Lively Seasons Part 2


Their heart began to pound, filling her chest with fire. They stood up sharply. They turned and searched for the tree. They canvassed the land again and again with their eyes, but saw only a pale white hand rising from the ground where the tree once stood. The skin of the hand barely covered the bone, and clung to the joints. The lines in the palm were drawn in faint red, along with the veins of the wrist and the forearm that constituted its trunk. Suddenly the blackness crept over. A ringing sound fell into her ears. They stared down as it coated their small, frail frame, until it slowly encircled their eyes, and pushed inward, until they saw nothing but reflections of small birds, dogs, horses, men, women and children. They recognized them all, knowing them as well as they nearly as well as they knew each other.

They woke up facing the wide blue sky and wondered if they had returned. If she was he, or whatever it was, she began, or he set out to be. They stretched their hand out, displaying it to their eyes and saw a pale white palm. The wrist looked slender and the palm wider. They stared down at their frame, and it seemed to be human, not much more than that. It stood up and ran its hands along its pale white skin. It felt up to its neck and then to its face, to find it had nothing more than nostrils, eyes and ear holes. It went to whistle, and found it could only blow through its nose. Finally, it pulled itself up, towards that blue sky. When it stood upright it took notice of what cradled it. It sat in that giant hand. This time, the skin coating the palm and fingers seemed tan, healthy and thick. Beneath the palm stood an array of tree tops, the vast canopy of a jungle. The white being, impressed by the splendor of the jungle, made its way to the edge of the hand, and leaped from the palm that clutched it. The fingers closed slowly, and the hand formed a fist.

As it descended through the air, the sunlight faded with its fall. The moon’s glow hugged the land tightly. The air rushed against the face of the being as it plummeted. The air started to mold the soft pale flesh as though it were clay, parting the skin beneath the nose. The being felt a new orifice form. It earned a mouth to scream in exhilaration, and take one large breath before splashing into a pool of perfectly clear water. Its eyelids peeled back and the water splashed an ocean blue hue into two empty pupils. It felt weightless floating beneath the water. It lingered in the pleasant chill of the water. It sank down further, feeling the weight of its body slip away. Suddenly it felt a fire in its lungs. It gasped for air and found none. It flung its legs about in furious effort to propel itself forward. It could feel the burning pain creep across its body. It saw blotches of blackness encroaching on its vision. It kicked so fiercely that the water pushed away the soft clay at the end of its blocky feet. Toes formed from its shapeless feet. Its head peaked out of the water, and its mouth sucked in air.

It gripped the grimy shore. It slipped and slid against the mud. The mud pushed against its palms, and forced five fingers out of the slabs of clay on the ends of the arms. It jabbed its fingers into the soft ground and hauled itself through the shore line, until the terrain seemed steady enough to stand on. All around the pool were varying shades of mud, some yellowish, others a sort of tan, another of a pinkish variety. All of the pallets of mud blended together around the edges where they met. Its newly formed mouth felt empty, so it searched for something to fill it, and found small pink fruit dangling from the branches of stout trees. It reached up, pulled one loose, and started to chew on it. The pink fruit tangled up along the edges of its mouth, and formed out a strange layer that let it know the taste of its saliva and the feel of its breath. It reveled in the novel sensation of lip smacking as it walked a dirt path flanked on both sides by trees full of all sorts of fruits. Long and forked red fruits dangled from some trees. In bushes it saw white, serrated vegetables with sharp curves. It spotted a crunchy looking bunch of white blocks. It pulled loose a bunch and eagerly munched on them. It hurt its moist mouth, but soon the white cubes jammed into the sticky pink residue of the fruit and formed two layers of something as strong as bone. It shifted its jaw about and bit at the air and clacked the cubes together. It kept down the road, wriggling its fingers and observed the bounty of the land. There were fruits and vegetables of all shapes and hues. Suddenly, it found a wet looking fruit with a scratchy, wide surface. It grabbed it and shoved it hurriedly into its mouth. It bit on it at first, and formed a slight depression in the middle of the strange shape. It curved the sides of the fruit with its mashing until the fruit fit sat snugly in the mouth. The fruit slid into the film of red that held the fine row of strong white teeth in place. It waggled the new device around the mouth, and ran it along the pointy undersides and smooth surfaces of the white bones in its mouth. Suddenly, it let loose a little squall. It laughed high and childlike at itself. The laughter settled and it formed its first smile. It took a lot of exertion to stretch its mouth at the corners and reveal all of those square white teeth, but something made the whole endeavor feel effortless.

The dirt path that stretched before it started to form into large and wide rocks packed roughly together. As it walked the road, it noticed some loose stones. It grabbed an interesting shaped stone and eyed it as it walked. Suddenly, it met a crag in the ground and fell face forward, holding the stone up to its face. The stone jammed into the malleable face right between the nostrils. It felt a mass of pain wash over it, and clear blue tears began to slide down its face. It felt the misery of pain, as the flesh of its face vibrated. It flared its nostrils, now separated by a mass of throbbing flesh beneath its eyes. It made small sniffles in response to the harsh feeling fire that burned across its face.

The darkness started to spread as the trees obscured the silvery moonlight. Drips of light only fell through chinks in the massive leafy armor above it. Suddenly, the area felt humid, damp and unpleasant. Tears poured from puffy eyes as the being cried out for some anonymous force. It could feel the sweat run down its skin as the heat draped it. It heard something from the trees drop in loud “plunks”. It started up into an awkward run. It ran and stumbled and then ran even more. It started to tire. It could not make its way out in the darkness. An utter emptiness in its chest forced it to a halt. It sucked in the air around it. Its breaths came to screeching halt when two plunks slid right in next to its ear drums and rattled its head. It rubbed the sides of its head and found mounds of waxy substance near those ear holes. It rubbed the sides of its head in small circles to try and ease its pounding headache, but only melded the wax into the flesh of its face. It could hear more now, but the noises simply compounded in its head until started to weep at feeling so overwhelmed. It heard barks, chatters, hisses, all sorts of strange noises. Smooth and harsh sounds came from every direction, but it could see nothing in the dark. It heard a massive beat beneath the very earth. It led a hand up to its chest, and felt the beat of the earth synchronize with something within it. Yet worst of all it heard strange chants, murmurs, strings of deliberate sounds that had no discernible pattern. It heard screams coming from all directions. It sobbed and walked wearily on through the darkness, with high pitched screams echoing all along the tree line it could no longer make out.

The rocks started to smooth out and become smaller now. The path became easier, but no less distressing. The moonlight only re-entered for a second, to reveal a fork in the road. It sweated so much that the skin at the bottom of its torso became wrinkled and shapeless, like wet and unformed putty. It stared down two paths, but saw only darkness in each. It shut its eyes and ran down one path. It could feel the heat intensify incredibly as it ran through a blinding ray of light, causing the sweat to make the runny skin at the bottom of its torso smooth out until it formed into a wrinkly rod and two bubbles. The path grew cold, and the putty formed solidly. It cried out wildly in bewildered and resigned confusion. It slid into the earth and shut its eyes.

When it awoke it looked down at itself. It seemed fully formed. Suddenly then the chants started to form into sensible things in its head. The sun started to shine overhead. He started to stride down the road. He saw things that were strange, but the chants, the voices, the words overhead explained the slithering green creatures and the large brown trotters that heaved chariots of men. He felt his feet adjust to a smoother path. He strode very confidently down the road for a while, encountering happiness when he heard voices, or mustered the courage to find silence somewhere. He spoke with sorrow when he felt guiding voices leave him, when he felt his path diverge from familiar sights and sounds.

He felt the heartbeat of the earth stop permanently once, and grief overwhelmed him but did not keep him from moving. Even without the beat, he knew how to guide himself through the periods of darkness. He walked for a while, until he found a garden full to the brim with thorny flowers, none of which he could touch without drawing blood. He tried many times to pluck a flower until another like him came a long and plucked one for him. She had a wide white smile and beautiful fair hair. They walked together for a while until she grew thinner and frailer as they slept and rose. The cobblestone road became populated with carriages too, of people who passed through. They would wave at the carriages. He came to know what shook her world, and he felt the tremors too. She understood the sense of his sighs and felt the breath leave her too. They discerned the sweet anatomy of each and every shoulder brush as they leaned on one another.

His heart beat again in unison with others. This time, his pulse guided their teary eyes past terrors. He felt them separate from him, and felt their heartbeats start to fade. He accepted it grimly. He steeled himself, remembering how inevitable it was that paths would diverge. He still felt one pulse tying him to all of the flickering shadows and rumbling noises.

One day he woke up, and that pulse went cold. He knew that his path had finally narrowed to the point where only he could cross. He felt oddly astray and did not wander long down an increasingly windy, sloped walkway. He stopped his stride when he met one final sunny road. He did not care to lean on anything else. It was a warm sunny day. The winds carried a fine summer’s radiance. He shut his eyes and reopened them. For a moment, he seemed ready to rest. He wanted nothing more than to sit down and observe all the things he ran through, when his legs permitted him to bound down slopes and his hands let him scale mountains. His smile grew weary. It seemed less novel than he remembered. His bones eased him down slowly. They shook more than he remembered. A wave of careful hands dressed him in a three piece suit finer than any Sunday he’d seen. A man with eager eyes, a black hat and a knowing smile ushered him into a carriage. He leaned back now and took a moment out of his long journey to just observe. Horse hooves clamored across the cobblestone crosswalk.

~Austin R Ryan

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Lively Seasons


Horse hooves clamored across the cobblestone crosswalk. The pleasant wide blue sky stretched out into an endless expanse filled with the heat of an unbridled sun. The wind rustled the leaves in the trees just slightly. The trees flanked the carriage pulled slowly down the road. The white wheels rattled forward. The fine white paint adorning the carriage glowed in the sun, as a figure dressed in his black tuxedo steered it onward. The figure abandoned a smiling man at the side of road. The figure fingered the rim of his hat, pushing it further down his brow, and flashed a knowing smile at the man as he flowed free from the chariot.

The man heard the reins snap and the driver call to his horses in a hiss of cold wind that rattled loose form the slight gaps in each of the driver’s bone white teeth. The man gnawed at his fingernails as he watched the rider and his chariot turn into a distant shadow. The man came to this place in the finest threads he ever wore.

The man felt the smooth lining of his suit coat. He hooked his thumbs underneath his suspenders and pulled them up an inch before letting them snap back to his shoulders. He rubbed some crust loose from the corner of his eyes and stretched out his arms. His eyes darted left and right before his hands started to wiggle his tie loose from his neck. He squeezed the top button of his shirt out of its hole before moving to his cufflinks. He slid his arms out of his suit coat and slung it over his back.

The man eased himself down onto the cold soil. He leaned against a tree at the side of the road, taking in the sweet summer winds. Small blue birds frolicked through the sky. Their swift wings pitter-pattered against the pale blue sky and the puffy white clouds. The blue birds docked, and other birds rose. Red cardinals burned their path through the air. Little yellow birds swayed through the sunlight likes sparks flickering free from the massive orange sun that hung in the air. The man fell into an easy state. He leaned back against the tree, and felt his eyelids grow heavy. He felt the sweet syrupy darkness encompass his bright hot world. A blanket of warm summer air formed around him. He felt weightless.

He dreamt of a fair haired woman. He knew her as she knew him. He knew of her ungraceful twitches and throaty coughs. She seemed to shine in the sun, offering a smile full of imperfectly aligned teeth. Her pink lips pursed slightly, and she formed a string of words, though he heard no sound from her. Her features were smooth and thin, almost frail. She smiled wide and he felt as though he were staring into the sun. He had to shield his eyes, until she gave an open mouthed chuckle. He heard only the memory of laughter. How he longed to manifest the memory in this reality. The sight of her consumed his vision. His eyes started to search the expanse in quick darts and glances, hesitant to leave her. He saw nothing but a blanket of pure white that extended for miles. He felt a slight caress on his shoulder and stood up sharply, twisting around. A frail orange leaf perched itself on his shoulder. He eyed it for a moment before looking up at the tree.

This tree towered over him. Its auburn leaves parachuted slowly through the air. The brown and orange leaves descended from the branches in massive heaps, like clumps of hair falling loose from a scalp. They formed large clouds of oranges, dark reds and browns. He saw the roots of the tree push into the foggy white about his feet. He reached down to feel the ground. He felt something very cold to the touch, and his gashes of white and black cut his vision to splinters. A wash of frost coated his skin and caused him to tremble. Waves of fluffy white embraced him. It fell loose from the never ending, cloudless sky. He shut his eyes and the cold faded. The warmth of spring encompassed him so quickly that he felt his head grow numb as it tried to process the shift. The white mounds that clung to the massive network of gargantuan branches blossomed into a massive berth of colorfully hued leaves. He heard children cavort and carry on. He felt he knew those kids. Some of them were distant smiles; others were eyes he had breathed vision into. He wanted to rush his hand through the hair of those young souls and shake tangles into a brown mop of hair. He felt a tear trickle out of his eye. His soul swam in the salty water of that tear, and he felt himself spin away from spring. His head stung as he staggered down to his knees. His skin felt numb. Intense winds beat flakes of frosty white against his red and raw ears. He crunched down in a mound of snow and shut his eyes.

His eyes shot open, and his breathing became heavy. He found himself sprawled on his side in the midst of a dusty plane of cracked ground. He could see the woman out in the distance. She was a shadow beneath three massive suns beating heat into the earth. Mechanically, she moved her legs. Each step seemed out of raw obligation. With each step her leg would wobble and twist. Her hair thinned out into individual strands. A hoarse whistle trembled out of her throat. The whistle swept up into the air, fraying and cracking as it approached the higher notes. She broke into cough that shook her whole body. The cough startled sensation back into his legs. He stood up wearily. He tried to shake loose from sleep. If this was a dream, it rung of reality and he would not escape it with a pinch. He started to make his way towards her. She had his back turned towards him. His feet nimbly skipped across the cracked earth, which spit up dust wherever his foot fell. The brown flecks licked at his legs. He could hear the suns churn and spark out in the distance. They groaned beneath their continual effort. The woman whistled once more. She started to assemble her steps again. They were slow and stilted still. He started to lose his patterned footfall. He shambled together an awkward gait. As he neared her, he could feel the heat of the suns. He wanted to say something, just give her one word, but the letters cluttered around his tongue. The suns sapped the moisture from his skin. He watched as the skin on his arms turned dusty and dry. Cracks and scratched began to glide across his arid skin. He gazed at the thing cracks in the earth. He felt himself swelter with the torn earth. He felt the chalky sensation in his mouth. His throat grew hoarse and he attempted a rough whistle, which quickly corrupted into a rasp. The suns pressed down upon him and he stumbled. He caught himself. As he gaped at the ground, a crack tore open in the earth beneath his eyes. It stretched out wide and looked empty. As he crawled towards it he realized that a clear black liquid stirred within. He saw his reflection in a black fluid.

He stared in awe for a moment. He bore the reflection of the woman, smiling wide. Her face was all a mess with wrinkles, and dry, cracked skin. Her smile only held crooked yellow teeth now. He watched in the pool as his hand caressed the dry cracks on his face, and felt the smile he never meant to make. She never meant to make. Her hair was thinning. A wild wind flew across the plain. The cracks of dried skin flaked and splintered off. They started to peel and come loose. Small bits of agitated red rose to the surface, as though her face had been scuffed against gravel. She looked at the earth and saw chunks fly by, to reveal reddened soil. The smile started to splinter. She heard the words stumble out of his mouth. She felt him finally come with her. Perhaps she finally came with him. She could not remember who the late arrival was any more. Still she felt him smile. They smiled.  They reached out to run her fingers across the water. It rippled and splashed. It crawled from its splashes, up onto the cracked, dry land. It started to worm and drag itself across the terrain. In twisted fingers and writhing hands, it began canvassing the earth. It stretched around her now. They could feel it coming to surround the land all around them.

(End of part 1)

~Austin R Ryan

Living in Greek Letters


 

Living in Greek Letters

 

Here’s a not so tall tale

A little college rendition

A fun story of prim perdition

 

You know the scene

But regardless I’ll set it

 

A little ways away

From the stringent old university

In some cramped home

The men dry hump

The women slowly

Dicks tracking asses

To a bulging bassline

More efficient than

Google’s trends and twitter’s tags

 

The awkward outliers

Circling the edges of empty rooms

With a solitary red cup

Held up

Like a shield

 

And then across the room you spy it

Something all too much the archetype

 

Though you might try and deny it

When you see the flock

Of the similar shirted stock

Bearing Greek letters

Like crosses of chivalry.

Your mind gets rather ready

To linger and stalk

Then mock, mock, mock

 

Most are you human, it’s true

And though that confidence they bear

Seems to come from thin air

It isn’t worth offering the glare

 

But then you see the one with the backwards hat

And those pretty shoes

With un-scuffed logos

Surrounded by a sea of white

And you smell that cologne

Strong enough to let you know

It don’t come cheap

 

Then you hear him chant:

Alpha Zeta Gamma Kappa Pi Delta

In the way a walrus

might make a war-cry

Trying to be sincere

But ready to dive behind

A force-field of faked irony

 

And in one big wash

You can feel the toss

Of waves of surreality

 

When did I transgress,

(Your mind may stress)

To a state of stereotypes?

An existence of archetypes?

 

Even with stereos that

Shroud the house in noise

You can hear his constant lack of poise

 

One moment he nods along to little questions

From a dressed up doll

Slobbering out something droll

 

And the next

He’s with his brothers

Dancing like a monkey to their music box

Of quests and talks

bathed in a tradition

that never balks

 

He jabs a pen in the side

Of a Natty light

Taking a messy swig

of a shotgun’s delight

 

And in one marvelous maneuver

Stares down the empty can

Before it collides

Into an emptier forehead

Atop a face grown bloody red

 

Then he’ll be off to bed

Some girl with a fragile ego to be fed

Making all the outliers

In the corners of the room

Emit one great internal groan

 

They wonder why

The universe takes strikes

Against the nice guy

In reality they never did try

To meet a girl eye to eye

Preferring to ruffle

The skirts of the edge of the room

And flirt with empty furniture

 

All the “normals” have left

And now our archetype

Spends another night fingering

The cold rims of a toilet

 

Behind any type is a man

Once born honest and

Bereft of any plan

Just one little

C.S. Lewis soul

Possessing a body

And not a morsel more

 

Delivered by doctors

Into the lap of luxury

He once kicked and screamed

Ungracefully swimming away

From the world he never needed to know

 

I’ve never been inclined

To admit how spiritually refined

I snootily sustain I am

But I would never set a man to linger

In the hellfire spun from his own finger

Just for a lowered standard

And some mess of manipulations

 

Yes I digress

That a rage rises

In the depths of my

Murky red heart

When I see a man so tart

 

Contrive and drive Lie after lie

About how heavyweighted he is

And how many mediocre women

He’s managed to sloppily kiss

And a part of me smiles bitterly

When with spades of self-broken ties

He digs himself a hole

And with a blowtorch of disrespect gone dire

He immolates his own fool self

 

But in this fine land

Where we give a rapist

5 years and a slap on the hand

In this little world

Where pockets of pedo’s

Parade their exploits

I guess I am not inclined

To see a douchebag’s riches

Turned to sand

Just because he was too myopic

To see the hand of fate pull back

Ready its reprimand

All the same, I heard the “whack”

 

And when it came

I must confess

Despite all the guilt I bear

For laughing at tragedies too fair

I smiled on and imagined nothing changed,

Perhaps even though on how justice reigned

then hazarded a guess, that your mind did the same

~Austin R Ryan

Reminisce


Reminisce

Getting lost in a peaceful bliss

Feeling the touch of ethereal slumber

A lightness not found on Earth

Heaviness without weight or girth

 

The world is in tatters

As if any of that matters

People will pay pretty pence to live like mad hatters

The longing to take a step off that ladder….

 

Shelving desires

To hit tire shaken pavement

Repressing fires

To burn it down and ask where it all went

 

Stability for the shaken

Solitude for the solemn

Sound for the speechless

Surrender for the soldiers

 

Who goes full throttle,

when you can capture the past in a bottle?

Fact to concede to the calm….

Fatigue to carve out the comatose…..

 

~Austin R Ryan

America My Love, 2nd Refrain


2nd Refrain

There once was a man of political intent

Who knew of all the figures

that came and went

He saw shadows shift

Underneath the prominent coffins

he did lift

 

He gave good advice

But never listened to his own

He spoke his words nice

And tempered a treating tone

 

But he was see through true and true

Though he spoke loyal

He walked royal

And all knew he wanted a throne

 

He tried to blend

But He became so standard

When afraid

of what it meant to be slandered

 

Never got too far

Except when he drove out in his car

 

Imagining people hailed his name

From all corridors and lands

He imagined so much fame

That even to him – it seemed most profane

 

He did have a way about him

That some were inclined to flout him

But he never could make means into ends

 

In public he put philosophy under sophistry

In private he made freedom his curiosity

He loved it like it were atrocity

So much so he hardly handled

restraints on velocity

 

One day

He departed from the fray

Abandoning his sway

to the matters of that fine may day

 

he mounted the metal horse

and went riding

But oddly enough…

he felt he was hiding

 

For once, his self

was what he was chiding

 

He passed from tree to tree

And wanted so badly to be free

From all the toll and all the fee

 

So started his quaint little speeding spree…

 

He slammed on the peddle to soar through sees of glinting metal

he went quicker and slicker, faster and rasher discarding thoughts for laughter

as he unbuckled the belt that bound, honking and heaving

like the barkings of a hungry hound

Until he swung and spun round and round and forsook

All the control from the roles he stole

 

For one sliver

of freedom

from the capitol Pull

 

When he slammed into the tree

he soared out so far

that he finally felt free…

 

With the contents of his head ajar

Eyes smeared red

against the black tar

He found finally

That he could see so far

 

Tales get twisted

As our art gets fisted

These times are strange

But I do admire the range

 

America’s threading

And bedding

New sorts of souls

And new brands of roles

~Austin R Ryan