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Song one
This is a song about tarzanic love
That subsisted some years ago,
As a love duel between an English girl and an African ogre,
There was an English girl hailing along the banks of river Thames
She had stubbornly refused all offers for marriage,
From all the local English boys, both rich and poor
tall and short, weak or strong, ugly and comely in the eye,
the girl had refused and sternly refused the treats for love,
She was disciplined to her callous pursuit of her dream
to marry a mysterious,fantastic,lively,original and extra-ordinary man,
That no other woman in history of human marriage ever married,
She came from London, near the banks of river Thames,
Her name was Victoria Goodhamlet Lovehill, daughter of a peasant,
She came from a humble English family, which hustled often
For food, clothing, and other calls that make one an ordinary British,
She grew up without a local boy friend, anywhere in the English world,
She is the first English girl to knock the age of forty five while a ******,
She never got deflowered in her teens as other English girls usually do
She preserved her purse with maximal carefulness in her wait for a black man,
Her father, of course a peasant, his trade was human barber and horse shearer,
Often asked her what she wants in life before her marriage, which man she really wanted,
Her specification was an open eyesore to her father; no blinkers could stave the father’s pale
For she wanted a black tall man, strong and ruggedly dark in the skin, must own a kingdom,
Fables taken to her from Africa were that such an African man was only one but none else,
His glorious name was Akhatembete kho bwibo khakhalikha no bwoya,
When the English girl heard the chimerical name of her potential husband,
She felt a super bliss in her spine; she yearned for the day of her rendezvous,
She crashed into desperate burning for true English love
With a man with a wonderful name like Akhatembete kho bwibo khakhalikha no bwoya.


Song two

Rumours of this English despair and dilemma for love reached Africa, in the wrong ears,
Not the human ears, but unfortunately the ears of the ogres, seasoned in the evil art,
It was received and treated as classified information among the African ogress,
They prevented this news to leak to African humans at all at all
Lest humans enjoy their human status and enjoy most
The love in the offing from the English girl,
They thus swiftly plotted and ployed
To lure and win the ******
From royal land;
England.




Song three

Firstly, the African ogres recruited one of their own
The most handsome middle aged male ogre, more handsome than all in humanity,
And of course African ogres are beautiful and handsome than African humans, no match,
The ogres are more gifted in stature, physique, eugenics and general overtures
They always outplay African humans on matters of intelligence, they are shrewder,
Ogres are aggressive and swashbuckling in manners; fear is none of their domain
Craft and slyness is their breakfast, super is the result; success, whether pyrrhic or Byronic,
Is their sweetest dish, they then schemed to get the English girl at whatever cost,
They made a move to name one of their fellow ogres the name of dream man;
Akhatembete khobwibo khakhalikha no bwoya,
Which an English girl wanted,
By viciously naming one of their handsome middle-aged man this name.

Song four

Then they set off 0n foot, from Congo moving to the north towards Europe abode England,
Where the beautiful girl of the times, Victoria Goodhamlet Lovehill hail,
They were three of them, walking funnily in cyclopic steps of African ogres,
Keeping themselves humorously high by feigning how they will dupe the girl,
How they will slyly decoy the English village pumpkin of the girl in to their trap,
And effortlessly make her walk on foot from England to Africa, in pursuit of love
On this muse and sweet wistfulness they broke out into loud gewgaws of laughter,
In such emotional bliss they now jump up wildly forgetting about their tails
Which they initially stuffed inside white long trousers, tails now wag and flag crazily,
Feats of such wild emotions gave the ogres superhuman synergy to walk cyclopically,
A couple of their strides made them to cross Uganda, Kenya, Somali, Ethiopia and Egypt
Just but in few days, as sometimes they ran in violent stampedes
Singing in a cryptic language the funny ogres songs;

Dada wu ndolelee!
Dada wu ndolelee!
Kuyuni kwa mnja
Sa kwingile khundilila !

Ehe kuyuni Mulie!
Ehe kuyuni mulie!
Omukhana oyo
Kaloba khuja lilia !
They then laughed loudly, farted cacophonously and jumped wildly, as if possessed,
They used happiness and raucous joy as a strategy to walk miles and miles
Which you cover when moving on foot from Congo to England,
They finally crossed Morocco and walked into Europe,
They by-passed Italy and Spain walking piecemeal
into England, native land of the beautiful girl.

Song  five

When the three ogres reached England, they were all surprised
Every woman and man was white; people of England walked slowly and gently
They made minimum noise, no shouting publicly on the street,
a stark contrast to human behaviour and ogre culture in Africa, very rambunctious,
Before they acclimatized to disorderly life in England, an over-sighted upset befell them
Piling and piling menace of pressure to ****,
Gripped all the three ogre brothers the same time,
None of them had knowledge of municipal utilities,
They all wanted to micturated openly
Had it not been beautiful English girls
Ceaselessly thronging the streets.



Song six

They persevered and moved on in expectation of coming to the end,
Out-skirt of the strange English town so that they can get a woodlot,
From where they could hide behind to do open defecation
All was in vain; they never came to any end of the English town,
Neither did they come by a tumbled-down house
No cul de sac was in sight, only endless highway,
Sandwiched between tall skyscraping buildings,
One of the ogres came up with an idea, to drip the ****
Drop by drop in their *******, as they walk to their destiny,
They all laughed but not loudly, in controlled giggles
And executed the idea minus haste.

Song seven

They finally came down to the banks of river Thames,
Identified the home of Victoria Goodhamlet Lovehill
The home had neither main gate nor metallic doors,
They entered the home walking in humble majesty,
Typical of racketeering ogre, in a swindling act,
The home was silent, no one in sight to talk to
The ogres nudged one another, repressing the mirth,
Hunchbacked English lass surfaced, suddenly materialized
Looking with a sparkle in the eye, talking pristine English,
Like that one written by Geoffrey Chaucer, her words were as piffling
As speech of a mad woman at the fish market, ogres looked at her in askance.

Song eight

An ogre with name Akhatembete khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya opened to talk,
Asked the girl where could be the latrine pits, for micturation only,
The hunchbacked lass gave them a direction to the toilets inside the house,
She did it in a full dint of English elegance and gentility,
But all the ogres were discombobulated to their peak
about the English latrine pit inside the house,
they all went into the toilet at the same time,
to the chagrin of the hunchbacked lass
she had never seen such in England
she struggled a lot
to repress her mirth
as the English
never get amused
at folly.




Song nine

It is a tradition among the ogres to ****,
Whenever they are ******* in the African bush,
But now the ogres are in a fix, a beautiful fix of their life
If at all they ****, the flatulent cacophony will be heard outside
By the curious eavesdroppers under the eaves of the house,
They murmured among themselves to tighten their **** muscles
So that they can micturated without usual African accomplice; the tweeee!
All succeeded to manage , other than Akhatembete khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya,
Who urinated but with a low tziiiiiiii sound from his ***, they didn’t laugh
Ogres walked out of privities relaxed like a catholic faithful swallowing a sacrament,
The hunchback girl ushered them to where they were to sit, in the common room
They all sat with air of calm on their face, Akhatembete Khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya,
led the conversation, by announcing to the girl that he is Victoria’s visitor from Africa,
To which the girl responded with caution that Victoria is at the barbershop,
Giving hand to her father in shearing the horses, and thus she is busy,
No one is allowed to meet her, at that particular hour of the day
But he pleaded to the hunchback girl only to pass tidings to Victoria,
That Akhatembete Khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya from Africa
Has arrived and he is yearning to meet her today and now,
The girl went bananas on hearing the name
The hunch on her back visibly shook,
Is like she had heard the name often,
She then became prudent in her senses,
And asked the visitor not to make anything—
Near a cat’s paw out of her person,
She implored the visitor to confirm
if at all he was what he was saying
to which he confirmed in affirmation,
then she went out swiftly
like a tail of the snake,
to pass tidings
to her sister
Victoria.


Song ten
She went out shouting her sister’s name,
A rare case to happen in England,
One to make noise in the broad day light,
With no permission from the local leadership,
She called and ululated Victoria’ name for Victoria to hear
From wherever she was, of which she heard and responded;
What is the matter my dear little sister? What ails you?
Akhatembete Khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya is around!
She responded back in voice disturbed by emotional uproar,
What! My sister why do you cheat me in such a day time?
Am not cheating you my sister, he is around sited in our father’s house,
Is he? Have you given him a drink, a sweet European brandy?
My sister I have not, I feared that I may mess up your visitors
With my hunched shoulders, I feared sister forbid,
Ok, I am coming, running there, tell him to be patient,
Let me tell him sister just right now,
And make sure you come before his patience is stretched.





Song eleven

Victoria Goodhamlet Lovehill almost went berserk
On getting this good tidings about the watershed presence,
Of the long awaited suitor, her face exploded into vivacity,
Her heart palpitating on imagination of finally getting the husband,
She went out of the barber shop running and ululating,
Leaving her father behind, confounded and agape,
She came running towards her father’s main house
Where the suitor is sited, with the chaperons,
She came kicking her father’s animals to death,
Harvesting each and every fruit, for the suitor,
She did marvel before she reached where the suitor was;
Harvested ten bananas, mangoes and avocadoes,
Plums, pepper, watermelons, lemons and oranges,
She kicked dead five chicken, five goats, rams,
Swine, rabbits, rats, pigeons and hornbills,
When she reached the house, she inquired to know,
Who among them could be the one; Akhatembete Khobwibo
Khakhalikha no bwoya, But her English vocals were not guttural enough,
She instead asked, who among you is a key tempter go weevil car no lawyer?
The decoy ogre promptly responded; here I am the queen of my heart. He stood up,
Victoria took the ogre into her arms, whining; babie! Babie, babie, come!
Victoria carried the ogre swiftly in her arms, to her tidy bed room,
She placed the ogre on her bed, kissed one another at a rate of hundred,
Or more kisses per a minute, the kissing sent both of them crazy, but spiritual craft,
That gave the ogre a boon to maintain some sobriety, but libido of virginity held Victoria
In boonless state of ****** feat, defenseless and impaired in judgment
It extremely beclouded her judgment; she removed and pulled of their clothes,
Libidinous feat blurring her sight from seeing the scarlet tail projecting
From between the buttocks of the ogre, vestige of *******,
She forcefully took the ogre into her arms, putting the ogre between her legs,
The ogre’s uncircumcised ***** effectively penetrated Victoria’s ****** purse,
The ogre broke virginity of Victoria, making her to feel maximum warmth of pleasure
As it released its germinal seed into her body, ecstasy gripped her until she fainted,
The ogre erected more on its first *******; its ***** became more stiff and sharp,
It never pulled out its ***** from the purse of Victoria, instead it introduced further
Deeper and deeper into Victoria’s ******, reaching the ****** depth inside her with gusto,
Victoria screamed, wailed, farted, scratched, threw her neck, kissed crazily and ******,
On the rhythms of the ogre’s waist gyrations, it was maximum pleasure to Victoria,
She reached her second ****** before the ogre; it took further one hour before releasing,
Victoria was beaten; she thought she was not in England in her father’s house
She thought she was in Timbuktu riding on a mosquito to Eldorado,
Where she could not be found by her father whatsoever,
The ogre pulled Victoria up, helped her to dress up,
She begged that they go back to the common room,
Lest her father finds them here, he would quarrel,
They went back to the common room,
Found her father talking to other two ogres,
She shouted to her father before anyone else,
That ‘father I have been showing him around our house,’
‘He has fallen in love with our house; he is passionate about it,’
Akhatembete khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya was shy,
He greeted the father and resumed his chair, with wryly dignity.


Song twelve
An impromptu festival took place,
Fully funded by the father of Victoria,
There was meat of all type from pork to chicken,
Greens were also there in plenty, pepper and watermelons,
Victoria’s mother remembered to prepare tripe of a goat
For the key visitant who was the suitor; Akhatembete,
Food was laid before the ogres to enjoy themselves,
As all others went to the other house for a brainstorming session,
But the hunched backed girl hid herself behind the door,
To admire the food which visitors were devouring,
As she also spied on the table manners of the visitors, for stories to be shared,
Perhaps between herself and her mother, when visitors are gone,
Some sub-human manners unfolded to her as she spied,
One of the ogres swallowed a spoon and a table fork,
And Akhatembete khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya,
Uncontrollably unstuffed his scarlet tail from the trouser,
The chill crawled up the spine of hunchbacked girl,
She almost shouted from her hideout, but she restrained herself,
She swore to herself to tell her father that the visitors are not humans
They are superhuman, Tarzans or mermaids or the werewolves,
The ogre who swallowed the spoon remorsefully tried to puke it back,
Lest the hosts discover the missing spoon and cause brouhaha,
It was difficult to puke out the spoon; it had already flowed into the stomach,
Victoria, her father, her mother and her friend Anastasia,
Anastasia; another English girl from the neighborhood,
Whom Victoria had fished, to work for her as a best maid, as a chaperon,
Went back to the house where the ogres had already finished eating,
They found ogres sitting idle squirming and flitting in their chairs
As if no food had ever been presented to them in a short while ago,
One ogre even shamelessly yawned, blinking his eyes like a snake,
They all forgot to say thanks for the food, no thanks for lunch,
But instead Akhatembete announced on behalf of other ogres,
That they should be allowed to go as they are late for something,
A behaviour so sub-human, given they were suitors to an English family,
Victoria’s father was uneasy, was irritated but he had no otherwise,
For he was desperate to have her daughter Victoria get married,
He had nothing to say but only to ask his daughter, Victoria,
If she was going right-away with her suitor or not,
To which she violently answered yes I am going with him,
Victoria’s mother kept mum, she only shot miserable glances
From one corner of the house to another, to the ogres also,
She totally said nothing, as Victoria was predictably violent
To any gainsayer in relation to her occasion of the moment,
Victoria’s father wished them all well in their life,
And permitted Victoria to go and have good life,
With Akhatembete, her suitor she had yearned for with equanimity,
Victoria was so confused with joy; her day of marriage is beholden,
She hurriedly packed up as if being chased by a monster,
Aaron LaLux Dec 2017
We’re riding,
feels more like flying,
because this car,
feels more like a spaceship,

used to ride in a hybrid with eyes red,
now I ride a Tesla clean as a whistle,
used to use the pen as a sword,
now I use my laptop as a missile,

sorry I’m not sorry if I missed you,
didn’t intentionally diss you,
just been focused zoning on my poems,
keeping it going with my mind on the mission,

listen,

this is the future,
most are out to lunch better catch up,
this isn’t a **** it sandwich this is blessing dressing,
not an invalid salad but an important portion so pay attention when addressing us,

fck,
trying not to cuss too much,
but what the fck,
sometimes too much isn’t even enough,

probably heard that before,
probably didn’t know that was my line,
see when over a million people have read your words,
your words get rewritten time after time,

rewritten but not bitten see there’s a difference,
and yeah I know that the difference is a line and that line’s fine,
and it’s crossed when the message is lost and the spirit leaves the body,
but it’s not when I hear the words repeated in songs and I know those words are mine,

because when I know other people also know albeit sublimely,

I guess that’s what happens when your work outgrows you,
when you hear words you wrote in songs and quotes,
and it gives you that potent mix of anxiety and adrenaline,
which leads you to speeding by throttling the clutch like a throat,

heading north on America’s most west coast road,
going 100 MPH with no MPG up the PCH,
no MPG because the ride is all electric,
like we are running in this lifelong race,

racin’ with Jaden we ride out to our Topanga hideout,
got a whole 10 acre mountain top up there,
where we go to get ghost when we need to get away from foolish folks,
from their flashing lights Hellish cellphones and all their blank faced phony stares,

riding,
feels more like flying,
because this car,
feels more like a spaceship…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
Chhavi Sahni Nov 2011
Reasons are too many

Reasons are none

For the way you walked away

For the way you turned.

You gave me hope

And you made me sad

You kept me confused

Of whatever we had.

It is kind of good

It is kind of bad

Living with hope

With nothing in your hand.

I looked for you within

I looked for you without

There were no traces

Of your whereabout.

But I know for sure

With a hint of doubt

You are not gone for good

My dreams your hideout.
Luna Montez  Oct 2014
Run away
Luna Montez Oct 2014
I wanna take a time-out.
From all the ******* and all the drama.
Just run away to a hideout.
No one would know.
No one would ever notice.
Just let me go.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
perchance an epic was necessary, to consolidate the scattered thinking, and indeed, once a certain life, and was lived with a cherishing heart, the heart broke, and life turned from adventures to a more studious approach, and in here, a comfort was found, never before imagined explorations - of course sometime a tourist in the arts does come, but such tourists quickly fade, and the pursuit becomes more enshrined - to levitated towards epics is perhaps the sole reason for the cherished memory of some - and how quickly all can revolve around a searched for theme, after many incorporations were minded - as one to have travelled the Mediterranean, another to have been eaten by the great mandarin silkworm of the library of Kangxi - heading along the silk route with spices - indeed the great mandarin silkworm of the library of emperor Kangxi; as i too needed a bearing - to inspect the trickster of lore and the godly blacksmith of the north.

by instruction - an accumulation of the the zephyrs
into a vector, headed north,
toward the gluttonous murk of ice, jesting
with aches to the bulging and mesmerised crescendo
of adrift stars captured in the tilting away -
to think of an epic, to keep out-of-time of
spontaneity and thistle like swiftness in the last
days of summer, that Mercury brings the new
tides of the tetravivaldis -
   brought by the λoγος of a γoλας -
for reasons that satisfy the suntan copper of
the ***** - the λoγος of a γoλας - yet not toward
Monte Carlo or any hideout of money well invested
and greedily spent for a charm -
no, north bids me welcome from afar -
this norðri fløkja, this    ᚾᛟᚱᛞᚱᛁ       ᚠᛚᚢᚲᛃᚨ -
by my estimate, i could not take the nonsense
of numerology of a certain specialisation,
i took what was necessary, i pillaged the temple
of Solomon, perhaps that the dome of the rock
might stand - with its glistening dome and
its sapphire mosaics - i don't belong among
palm trees and date trees - hence i turned to
deciphering and subsequently encrypting -
as i have already with *ᚱᚨᛒᛖ
:
the journey of an Æsir through a birch forest
on a horse.
                    with this method in mind:
(a) ᚾᛟᚱᛞᚱᛁ       (b) ᚠᛚᚢᚲᛃᚨ:

(a)
the need to acquire possessions accumulating
into an estate, is a journey encountered
day by day, although a journey on ice

(b)
cattle only thrive near water,
auruchs did not, and hence illuminated
their way to extinction,
         by way of the Æsirs' harvest
(to eat up diversity of life, and create
a godless world of man).

my escape route came from ᚠ - mirroring שִׂ
although the former standing, the latter sitting
down, although the former fathomable
to my pleasure, the latter unfathomable
to ascribe numbers to letters for patterns -
i seek no patterns, hence my sight turned to
the northern sights, and meanings amplified.
                
the greeks were intended to explore abstracts,
having stated a triangle
they invented the ² symbol and what not,
it was because
they didn't bother extracting a phonetic unit
from something definite,
they classified such endeavours barbarian,
what reasonable greek of 13% reason and
87% reality would extract alpha from
the sound you made when
saying ansur (ᚨᚾᛋᚢᚱ) - i.e. attention -
i.e. deriving a definite sound differentiation
for alphabetical rubrics from a definite thing
(in whatever classification that might be)?
the greeks used the alphabetical rubric of
crafting a definite sound from an indefinite thing,
so they said: acronym, aardvark, assumption,
                       α                 α      α     α,
then they said α² - there are no antonyms -
but indeed there were, hence the Trojan nation
settling in the boot, that's Italy,
the Romans escalated the greek theory
beyond taking out a definite sound distinguished
from other distinguishable sounds,
abstracting what the alphabetic sound assured
a list under alpha: assumption, advantage,
acorn, etc. -
the latins were the first atomist after the greeks,
the greeks believed in atoms, but had no
microscopes to prove atoms existed,
such scientific faith found no parallel;
the latins ensured this was true,
ending with castrato sing-along -
the latins furthered abstracting sounds from
definite orientation which the greeks did
working from ice into iota,
the latins just sang i, i, i -
of course chiral behaviourism of such dissection
emerged - hatch a plan, plan a chisel -
it's very piquant i mind to let you know -
the greeks abstracted nouns in order to create
the alphabet, the barbarians still used
proper nouns to speak proper, the greeks
thus created synonyms and antonyms to add
to the spice of life - after all,
not deriving definite alphas from
cursors that acknowledged points of origins
created diacritical stressing like comma and
semis of colon and macron, not deriving them
from definite things, shunning a helpful
vocabulary bank to an unhelpful vocabulary
banked: synonyms and antonyms the Gemini's
birth of rhetoric;
but the latins were rejected with their atomic theory
of pronunciation, since they became laden
with diacritics - punctuation marks of a different sort,
you can measure a man sprint one hundred metres,
but is that also measuring a man to say
mān or män or mán? i know that the slavic ó = u
given the scalpel opening the ensō to craft a parabola -
but it's not necessarily an accent debate
but a punctuation debate... the emergence of
the diacritic symbols above the letters is due
partly to their joy of the popes listening to
castrato operas and the fact that the romans
went too far... hence the chiral nature of certain
symbols when dittoing - the barbarians used
definite things to assert definite sounds -
the greeks used indefinite things to assert definite
sounds - mind you, if the romans became too
abstract with their little units that became engraved
with punctual accenting, then the greek letters
became laden with scientific constants as necessarily
fathered, unchanging in the pursuit of Heraclitus' flux -
for example... Pythagoras and the hypotenuse:
                            σ / κ² = α² + β² -
           or?
                             c² (ć) = a² (ą) + b² / š (bubble beep
                                                           bop barman backup hop
                                                           of shackled kakah
                                                           or systematic oscillation
                                                           for bzz via burp);
πρ² is still more stable
                                 than what the latin alphabet allows -
hence why greek phonetic encoding was used in
science, and latin phonetic encoding was used in music,
can't be one or the other - added to the fact that
latin encoding had too many spare holes with
the evolution of numbers, and greek didn't have them,
hence β-reduction in lambda calculus and F-dur and A#

the one variant of the grapheme (æ) they didn't include
among expressions: graphite and grapheme
was the variant - gravitating to an entombing
of the excess aesthetic - geresh stress -
somehow the twins match-up to a single womb:
àé vs. áè: V vs. Λ - Copernicus wrote over all
of this with the flat earth uselessness
in terms of navigation - flat earth is useless...
huh? flat earth is the only system that gave
Columbus the chance to explore the new world -
no flat earth no Columbus -
that satellite named Luna was no tool
in navigating across the Atlantic - believe me
i'm sure -
                  or that grapheme (æ) varied like statistics
or like the characters in the book of genesis
that famous adam und eve (kim and kanye):
chances came, chances went:
it was still a draw on the tongue tied decipher:
àè and áé proved another notation for plurality
was necessary, not at the beginning of the word,
but after, hence the possessive article 's,
we could have parallelism, there was a crux,
how once the chiselling of letters came about,
more economic to chisel in a V than a U,
both the same, much easier though...
almost barbaric i might say...
sigma (Σ) enigma rune e (ᛖ) - this compass
is a ******* berserker, god knows if it's
mount Everest or the Bermuda Δ

but one thing is for certain, never you mind how
a language is taught unless you mind it,
not that conversational athenian is really what
i'm aiming at - but a lesson is a lesson nonetheless,
out of interest something new,
richard von Coudenhove-Kalergi,
and what preceded him, namely pan-slavism,
just when the polish-lithuanian commonwealth
did a little Judaic trick of its own,
although snorkelling in the waters of not writing
history for less a time than israel -
you can't beat ~2000 under water - although
you could if your little tribe had an einstein
among them, or proust or spinoza, then
you could effectively become a whale, popping
an individual out from the rubble to say a polite
'hello' and 'when will the dessert be served?'
but indeed, learning a language on your own,
how to learn from scratch, the greek orthography,
and why omicron and not omega,
the give-away? sigma - purely aesthetic reason,
                             νoμισματων

                             nomismaton

omicron                                                 omega

                 you write omicron at the front
                 and omega at the back
                 pivot letter? two: σ     μ &
                 νoμι-                                -ατων
                      ­                     |
                 anything here  
                 will use o            and anything
                                              here uses ω

alike to sigma:
                          χωρας (choras, i.e. country)

sigma (ς) not sigma (σ), i.e. digitalising languages
without a clear connectivity of letters,
block-a-brick-block-a-brick-digit-digit-digit
you learn that handwriting is gone,
two options, your own aesthetic reasons now,
remember, some paired for the ease of handwritten
flow - digitalised language changes the aesthetics,
you make your own rules (considering exceptions
of oh mega mega, ergo revision -

                                       χoρας,

but still the sigma rule, others esp. o mega
you stamp on them like βλαττια, i.e. cockroaches -
κατσαρίδα                 not         κατςαρίδα

all perfectly clear when you explore plato's
dialogue from the book Θηαετητυς (as you might
have noticed, the epsilon-eta project is still
in the storage room of my imagination) -
but indeed in the dialogue, between socrates
and the "hero" of the book theaetetus -
a sample, without an essay on the theory
of knowledge -
socrates: ...'tell me theaetesus, what is Σ O?'
theaetetus: yes, my reply would be that it is
                    Σ and O.
socrates: so there's your account of the syllable,
                isn't it?
theaetetus: yes.
socrates: all right, then: tell me also what your
                  account of Σ is.
                                                             ­   (etc.
or as some might say, a shrug of the shoulders,
a hmmpf huff puff of hot air, impractical interests
and concerns - well, better the impractical
problems than practical problems, less feet
shuffling and nail-biting moments with your
tail between your legs and an army of
intellectuals working out what went wrong
and how history will solve everything by
the practical problems repeating themselves) -
you know that inane reaction - others would just say
Humphrey Bogart and nonetheless get on with it.

some would claim i was begot a second time,
not in the sixth month period of the aqua-flesh,
how did i actually related to the life aquatic,
for nine months i was taught to hold my breath,
however did this happen?
a miracle of birth? ah indeed the miracle of
a crutch for a woman - spinal deformities -
9 months, sort to speak, in water or some other
fluid - merman - a beastly innovation -
next you'll be telling me beyond this life
we turn into centaurs, given the Koran's promise -
you'd need the appetite of a breeding horse
to satiate the 72 - or thereabouts - martyr or
no martyr - 72? that's pushing it -
or as they say among children - a chance playground
without swings or sandpits, but very careless
gravitational pulling toward a certain direction;
nonetheless, they might have that i did indeed
settle of a sáttmáli                  ᛋᚨᛏᛏᛗᚨᛚᛁ
                  við         ­                  Vᛁᛞ
                  tann                         ᛏᚨᚾᚾ
                  djevul                      ᛞᛃᛖVᚢᛚ -
the hands you see, fidgety -
     hond handa grammur burtur    úr   steðgur
     ᚻᛟᚾᛞ  ᚻᚨᚾᛞᚨ  ᚷᚱᚨᛗᛗᚢᚱ   ᛒᚢᚱᛏᚢᚱ  ᚢᚱ   ᛋᛏᛖᛞᚷᚢᚱ
         the hands give an ardent pursuit
                                                 away from rest -
well not that my poems will ever reach
the islands in question - and indeed an
uneducated guess propels me - what does it matter,
λαλος babbler meant anything, indeed λαλος,
language as my own, is a language that i can
understand - and should anyone omit
disparities - a welcome revision would never tease
nor burn my eyes - but the phonetic omission
peeved me off: woad in water, ventricles in a
variety of entanglements - it's just not there -
and indeed, orthographically, if there are no more
optometric involvements of omicron's twin -
then the stance is with you to use whichever pleases,
i can't tell the difference, unless i was a pedantic
student, aged 70, with a granddaughter i wanted
to be wed teasing a millimetre's worth of
phonetic differentiation between the two -
POTATO PA'H'TAYTOE TOMATO TA'H'MAYTOE -
linguistically one's american and the other
is british, which looks like greek and latin
upside-down and in a mirror: pəˈteɪtəʊ, təˈmɑːtəʊ;
or as the spaghetti gobblers would put it:
the tetragrammaton is working on their
texan drawl (dwah! ripples in china) -
or the high-society new england ******* *******
coo with a cuckoo's load of clocks -
before being sent off to england for a respectable
education, something en route Sylvia Plath -
but not to ol' wee scoot land - ah nay - well
perhaps for a year and then talk of north european
barbarism of a deep friend pizza and mars bar.

and when descartes finished with christina
queen of sweden, she became an animate portrait
of feminine attempts at philosophising,
she was basically ostracised from society,
well, not society per se, she didn't become a stray
dog, but she forgot certain functions of
the upper tier - lazily modern man decides
to hide phenomena from understanding
individual instances, with the kantian guise
of a noumenon, hence cutting his efforts short -
indeed queen christina of sweden was ostracised
by society - only after descartes finished educating her;
and indeed to most people a little bit of sloth
equates to an amputation of some sort -
yet only with the x-files' season 2 episode 2
i've learned of the effects of prolonged alcohol
"misuse", that little boxing match in my liver?
it's not a pain as such, it's actually a hardening
of soft tissue - with prolonged alcohol exposure
soft tissue organs harden, notably the liver -
and it's not a pain, it's a hardening.
but indeed queen christina of sweden was ostracised
by her tier of socialites - i'm glad diogenes
didn't get to her, but then again a bit of cloth
goes a long way this far north -
yet unlike the encounter with napoleon by hegel
diogenes' encounter with alexander lasted longer -
which tells you the old method does no service
to a little bit of material accumulation -
but perhaps the acumen was briefer when you were
ably living in a barrel - and to think, as only
that being the sole expression, not so much
a body without organs as stated in the thesis
of anti-oedipus by deleuze and guattari -
a consideration for a body without limbs - prior
to a footprint an imprint on the mind -
carelessly now, a diarrhoea of narration -
how rare to find it - perhaps this idea of epic
poetry is a default of writing per se -
with this my whatever numbered entry i seize
to find escape in it - a lack of ambition -
a loss of spontaneity that's a demanded mechanisation -
by volume, by inaneness - to reach a single
technique accumulative zenith, and then back
into the ploughing, rustic scenery and the
never-bored animals - i rather forget such escapades -
and there i was dreaming of a grand
runic exploration - some imitable game -
some scenic routes - yet again -
Hawk Flight May 2014
A little place in the woods
hidden by trees on three sides
Its where we first started hanging out
Its where I taught her how to fight

Its where I watched her grow
from a frightened shy girl
who couldnt defend herself
To a tough as nails woman
Who didnt need a man to protect her
she could protect herself

It was there that I started to feel
It was there that she started
knocking down the walls in me
The walls that had ben in place for years

Its where I fell in love with her
and swore to myself
I wouldnt let anything harm her
I would keep her Pure
I wouldn't let the bad things in life
Taint her.

But then I left
I choose to leave her
and all the promises went down the drain
The bad seeped in
and her halo was tainted Black

I thought leaving would protect her
I thought I was saving her
from a life time of pain

never in a million years
Did I think I meant something to her
I thought it was all just me

Never in a million years
did I think I was important to her
That she needed me in her life

She made me realize
that this life is worth fighting for

And it all started with that hideout in the woods
TO Pandora. To my panda, My "little sister" my Best friend
Farah Taskin  Oct 2021
hideout
Farah Taskin Oct 2021
every
so often
a sequestered
hideaway
is
the best
place
to soothe me

solitariness
is
totally
free from turbulence
Sean Critchfield Jun 2013
My Father used to buy cars. A lot of cars. Broken down, busted up, P.O.S. cars. Usually VW's. Always on the door of the great rusting field in the sky. He'd park them on the side of the house in a long row. This area was technically off limits, but rest assured that many battles were fought against mythical beasts and imagined armies.

It was a fort, a hideout, a giant clubhouse, and where I saw the inside of my first ***** magazine.

But the landscape was always changing. Evolving. This time line of rust and oxidized paint.

The cars would move forward one by one into the future like plate tectonics and more cars would be added to the past. And each one would make it's way into the garage. The land of curse words and flying tools. It was in the gladiator arena that smelled less like sand and more like grease,  that I learned to be a man.

Busted knuckles and loud music. And these cars would raise up on stands, and my father, like a surgeon would open their insides and make them whole again. Slowly. With the time that he had. And the cars would heal and eventually purr to life. And then, one day, they'd be gone.

Some would stay longer than others. Some would be displayed like show ponies. But eventually, they all left. And all the while, I would watch from my graveyard of cars on the side of the house.

It wasn't until I was older that we talked about it. Those cars. I always thought that this was just my dads hobby. Fixing things. It made sense. Anytime I needed something fixed from a toy to an angry heart, I'd take it to my father. And, I suppose, in a way it was.

I asked him about those cars once. Why he did it? Did he miss it? Why didn't he keep them?

He told me that he never intended to keep them. That in his eyes, they were not cars. They were insurance policies. Rent. Food. Emergency house repairs. Peace of mind for my mother.

And it all became clear. My family struggled in my youth. A young couple. A hairdresser and an airforce airplane mechanic. With two kids. Trying to make ends meet.

It was this line of rusted cars that made those ends meet.

It was ****** knuckles, loud music, curse words, and air heavy with sweat and grease that made those ends meet.

And any time the ends would not... quite.. touch...

One of the cars would go.

My father doesn't work on cars anymore. He doesn't have to. He and my mom are successful. Comfortable. They worked hard to become so.

And I am proud of them.

He has traded in his wrenches for other hobbies. Traveling. Collecting military memorabilia on ebay. Watching movies.

But that row of cars will always live in my heart as the example of what it means to be a good man.

My father loves his wife. He loves his family. His knuckles have healed. And the cars have gone.

And he is still my hero.

My dad is a husband, a fighter, a survivor, a mountain man, a war hero, a father and grandfather to dozens who didn't have one of their own, a firefighter, a medic, a collector, a wicked good shot, a teacher, and a friend.

He is also a mechanic.

And he is a good man.
"Wagons East (1994) - IMDb www.imdb.com/title/tt0111653/ Internet Movie Database Rating: 4.7/10 - ‎3,545 votes (stylized onscreen as ‘Wagons East’) is a 1994 western comedy film directed by Peter Markleand starring John Candy and Richard Lewis. The film marked one of Candy's last film appearances although it was not his last film release. His last film, Canadian Bacon which he had completed before “Wagons East,” had a delayed release in 1995. The film was notable for its leading actor Candy dying of a heart attack during the final days of the film's production. A stand-in and special effects were used to complete his remaining scenes and it released five months after his death."

And it’s Wagons East!
John Candy’s last mega-bomb,
Released 5 months postmortem.
Alas, even the sympathy vote stayed home,
Reject the we-owe-it-to-him-for
“Planes, Trains & Automobiles”(1987, IMDB).
The role, like money in the bank,
Earning diminishing returns,
Yielding interest but losing value over time.
The myth of INTEREST:
Das Capital, 2015.
The Prime is at 0%,
Yet, Inflation soars at, well,
At inflationary rates,
Digit-pounding inflation,
Higher food & shelter prices,
Masked ever so cleverly,
So deftly obscured by benevolent gasoline prices.

“Planes, Trains & Automobiles” (1987, IMDB)
Meet Del Griffith,
An obnoxious slob,
A complete schlemiel
(Also shle·miel (shlə-mēl′),
A serene shower curtain ring
Salesman and tour de force.
A film illustrative of everything
We love about farce,
(Merci beaucoup, Molière!)
And love about any
John Hughes/Steve Martin collaboration.

Needless to say,
I watched “Wagons East”
On TV the other day.
It was ten o’clock in the morning.
Will-o'-wisping in the ashtray,
Smoke from my first joint of the day.
The ashtray, a mosh pit carbonara--
Actually, an inverted exoskeleton dome--
One of dem big muthas,
I once free-dived for,
Offshore Mendocino Coast,
Back in the day,
Back when THE FRENCH LAUNDRY . . .
(The French Laundry: Thomas Keller Restaurant Group, www.thomaskeller.com. Chef Thomas Keller visited Yountville, California in the early 1990's on a quest for a space to fulfill a longtime culinary dream: to establish a destination for fine --314 Google reviews · Write a review 6640 Washington St, Yountville, CA 94533 (707) 944-2380. Daily Menus - ‎Make a Reservation - ‎Restaurant)
Back when THE FRENCH LAUNDRY
Paid beaucoup bucks for
Well-tenderized,
Sledge hammered slabs of illegal,
Black Market abalone.
Most assuredly, I digress.

So where else would I be?
My laptop was open & willing,
Legs spread, wet and waiting for
Whatever comes what may.
What came was a film
Earning pitch perfect
Dramatic chops for Candy.
We owe you, Del.
We owe you for this Anthem:
“You wanna hurt me? Go right ahead if it makes you feel any better. I'm an easy target. Yeah, you're right, I talk too much. I also listen too much. I could be a cold-hearted cynic like you . . . but I don't like to hurt people's feelings. Well, you think what you want about me; I'm not changing. I like . . . I like me. My wife likes me. My customers like me. Cause I'm the real article. What you see is what you get.”
But that was then,
This is now.
Wagons East:
A disastrous ****** bomb.
A vapid character jambalaya:
(1) A defrocked doctor
(2) A sagebrush *****.
(3) A queer book vendor.
(4) A Donner Party Survivor
Sounds can’t miss, right?
Or was it a classic Broadway/Hollywood sting?
Redux: “Spring Time for ******.”
N'est-ce pas?
Four *******
Heading east by wagon train;
Giving up on The West,
Heading east for Saint Louie,
Where freaks & geeks go undercover.
Down go their guards.
Camouflaging the chimera,
Transits the urban Wasteland,
Vast & nasty, as it were.

St. Louis, Missouri:
A much more tolerant
Hideout place.
THE WEST:
Just too much of
A hassle, I guess,
Too much for one’s
Flat-lined human mind,
Bored too shitless by
Buffalo turds to venture thought.
THE WEST:
Neorealismo italiano.
Complete Jolting-Joe reality,
A veritable wake-up call
Devouring any & all
Residual romantic fantasies . . .
THE WEST:
Struggle & Drudge,
Life lived west of the Mississippi.

Rangeland Romances #9 Go West For Your Man! Kindle (www.amazon.com) Books Literature & Fiction Amazon.com, Inc. Start reading Rangeland Romances #9 Go West For Your Man! Get the free Kindle Reading App or read on your Kindle in under a minute. Don't have a Kindle? www.amazon.com

That’s right: another advertisement,
Smack dab in the middle of
Of the ******* poem!
My invention, by the by,
Putting herein another plug for
A preferred memorial gravesite,
The Shrine To Me!
Situated in Scituate,
(Always wanted to say that.)
Scituate MA (www.scituatema.gov)
Knowing my kryptonite crypt,
My not-marble-nor-gilded
Princely-monument,
Had no chance to outlive
This fakakta rhyme scheme . . .
The Shrine To Me!
My final resting place:
My very tony, exclusive
Sub Zip Code?
The South Transept
Westminster Abbey
The so-called Poets’ Corner,
Of course!

Which brings me to my true purpose:
My true intentions for you this morning?
To publicize the strange Case of
CHARLES ROCKET:
(Go ahead, ******* Google him!)
“Charlie Rocket, found dead in a field near
His Connecticut home on October 7, 2005,
His throat had been cut.
He was 56 years old.
The state medical examiner
Later ruled the death a suicide.”
And if you believe the Coroner,
A Medicine Man &
Master of Self-Interest;
If you give that sharp-dealing,
Proverbial Connecticut Yankee his due,
Then you will probably also think
That millionaire Robert Durst
Didn’t **** Susan Berman,
Even as we see him
Getting away with ******.
Again.
Chapter 1
It was cold. Freezing. The first day of the winter chill had started in northern Washington. The sun now hid behind the thick ceiling of clouds as they began their annual snowdrop and the mountains began to howl as the winter winds bared their fangs. Near the mountains was a town with a population of one hundred thousand. The town was officially established in 1840, though a now extinct native tribe settled there long before. Life here was normal for most.
A jog and a stone's throw away was a semi-secluded high school that lay deep in the woods, holding some fifteen hundred students. The gray bricks were reminiscent of a prison, juxtaposed against the walls of towering trees all around it. As snow began to blanket the ground, a single pair of footprints led to the school.

Professor Thompson, a younger teacher, was yelling again, "If I see another one of you punks rolling in here halfway through class, I swear I'm going to make sure you end up living in detention!" Alexei grinned, whispering the exact same phrase in unison with the teacher. The younger members of his "pack" snickered behind him. His group of eight was split between boys and girls appearing between seventeen and twenty. They were a small part of the senior class and had the reputation of being stubborn, loyal, and dangerous at times.

They embraced the reputaion, knowing how true it was. They were Lycans. Shapeshifters. Werewolves. They all meant the same thing. They were descendants of the "extinct" tribe that once lived in the area, though their numbers now were far greater and much more widespread.
When each Lycan turned fifteen, they would have their first shift. They would turn into Dire Wolves, about twice as large as a normal gray wolf.  During their first transformation, instinct would guide them to an alpha who would help them transition to the new life, teaching them how to shift at will and how to survive. Each pack was structured by rank, Alpha, Beta, and Delta.
There were only two Alpha's per pack, one male, one female. They made decisions and guided the newly transformed Lycans. Once a Lycan proved themaelves, they were given the rank of Delta. Their duty was to learn and follow any order to the best of their ability. A Delta could be chosen to become a Beta, either by trial or by challenge.

In this case, Alexei was the alpha and this was his territory.
Alexei stood at exactly six feet tall, was light skinned and was built like an animal, lean and muscular. His straight hair was jet black and ended in a flurry of blood red tips that lay hidden under a heavy black jacket and a hood lined with white fur. His yellow eyes glowed faintly under his hood.

Alexei turned his head slightly to the left, where Hunter sat, or rather slept. Alexei heard his pack mate wake up in a daze and groan, "What? I'm still in class? Man this *****."
Alexei grinned, flashing his long canines and the rest of the Pack laughed quietly amongst themselves. "Alexei... would you mind keeping your cronies under control, please?" His eyes locked onto the professor, their golden glow piercing the darkness of the hood like slivers of fire. The pack immediately went silent.
"Why of course, professor. We wouldn't want to disturb the lecture now would we?" His powerful voice dripped with acidic sarcasm, laced with a deadly seriousness. "Right guys?" The question hung dead in the air for a few heartbeats.
When no response came, he turned his head sharply, his gaze cutting into each of his bretheren. A collection of nervous, 'yes sir, yes alpha' rang out quietly. He closed his eyes and said, "All yours, professor."
Alexei drew a breath and let his consciousness flow towards the group. He felt each of their minds twitch in surprise as he spoke directly to them.
Just bear with it guys, its the last class of the day.
He heard another person's voice flutter into the pool of thoughts. but, alpha, it was Leiks, one of the betas.its snowing... we want to go out.
He growled slightly, just low enough for the Lycans to hear  And you think I don't? You know how this works, Leiks. We have to abide by the Sapiens rules.
Alexei heard her whimper slightly in submission, backing out of his thoughts. Leiks fidgeted in her seat on the back row, looking out the freezing window at the puffy white flakes cascading down around the school. Her blonde hair ended in vibrant purple curls that bounced around her chest. She was the youngest Beta at eighteen years old. Leiks was one of the three betas in Alexei's pack. The longest serving Beta was a male named Chance. He was Alexei's right hand, commanding all of the strength and loyalty as his Alpha. He had the figure of a sprinter, and was the fastest Lycan other than Alexei. His eyes were a very rare violet, further accenting his undercut blonde hair.
The other Beta was a red haired female named Krista. She was one of the oldest of the pack, at nineteen years old. She acted as the peacekeeper of the pack, settling the disputes when Alexei was away on business.

The other four were all deltas, each of them still looking to prove themselves.
Alexei caught a hint of something in the air; it smelled like a sweet musk mixed with crisp apples. The smell sent an icy tingle up and down his spine for an eternity before settling at the base of his neck, making his hair stand on end. He growled softly in his throat, grinning.
Smell something, alpha?, it was Leiks.
Yeah... maybe...
He grinned and felt warm all over. He felt the urge to go wild, to wolf out. Alexei bit his tongue in an effort to calm his instincts. He cleared his mind and closed his eyes, taking one long breath after another before the waves of longing subsided.
Professor Thompson continued with his lecture on mythology, talking about the classic horror creatures like vampires and werewolves. He focused awfully ******* the latter, going on and on about lycanthropy. The professor then began to compare the natures of both species, concluding with a comment on their painful existence.

Alexei bared his fangs in a silent growl, gripping the edge of his desk hard enough to make it creak in dismay. 
He thought to himself, we shouldn't be giving the Sapiens our whole history, even if they don't pay attention, much less believe in us.
Alexei's mind wandered as he pored over the history of his people. He stared down at his hands and he began to think about all of the Lycans that had been part of his pack.
An image flashed before his eyes of a bloodied white wolf lying before him, whimpering helplessly as its crimson blood steamed against the snow. The cries of pain echoed as clear as crystal in his mind. Alexei's own blood boiled as the memory took over his thoughts. He could see blood on his hands, staining the desk. He could see the life leaving the white wolf's blue eyes. He heard the all to familiar laugh echo in the forest. Alexei's heart beat filled his ears, deafening him. He felt nothing but rage as he searched for the killer's face.

His anger lasted only a second before a hand tenderly gripped his shoulder. His eyes flashed open and he bared his fangs slightly. He snapped his gaze over his shoulder at the pack, their eyes wide and locked on him, emanating dread. The hand belonged to Flora, the youngest member of the pack at sixteen. Her eyes were full of innocent fear as she looked at her enraged Alpha. Alexei realized he had partially transformed, his teeth had all turned to sharp incisors, ready to rend flesh from bone. He forced his body to revert back, feeling the fangs retreat. Alexei nodded and Flora let go of his shoulder. Alexei turned and shut his eyes again, his good mood soured for now. He took a deep breath and sighed, wishing for that scent again. Five more minutes...
Those five minutes drug on like a glacier, the professor's words trailing off into the distance as he switched topics. Can he go any slower?
Don't jinx us, alpha, sir. came Flora's response.
You don't have to call me sir, Flora. We're a family.
The wolves stayed silent for the rest of the class, listening halfheartedly to the professor. "As you all know, this is the last day of school until January. I hope you all have some plans, some family to go see." 
He paused for a moment as if to say something else. The professor was looking directly at Alexei, who could feel the teacher's eyes boring into his soul. The bell finally rang, and Alexei was the first one out of his seat, ready to bolt for the door, but a stern voice called his name.
"One moment, Alex. I need to have a word with you." The professor looked directly at Alexei with an iron stare. They stood there for a moment as the others left the room, chattering amongst themselves. All but one. Flora remained defiantly beside Alexei, looking up at him. He looked down at her, his eyes opening with a soft yellow glow.
"Go on, I'll be fine." Flora looked at him quizzically but obeyed.
Alexei waited for the door to close, looking at the professor only after the latch had clicked into place. Alexei smirked and said, "What's up, doc?"
Professor Thompson raked his hand through his hair and removed his glasses. Laying them gently on the table. "I really wish you'd stop doing that. It's unbecoming of a wolf of your stature."
Alexei looked at him and shrugged. "You have to keep up with the times, Tom."
The professor laughed, "What times? The forties?" He walked around the desk and leaned against its front. He sighed and his tone changed, "We may have a problem on our hands, Alex. It's a vampire attack."
Alexei scowled. "I thought you had tabs on all the vampires in the area. As the resident Vampire Lord, it's your job to control them." The professor looked impatiently at the Lycan, waiting for him to finish. "Besides I thought you had them all drinking blood from the hospital?"
Thompson clenched a fist against the table and said through gritted teeth, "My people... Didn't attack anyone. They were attacked. By a Lycan."
Alexei sat on the edge of one of the desks and was silent for a moment. Then, "Please tell me it was just an unhappy accident?"
Thompson sighed and shook his head, "Lycan blood was found at the scene. A trail led to the outskirts of town where we found the unidentifiable body of a half transformed Lycan. Female. We cleaned it up as best we could but you have to understand, my people are going to find out one way or another." He looked intently at Alex, "I'm not accusing you or your pack of anything. But we're going to have a serious situation on our hands soon once the High Courts hear of it."
Alexei sighed and pondered the facts. He tapped a finger against the table repeatedly as he thought. "We had reports of a lone wolf wandering around the countryside. Nothing unusual, other than nobody had seem this particular wolf in nearly ten years. Then all of a sudden she vanished. We tacked it up to misinformation." Alexei tilted his head back. "Last we knew she was outside of my territory, closer to Steelhead's." He paused, "This makes the first death since the interspecies pacts."
The professor nodded, "And that's why we both have to be on our best behavior. All of the Underworld will be watching us now."
Alexei nodded and stood up. "Thanks for letting me know. I'll be in touch." He touched ******* to his lips in farewell and the professor did the same.


As Alexei opened the door, he saw the pack waiting in the hallway just out of earshot. He approached them and they swarmed around him, each of them with a question on their lips. Alexei silenced them with a short gesture and they continued on their way outside. The pack wound through hallways and double doors until they felt the tingle of cold touch their skin. They trailed along behind their leader and burst out the doors, welcoming the frigid air and the soft snowfall they had waited all year for. They hooted and howled giddily, their faces covered in goofy grins and awestruck eyes as they pushed past Alexei and dove into the snow with the other students. Alexei stood there, looking for what he had smelled earlier, for him it was more important than the snow. He scanned the horizon, eyes open wide and searching relentlessly. After a moment, he saw his target, leaning against a tree on the far end of the schoolyard, her fiery hair waving gracefully in the wind. "Jenna."
She winked at him and gestured to her right, where an open forest lay uninhabited. He nodded slightly and made his way down the steps, his heart pounding harder and harder in his chest.
I'll be back soon... Leiks you're in charge.
You okay, alpha, sir? Flora always worried for her alpha.
Yeah, I just need a walk is all.
But... Leiks put a hand on Flora's shoulder and shook her head.
Alexei walked to the edge of the schoolyard and saw that Jenna was already in the woods. Glancing back at the pack, he grinned like a Cheshire cat and chased after her.
They wound through the trees, picking up speed and tossing their heavy jackets away.
Come catch me, big boy. she taunted.

He watched her every graceful move, following relentlessly until he had her. He wrapped his arms around her in a tackle and they rolled, laughing all the while until they came to a halt. Alexei was on top of Jenna, straddling her legs and breathing heavily with her. She closed her eyes and grinned wide, her chest heaving. The air was freezing cold but they couldn't feel it as he leaned in and kissed her, entwining his fingers into her hair. She kissed back and pulled away, biting his neck in the way she knew would make him go weak. Alexei stifled a moan and Jenna felt his muscles quiver. She took the opportunity to push him onto his back and claim dominance over him by straddling him. The heat from Alexei's body made the snow melt and steam below them. He buried his face in her neck, kissing just below her ear. She smelled amazing, the musk of her animal side mixed with her perfume drove Alexei crazy.
He slid his hand under her shirt and felt the curves of her slender body press against him and she growled. Jenna pulled away from the kiss, a grin on her face, "Not yet, darling. There's time for that later."
"I've missed you, kitten."
She growled softly, "you best stop that while you're ahead." She grinned wider and kneaded her claws into his chest. Alexei called her 'kitten' because of her fondness towards cats, specifically kittens.
"Are the others here too?" He pushed her up off of him and stood up himself, closing his eyes in the process. He was referring to Jenna's friends who had left with her a year ago.
"They got here shortly before I did. They're already at the hideout."
Alexei nodded, "We'll be there shortly. Do you want to come with us for the time being?" They began walking back to the schoolyard, grabbing their jackets on the way.
She giggled, "I suppose I should, so they can get used to having two alphas around." Her eyes twinkled as she said it.
Alexei grinned, "I thought it wasn't for another year! Congratulations!"
There was a glimmer of pride in her eyes. "I couldn't have done it without you, darling. They made an exception for me since you had already trained me so well." Jenna had gone to a Lycan Academy farther north, in Canada. There, wolves would be trained to become better leaders or soldiers, depending on their rank. Jenna had shown great promise immediately and was put into higher groups and classes.
The schoolyard soon came into view, and Alexei's pack was still playing in the snow, throwing snowballs and just rolling around in the stuff like children. He whistled a little tune and each of the pack members looked directly at him, going wide eyed when they saw Jenna. They rushed over as fast as they could and tackled her with hugs. "You're back!"
Jenna struggled to get up as a dog pile ensued. Alexei's wild laugh mixed with the cacophony of greetings as Jenna squirmed out. Flora stood behind Alexei, this new person's presence terrifying to her. As the pack got untangled from each other, Jenna walked up to Alexei and Flora, who hid behind him like a cowering pup. Jenna looked at her, "Hey. I'm Jenna, me and Alexei are old friends."
Flora whimpered quietly but peeked out enough so she could get a good look at Jenna. Alexei turned to the pack, saying, "We're going back to the hideout. There's some old friends waiting there for us."

Chapter 2
The pack carried on as usual, sa
RAJ NANDY May 2015
Declared as an UNESCO Heritage Site in 1983, is today a place of tourist attraction, - this ancient city of Inca pride! Please read its absorbing story, you will not regret it ! Thanks, - Raj Nandy

MACHU PICCHU: THE LOST CITY OF THE INCAS!

(I)
At those ethereal heights where only eagles dare,
And where the Condor glides to gently perch;
Above the Urubamba Valley of Peru, -
Stretches the peaks of Machu Picchu and Huayna
Picchu;
Where the sky above is a clear cerulean blue!
And on a cloud-draped ridge connecting both
these Andean peaks, -
Lies the magnificent site of Machu Picchu, –
which many tourists seek!
A city hewed and carved out of rocks and stones,
Which in proud defiance to marauding time,
Stands there for nearly six hundred years, -
A majestic symbol of Inca pride!
(II)
The Inca Kings were the ‘child of the sun’,
Their chief deity was the Sun God - ‘INTI’,
Their ninth king who expanded and consolidated
their Empire,
Was known as the great Emperor Pachucuti!
This king and his architects, at an altitude of
8000 feet built the great Inca City!
To worship their gods and honor their ancestors,
And as a royal family resort and a summer retreat!
Inca religion was based around Nature, and their
architecture blended with the landscape around!
At Machu Picchu they felt closer to their gods,
And could almost hear His sound!
Pachucuti also built the city of Cuzco, the capital
of the Inca Empire,
They never had horses or wheels those days,
Their ‘runners’ covered their kingdom entire!
With posts located at suitable distances, for
relaying messages throughout their Empire!
(III)
The ruins of Machu Picchu covers 13 sq kms,
Lying some 70 kms north-west of Cuzco city,
Nestled amidst the navel of the mountain rocks,
Hidden from the praying eyes of all adversaries!
Surrounded by gushing mountain rivers and
yawning chasms going down deep;
And with secret ropeway bridges, this Inca hideout
was all complete!
It escaped the greedy Pizarro’s eyes, that Spaniard
who came for Inca gold,
Leaving Machu Picchu untouched, for the entire world
to behold!
So the urban sector of Machu Picchu has 140 buildings
still intact;
With steps and terraces cut into steep granite face,
And streams and aqua-ducts to irrigate their lands!
(IV)
The citadel lies on a flat surface, which is a 20 hectares
spread!
With a sacred and a residential area, and houses for
priests, nobility and guests!
‘Amautas’ were men both holy and wise, conducted
ceremonies and read the stars;
But the Incas had no written script, and took help of
the ‘quipu’ by far!
The ‘quipu’ was a numerical system using many
knotted strings, -
With which they kept records and accounts of almost
any and everything!
(V)
A Sacred Area had temples and buildings,
All dedicated to the Gods by Pachucuti;
A Sun Temple, and the sacred Intihuatana Stone,
For ‘binding the sun’ – the great Inti !
During the Equinox on the 21st of March and September,
When the sun was directly above the Intihuatana Stone, <
The priests performed ceremonies and offered prayers, -
To keep the sun caged and in control!
Legend has it that should a sensitive man, keep his
forehead on this sacred Stone, -
His ‘third eye’ would open up, and the ‘spiritual world’
he shall behold!
(VI)
It was Hiram Bingham a professor from Yale University,
Who in July 1911 rediscovered this miniature Inca City!
He took three years to clear the jungles and the wild
vines;
And the artifacts he had found were sent to the US -
as precious finds!
The modern architects who visited Machu Picchu,
all marvelled at the techniques used;
A ‘dry stone technique’
* without mortar, had all of
them pretty confused!
Many stones weighed around fifty tones, and others were
cut into various shapes and size;
And were fitted with such precision, leaving no room
even for a blade of knife!
The peaks there often get covered with mist,
And is the abode of white fluffy clouds;
This stairways to where the Inca gods dwell, #
Is where Machu Picchu is to be found!
- Raj Nandy
(- ALL COPYRIGHTS RESERVED -)
Notes: -Huayna Pichu stands behind Machu Picchu -
40mtrs higher! It has a steeper climb and has the ‘Temple of
the Moon’ inside a dark cave! +Declared a Heritage Site
by UNESCO in 1983.< Sun being directly above the sacred stone did not cast any shadow, so the priest said he had caged the Sun! *
Dry stone
technique without mortar also used in Egyptian Pyramids! #Many
tribes believed Incas were Gods! Thanks for reading, - Raj Nandy.

............................................. ................................................. .....................
thoughts to dump Oct 2021
what is peace
when i'm still disturbed
even in your absence?
absence makes the heart go angrier

— The End —