- Published on
All of My Yesterdays
Memories of things,
We can only lose.
Memories of people
Always fuse
Memories of light,
Memories of night,
Of days spent dreaming,
Of nightmares dreaded,
And bad paths treaded,
And today
We are alive.
What does it mean?
I think so I am.
I feel because I breathe.
My footprints in the sand
Time tramples on,
And I am forgotten.
Stripped of the flesh,
Bones from Atoms,
Interred and forgotten,
Laughter,
Tears and farts,
And sickness of heart
Today
In your eyes
I am singing, dancing,
Soon to be sleeping
Where I dream
False realities,
Of a wishful mind,
A tenant renting time,
In debt to death
Forever,
A sobering word
For the unknown,
The nonexistent
That drifts from me,
Threatens
Everything I am
Folded, wrapped tight,
Bits and bytes
Saved and kept
Photographs on mantelpieces,
Trinkets and lottery bets,
Captured motions,
Of reflexes--smile,
Moments beguile.
Forever and always
Today and tomorrow,
And yesterdays
Memories of things,
We can only lose.
Memories of people
Always fuse
Memories of light,
Memories of night,
Of days spent dreaming,
Of nightmares dreaded,
And bad paths treaded,
And today
We are alive.
What does it mean?
I think so I am.
I feel because I breathe.
My footprints in the sand
Time tramples on,
And I am forgotten.
Stripped of the flesh,
Bones from Atoms,
Interred and forgotten,
Laughter,
Tears and farts,
And sickness of heart
Today
In your eyes
I am singing, dancing,
Soon to be sleeping
Where I dream
False realities,
Of a wishful mind,
A tenant renting time,
In debt to death
Forever,
A sobering word
For the unknown,
The nonexistent
That drifts from me,
Threatens
Everything I am
Folded, wrapped tight,
Bits and bytes
Saved and kept
Photographs on mantelpieces,
Trinkets and lottery bets,
Captured motions,
Of reflexes--smile,
Moments beguile.
Forever and always
Today and tomorrow,
And yesterdays
- Published on
This may change. Just an excerpt from book 2 of The Civilization (2024)
““You know you’re not really here, right?”
Kadsa turned her eyes from the twin suns dipping behind the rolling hills of Mehronur’s meadow. Why would he say that? She sat right next to him.
"I am right here.”
Khansu squinted, boyishly beautiful against the setting suns. His small, full lips pouted. “You are beside me, but you’re not really here, Kadsa. We’re not together.”
Kadsa met his eyes, unease brewing. He waited for her to understand what he had told her. She glanced at his left hand, coiled into a fist on the grass. She should take it in hers, show him he was wrong. They were here together. Maybe, she thought instead, lean into him, put her head on his shoulders, and snuggle against him. Kadsa reached for his warm hands. His gentle smile revealed neat and even teeth.
Kadsa breathed again. He teased her. “Sure, I am not really here,” she said, winking at him. “I’m nowhere.”
“I am serious, Kadsa,” he said, squinting at the suns. “When they dip below the horizon, you’ll leave and so will I.”
Kadsa glanced towards the twin suns, partly buried already. There was some mythos about gods locked in a duel, or lovers trapped in an eternal dance, bound to each other by destiny. “If I am not here, why does this feel real?” Kadsa squeezed his hand, forcing his crimped fingers apart. “You feel real to me, Khansu. We’re here together.”
“You’re dreaming that you’re here and I am invading your dreams. It’s not real.”
“I want it to be real,” she said, yearning. “I want to be here with you.”
“You can be here with me,” he said, braiding their fingers. “You should come back to Mehronur. Come back to me. I need you.”
Khansu's face blended into the suns’ faded gleam, his words and every inch of him drifting out of reach, from her touch, her eyes.
Kadsa jolted from sleep. Her alarm clock chimed with a critter jingle she no longer cared for and had only selected because it reminded her of sleeping under the stars. She slammed her hand over the stop button, silencing the sound.
Then she sat upright in the tiny bedroom, the sound of screeching cars and voices outside the apartment, smacked in the middle of what her mother called, the mid-town, cozy, busy, and connected.
She hated it.
But she smiled. Today was the beginning of the rest of her life.
Today was the day she returned to Marut.
Kadsa turned her eyes from the twin suns dipping behind the rolling hills of Mehronur’s meadow. Why would he say that? She sat right next to him.
"I am right here.”
Khansu squinted, boyishly beautiful against the setting suns. His small, full lips pouted. “You are beside me, but you’re not really here, Kadsa. We’re not together.”
Kadsa met his eyes, unease brewing. He waited for her to understand what he had told her. She glanced at his left hand, coiled into a fist on the grass. She should take it in hers, show him he was wrong. They were here together. Maybe, she thought instead, lean into him, put her head on his shoulders, and snuggle against him. Kadsa reached for his warm hands. His gentle smile revealed neat and even teeth.
Kadsa breathed again. He teased her. “Sure, I am not really here,” she said, winking at him. “I’m nowhere.”
“I am serious, Kadsa,” he said, squinting at the suns. “When they dip below the horizon, you’ll leave and so will I.”
Kadsa glanced towards the twin suns, partly buried already. There was some mythos about gods locked in a duel, or lovers trapped in an eternal dance, bound to each other by destiny. “If I am not here, why does this feel real?” Kadsa squeezed his hand, forcing his crimped fingers apart. “You feel real to me, Khansu. We’re here together.”
“You’re dreaming that you’re here and I am invading your dreams. It’s not real.”
“I want it to be real,” she said, yearning. “I want to be here with you.”
“You can be here with me,” he said, braiding their fingers. “You should come back to Mehronur. Come back to me. I need you.”
Khansu's face blended into the suns’ faded gleam, his words and every inch of him drifting out of reach, from her touch, her eyes.
Kadsa jolted from sleep. Her alarm clock chimed with a critter jingle she no longer cared for and had only selected because it reminded her of sleeping under the stars. She slammed her hand over the stop button, silencing the sound.
Then she sat upright in the tiny bedroom, the sound of screeching cars and voices outside the apartment, smacked in the middle of what her mother called, the mid-town, cozy, busy, and connected.
She hated it.
But she smiled. Today was the beginning of the rest of her life.
Today was the day she returned to Marut.
- Published on
I am editing my Priestess novel. The story takes place in Edinburgh, but much of the lore is Irish from the Ulster Cycle. As much as it works, it is not the same. So, I'm reading Scottish lore proper. It doesn't have the same rich characters (the Dagda? Hello!), but I live with the horror or some Hibernian chastising me about confusing Scots and Irish lore (yes, I can explain a million times that I understand the differences or inject the kingdom of Dál Riata, and say I simply prefer the Irish lore, but wouldn't it make sense to simply show that in the work?
Ultimately, it's about respect, for the lore, the people, and the author.
Ultimately, it's about respect, for the lore, the people, and the author.
- Published on
New plan ... humility.
Not as foreboding as it should sound, but the excitement for spring has always coupled with a dread of summer, because warm breeze brings realization of failed resolutions ... things promised, none delivered.
Though I do have a way of juicing on self-motivation, believing wholeheartedly that the goddess of fortune will pluck me from the crowd of the discontent, and keep luck tucked away in my pocket, the longer the wait the more languishing I do. So, in the event that luck is a turncoat with a knife, and the wound in my back is fatal, I would like to say, I tried.
That said. I have completed the sequels (two) to The Civilization [of light & Dark] and am playing with the titles: The Gate at Dusk, and Broken Realms. The former is mystical and the latter is on the metaphorical nose. I arrived at the former because of an obsession with Pink Floyd's The Piper at the Gate of Dawn, title taken from chapter 7 of the Wind in the Willows, where Mole and Toad help their friend, Otter find his lost son, which leads to catching a glimpse of Pan while he ushers in the dawn. The eponymous piper being Pan, the ancient pagan god of pastures, rustic (country) music, shepherds and the wild. Pan lives in Arkadia (Arcadia) aka a pastoral paradise (a real place in Greece that has been mythologized)
What does this have to do with my title?
Mole and Toad caught a glimpse behind the curtain of the natural world when they spotted Pan. Ancient peoples created intricate mystery rituals to tap into the wonders of the natural world. If the other side of dawn is daylight and pastures, then the other side of dusk is darkness and what W. H. Auden described as an 'artificial wilderness and a sky like lead.'
The Civilizations series plays with the mysteries of existence and wonder. Like human life, Maruti life is fragile, existing tenuously between here and there, adhering to rules that no one understands but everyone follows. But who are these gods? Books 2 and 3 are all about unraveling the mysteries of Marut and all roads lead to the Gate at Dusk.
Toad, Mole and company might not have breached the boundaries between the material world and the world of gods intentionally, but my characters are all about the journeys of self-discovery, with prophecies hanging over their heads and all. But, as always, these violent delights have violent ends, and in their triumph, die like fire and powder, which, as they kiss, consume. The title of book 3, Broken Realms is, well, self-explanatory.
So, these elementary things got me through the hiemal days. And what will get me through the vernal days?
Not as foreboding as it should sound, but the excitement for spring has always coupled with a dread of summer, because warm breeze brings realization of failed resolutions ... things promised, none delivered.
Though I do have a way of juicing on self-motivation, believing wholeheartedly that the goddess of fortune will pluck me from the crowd of the discontent, and keep luck tucked away in my pocket, the longer the wait the more languishing I do. So, in the event that luck is a turncoat with a knife, and the wound in my back is fatal, I would like to say, I tried.
That said. I have completed the sequels (two) to The Civilization [of light & Dark] and am playing with the titles: The Gate at Dusk, and Broken Realms. The former is mystical and the latter is on the metaphorical nose. I arrived at the former because of an obsession with Pink Floyd's The Piper at the Gate of Dawn, title taken from chapter 7 of the Wind in the Willows, where Mole and Toad help their friend, Otter find his lost son, which leads to catching a glimpse of Pan while he ushers in the dawn. The eponymous piper being Pan, the ancient pagan god of pastures, rustic (country) music, shepherds and the wild. Pan lives in Arkadia (Arcadia) aka a pastoral paradise (a real place in Greece that has been mythologized)
What does this have to do with my title?
Mole and Toad caught a glimpse behind the curtain of the natural world when they spotted Pan. Ancient peoples created intricate mystery rituals to tap into the wonders of the natural world. If the other side of dawn is daylight and pastures, then the other side of dusk is darkness and what W. H. Auden described as an 'artificial wilderness and a sky like lead.'
The Civilizations series plays with the mysteries of existence and wonder. Like human life, Maruti life is fragile, existing tenuously between here and there, adhering to rules that no one understands but everyone follows. But who are these gods? Books 2 and 3 are all about unraveling the mysteries of Marut and all roads lead to the Gate at Dusk.
Toad, Mole and company might not have breached the boundaries between the material world and the world of gods intentionally, but my characters are all about the journeys of self-discovery, with prophecies hanging over their heads and all. But, as always, these violent delights have violent ends, and in their triumph, die like fire and powder, which, as they kiss, consume. The title of book 3, Broken Realms is, well, self-explanatory.
So, these elementary things got me through the hiemal days. And what will get me through the vernal days?
- Published on
These violent delights do have violent ends, and in their triumph die like fire and powder, which as they kiss, consume.
And so begins my first venture into in-person book promotion.
All the hopes of a doe-eyed dreamer.
Come see the pretty books and buy the pretty books. You must love me. Grandeur of thoughts.
Most people who come out to social or community events are elders and parents with young kids, and many of these people know each other, and are there to socialize.
So, I sat there waiting for the moment the cool kids notice me. All the cool kids are teenagers who are volunteers. I'm terrified of them, but eventually handed out business cards with bated breath.
In the end, I was a voyeur to the delight of others, watching the joy of others talk about their work and hoping someone would notice me.
I didn't sell that day. I have more days. More disappointment or new triumphs?
February is the shortest month. Promises to keep and miles to go before I weep.
- Published on
I know the song lyric is 'wake me up when September ends,' and maybe 'nothing lasts forever, even cold November rain' is a better lyric, but either way, the post is dreary.
People are leaving Twitter (yes, I'm deadnaming it). By people, I mean the privileged--middle class, affluent, elitist-orgs, celebrities who are tired of ... being challenged about their dogma? Peasants talking back to them? Elon Musk acting like a rabid fanboy?
It's not clear.Twitter has swung from heavy left-centric to shifting right-centric. Neither option is good.
Bluesky or Threads are all the rage (for now). My old ass tried the former, found it dull and hostile, and now I'm trying Threads after accidentally finding myself on there. In an ideal world, the introvert in me wouldn't be on social media. But the hussle as a small-time author with a small publisher means the job is never done.
That's not the point of this post. I don't like November. The first week of the month should've been the greatest moment and yet the sulk has kicked in--the book release of The Civilization versus the anniversary of my mom's death, a fender bender, the scale, and the cold. There's a delicate unravel as the dark days are here--no more Halloween/pumpkin pie season.
Nothing lasts forever, even cold, November rain. But do wake me when it ends.
People are leaving Twitter (yes, I'm deadnaming it). By people, I mean the privileged--middle class, affluent, elitist-orgs, celebrities who are tired of ... being challenged about their dogma? Peasants talking back to them? Elon Musk acting like a rabid fanboy?
It's not clear.Twitter has swung from heavy left-centric to shifting right-centric. Neither option is good.
Bluesky or Threads are all the rage (for now). My old ass tried the former, found it dull and hostile, and now I'm trying Threads after accidentally finding myself on there. In an ideal world, the introvert in me wouldn't be on social media. But the hussle as a small-time author with a small publisher means the job is never done.
That's not the point of this post. I don't like November. The first week of the month should've been the greatest moment and yet the sulk has kicked in--the book release of The Civilization versus the anniversary of my mom's death, a fender bender, the scale, and the cold. There's a delicate unravel as the dark days are here--no more Halloween/pumpkin pie season.
Nothing lasts forever, even cold, November rain. But do wake me when it ends.
- Published on
Okay, I may have said in the past that I wouldn't go too Tolkien in my world-building, but after running through an old manuscript I decided to polish, I realized I had placed enough foreign words in it to warrant a dictionary, and so I spent the last hours building a dictionary, and creating a proper language for the story.
Creating a language, like other aspects of worldbuilding is very fun. I didn't want to make up words from scratch, so I resorted to using translations of certain words, in particular verbs, from my favorite language sources, which include: Swahilli, Arabic, Hausa, Xhosa, Yoruba and Egyptian. I must say, it was fun to mix and match, and to create words, and parts of speech, and quite frankly, it works well in the story.
I didn't want my heroine, K to know the language of the kingdom by magic. There had to be a language barrier, and she has to learn the language, so that was that. I had the kingdom's people speak to her using the raw script (which the reader doesn't understand, unless he/she consults the glossary) and she relies on visual cues and gestures to understand Marut's people. The only word she understands is saa, because it's used in frequent references to her.
To help with the language's script, I relied on my Jamaican background for inspiration. In Jamaica, people often use phrases such as "unu" (you people or all of you) and "A fi me" (It's for me). The letter "A" replaces the infinitive verb (To be) as well as gerunds (-ing). So, for example: "A-whey unu a-go?" (To where are you going)?'
Here are some Maruti script phrases using the verb "To be." I use dashes and apostrophes to conjugate/ add clarity or show ownership, similarly as English.
The verb "To be" (A-na) in M. script
"Na" (from the verb 'to be'), when used without the 'A'
When placed in the middle of a sentence. E..g. (smu na igaa - she is walking).
Na'a means "mine" as in (O'na-a - It is mine). May also be written: O-na'a.
When placed at the end of a sentence. E.g. (Kyu a-so na - The object belongs to me)
When speaking of one's self: e.g. A-na (I am). A-na Kadsa (I am Kadsa).
When placed before personal name/object. E.g. A-wsa (my daughter)
The letter "O" means "thing" or "it" (subject) and must link to the predicate, in particular, the verb, to have meaning. This is not so with the synonym "kyu (object). An opostrophe between the same vowel "aa" or "oo," changes the meaning, unless the word is a gerund (-ing), in which case, there's no apostrophe. In the example: igaa (walking) from a-iga (to walk).
An "O" attached to another O" by an apostrope (o'o) negates a sentence. E.g. O'o na'a (It's not mine). When the negative "o'o" is paired with the word it/thing (O), only "o'o" is used (same example above). The "o'o" is pronounced "ooh" in contrast to the "O'na-a" where it's pronounced "Oh." Articles (the/a) are naturally implied and therefore don't exist in the Maruti script.
Just some examples. The CiviliZation (2024) is now available where books are sold.
cKm2024 all rights reserved.
Creating a language, like other aspects of worldbuilding is very fun. I didn't want to make up words from scratch, so I resorted to using translations of certain words, in particular verbs, from my favorite language sources, which include: Swahilli, Arabic, Hausa, Xhosa, Yoruba and Egyptian. I must say, it was fun to mix and match, and to create words, and parts of speech, and quite frankly, it works well in the story.
I didn't want my heroine, K to know the language of the kingdom by magic. There had to be a language barrier, and she has to learn the language, so that was that. I had the kingdom's people speak to her using the raw script (which the reader doesn't understand, unless he/she consults the glossary) and she relies on visual cues and gestures to understand Marut's people. The only word she understands is saa, because it's used in frequent references to her.
To help with the language's script, I relied on my Jamaican background for inspiration. In Jamaica, people often use phrases such as "unu" (you people or all of you) and "A fi me" (It's for me). The letter "A" replaces the infinitive verb (To be) as well as gerunds (-ing). So, for example: "A-whey unu a-go?" (To where are you going)?'
Here are some Maruti script phrases using the verb "To be." I use dashes and apostrophes to conjugate/ add clarity or show ownership, similarly as English.
The verb "To be" (A-na) in M. script
"Na" (from the verb 'to be'), when used without the 'A'
When placed in the middle of a sentence. E..g. (smu na igaa - she is walking).
Na'a means "mine" as in (O'na-a - It is mine). May also be written: O-na'a.
When placed at the end of a sentence. E.g. (Kyu a-so na - The object belongs to me)
When speaking of one's self: e.g. A-na (I am). A-na Kadsa (I am Kadsa).
When placed before personal name/object. E.g. A-wsa (my daughter)
The letter "O" means "thing" or "it" (subject) and must link to the predicate, in particular, the verb, to have meaning. This is not so with the synonym "kyu (object). An opostrophe between the same vowel "aa" or "oo," changes the meaning, unless the word is a gerund (-ing), in which case, there's no apostrophe. In the example: igaa (walking) from a-iga (to walk).
An "O" attached to another O" by an apostrope (o'o) negates a sentence. E.g. O'o na'a (It's not mine). When the negative "o'o" is paired with the word it/thing (O), only "o'o" is used (same example above). The "o'o" is pronounced "ooh" in contrast to the "O'na-a" where it's pronounced "Oh." Articles (the/a) are naturally implied and therefore don't exist in the Maruti script.
Just some examples. The CiviliZation (2024) is now available where books are sold.
cKm2024 all rights reserved.
- Published on
I don't get nervous. I try not to get excited. I am not used to 'good things' happening to me. I am superstitious. Will I jinx myself? What if this is all a dream? So many dreams die in the womb of imagination, never quickening into existence.
It's closer, getting closer, and yet I still can't feel it in my grasp. When is it okay to feel it? When is it okay to say it aloud? Am I an imposter? I feel safe in the liminal. I feel content in the drift of never knowing, letting the rip tide of the mundane soak me through, never letting up.
But the mundane is so safe for so long. So calm for so long.
And then it begins.
And how will I handle it?
It's closer, getting closer, and yet I still can't feel it in my grasp. When is it okay to feel it? When is it okay to say it aloud? Am I an imposter? I feel safe in the liminal. I feel content in the drift of never knowing, letting the rip tide of the mundane soak me through, never letting up.
But the mundane is so safe for so long. So calm for so long.
And then it begins.
And how will I handle it?
- Published on
Okay, I am a mess. I've been trying to practice Lagom, a Swedish word that is a fancier way of saying, minimalism--doing just about what is required but not going above or beyond.
I've been failing in every aspect, but still want to keep on trekiking.
I'm stubborn that way.
I'm obsessed with cleaning up my footprints--the real world, the Internet. I
Getting a book published, albeit by a small press means I have dusted off my lagom ways in favor of putting myself out there, and revisiting the past, which means this blog.
Some of what I have blogged in the past aren't too embarrassing, so I'm keeping them. You can see the evolution of my thoughts and beliefs through the brief life of this blog. The only constant is my heterodoxy.
This blog is back, but like most things in my life, I will struggle to maintain it. I tried Youtubing for a while but am not very good at it. I tried podcasting for a while but am not good at it either (face and voice issues, respectively).
Writing has always been my strength, so may that carry me forward. Can't and won't promise consistency, because, you know, energy and time. This is freewheeling--whatever that means.
Anyway, I'm here, Scapers!
P.S. What prompted this remergence or resurgence is not simply my resurrected website, but going down the rabbithole in search of the title of a magical realism novel I read years ago--and I kid you not, as I'm typing this, the title just came to me--The Elementals by Francesca Lia Block. Ha!
Welcome to the Ebonscape!
I've been failing in every aspect, but still want to keep on trekiking.
I'm stubborn that way.
I'm obsessed with cleaning up my footprints--the real world, the Internet. I
Getting a book published, albeit by a small press means I have dusted off my lagom ways in favor of putting myself out there, and revisiting the past, which means this blog.
Some of what I have blogged in the past aren't too embarrassing, so I'm keeping them. You can see the evolution of my thoughts and beliefs through the brief life of this blog. The only constant is my heterodoxy.
This blog is back, but like most things in my life, I will struggle to maintain it. I tried Youtubing for a while but am not very good at it. I tried podcasting for a while but am not good at it either (face and voice issues, respectively).
Writing has always been my strength, so may that carry me forward. Can't and won't promise consistency, because, you know, energy and time. This is freewheeling--whatever that means.
Anyway, I'm here, Scapers!
P.S. What prompted this remergence or resurgence is not simply my resurrected website, but going down the rabbithole in search of the title of a magical realism novel I read years ago--and I kid you not, as I'm typing this, the title just came to me--The Elementals by Francesca Lia Block. Ha!
Welcome to the Ebonscape!
- Published on
Riker Walks Into the Holodeck