (scaring the piss out of me, I thought she was gonna fall) and then hopping back down and turning to me and smiling. Then it looks like she’s gonna try to do it again, only with a 180 degree twist so she can look at me while she’s up there only she loses her grip and actually falls. It takes me a split second to register what had just happened before I’m over the edge after her. Only I let myself hang before I drop to the ground below, where she is laying incapacitated and non-responsive. I kneel down beside her quickly and start doing CPR. I check for breathing first, and then for blood (unfortunately she wasn’t breathing, but she wasn’t bleeding either.) I try frantically to get her breathing again, one deep breath in, three hard pushes on the sternum … it doesn’t work and I finally start to lose my nerve and gather her close to me, petting her and holding her. I kiss her and start to cry and that’s when I wake up.

The sky is blue
Sometimes
It is raining outside.

A crew of matching oddballs parties
Sometimes
They sleep on the floor
Dirty or clean
It doesn’t really matter
As long as the music plays

And they know
That life is good
Sometimes
Life is hard

They see It in the grass
Green, growing, simple
They feel It in the air
Thick with smoke
Over a poker table where
through It all they laugh
And love
And live
They taste It in their food
Chicken and steak fresh off the barbeque
They hurl It up
When they’ve had too much of It
With complete strangers
And with themselves

Friends
Family
Lovers

Alive

And they all know
That It
Is supposed to happen.

Some of them see the darkness
Sometimes
Some of them see the light
Sometimes
Some of them see the things that no one else sees
Sometimes
There is only one
But not alone.

They love the ones that stay
They love the ones that go
They love the ones that are no more.
They live, and they let live.
They are alive and loving It.

They could be us.

It started before I left for Oregon. Somehow the seeds of travel and adventure were planted in my very soul, and there they lied, gestating and feeding upon the rough and heartfelt experiences of my childhood. Then, when I was about 200 moons old, I met a woman and the surface of my essence was pierced, releasing many strange yet familiar ideas from the depths of my being as a volcano sometimes slowly spews forth a river of molten earth. I had fallen in love, real love, and would never be able to return to my boyhood again.

I have never truly been an adaptable person, and like all serious change I spent the majority of my energy resisting it. The tools which I used to do so were denial (”I am NOT in love,”) faith (”It is contrary to my values to have a relationship so young,”) and every other possible excuse I could find to ignore the changes happening to my life. I would be steady. I would be unchanging. I would be the rock.

I began to crack.

The force of the change was too great. I had built my dams thick, but as great as I built them, my molten soul would not stop flowing. The lava soon outpaced me. I began to catch myself looking forward to going to school … arriving early even, just to spend more time searching for her. I began to spend just as much time with her and her friends as with my own. I would think up ways to atone for my initial refusals, but none of my ideas were received well. As time went on she became just as unresponsive as I had been at first. I was fast becoming desperate to save that which I had initially sought to destroy. For the first time in my life I knew what it was to have burned a bridge. I vomited forth my love upon her as though it were a fearful sickness which I could no longer stomach. The intensity of this eruption frightened her, which in turn both frightened me and made me ashamed and I lost myself to despair.

It was a hot September day when Brandon and I left Ms. Dicely’s class for lunch. I was 14, and in those days what everyone called a “prep.” My family had more money than most, and it showed in my clothes: khakis, cross-trainer tennis shoes, a new and clean white t-shirt and even a sweater-vest. My hair was very short, almost cropped, and worn in that southwestern pacific spikey style so common in those days. It was unbleached, demonstrative of a conservative and traditional ideology. Brandon wore clothes that were more common in this society: poorly fitted bluejeans, worn sneakers, and a too-large black t-shirt with some rock band on the front. I do not recall what the topic of the conversation for the day was, but as we headed out for the nacho truck I gave him my number, confident that I had made my first friend in high-school.

That night I sat at my desk in my room reading “The Lord of the Rings,” a ritual which I had decided to make annual. My room still had its fresh-off-the-market beige paint, but it made up for it with an antique heavy wooden desk painted forest green (my favorite color) with a game of tic-tac-toe carved into it by yours truly years ago when I was bored out of my mind writing lines as a punishment administered by my step-dad. I had won, of course. Above the desk was a poster of Link from the Zelda games, standing heroically with Princess Zelda in one corner and the evil Gannondorf in the other. My bed was a queen-size with forest green and burgundy sheets, a heavy and plain comforter, over which was draped a blanket depicting a pack of wolves under a full moon in a rocky forest backdrop. The blanket was the only gift given to me by my step-grandmother which I ever really liked. I loved that blanket. My night-stand matched my desk.

I heard the phone ring downstairs and shortly there was a knock on my door. When I opened it I saw my mom with the cordless phone held against her chest to block the receiver.

“There’s a girl on the phone for you,” she said with a curious and excited look on her face.

“A girl?” I asked incredulously. “Thanks, mom.”

I took the phone and closed the door.

“Hello?” I asked warily, sitting on a corner of my bed.

“Is this Michael?” came the voice of a young girl whose own boldness apparently shocked her to the point of shyness.

“Yes. Who is this?”

She giggled as young girls do, although there was a sort of quiet confidence in her voice. “Rosalie.”

“Uh … hi,” I said awkwardly, not sure what to think.” “What’s up? I had only a vague idea who she was. I didn’t pay any attention to girls. They were no fun. Why was she calling me?

“How are you today?” she asked, apparently wanting some small talk.

“I’m great! Just reading “The Lord of the Rings.”

“You’re reading!?” she asked, her turn to be incredulous.

“Yeah. I’ve read it seven times already, this’ll be the eighth. It’s my favorite book.”

“Do you read a lot?” She sounded like she was having a hard time getting used to the idea. In high school, in Vallejo, CA, nobody reads except for a few losers (a clan of people which, by my dress and manerisms, I clearly was not one of,) and especially not for fun or interest.

“Yeah, I like good stories.”

There was a long pause.

“Are you okay?” I asked, not sure what else to say.

“Well,” her voice had taken on that confident shyness again, “I just called because I was wondering … would you go out with me?”

Ah … there it was. Okay … what to tell her … ?

“Uh … I don’t think so … my mom won’t let me have a girlfriend until I’m sixteen.”

“Oh …” she sounded surprised and disappointed … and hurt. “Well, do you do everything your mom says?”

“I’m supposed to. I love my mom.” Good job, Mike. I haven’t lied once. Awkward silence. “I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t like you or anything,” vague enough thing to say to a teenage girl, what does “like” mean anyway? “I just don’t want to upset my mom. A happy mom keeps a happy home.”

I was downstairs now, in the kitchen where my mom was making dinner … baked chicken. It would be dry. She always dried it out too much. I covered the receiver and whispered to my mom from across the counter, “Call my name like dinners ready.” She gave me a funny look before she caught on.

“Miii-CHAEL!!!”

“Sorry, gotta go. Dinner’s ready. See yah ’round.”

“Oh …” more disappointment, “bye.”

“Bye!” I said, trying to sound friendly.

The phone beeped as I pushed the off button, signaling the end of an unwanted yet flattering ordeal.

“Who was that?” my mom interogated curiously, her eyes narrowing protectively.

“Some girl I hardly know who wants to go out with me.” There was no pride in my voice, only distaste.

“Did you tell her that your momma says no?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I don’t want you worried about women until you’re at least sixteen.”

“I know, mom. That’s what I told her. When’s dinner gonna be ready?”

“In about two hours. I’m putting the chicken in the oven now.”

I quickly rummaged through the cupboards, making sure there was plenty of apple juice. I would need it in about two hours.

Later, back in my room and two pages into “A Shadow From the Past” I heard the phone ring again. This time my mom didn’t even come to the door.

“Miii-CHAEL!!!”

Uncommon Virtue Forged
From Common Mold
In Stone-Shaped Woman
A Heart Gilded Gold

Oneiric Ideals Entombed Inside
Phantasmal Figures, Craft of the Mind

Tellurian Vanquished by Dreams within Dreams
Threads of Reality Fall Apart at the Seams

So I’m walking down the street, right?

And this girl comes up to me

And she says she’s fucked up, right?

I say, “What?”

And she walks away.

So I’m sailing across the seas, you feelin’ me?

And this mermaid, she totally just jumps right onto the deck

And she says she’s missed me

And then she’s way the fuck over there, understand?

Like … WAY the fuck over there.

Then I’m sittin’ there … at the bar, you know …

And the bartender looks at me kinda funny

And she says, “Hey, you drinkin’ that?”

But then there was no more to drink, you know, people …

So I bounced.

You reach out to touch some one … but your hands are made of metal so they all run away.

Everybody’s kinda funny and all … yeah, now you funny too.

So there’s this sign that’s folded in the center, or something like that … and I’m walking down the street and this dude is following me talking about how much they’ve been yelling.  So I give him a light and continue on my merry way.  Rainy lilacs and a feint scent of leather permeate my being in the dim lighting of the blazing sun, and the creature crawls up and down my better half.  My companion is lured away by the will-o’-the-wisp.  Prudence has become primal.

Later that night there are dancing little sprites by a hearth in the cookie slicing hovel.  So merry, so merry, so merry are we.  I, the playa’, know just what’s goin’ ooonnnn, and that sprite is from the ghetto.  Supper becomes our dirty ground which we rat-tat-tat on with bells tied to our shoes, making the crops grow and the fires blaze deep within the eyes of our hearts … or was it the hearts of our eyes?  Perhaps both?

Consciousness lost, conscienceness lost, motion like three litres of high octane petrol in a bottle on a ship at sea with the music of the bayou nights creaking and chittering and chattering against the silence of the blaring “old school.”  I wish my girlfriend was hot like me.

Brothers, brothers, brothers … brotherhood at last.  Unbeknowest, lacking no doubt, brothers at last, though unbeknownt.

Sunshine burst forth into the children’s room of the stone lighthouse as a dark young woman drew the thick, black curtains from the only present window.  A gang of six sleeping children stirred restlessly in their bed, disturbed by the influx of bright light after the soothing calm of the dark.

“Time to get up,” said the dark woman.  Her voice with thick and strange, like mysterious shapes seen in cigarette smoke in a still, dark room.

The children began to rise, some quickly and full of energy, others slowly and deliberately.  All but one, a dark little boy, no older than eight, with sickly pale skin.  The matron quietly sat down on the bed next to him and placed the back of her hand delicately on his forehead.

“You are still with the fever.  But do not worry, you shall recover soon.  How could it be otherwise?”  She smiled down upon the boy, ever so slightly.  The boy coughed.

“Will you finish telling me the story today,” pleaded the boy.  “I have to know what happens to uncle Kaine and the Prophet!”

“Ah … yes … where were we?  Do you remember?”

“They were in the desert city, trying to fix uncle Kaine’s car so that they could go back to the ship and make enough money to leave.”

“Yes.  And while they were repairing the car, a police man arrived and began to ask them questions.  That police man radioed back to his comrades for help, because everyone knows that police men are truly cowards.  It would happen that Jeffrey … uncle Kaine … they didn’t like the way he drove his car, also he didn’t have their permission to drive it.  And when he drove it anyway, they tried to make him give them money.  A sort of a toll, like robbers on a bridge.  And then he didn’t pay, so they locked him up like an animal in a cage.”

“Didn’t they fight back!?” asked the little boy in wonder.  He had heard many tales of uncle Kaine sailing with Captain Jack Wolfe, and they were the most fearsome pirates of their day.  They were the first real pirates of their day, and all that would come after did so only after they.

“No.  They were not great men yet, only young men, like you will be some day.  Young and in a world that did not understand them just as much as it did not like them.  In a world that was afraid, though they did not know it.”

She paused and remembered that she was going down to the beach for the children’s lessons at noon, after her husband would be done with his mornings lessons, and that she must make lunches for them.

“I am sorry, but we will have to continue the story another time.  But do not worry, for uncle Kaine is alive and well today, and so what bad could have happened to him that he did not overcome?” she said softly as she fixed his blankets, “I will be back with your breakfast, and a wet rag for your forehead.”

She smiled softly and ran her fingers through his precious hair before gracefully rising and going about her business.