Beauty Is As Beauty Does--chapter one

A Chapter by Eclipsing Moon-blood red

Galaxy Stanza



A Poem by Raven Starhawk



Nimbus arms embrace celestial terrain

as it cascades infinity

wielding zephyr's wand

and sipping inferno's nectar



In zenith's hour

epochal monoliths mystify

Goliath arrogance

as it persecutes a nebula
while astral satiety arrests the beast

and galaxy stanzas resume





Beauty is as Beauty Does-

A Story by Eclipsing Moon-blood red



In the dark recesses
of the void, we call our universe a cloud was forming, one devoid of morals or
intent.



The molecules came
together under the thought processes of a malignantly minded old sorcerer,
blended with his hope of a lasting endowment of centuries of learning and spell
castings.



He was searching for a
one to carry on his knowledge and spells of potion and this cloud could carry
out the espying in secret as he wished...under cover of dark and
thought...unless a spirit was descerned by another caster of woven potions.



Today in time was
measured more by centuries and decades as the process took... its
form...questing for the entity as this universe and others had been targeted
for his type of Magic...sorcerers specialized in their trade and like all good
practitioners he had his fireworks shows with energy beams and potion majic mixed
to control and manipulate the certain being he was working with...for power was
the name of his gambit...the access and addition of as well as controlling in
the sphere of a society...let’s just say he got his jollies from using other’s
well- earned energy…What they worked for...he stole and reveled in the process.

It just so happened
that today...his cloud was in the vicinity of a planet known to the Magical
world as Earth...Terra...this being inhabited by beings in many dimensions and
frequencies...it seemed to home in on a child...being birthed as a logical
consideration ..So that; further study was merited

Marking this beings
location in the foothills of a hidden mountain range ...in the Tibetan range and
former birthplace of a religious teacher known as Lord
Buddha...Siddhartha...and a nice long history in the telling of the Monks who
followed him...this time a twist a counter turn of the incarnation was a Female
child …Looking to be imbued with the same set of majical powers...and the
beginning of another time and space of reign as the first...excellent time to
lay claim to the mind and teachings of this ...ONE..Of Beauty.











Her fingers curled into her palms. Beneath her fingertips she felt an electric shock, almost gasped but then the pulse was through her. The diary was etched in her memory; its feel, shape and smell. It was almost as if it was a breathing thing rather than an inanimate object. The cool plastic feel of a pen settled over each relaxing digit and it was as if she was writing the next entry.



Darkness lingered around her eyes as she shifted her weight to one foot. Glancing at the end of the avenue she gave a weak smile to anyone who passed by and dared to look at the two officers and teenagers. Then as the lamp next to them flickered, its bulb ready to give way to shadows, the first officer stood perfectly tall once more and stared with unmoving features.



Owen stammered, looked from Candace to the first officer and then the second. He pushed his glasses up with a shaky forefinger and shuffled closer to the lamp post where it beamed a dully. She tugged at his sleeve and nodded toward the police car. Its spinning lights ceased as the first officer hopped in the driver's seat.



"Come on, Owen," Candace said and was pulling him along toward the back where the second officer was standing with his hand on the handle.



"Are we being arrested," he asked, Candace pushing him into the small caged seat. Staring through a steel mesh, he asked, "What is going on?"



Moments later they were riding into the night. Soft music was playing over the radio but only at a whisper as the two officers engaged in conversation. They hardly spoke like authority figures and Candace sensed Owen must be in a world of questions but as they sat with silence between them she simply smiled.













next chapter


© 2011 Eclipsing Moon-blood red

Boyd and Candace
I am a backdoor man
On the front line
A hard luck soldier
I write prisoner's wives
From Western Union company

I am a dungeon keeper
If the weather allows it
A hue and cry calls from under
Tethered to a teletype desk
I am a victim of my pride
Boyd and Candace hear my plea

I am chained to a job
If I love my wife
My son grows seven
If I scaremonger in Plymouth
To call politicians fake
Boyd and Candace let me pull a gun

The judges reprimand me
With their eyes of steel
I escape my own anger
By praying that God grant
Me my death by a cocked revolver
Boyd and Candace pull a roll of tens on my bill of death

You're quite the trickster,
With tall pair of gin and tonic.

Shall we dance a set or two,
Before you assail me
In the dark, with objects
Stowed away in your
Glove compartment?

I promise to walk into walls,
Become pliable in your arms.

You even have my word,
I'll lose control of all
My faculties right about
The time you begin ******* me.

And I will wake up
In the morning,
With no memory
And no underwear.

You can then move
Carefree, on to your
Next hapless victim.

While I merrily go about
My day in the numbed womb's
Afterbirth of that last sentence.

Forever to ***** at
Flesh and membrane.

Sincerely quiet,
Candace

Each night, indigo blue smoke bloomed from the candle sitting on the patio table while the tall brown-eyed girl spat chewing tobacco into a Styrofoam cup leaning forward with her elbows on the porch railing, watching the black birds pick apart a chicken bone as they teeter tottered across a sable telephone cable. Her name was Candace and she wore a backwards baseball cap, that belonged to her brother Joshua. He had died from a brain aneurysm last year.

She always would tread her fingers around the wide brim of the blue cap, close her eyes and remember how her brother use to take her
to softball practice back when she was in elementary school, driving
her around in his lime green Mitsubishi GT 3000, with the windows down,  and Pink Floyd percolating from the soothing speakers built
into the dashboard. After Joshua had died, Candace dropped out of Mary Washington. She found a job at Movie Theater down the street from the baseball diamond, working at behind the register, arms propped on the countertop, wishing that she had tried out for the club softball team at college. When her shift would end
she’d go back home and sleep in until midafternoon. Then she’d wake up and march over to the library to read the picture books while snuggling  on the lumpy couch with the plump giraffes and short elephants, the toy animals with the holes on the bottom of
their rear ends where the stuffing would roll out whenever she’d squeeze their heads.

One rainy day she strolled to the lake and stole a rowboat from the wooden dock. Dipping the plastic oar into the calm current, she paddled through the blue water, yawning, stuck in her daydreams about winning that soft ball championship back when she was ten years old, and after the game her brother had bought her a fudge brownie sundae
and a strawberry milkshake, with a ****** cherry sunk in the whipped cream.  The night grew darker, as her memories turned more emotional. So she  came back to shore, tied the rowboat back to the dock with looping a knot around the nook with a thick rope cord. Then she went back to her apartment house and
crashed on the couch, the blue baseball cap falling onto the floor.

When she woke up from her nap she put her cap back on her head, and
went out on the porch, lit a cigarette, then gazed out at the shining moon
suspended in the clouded sky. She reached out with her arm, her fingers stretched.

The depths of Joshua’s soul lay beyond her touch, and she knew it.
She grounded out the cigarette, went upstairs to her bedroom, shut the door. And then she cried, cried until the hot tears turned icy with the pain, that was wracking her heart with an emotion that staggered like Joshua had when he was in the kitchen that one day, swaying back and forth. Dropping

to the tiled floor, blood running out his nose like a baseball player
stealing home. Then the memory dissipated from her mind, as if it never
come to fruition in the first place. She took off her blue baseball cap.

She held it in her hands. She clutched the wide brim and treaded her fingers around the stitching, wondering why Joshua had to leave her life.

And why she couldn’t let go of this baseball cap.

There was someone I detested at
The edges of my dream,
He was sneaky, underhanded and
I thought him quite unclean,
For he knew my life with Candace
Had then almost run its course,
He was waiting in the wings; I said,
‘Don’t take my wife by force.’

And he smiled, but somewhat grimly
In the way he had back then,
As if he would do whatever
To ensnare my wife again,
But I said, ‘Don’t even think it,
Though you had your chance before,
If you even make a move on her
It’s like declaring war.’

He could tell then that I meant it
Just by looking in my eyes,
They were red, and so distended
That he backed off, he was wise,
But it didn’t help my marriage
For her love had run its course,
And she told me in our carriage that
She wanted a divorce.

I had tried my best to please her
But my efforts went unsung,
I’d played hard to get, to tease her
Years before, when we were young,
And I’d won her then, from Anson
Who’d refused to go away,
And had hung around forever
Right up to the present day.

I had said it was unhealthy to have
Ex’s hanging round,
But Candace said, ‘He’s just a friend,
Don’t make him feel put down.’
She didn’t think how I would feel
To always have him there,
At times when we should be alone,
He’d sit awhile, and stare.

So she left me on a Monday and
She barely said goodbye,
I wandered round the empty house
But found I couldn’t cry,
For anger welled up in me when
I saw them walking past,
Arm in arm and laughing and
Together now, at last.

Emotions so intense rise up
To twist a jilted brain,
I swear I wasn’t in control,
I must have been insane,
I traced them to his caravan
And waited till she left,
Then went to get some petrol
I was feeling so bereft.

I waited til the early hours
When he would be alone,
Then poured it underneath the door
Of this, his mobile home,
I thought, ‘I’ll fix his little scheme,’
And stood, and watched it pour,
Then lit it with a single spark,
It went up with a roar.

I had to stand and watch it then
The fruits of my despair,
I heard a scream, as in a dream
The door flung open there,
And Candace stood, encased in flame,
She shrivelled as she stood,
All black and burned, revenge had turned
Destroyed my neighborhood.

They didn’t find too much of him
And she died on the grass,
They found me weeping in the gloom
When once the fire had passed,
And so I stare out blindly now
Through bars of hardened steel,
They wouldn’t need to lock me in,
I’ve ceased to see or feel.

David Lewis Paget

Those little things I do.

I do them to bring,

     a smile to your face.

     a memory to your mind.

     and a warmth to your heart.

We know it won’t be easy.

We have known right from the start.

Those little things I do.

I wish you’d do them too.

     remind me to smile.

     remind me of good times.

     remind me of your heart.

If theres no time for me in your life.

Just tell me…You I cannot pursue!

Those little things I do.

I do them ‘cause I’m tired of feeling blue.

Candace Goldade

Feb 8th 2021

This guy this dude! Making it look hard and impossible. Doubled over and bent in shapes unimaginable were the roots of exposed pixies. Candace walked by and grabbed the bucket that swung above the Walmart wall clock.

All of this happening during the eclipse of evil. Manifestations of the cosmic peanut are now common to the average eye. On the Daily. Eventually coming forth to end all of this is Mr.Brock Sawyers Esquire. He leaned in and imprinted his legacy within the conversation

Sometimes I feel like I should slap the **** out of the next man who says he loves me.
Not during *** either
A slap for pain, not pain and pleasure

Hindsight is showing me a hallway of all the men who said they loved me
Under each frame is a heart
Under each heart is a list of the fuckery they brought to the table
The fuckery I accepted
The fuckery I said was okay because I loved them too

I believe in loving unconditionally
I'm starting to feel like that means hurting freely
It's like opening my rib cage, exposing my heart and letting out all this love in the middle of a war zone

Gotta be real
I'm not a ******* Care Bear
My love stare has been known to tame the vilest of monsters
But over time, the release of my love changes nothing when they have no respect
When they are mad
When they disregard my feelings
When its over

To the next man who says, "I Love You, Candace."
I say to thee, "*******!"
Watch out for the hook