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My Boskone Schedule 2016

Outlander: Something for Everyone

Friday 18:00 – 18:50, Harbor II (Westin)

If your heart’s in the Scottish Highlands, come discuss Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander in this, its 25th year. This series of novels and shorter works features elements of historical fiction, romance, mystery, adventure, and science fiction/fantasy. It has spawned a Starz TV series, a graphic novel, and a 14-part song cycle. If you loved the books, how do you think the series is faring? Maybe your introduction to Outlander was through the TV series. How do these two perspectives differ?

Heather Albano (M), C.S.E. Cooney, Flourish Klink, Darlene Marshall , Gillian Daniels

Why Are Fairy Tales Still Hot Topics?

Saturday 10:00 – 10:50, Harbor II (Westin)

Aesop, Charles Perrault, and the Brothers Grimm have much to answer for. Their fairy tales are integral to the European cultural heritage, and they’ve spawned novels, films, and TV shows in vast numbers. Why are their stories so compelling? Why do we keep going back to these old collections?

Theodora Goss (M), C.S.E. Cooney, Mary Crowell, Gillian Daniels, Lauren Schiller

New Media in Fiction

Saturday 12:00 – 12:50, Burroughs (Westin)

More and more often we see elements of new media being incorporated into fiction. Sometimes using new media in fiction is #awesome! and other times it’s just #FAIL. Is new media in fiction just a fad? There’s an art to doing it well. What stories are good examples? When does it go wrong? Where might new media take us in the future of fiction?

Flourish Klink (M), C.S.E. Cooney, Theodora Goss, Carlos Hernandez, Shahid Mahmud

How You Get the Word Out: Starting and Running a Successful Podcast

Saturday 14:00 – 14:50, Harbor III (Westin)

Podcasting gives us an outlet to share our thoughts and ideas with the world, and everyone seems to have something (perhaps a lot) to say. But is podcasting right for everyone? How do you go about “bootstrapping” a podcast? What do you need and what do you need to know? How do you attract and keep an audience? Where do you find a place to host your site? Successful ‘casters pass on their secrets.

Steve Miller (M) Kate Baker, C.S.E. Cooney, Don Pizarro, Brianna Spacekat Wu

Superhero Open Mic

Saturday 21:00 – 22:20, Marina 1 (Westin)

Kapow! Live from Boskone … enjoy the knock-out stylings of our program participants and audience members who share their open mic skills in the first-ever Superhero Open Mic. Each person gives his/her best 5-minute superhero performance – story, poem, song, skit, interpretive dance, or whatever! OPTIONAL: For extra appeal, feel free to come dressed as a superhero!

The Rules: Boskone members are invited to join our participants in the open mic by signing up for one of the eight open slots at the door to the event, which opens for sign-ups at 8:30 pm. Each performer is given a firm 5-minute time limit (max), including set-up time. So a quick transition between acts is key.

Walter H. Hunt (M), Kenneth Schneyer (M), C.S.E. Cooney, Carrie Cuinn, E.C. Myers, Garth Nix, Don Pizarro, Lauren Roy, Mary Ellen Wessels

Notes for Participant(s)

Walter and Ken will open the event by quickly reminding everyone about the rule: 5-minute maximum per person, each performance must include superheroes in some way, a quick transition between performers, and a live demonstration of the “over time” buzzer. They will trade off introducing each performer and will use the person’s real name matched up with a fake bio that they create, example: “Just off her successful tour of the Moons of Deneb IV, where she instigated a minor border war with a single song, please welcome…” There will be a double mic stand – with a lower-down mic to accommodate a guitar or other instrument and an upper mic for vocals. There will also be a buzzer to alter people when they go over…and have to stop. There will be a sign up sheet at the door for members to sign up for the 8 open slots. We will look into decorating the room, if possible. Erin and Brenda will be on hand to make sure things go smoothly.

Poetry Within Fantasy & Science Fiction

Sunday 10:00 – 10:50, Harbor III (Westin)

Fantasy and science fiction literature often samples snatches of song or poetry within its pages. But where does one look for original poetry that’s wholly focused on dragons and aliens, magic and deep space? Which writers are also fine versifiers? What inspires them? How do they decide whether an idea is better delivered in prose or poetry?

Jo Walton (M), C.S.E. Cooney, Mary Crowell, Theodora Goss

Sunday, 12:30 PM
Room: Independence
Reading: C.S.E. Cooney
C.S.E. Cooney

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Brimstone Rhine Update: CDS AND PRINTS!

So sorry it’s been so long since I posted! Things are IN MOTION!

1. All the songs have been mastered!
2. All the prints have been printed!
3. Tonight and tomorrow, all the files–audio and visual–are being UPLOADED to Discmakers.com!!!

They ship within 10 business days! I, meanwhile, will take a straight razor and a straight edge to the Brimstone Rhine prints (there are four to a page) and do a little every day until they are all done and ready for you!

When the CDs arrive, and the prints are all in their little plastic slips, I shall put them all together in packages and send them off to you! AND THEN, I BELIEVE, WE ARE DONE! About a year from when we started too.

What a journey it’s been. Thank you. More soon!

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(P. S. That’s Carlos Hernandez, with one of the BRIMSTONE RHINE PRINTS. Just so you know I’m not a bald-faced LIAR!)

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Wholly Irreverent Holy Beauty: A Review of Carlos Hernandez’s THE ASSIMILATED CUBAN’S GUIDE TO QUANTUM SANTERIA

10255907_10208110816958859_5714001170563328498_oI wish I’d written this review last March.

Carlos Hernandez and I were barely friends then. We’d met briefly at Readercon in 2014, became the most casual of Facebook acquaintances, collaborated on a story in January 2015 on a whim, saw it was good, declared ourselves unwilling to stop writing to each other, struck up a correspondence, and became true friends (and then some) pretty quickly after that.

In those early months of our new friendship, I read Hernandez my collection Bone Swans: Stories, which was about to come out in July 2015.

Carlos Hernandez reads on Hour of the Wolf—at WBAI 99.5 FM New York.

Carlos Hernandez reads on Hour of the Wolf—at WBAI 99.5 FM New York.

He, in turn, read me his collection The Assimilated Cuban’s Guide to Quantum Santeria, slated to debut in early 2016.

After experiencing his book for the first time, back in March, I could have said, with very little bias–or no more than I have for any other writer in our small, genre-loving, literary community–and with all honesty:

“I don’t know the man very well, but his writing! Oh, boy. Let me tell you ALL about his writing.”

But now I know the man very well, and love him still more, and there is no hope of any lack of prejudice to rein in my hand from lavish praise or sculpt this review down to the pithiest of paragraphs. But I can start with the first thing I said back then in summary, which I kept all these months to use as the subject line for my eventual review:

“This book is wholly irreverent holy beauty.”

Now let me tell you why. But first, you should watch this. It’s four minutes, and it’ll give you a taste of what’s to come.

ACGTQS is a collection of twelve science fiction and fantasy stories. Most, but not all, take place on our world, right here and now–or maybe just a half a breath into the future. The technologies are plausible, the science keenly researched, and through his large cast of mainly Latin@ characters, Hernandez explores what it is to be human and broken. His characters are “people who have assimilated but are actively trying to reclaim their lives.”

And his characters. His characters. He doesn’t make ’em easy. “No es facil.”

12620866_10156499509145204_2081413353_oNah, Hernandez does ’em “the Cuban way: mix a few shit-jokes and pranks in with the heartbreak”–and as we follow them through their stories, we end up, like them, diced up, bleeding out, trembling on the summit of revelation, or at the chasm-bottom of despair, caught in that breathless gulf between sob and guffaw, and for all this–or perhaps because of it–somehow more whole.

Murderers and murdered (though with a technology called the “eneural” dead sure doesn’t mean what it used to mean), reporters, physicists, border police, martyrs, musicians, TV producers, teachers, faithless husbands, feral children (and aren’t all children feral, after all?), each character is fully realized, faceted as a fly’s eye, difficult, exquisitely complex, and so gorgeously, shatteringly human.

I have my favorites. “More than Pigs and Rosaries Can Give,” for one–a story about the consequences of sucking ghosts from a bullet hole-riddled wall left over from the Cuban Revolution. For another, the three Gabi Réal stories: “The International Studbook of the Giant Panda”; “The Magical Properties of Unicorn Ivory”; and “Fantaisie Impromptu No. 4 in C#min, Op. 66.”

12562676_10156499509080204_723777974_oWhen I first met Gabi Réal on the page (back in December 2014, just kind of out in the wild in a magazine called Crossed Genres), I instantly knew her for a friend.

Not all fictional characters are folks you’d want to go out for coffee with (well, Gabi would probably drink coffee; I’d drink tea), nor should they be. But Gabi is one of those rare fictions–a woman I want to be when I grow up. She stands alongside the mastercrafted science fiction heroines of Kage Baker and Lois McMaster Bujold. She’s quick-tongued, brutally honest, flirty, feisty, and she’s lived in the world and encountered its weirdnesses: piano’s possessed by their late players, unicorns from another dimension, and what it happens to be like inside an Ailuropoda melanoleuca.

What’s more, she’s reported on it. Gabi always has a story to tell, and something to take from it.

Plus, I want to go out dancing with her. She’s worth knowing. And it’s also worth knowing that there are more Gabi Réal tales to come, outside of the three you’ll be finding herein.

I’ve heard Hernandez describe some of his stories fairly flippantly: “The Aphotic Ghost,” for example, summarized tongue in cheek as, “My Were-Jelly story.” Or, cackling to himself, “The International Studbook of the Giant Panda,” simplified into, “Oh, that’s the one all about Giant Robot Panda Sex.”

Neither of which is…untrue.

But while such goofball elevator pitches might get readers to the page, what they’ll stay for is the zinging wit. The pacing and urgency and breastbone-puncturing adrenalin punch right to the heart of stakes that matter. So much, too, deals unflinchingly with the ferocious melancholy of loss, with gasping moments of drenchingly sensual beauty that surround you like the musk of a fully functioning animatronic animal suit and demand your total surrender.

12620703_10156499509075204_1089676914_oThis book flayed me, man. Pierced me right through, too–like a pigeon slaughtered by a child priest and offered up to some god in exchange for a desperate favor. (See what I did there? No? You will. Once you read the book.)

I do not regret becoming that sacrifice.


A FEW LINKS FOR YOUR EASE, COMFORT, AND REVELATION:

rosarium-musecc-the-peolpe-profiles-carlos hernandezThe author’s website

The Awesomeness that is Rosarium Press

And

¡¡¡THE QUANTUM SANTERIA LAUNCH PARTY FACEBOOK PAGE!!!

 

When: Sunday, February 7, 2016
What Time: 6 PM – 8 PM
Where: Nuyorican Poets Café
236 E 3rd Street, New York, NY 10009

 

 

 

 

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Tooting my own trumpet swan? BONE SWANS OF AMANDALE available to read online!

Bone_Swans_Bone_SwansGosh. I sort of blew it all on the Subject Line, didn’t I?

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, MAY I PRESENT, FOR YOUR VIEWING PLEASURE (if indeed it is your pleasure to view it), my novella THE BONE SWANS OF AMANDALE! 

My nice publisher Mike Allen made it available over at Mythic Delirium so you can read it if you like.

OR YOU CAN BUY THE WHOLE COLLECTION, but this post isn’t really about that. It’s about HOUSEKEEPING. And DUE DILIGENCE. And. You know. THE SIDE EYE.

>.>

THE PROVERBIAL ELIGIBILITY POST SIDE EYE!

I GAVE IT THEE ALREADY! AND YET I WOULD IT WERE TO GIVE AGAIN!

<.<

Ahem.

So. Yup. Read that, pals o’ mine. IF YOU DARE.

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Boskone 2016

Bone_Swans_mockup_ALT-1So! The weekend of 2-20-16 will be my first Boskone, everyone. And I’m pretty loaded with panels. AND I get a reading. (BONE SWANS FTW!)

Panels make me nervous. Do panels make YOU nervous? I could perform ALL DAY EVERY DAY for whoever, no sweat, but put me on a panel with other clever people, and I get BUTTERFLIES of STEEL! Spiky, spiky butterflies.

The cure, of course, is prepwork. (Bah-ha-ha.) No, really. I’m getting better.

But those of you who’ve BEEN to Boskone–tell me about it? What do you like especially? Will you be there this year?

Panels and reading times TBA Mid-January!

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HEADLESS BRIDE Available on BANDCAMP!

Wahh!!!
Superexcited!!!

Okay, okay, okay, so today, after BEGGING the INIMITABLE Dr. Carlos Hernandez for computer help, and his most GRACIOUS ACQUIESCENCE, we managed to learn how to do the whole DOWNLOAD CODE thing on Bandcamp, and then hook up with something called MailChimp, and then we sent out special codes to our Backers ($20 and up) to download their copies of our Headless Bride EP!

What does this mean?

It means it’s now available for downloading and streaming!

LISTEN TO HEADLESS BRIDE ON BANDCAMP! 

If you are a backer, and did NOT receive your code in the email, and think that you should have, please let me know and I’ll send you yours individually! There were a few that gave me some trouble in the past, but only a handful. I have plenty of codes left!

headlessbride art

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Brimstone Rhine Update: HEADLESS BRIDE IS ALMOST HERE!

headlessbride artDear Every Interested Party EVER!

At last “Chevalier,” the last piece of the The Headless Bride puzzle is in place! My brother Jeremy is uploading the Headless Bride EP album onto Bandcamp as we speak! Or, maybe as you read. Or, sometime in the next week, probably. 🙂

I’m so businesslike today (which itself has the effervescence of novelty), for I have written to the gentleman who will be mastering the CD, my two collaborators, my album artist, and another gentleman who will be helping with album layout, AND a local silk screening company to see about the album cover prints for my backers… PHEW! Wouldn’t it be awesome if a year from the date of the end of the Brimstone Rhine Campaign, everyone would have ALL THEIR REWARDS???

BRIMSTONE RHINE (CD JEWELCASE ART 2 EPs Combined!)

I think I thought I could do things faster. Back when I’d never done any of this before. I know better now!

I am excited to get you this next EP. And excited to have the physical CD on the horizon. And excited about the next album, “Corbeau Blanc, Corbeau Noir,” which Templeton, Hernandez, and I are packaging–slowly, but inexorably–for your enjoyment!

Yours Truly,

C. S. E. Cooney / Brimstone Rhine

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The Ballad of Rack and Rhye: An Homage to Bo Bolander

Based on Brooke Bolander’s
And You Shall Know Her By the Trail of Dead
Published by Lightspeed Magazine, Issue 57

Brooke-Bolander_final-575x442-1


THE BALLAD OF RACK AND RHYE

For Bo Bolander
By C. S. E. Cooney

She is young, she is old, she is gutter-girl bold
With her teeth sharp as moonlight and crystal
She’s a skinjob and bum, and the cops have gone numb
In the wake of her knuckles and pistol

She has guns on her hips, she has horns in her fists
And the eye that remain’s not for crying
And she spits through the split in her bleeding cracked lips
When he finds her, he thinks she is dying

She is wracked, he is wry, he is wearing a tie
And his two hands are clean as they lift her
She is Rhye, he is Rack, and she’s slung on his back
Ah, for fuck’s sake–he shoulda just left her

So he sews up her cuts, swabs her wounds spic and span
Then she carries on drinking and brawling
Brings her in from the rain, gives her something for pain
Doesn’t say much, but sure as shit’s watching

“All right, tell me, my man, why do you give a damn?
What’s so beautiful, brave, or alluring?
I’m a dirtbag and hag, and you might say my dad’s
Every Tom, Dick, and Alan M. Turing.”

He’s so cool and composed, looking neat in his clothes
She’s a bourbon and cigarette mess
But he smiles and he shrugs, and he toes at the rug
“Hey, we all need a hobby, I guess.”

Now her eyes are dead gray, and her hair has gone gray
And her vision’s sprayed red with his blood
Bastards blew out his brains, but his essence remains
Buried deep, fast asleep, locked in code

Now the grass it is gray, and the trees they are gray
She is jacked in and fucked up and frayed
She is circuit and wire and electrical fire
And the ferryman has to be paid

Down that dirty canal leading straight into hell
Down that river of dead, choked and swollen
Full of fish-nibbled eyes and those blue-marbled thighs
All the piss, trash, and flesh of the fallen

Dead soldiers, dead agents,  punks, pirates, police
And the worm that she killed at age nine
Bounty hunters, mob bosses, no-fucking-great-losses
And that one goddamned kid that one time

Keep moving, keep searching, you street rat, you urchin
Through the Styrofoam, rust, dust, and plaster
Further up, further in, through the murk and the grim
As the air itself tastes of disaster

In the windshield cracks, in the pricks up her back
She is sensing some dark shadow walker
Not a cat, not a rat, not a buzzard or bat
Yeah, she’s not a big talker, her stalker

Rhye-That-Was, not That-Is, sprints and grins, feints and twists
She’s a shark in the murk sensing slaughter
Fatal furious cat in an alleyway spat
Barracuda in gunsmoke and water

There’s that purposeful walk, there’s that feral wolf trot
All that bone-sickle burnt-out derision
She is bitter and young, and she’ll crush both your lungs
As she pistolwhips you to submission

But Rhye-That-Is-Rhye doesn’t curl up and die
Though her foe packs a punch like blackjack
Rhye is chewing on glass, but that cocky dumbass
Gets a thumb in her eye on the tarmac

Rack is hog-tied and sore, but he’s just as before
Calm and quick-witted, cool and deadpanning
“Here’s the kill switch, my girl, won’t you give it a whirl
Load ’em up, bright as brass in your cannon.”

So she primes up her guns, and she hands him off one
“Rack, I’m trusting you, don’t fuck me over.”
Now her enemy’s back with a pop and a smack
Then a splash, and they’re seven feet under

It’s a pond of pirhannas, it’s Lucifer’s sauna
And that bitch is a right bugaboo
And they’re losing their vigor till they each pull a trigger
In tandem, like good partners do

Rack’s body is dead, so he rides in Rhye’s head
It’s not first class, but hey–they’re still flying
If his code’s in her melon, well, hell–it’s a fuckton
Lots better than quitting and dying

Do they come back alive, do they sink or survive
Plunged in cyberpunk’s bleak purgatory?
Think I’ll tell you? You’re wrong; this ain’t that kind of song
Go and read the original story  

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On Narrating Audiobooks: Three Clips

I had to put these together for an interview, and since I did, I will show them off here! Useful to have about, I think.

LOOK BOTH WAYS
By Carol J. Perry

TALES FROM THE BACK ROW
By Amy Odell

HUCKLEBERRY HEARTS
By Jennifer Beckstrand

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It’s a Ludic Kind of Love: On Games, Dates, Playtimes, and Poems

9781495607394I’ll tell you something about my beloved, if you like.

First of all, he wrote this book. But that’s not what this blog is about; he wrote that book WELL before we ever met, so I had nothing to do with it. (Although he did read it aloud to me, story by story, and that was very fine. I shall blog more on THAT, later. My short review is: “Wholly Irreverent Holy Beauty.” Which requires some unpacking, I think. Story by story.)

This blog is about games.

Because if there’s one thing Carlos Hernandez (AKA “Doctor Doctorpants, Professional Professor”) is about, it’s games. (Except he’s about other things too, like all of us, “containing multitudes.” Even his Twitter handle speaks to his tripartite vocation: @writeteachplay!) And since he writes and designs games, among all the other AMAZING STUFF he does, he likes to play them too.

Now, I… I am not a gamer. I have gamer friends. I have occasionally sat down (twice, actually) with buddies at a table (once at a coffee table, the other time, we all just sprawled on big fat embroidered cushions on the floor) to play an RPG. I used to play, like, “Clue” and “Yahtzee” as a kid. As an adult, I don’t know. Do I still even remember the rules to “Go Fish”?

That said, the gentleman, he likes games.

And during his semester, he gets very busy. He wakes up between 1 AM and 4 AM to grade and plan class. He’s editing pedagogical periodicals, he’s fine-combing the ARCS of his forthcoming collection, he is sending me FABULOUS TEXTS. So. He does not get to play them very often.

PREVIEW_SCREENSHOT4_463278_1437744645So then I thought, “Why don’t we have a little Sunday afternoon DATE, with some PIZZA, and I could learn a bit about GAMES, and he could play something FUN, and it’ll sort of be like being a kid again, when my brothers all played ‘Frogger’ on ATARI and’Donkey Kong’ on some way-early-version of NINTENDO, and it was all super interesting??!!”

We’d intended that he play Fallout 4, because that’s what EVERYONE and their MAMA is talkin’ about on the Facebooks. But in the end, on GAME DATE DAY, we ended up playing two other games entirely.

We played “N++” and a thing called “Journey.” The first deals with ninjas solving puzzles and getting blown up a lot. And the second is, just… Almost indescribable.

Indescribably beautiful. The strange serenity of isolation, unexpected friendships communicated solely through sound not words, the ebullience and joy of an infinite horizon, ruinous depths and impossible heights, and gods who bend down to show you your life as written on the wall.

I say “we” played because, even though I didn’t actually PICK UP the controller, I was actively involved in WATCHING.

journey_by_kuro_mai-d5d32aqWatching is a TOTALLY plugged-in experience when one’s beloved ninja-thief keeps getting BLOWN TO SMITHEREENS in puzzle mazes (N++), or is a gorgeous, genderless, childlike desert-spirit skidding along sand dunes and riding updrafts of air with a scarf billowing behind it in the wind, all illuminated in runes, and there are pretty colors and interesting music, and, and, and…

It utterly excites my brain. It makes me want to play. I was not ready that day; I’m shy of new things. But I’ve been thinking about playing ever since.

All of which to say, I had the most moving, sometimes terrifying, sometimes oddly peaceful, certainly captivating afternoon, all the while engaged in a medium I don’t usually bother to give the time of day to.

I started thinking about things I’ve never had to think about! What makes a game different than a story? Different than film? What is happening in the brain when your own personal agency meets an alien atmosphere created by unknown collaborators; when you must abide by rules in a win/lose situation and you must learn those rules as you play; when you suspend disbelief and engage in pretend like you’re a child again, but you problem-solve like an adult; when death is so ubiquitous and entertaining it loses all meaning; or when death becomes, through repetition, a luminous and transcendent mystery once again?

Gosh, it was cool.

Hernandez and I write poems and songs to each other when we have time. We try to make time as best we can in these busy days.

That week, I asked for poems about his game experience on our date day, and he sent me these.

I treasure them. He gave me permission to share them with you.


Actually, Vicariously
by Carlos Hernandez

I kept dying. I’d land
On a mine and explode and
My head would bounce off the black pixel walls
In entertaining ways: even in death, physics is fascinating. Or
I’d miss a jump and the height of the fall
Would cause the sticks of my body
To fly in six different directions,
Artistic blood blooming to emphasize the failure.
Ha ha ha, I said: dead again.
Once more, then; that goal isn’t going
To reach itself. A running start,
X to jump, finesse the landing with
The joystick. Or not. Or dead again
And try again and so on.

I’ve learned not to take my death so hard. It’s just feedback
From a world that is, by design,
Forgiving of fatality. Try again
And die again until I don’t and learn
And move on to level two. But you:
Barefoot, dressed in morning light
And a diaphanous scarf that from the side of my eye
Were indistinguishable from one another,
Curled on the couch and watching with a cat’s intensity
My leaps and launches and experimental
Forays into unanticipatable reactions with
Robot enemies and springboards and homing missiles and
That tracking laser that was
Particularly frustrating, particularly good
At killing me–Love, you love me,
And even in this life of two dimensions,
When failure simply means reset and
Take another try, you bit your Venus’s mound
And clenched your whole body like a flexing bicep
And yelled when I died and died and
Only after remembered it was a game, so even
In this hypothetical space of play
Your love arrived and took too hard–thank you for taking too hard–
the hyperbolic suffering that’s only there in games
to make winning that much sweeter.


Journey
By Carlos Hernandez

1.
My voice is a flute.
I want to tell my friend
That our insectival pointed legs
Can surf the dunes, and
It is such joy to soar over the dunes,
But the breathy tones that I generate,
Though pentatonically incapable of dissonance,
Could mean anything.
I long to be understood; it is
So joyful to surf the dunes.

2.
The gods wear robes of gold and white,
Mostly white. The masks they wear
Have beaks that never open.
They are so large. They radiate a casual terribleness
That is wholly belied by the way
The circles of their eyes blink to serene lines.
I summon a god–the same god as before?–and the god
Reveals a fresco of my past and of my future.
We stand for a moment in wordless audience
With one another before the vision
Vanishes and I move on to other altars
From which I may summon more gods.

3.
I am alone mostly.
The landscape is mostly dunes
Convinced of their own featurelessness.
There are markers that may be graves.
My life began as a falling star;
Was is wise to leave the sky and come to this place
Where loneliness is a kind of reverence?

4.
I have traveled through aqueous air,
Flown on the backs of carpet kites as playful
As fairies or hounds, been attacked by the terrible
Mechanical dragon with the red cyclopic eye that shines
A light that hunts me, seen the scarf that is my life,
That holds the words of power, shrink to almost
Nothing. Now, as I seek the mountain, snow. Deep, slow,
Enervating. The globe of life contracts around me.
My robe and I ice together.
I freeze to death like a cricket in winter.

4.
Again a star!

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