What seemed to be dead

As bright as any life-giving sun, ours shines a light that's

cold and desolate without the moons' generous translations

And where else but in a context of darkness?

In there we seek and uncover associations and recreations.

Only in the folds of unknowing can we find the space for

deep violet or maroon or escape from tyrannous reason

your dreams are the prisons you make for 

facts that don't fit disappear under examinations.

As the sun sets and the All becomes much more clear

We can shut our eyes and see that there aren't many differences

between what passes for alive and random projections

how what seemed to be dead drives your need for protections

 

by La Chama [Phyliss, trans.]
from "On the Occasion of a True Moons Festival"

Three Same Moons

2. "Three Same Moons"

The Three Same Moons festival, in remote Dubba Berra Chank, is distinct in that tourists, who are almost universally on their way to the Fire Shores Medical Museum & Scarification for a once-only lifetime pilgrimage and either get lost or have to stop anyway, arrive in Swirling Ponde dazed by travel and hunger, and by chance just as the procession toward the towne centre is getting underway, and are taken in by the elaborate costumes and somewhat menacing but compelling bell shaking and drum battering. A highly decorated adult bull would be at the front of the noisy caravan, trying to shake off his own bells, his own flowers. 

Three Moons is also the seasonal festival most likely to be left uncompleted by virtue of the ever-refreshing crowds of guests, how little word travels about the goings on at a sacred spot, and those innocent, bucolic opening moments of what turns out to be a march up to the ancient stupa at towne centre, surrounded by a moat. 

Even before arriving there, it is now known, the bull is goaded into becoming anxious with a rag soaked in menses slapped against his snout. If that were not enough, just as he's getting out of hand (and you might expect a bullfighter or other culturally appropriate heroic mime to play their part here and slay the agitated beast in the most skillful, merciful, cathartic, and beautiful way possible), the towne elder retrieves an olde pistol from a fold in his toga and shoots the dumb innocent proud strong patient vittle box in the head, twice. 

The bells and drums stop at least, and the marching as well, for a respectful beat. Upon starting up again toward the stupa, the merriment is swelling and drunken while the bull gets dragged off to the picnic grounds by dozens of children and a thick rope, and the lovely hand-embroidered designs on the backs of the costumes of the quaint olde country festival cosplayers turn out to be all the letter J, taking their true form at the height of the Jans' beige issue. Even tourists know the meaning of that letter and its legend, but not that it happened in this very towne of Swirling Ponde. 

Where all of the ancient Jan family potters and carpenters from the surrounding hills and the Jan merchants and hygienists and Jan tour guides from the comfortable homes around the center and all of the street Jans and manufacturing Jans, all the Jans, the original towne dads and dad's dads, were being mass-replaced by crusading Pharmsupply employees, who blamed the Jans for their own terrorist attacks against homeless non-compliants and forced the Jans of Jansbuurg to wear these gowns and march to their deaths in the moat around the stupa. 

Spontaneous mobbing of triplets in urban areas are overreported during this time. We now understand that relatively few actual triplets are ever involved in these incidents, but rather that the enthusiasm for being able to act out mass violent social aggression, in celebration of a deeply cultural tradition, on unsuspecting but perhaps naturally wary individuals or small groups, perhaps the kind that knows or thinks they know at some level they are indeed a freak or freaks, the chance to light upon them is irresistible to many youth and may even appear to them to be their purpose as socially responsible and deeply spiritual beings. 

Three Same Moons, or "The Ritual Mobbing Moons," occur when three of our smaller moons, Jan, Jan, and Jan, appear side-by-side in a beige refraction of sunlight and can temporarily be confused as to which is which—as can other random persons, places, and things at this time. 

Under which moons are disasters most likely to happen?

A disaster is a welcome vessel of destruction under any of our moons and/or moon combinations. 

Having said that, we can add that there is consistent albeit anecdotal historical evidence for the convergence of some disaster categories and a seasonal clustering with storied lunal counterparts above Mthyuh. 

1. "Fellow" Moons

When Hank and Joe take on a parallel trajectory coming at Mthyuh just before their divergence around the beginning of Shiv Days, there is the Festival of the Fellows, when naked satyrs dance while holding a medicine ball in place between their chests in the Dance of the Fellows. Since the origins of Peg, according to residents of the Host of the Fellows, Olde Jansbuurg Village, domestic restraining orders and inter-special peace treaties are often broken during this time.

The Known Crack

All the temples and all the shiv joints and hygiene parlors community burning collectives allied Jan Jansdaad Jans of Jansdaadbad fleke hunters associations and flekes who are hunted brotherhoods and sisters of la chama the shabs or followers of the cart and all the cults of illyn and so many more earnest and upright societies dedicated to the furtherance of mthyuh's journey of destruction contributed throughout 70 moons spun their good-luck homecloth cut up vittle sacks and sheets of fine woven flowers fluff from the garment recycle trap under the spinner that deals with all that annoying charnel that still has its clothes on each and every knowing one contributed to the project for a sociological movement to harmoniously doggedly and single-mindedly work together to create a very large adult diaper for Peg, whose internal organs had begun to both age and decrease in age every since The Crack was breached with the new arrival, a Jan, but from another dimension, a previously humble and self-satisfied existence in certainly one of the most uneventful holes in all of the Known Crack, and in breathing this new air, the becoming of an emerging crusher of worlds.

wake of landing

 

SKYCLOCK

Jan is standing frontally against the scaffolding at Missy's original cradle Friends' Hangar. Her lower body technicians are just finishing up on a knee-area scale cleanse. As fellow mixed-species with vastly different results they love hanging out and catching up during hygiene. Jan answers back from a more refined point of view despite the brutality and horror of her appearance. She has been tempered by a traditional Jan-and-kids lifestyle as a busy working mom in the outer chanks. Missy stands at the top of the scaffolding speaking directly into Jan's nostrils with her mind only.

and then they found themselves stumbling around in hissing rubble and my uncle said whut is my family's vittle stop a terrorist no it's the Jan's who are the terrorists

the past is a tawdry and ignorant place

well i wouldn't know i've been on Hopinna-Skipita so long it's all the same to me

so you think our perception of the past is largely dependent on brain chemistry

no more like dependent on whether or not yor on drugs

so you're on that

whut whut's the alternative is there now an exit ramp

no or else how would pharmsupply survive how would they save our lives then

if they thought of cures for everything

correct we would not be healthier we would be dead

because pharmsupply would be dead

no because they would cut their losses and take care of their own only

can i take care of my own only

no

that's a tough fact for me today

do you know the parable of Mthyuh flies on her own as first K

of course but what is it

she invented flight in that moment and she turned her arm in a gesture of nobility and inclusion and it blocked out exactly one half of the sun and the stripe across the lands created The Crack and The Crack created time and it was time the Mthyuh got some vittles jack

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

 

by Phyllis [trans.]

short longing moment

they're shrinking the bandwidth for regret

and i only miss it in a short longing moment

but these i regard with due reverence 

all the violence demands a meaning lesson

just the yearly sounds of it to jump to the 

heart of it a meta-critical dragnet

pain sure pain was warful lest we 

remember we have a blanket between 

us and the dirt shoulder to lay head on

this happened to somebody who's no

longer me i look up to but down upon

with retrospect and thirsty long teeth 

these foods represent a cultural trajectory

not coincidentally all that was left: the

root of all tradition is primal and pathetic

by Peg

everything must burn, etc.

Although everything must burn

we take comfort that the past too is real

and in a moment yesterday will be

exactly as real as this moment, etc.

but i spit on this moment as it exists

in any past time because i only want

even wanting my stud male body back

isn't about the past at all

a past that's only good or bad if you're

thinking about it now

you already travel there as easily as

anyone will ever be able to do

it belongs to you now only and it

grows until it's in front of you

 

you and the past will be equally real

easy to own to find, etc.

Chamatilly-ily

from The Lost Upanishads

The Gas of Life

I had to think about it again what does it mean to be a living person sitting on a rock

I know what it looks like but that's the problem especially if it's a frozen image because

those don't breathe

 

After a while i guess i just accepted that not breathing was normal because, look

But even blue whales have to come up and gasp don't they? And the best part is

they can, they should

 

They are entitled, and they will, involuntarily they'll take air that belongs or doesn't 

belong to them. Just take it without hesitation. It's not like the proverb about stealing

a smell because

You don't have to smell. Maybe you can or cannot. You are not even entitled to really.

Should you? Smell's a whole other topic, but mostly superfluous. Air is life or life for

a moment more or two

Yet i say it's selfish that air alone is not good enough for you. You begin to favor 

additives and conditioners. They corrupt, and so on. It's not flavorless; it's the gas of life

Now, breathe

La Chama

from "La Vajra, La Vajrasana, and La Vajraja"

trans-species home invasion

 

what happens?

in retrospect, the clouds always told a different story

which was it? can they all be true

to be real, the stories are our projections, and

none of them are true

yet a free thinker might take into consideration

a conscious agency on the part of the clouds

which is not the same as on behalf of the clouds

lets all conscience-havers relax

for gods and storytellers get too much 

credit and blow-back both

while nature carries on with her lies

shows nothing but the opposite of 

 

a moral compass or trajectory

mother is too kind a designation

and belies our own favorite tales

which aren't about nature or the stories she tells

go ahead and match the horrors of mathematics

to the wispy decisions of Her petticoats

a vacuum creates an opposite action or

dead men know all lies those are facts but

uncynically, not exactly what happened

try and reduce a lifetime for example to

a world's longest book of equations and it

just makes you sick

by Phyliss

sky

more tips for men

 

more signs

 

dusky

 

thought we could trail it into a vegetal corner

instead it lay in wait behind a mask of fur

in the purple of the last of a day's minutes

action is counterintuitive to biology

drugs that grow against the sun to scare you in

tho you wander blindly out against your status

everywhere is far

The Jansdaads are speaking with their minds only.

It won't take long, but you'll be risking your life to get there. 

I know, Jan. 

I hope you'll feel Mthyuh. 

You know i will. She'll be right there on the horizon. If i die in the hooptie, her birds will eat me. 

You know there's no guarantee you'll find what you're looking for. 

I'm looking for you Jan.

I know, Jan. I want you to come and find me. 

If i can feel Mthyuh, maybe i can break the Crack, somehow i'll understand. I'll come back and go directly to the air conditioning unit for the temporary classrooms at the Community College of Cement. I'll duck under it, hit my head, that's how some got through. 

My mind is getting tired. 

Mine too, Jan.

bird

 

K shadow, dog

 

 

 

trees

 

vajrasana

PRESENT TIME

Ilyn is rocking violently in a bed of dry peony blossoms at the bottom of his square-wheeled cart. On his back, he watches clouds morph into amazing new ways to tell the same story. Then he becomes aware of burbling waters on the open ground beyond the walls of the cart.

Dare i? I want a drink from this crick. Shab, stop. 

Shab, a very large dog with red eyes and an empty saddle, has been twiddling his legs just above the surface of the otherwise wasted land beneath them. When Shab hears an order to stop, he stops. 

Shab, drink.

Ilyn pulls a lever buried in the flowers. It releases Shab's yoke. Shab walks around to the side of the cart and pulls a rope with his teeth. The side panel falls open, and Ilyn is able to roll down its slope and into the creek, face down. He can lift his head enough not to drown between sips of water, but barely enough to speak.

Shabubbab, dobne. Pbleabse.

Shab takes a few more sips of his own from the creek, then ambles over to Ilyn. Ilyn grabs a bar in the side panel of the cart while Shab lifts with his nose until Ilyn can roll back into the cart. His face sparkles with wet sunshine. Shab dips back under the yoke and waits for Ilyn to pull a cord buried in the flowers. The yoke clicks into place over Shab's empty saddle. 

Shab, take me to Mthyuh. 

10 YEARS EARLIER

Rocking violently back and forth in a bed of marigold chains strung with hemp, Ilyn allows some noises to come out from his throat. From his back, the clouds are telling a familiar story in a new way. 

Kuh. Geh. 

Ilyn can form words, but none are appropriate. Finally, he is thirsty. 

Shab, drink.

PRESENT TIME

Shab is pulling the square-wheeled wooden cart uphill, with the peak of Mthyuh becoming clearer above the clouds. Gravity causes Ilyn to slide all the way back in the cart to an almost sitting position. Now what he sees is Shab's empty saddle and the backs of Shab's furry ears, always twisting on their axes, scoping for any danger or pilgrims. The path ahead is lit only by slivers of moon and the reddish cast of Shab's eyes. 

TWO WEEKS EARLIER

Ilyn is sucking on a shred of ginger root, and Shab is chewing his like a cud. 

Shab, think. Where were we grng to stop crming back thrs way?

Shab has either been forbidden to speak or refused to speak ever since the fabled incident with the Monster Poinsettia and during which the only and last rider of his empty saddle, the Begging Raja, lost both of his hands, and painfully so. 

If you could speak, i think you might tell me there's no point in remembering anything. Or perhaps now, suddenly, you decide to speak, and tell me that i couldn't be more wrong about your view of remembering, how i've underestimated your character not to mention your mood. 

Shab: ...

PRESENT DAY

It's nearly just noon and the violent rocking of the cart makes fiery trails appear in the sky. Ilyn tries to focus on the clouds, which are at the moment just a palimpsest overrun by the side effects of technology. Soon it will be time to stop and ask some woodcutters to hew a new set of wheels for the cart, which are starting to lose their traditionally square silhouette. 

Shab, listen.  I think I can feel my strength returning. I realize you would have started to notice. But we must not let on, must not share any mention of a recovery, not to any pilgrim, not to the MPS, not even to La Chama. At least not for now.

500 YEARS LATER

Ilyn sits up in a deep bed of star jasmine and mint greens. He assumes a vajrasana pose, for greeting pilgrims and children who follow behind. Actually, their normal walking speed would carry them past and well beyond the cart, but they slow down as a sign of respect and humoring to the deities. 

Crowd: We wish you a bountiful banquet of many assorted vittles and then to be eaten first by the sacred birds! May Mthyuh swallow you up before you barely reach her lips! May your rice be soiled in a highway tavern by the survivors of Fire Shore...!

Ilyn tosses swollen, bluish roses from the back of the cart. They are gradually passing a sign for Kareer Kesh. The diving board has hopefully been repaired after a small molten avalanche. Ilyn's hair is soft, long, and flaming copper. 

 

 

 

Phyllis [trans]