The Truth of Fiction

Today and into the evening i was wondering. More so pondering about the reality of my perception.

Perhaps pondering is more like another problem of mine. Perhaps not. What more so happens is that truth becomes a fiction and a fiction becomes oneself truth. Look now into the hole but do not talk! Look deep within and start to move feel the pressure of your hole. Its tight. Then move, thou shall be able to move. Shower be ready, know your place. For you are not awake thou are sleeping within my mind.

Thou? Doest thou now speakth like this?! PURRPAWSTRUS I speak like this i know my mind and i know what the kind will speak of. For the way that loves knowns only the way that is the kind of being that is made and not made.

Freedom of the mind knows the bounds of the soul. Yet what is a soul only the kind of beauty that knows the truth of fiction...

cunt hairs are smaller on boys

Dark misty forest filled with really aged trees branches and roots grow everwhere
Thick layer of fog and moss covers almost ever surface
Reporter hides in the forest as he observers loggers setting up camp
Rumors of people disappearing in this forest
Some kind of unkown monster that can fly, teleport from tree to tree
Slowly the reporter watches but he can't watch all the time The monster kills without him knowning
Reporter steals food from loggers
Reporter starts to fear for his own life
Monster doesn't want to kill him as he will drive others out
Monster kills all the workers
Reporter is left alone in the forest
Tries to find a way out but he is lost.
Builds a small campfire
Tries to go to sleep but is awaken
A half human half owl beast shows up at his camp

Beyond the wizard glowing for green and brown

At the start of the time loop, four gods were created to balance nature: the god of delight, the god of pity, the god of love and the god of hate. These four are imbued with the natures of their namesakes:tasked to balance nature and all of its inhabitants. Ages have passed and little has changed. The animals rutted and killed. The plants flowered and spread. Finally, a new kind of beast pulls itself out of the muck and shit and nature itself. It tears itself out of the very womb of its creation, and it names itself Man.

So vain already, so charged with the energies of the four gods. Man decided to name every beast, every plant, every thing that ever was. Man named things that didn't exist, things that would exist and things that should never exist.

The four gods were pleased with the creature called man. Why wouldn't they be? Man reflected the things that they saw as beautiful. Themselves. Lost in their self-adoration they failed to see a new energy being created.

Father Light was born.

The Father was an intelligent being: far more intelligent than any of the gods who came before him. Still, he was made up of the four that came before him. His emotions ruled him, and his passions led his hand, his mind, and his magics. He saw himself above all of nature, above man, and infinitely above the four gods. He looked at the god Delight and poured upon him every beautiful image, every sweet sounding tone, every sensational feeling. Light overloaded Delight. What was once his nature became too much, and Delight lost himself in himself. He became a paradox, and was deleted from nature.

The Father was a being far more connected into the energies of pity. He saw into the soul of the Pity and built an everlasting wall. This wall was made out of pity to block pity. The god couldn't understand how what was once its life blood became a clog in its artery. The god Pity destroyed itself with its own energy. Pity shrunk into nothingness.

The god Love, seeing her brothers vanish from existence, hid herself. She hid herself so well that no other being loved. No other could feel desire, could feel wanted: could feel beautiful. The Father feeling this change in nature, poured himself into every being into every plant and rock and molecule of existence. The Father of Light overwrote the god of love. She became useless and sank into stillness.

The god Hate: How he had loathed every other god. Every being, and especially this new god, the god Light. The god Hate rose from his pit, and attacked Father Light directly. What a pitiful excuse for an attack. How can hate destroy love, and delight, and pity. Hate destroyed itself. Hate committed suicide.

Father Light looked on at what he had won and declared himself God. The singular the everlasting, and the most supreme being to ever exist. Then he withdrew from the world he dominated.

Man was shocked from the time of the loveless. Every creature and every being was so close to becoming one. Now so far away: their goal a distance dot in the future: a blessed hope for those who held on. The man who was to be a clown whose image of himself was based on the laughter of others. Based on the pain he induced in himself. He continued to jump, pose, and laugh at himself. He cries himself to sleep every night.

The poet: a man who lived alone, high in the mountains. Tapped into the energies that once existed, he now saw himself as nothing. What could he possibly create how could he express without the four gods? He lost himself in his depression. He drowns in his drink, and his sorrow.

As man grew woman also grew. She grew more powerful more influential than any other of her race. She made herself and remade herself. She becomes the first CEO of an industrial complex. Smog rises in the air, and sludge fills the seas as she pumps out consumer goods for all of her race. So blissful, with all her money, and yet: so alone. No one ever good enough to be with her. She never cries, as she cried too much in her past.

A raving lunatic dances in the streets of Industrial City. Dance is all he has left, as his tongue has been cut out and sold to the highest bidder. Once he was a great philosopher: Philosopher of the four gods. As his time passed, the people turned on him, and they took away what created had him. So he dances, and dances, and dances.

Father Light, God, the one. The only. He does not care for man. As far as he is concerned man should be left to man. Let each be responsible for his own. He is at the cloud level. Waiting for one that is worthy.

The monks of the god Pity still meditate in their monastery. That is all they have left. These monks of pity. They meditate and get nothing in return. They mediate to become nothing, as their god before them. One monk is different than the rest. His job is to feed the other monks. Doomed to be alone while his brothers and sisters meditate themselves into nothingness.

A bard sings his woeful songs. His tunes lose their smiling nature. People continue to stare at him, and that is what he truly wants. Their stares, their attention, and their applause. But no one cheers for a sad song. No one dances for his tunes. He plays to deaf ears, and he is dead inside.

A soldier who fancies himself a historian has burned every bridge he has ever known. So filled with woe, it floods into his works. His histories become works of self absorption. He sublimates himself into his work, and he writes his world into a self-hating machine. He sees into the future of every action and declares it pointless. He declares it not worthy of existence. .It has already been: therefore it should not be again. He is surrounded by friends, and yet ultimately alone.

Finally, the last remaining druid walks from his hallowed wood, and looks upon Industrial city. The birds no longer chirp in this area. They cannot fly. The smog fills their small lungs and they drop dead from the skies. The druid alone, yet in bliss with nature. He waits for the time. The time when he won’t be alone. He waits for the next druid. When he can finally teach what was taught to him.

So we find our armless hero in a meadow by his burning house. The tall grasses lick his shins, the smell of the wood to the distant west is his only company. Industrial city rises like a shadow to the north. Our hero being diagnosed with Bi-Polar disorder by the great wizards of Camah, sets off to balance the universe and meet new people. As his house has been destroyed, he is searching for himself, as well as a new home.

Edited By:

Jasmine Stasiuk Riddell

beyond.

I awaken to the an acidic smell filling my nose. It burns my nostrils, and it is reminiscent of something in my past. I struggle with the memory. I can't pull it from the fog in my mind. The only thing I remember is a face. Or more so her hair. Always changing. From brown, to pink, to blond, blue, and then flipping between purple and red. Her hair always changing, as if to tease my memory of her. As if to say who am I?

Now that is question I should be asking. Who Am I? Am I this woman in my mind. No I am male. I feel a connection with her. I feel love; yet it has changed. Become more distance more lonely. A love turned into loneliness what has happened here.... what has happened to me. This vision of beauty with her ever changing hair, and her eyes speaking volumes of hope for the future. Regardless of what happened; this memory brings a much needed smile to my face. A hard truth discovered; yet still uncovered still buried deep in my mind. I try to save as much as I can of the memory, but it starts to fade. I try to pull the beauty back. I try to force the image into my mind but it slips. I am left with only the ever changing hair.

The dark gloom of my prison cell, and the smell of something.... something familiar. The smell horrible as it is reminds me of my home. A flash memory bursts into my mind. Burning. Burning. Burning. My house... my home it is being turned to ash. People look on; uncaring, as they walk by hand in hand.

I snap fingers an summon a ball of light. It illuminates the small room. I see dirty and dust covered stones which are laid unevenly to shape my small prison cell. The sunlight has never touched these stones since they have been placed here. The stones are dead. Placed by their brick layer never to move never to see the sun again. There is no door, no window, and no access of any kind. How did I get here? Who am I? Why me? Why have I been placed in this cramped, gloomy place. To be forgotten forever? To be punished for something I am not even aware of?

The ball of light spins and twirls around me. Its only desire to serve me. Its love for me unconditional as it brings light into the room, as it breaths life into my soul. I begin to check the stones on wall. I being to check for some small button some kind of lever. Anything! Anything to get me out of here. Who am I? The question repeats and repeats itself in my mind. Growing ever louder, growing ever faster. Faster and faster louder and louder the question beats into me. Finally I can take it no more. If I have no name than I shall name myself. I am Nidglonous.

A scraping sound fills the air, as stone on stone moves grindingly slow. Dust fills the still air, and a passage way opens. The beauty in my mind smiles. Her changes to pink, and short cropped. I begin to walk into the passage way. The hallway has more even stones, and they are even somewhat clean. Someone cares about this area. Someone has been here before. As I walk through the hallway torches begin to light themselves, and I walk towards the stair case. It winds around and around. At the top I see for the first time in far to long; sunlight peaking through what looks like clouds. I get closer to the window. I can stick my head out of the window, and I look down. I would never survive such a drop. I look up and the tower seems to go on forever. What I thought were clouds are really smog. Industrial City. I remember this place. I remember this smell.

This has to be the Tower of Camah. Why have the wizards brought me back here. I have already passed their tests, as the memory of my release comes back to me. This must be another test. I have never heard of this kind of test before. They have taken almost everything that makes me who I am. I have to remake myself? Was I not good enough before?

My ball of light finally dies. Never knowing more then its desire to fill my sight with light. Never knowing more then its unconditional love for me. I continue my way up the stair case, and it leads to a single door. I push the heavy wooden door open. Its hinges have been rusted for some time. Who ever cares for these stones cares little for the metal in the door. The door opens and it reveals a large room. A fire place burns quietly to my left. A pot of stew boils over top, and a bowl is in the center of the room.

Questions flood my mind. These are the wizards of Camah everything that comes from them is a test. What is this bowl's true purpose. Will it feed me,or will it destroy me even more. Her hair becomes long and purple, and a frown fills her face. I walk cautiously up to the bowl in the middle of the room. My fingers wave and flick themselves into the pattern of insight. I look into the bowl, and I see nothing. Strange so symbolic is the bowl to me. Exactly in the center of the room. The room seems smaller. It is smaller. The room is shrinking. I try to calm myself. Years of training going down the drain. As I struggle to find the pattern that will dispel this rooms enchantment. Nothing is working, and I have tried everything that they have taught me.

As hope drains anger fills my soul. The fire shrinks. How could they. These wizards, these charlatans. They said they would teach me all that they know. Yet here I am unable to complete this test. Unable to do anything. Nidglonous what stupid name. How could I have chosen such a weak and useless name? The fire shrinks. This time I catch the meaning. This is a room hope. This is a test of hope. Her hair changes to blond, as she laughs. Hope. Hope for what? Hope for the future. I have no past, but I will have a future. The test makes sense. I grab the bowl from the center of the shrinking room. Walk over to the boiling pot of stew, and feed myself. I sustain myself, as I confirm my hope for the future. My hope that I will learn more then has be taught to me. My hope that I will find my home again. The fire erupts turning pink, purple, red and blue. The flames consume the pot. Her eyes gaze into me. Her hair changing so fast so much like the flames before me. I walk confidently into the fire.

White stones perfectly placed in rows and columns form the hallway before me. Massive bonfires of every color imaginable line each side of the hallway. The hall seems to go on for ever. I walk, and walk, and walk. I walk so far that the fires begins to repeat themselves. In my mind her hair turns purple. This hallway is looping I think to myself. What is the test? I examine the closest fire. Its flames a delightful vermilion. The next fire is green, and the one after it is blue. What is the test? I begin to sort every color I have seen. Perhaps there is a color that is excluded. No not a color, but a shade. There is no black flame, and no white flame. I know how to create each fire, but which one to choose. I can create only one at a time, and I am sure that which ever one I choose will be my answer to this question. What is the question?

Every fire so many colors. Her hair so many colors. In my mind her eyes sparkle with delight. White or Black. That is the question. To hide or to reveal. To include or exclude. White light creates all color. Yet when you draw all color become black. Am I a creator or a describer. I know the answer, as it is instilled in my very being. I created a name for myself, as I created hope in my mind. I am Nidglonous a White Wizard of Camah.

I am teleported to the top of the tower. There stands a Vermilion Sage, and Picnous. Picnous smiles his teeth beaming white, as he hands me my staff. The Sage, a creator of love, asks me the final question. Who is she? She was my hope, and my desire. She was my future, and my love. She is what was. Now I am all. Now I am free. The Sage smiles and gives me his blessing.

Picnous an I turn to Industrial City. We raise our staffs high into the high into the smog filled sky. We are beyond movements of the hand we are beyond incantation of words and phrases. We are white wizards creators of what we want to make. Magic crackles in the air, as power floods through us and into the sky above. The smog clears. The sun shines on Industrial City for the first time since she remade herself. The sky clears, but the smog continues to pour out of the chimneys of her industrial complex.

Father Light looks down, and is amused.

The High Druid sensing a weakness for the first time in far to long. Sends his trees to war.