Haiku for Skull and Crossbones

Mother where'd you go

I can no longer smell you

My Meow is empty

Looking forward to the next grow year

The mild winter in Mississippi has got me antsy to get going toward this years growing season. I have been looking into different options for vegetables and fruits, I have expanded into two worm bins, and started composting leaves to make my own potting soil. Alicia and I have been rooting around different home stores and garden web sites with consideration over this years crop.

I believe the biggest change of pace we are making is actually putting things in the ground, for any who might not know there isn't much sun in our back yard, and the yard is sloped so during heavy rain it is a waterfall, however the house is surrounded by bushes and Crepe Myrtles. The plan as of now is to replace some Crepe Myrtles with Mississippi friendly fruit trees, and replace some Azaleas with blue berries. The areas where these plants already exist are sun heavy so they should be fine. And for kicks we are going to try and grow some grapes.

Having said all of that, I understand that I have a ticking clock behind me, it is about time to start putting fruit trees in the ground and planting grapes. To do that i will have to get a chain saw, cut down some Crepe Myrtles and build and arbor for grape vines.

We have also decided to start some of our more traditional plants from seeds, so I will start the tomatoes and peppers in our little portable greenhouse. I also thought it might be fun to start some container corn, if everything goes right we MIGHT get 12 ears. This year I will start the lettuce in starter pots as to give them a 1-up.

We have also decided to try and grow as many heirloom varieties as possible. Last year was exciting and I can't wait to start uploading pictures for this year

organzation 004

organzation 004, a photo by heptide on Flickr.

Made some simple shelves out of cinder blocks and wooden planks.

Composting 2

Currently I am managing 3 compost bins. This will have to increase over time but right now 3 is enough.

The first bin was the leaf composting bin to handle the leaves from the fall. If you want to check it out, my first post on this process was here: , since beginning, the leaf pile has dropped over a foot in height and is now mostly broken down and ready to use. At one point I sifted out about 10 gallons of compost, sanitized it and used it in my potting soil.  I set this bin up and let it go, giving it a good turn weekly.

This is what it looks like now!!!

The second bin was for lawn waste, I used the cheapest 32 gallon garbage can I could find, drilled a bunch of 3/4 in holes.

The bin is about as full as I can get it right now, I think it will be fine for a while, I don't foresee having to add a lot of waste to it in the future more than kitchen waste. 

This bin had some leaves, pine needles, kitchen waste, lawn clippings, and dead plants. The bin is made to turn on it side and roll to help mix it up.

I still have to use the fork to make sure food waste stays covered but It is easy to mix. I add kitchen waste to this bin when it won't go well into the worm bin.

So the worm bin, I have used worm bins in the past and found them very useful and fun. My first bin can be found here. I give all my instructions there. I use the same basic system only I have done away with the deep 18 gallon bin. I really only ever used the bottom 6 inches anyway. 

The shortened bin helps me guard against flies. This bin is also kept outside. So far that is not a problem though I will have to find something to do with it the two weeks we get cold weather in the winter. The bin started slowly after I overfed it but time, dry material, and some crushed egg shells helped with my beginning mold problems. So now, the bin is going extremely well.

I covered the top with two pieces of corrugated cardboard, I have noticed the worms will come more frequently to the top layer if they are still covered by something. It think it helps break down the stuff under faster. 

Nice and sloppy. 

Anyway, everything is breaking down exceedingly well. I find it exciting. 

AE 2

AE 2, a set on Flickr.

This is just a picture update from 5/2/11

The View From the Back Door

AE_1, a photo by heptide on Flickr.

This is, what I said it was up top.

Letter To Judas

Dear Judas,

It has come to my attention you are having second thoughts about your help. I know it is not necessary for me to remind you that we have been paying your “expenses” now for some time. I feel I must also remind you that you came to me, I did not seek you out. You were the one who came in fear of what could happen if this mans power continued to go unchecked. We both agree that the Romans must be maneuvered around not removed forcefully. You were there when 5000 men picked up their swords to drive out Rome. You were filled with fear that day, fear that he would not be able to control the mass, fear they would drive the Roman Footmen out. We both know what would happen if men rise too early. We both know that it is not “If” he will lose control of them but “when.”

Believe me your patriotism is well tempered by wisdom, you were right, this man could ruin everything. His speeches must be stopped if we are to hold to God's plan for our country.

I know that you care for him, and I assure you, he will be handled well. We all care for him he is one of our own, but we must save him from himself. I wish no Jew to fall to the hands of Rome, but you know as well as I, that is what will happen if he continues his spectacle, if he continues to rouse the masses. Rome will not be able to stay silent if he continues and many will die.

You must help us Judas. We want what is best for the people. Annas and Herod both send their encouragement, and hope you will help us. You are our only hope, we have no man closer and can not get one closer before Passover. I and many like me fear that if we cannot have him under control before then Israel will be steeped in bloodshed. The Zealots are massing outside of Jerusalem, and they will use Passover to have their way, but if we can bring him close to us, if we are given the opportunity to guide this carpenter we may be able to use him toward our advantage to pacify Rome. Annas and Herod both agree with this plan. We must have him in our care before Passover if we are to save him from himself.

Oh, and we have increased your reimbursement to 30, don't worry you will be well cared for. You will be an important patriot when we finally do rise against Rome.

Yours Truly

Caiaphas, High Priest

PS. It is important you destroy this letter by fire to protect your cover.  

Rainstorm 001

Rainstorm 001 a video by heptide on Flickr.

This is a test of my rain barrel, It took about 30 minutes to fill the night before, I have to make some edits for the sake of the eye, however, it is completely functional.

From Pole to Shining Pole

The current landscape of religion is changing. 15 years ago a conservative and progressive could sit together on a pew (though I understand that 50 years ago they could not). They would disagree in Sunday School and agree to disagree during the worship service. The disagreements were not small either, but the faithful understood being faithful was more important than being right.

Since that time the Christian church has polarized from Conservative to Liberal. Conservatives talk as if Liberal is a curse and Liberal's as if Conservatives are all evil. Remember though this was also the time before the internet and before 24 hour news channels were popular. There has been a unification of the religious and political poles, and no one respects a moderate. The Christian Church has forgotten there are two sides to every story, and we are generally not the progenitors of the story, we are but hearers and opinion holders.

No one knows that many churches still do good work, work with the poor, and work toward peace. There are still many Christians who believe that, “We can agree to disagree, and still fellowship together.” It is a problem when the conservatives loose themselves of liberals and vice versa. Polarizing topics can create a moderate base or polarizing topics create different churches. The Christian church is separating Liberal and Conservative like we used to separate black and white. This time though the demonizing takes place on both sides.

It is possible for someone who believes that God Inspired means 100 percent accuracy to sit next to someone who believes God Inspired means that God was behind the writing. It is possible for two people who disagree on the governments role in our lives to sit next to each other and sing Amazing Grace. It is possible for someone who disagrees with gay marriage to sit next to someone who does. Why do I believe this?

The church service, Christian faith, and God, have little to do with individual. We love to talk about the polarized issues, then hate one another for them, and the poor still go hungry. We love to phrase questions to figure out if someone is Liberal or Conservative, but it doesn't change the fact church and community members are losing loved ones due to illness and crime. We love to demonize the other side as evil, but our children refuse to come back to church.

I believe that we focus on these topics because we are scared of doing the actual work of the church. Feeding and clothing the hungry is hard, complaining about the Liberal Agenda or the Tea Party is easy. We spend all this time getting “our house,” in order, and look up to see the neighborhood has fallen down around us. Do we forget that two like poles in magnetics can't touch? The north cannot touch north and south cannot touch south, they need their opposites. Why do we reject ours?

I would rather work with a church that bore fruit with imperfect doctrine than find a church with perfect doctrine surrounded by death. The American Christian church is like a whitewashed tomb. Pretty on the outside, and filled with bones. We hurt others because we can't get our shit together.

Uh oh did you just see that guy typed shit?

Is This Writers Block?

Lately I have had a lot of ideas and thoughts. Today I sat down to write my thoughts on the current state of Religion and options that might help us reach those who need some kind of religious faith. The other day I sat down to write a story about something or another, and before that I tried to sit and write about some political topic of late.

The problem is, every time I sit to write my ideas, I get to the third line, reread what I have written, and understand it for the rubbish that it is. Not the idea, but the cohesion of the essay. I have some massive writers block, I have plenty of ideas and it seems I lack the ability to put them in to prose.

Arghh... Maybe I will post some more pictures of my damn plants.  

Robert Jordan's Opus

[Important Note: contains spoilers for the Wheel of Time series]

[Another Important note: No matter the tone of this post, remember I think these are wonderful books, and Robert Jordan is a wonderful author]

[One more Important Note: It is tragic that Jordan never got to finish the work he had put so much effort into, if I sound otherwise it was not my intent]

Okay so I am going to rant (That means, this essay was not well thought out, in structure and the grammar and mistakes may just be atrocious, prepare for many mislepsings).

I remember reading Robert Jordan's “The Eye of the World,” in college. It was a large book but a wonderful book. I could not put it down. I loved it, as I did the two books that followed. The story was gripping and I was hooked. However, by the time I got to Crossroads of Twilight, there had been a good 9 months since fighting through the last book that was out at the time. I swore after finishing book 10, that I would never touch another Robert Jordan Book. That is not to say he wasn't a good writer, I just knew I would have to reread the entire series to understand book 11 which was to come out AFTER he finished a prequel. My worldview states that prequel's shouldn't come out until after the series is done, because it doesn't matter if they are finished before the author dies (Too soon?).

Well, I got this ereader for my birthday from an amazing woman, and found the EPUB's for the entire Wheel of Time series, so I hate admitting it but, I started reading the series again, thinking, he HAS to be finished by now.

I quickly moved through the first three books, the Stone has fallen, we now have a Dragon Reborn, I go to look and see what the last book is called to find out that, the series remained unfinished when the Author died. So I sound cold. Let me explain why I am so cold when it comes to this. Robert Jordan's series, what was to be his greatest work remained unfinished. I am cold about it because if I connected any feeling to this situation I would probably cry. He worked so hard and left something incomplete.

I am glad the series was picked up by another author whom I read was chosen by Jordan's wife, and based off of Jordan's notes and outlines. But it is still unfinished. Maybe I started reading them too soon because the release date for the last book is 2012 and at the rate I am going I will have knocked this series out, including the book I never read, by summer. Then I will be in the same situation as before. I excitedly pick up the final book with very little memory of the intricate story, only the general, and if I have learned anything about my mistakes in the past it is this, to follow a Jordan series you must remember EVERYTHING. I just don't think I am that smart, let me tell you why.

There is a set of readers out there that love to follow multiple stories within the same story. I got lost reading Jordan the first time, and I put The Arabian Nights, down halfway through. I can do three or four stories in the book, don't get me wrong, if the books are well contained and the series short. But Jordan's attention to detail is a little too grueling for me, that is why I love Stephen King movies but don't read Stephen King books, as opposed to someone like Kathy Reichs who is very detail oriented but leaves us to one woman's story at 300 pages.

I now begin to clime the great Oak Tree that is the Wheel of Time series a third of the way through the fourth book where:

Rand still hasn't told us what he is going to do

Nynyeve and Elayne are headed to Tanchio with Thom

Mat will be heading to the Waste with Egwene

Perrin, Faile, and Loial are into the Ways Back to two rivers

Min is at the White Tower which is about fall (if I remember correctly, which I may not)

All I really remember about the next series of books is that reading them was like pulling teeth and each branch seen above is going to fracture into two or three stories itself. I do not look forward to books 5, 6, 7,8 and, 10. These books were written for men and women with a great mind for details, I am am neither one of these men or women.

But what does it say that picked the books up again. Any story that touches so much emotion, both in the story and the writing style is worth fighting through. Sometimes I long for that fight through a series, to me it helps make the series worth reading. I am forced to confront myself not only in the characters themselves but in the manner in which they are brought to life. We will see how it goes from here.

Having said all that I feel it is important to reiterate my important notes.

1. This is a very good series especially if you like multiple story lines.
2. I feel sad that Jordan worked so hard and never finished
3. I am glad that the new writer was picked the way he was, and that he uses Jordan's notes to complete the series, I am driven to get to the joint novels to see how he does.
4. I plan on fighting through the series, and will probably be glad I did.   

Composting 1

Well Spring is here in Mississippi. Ha ha, it's just February. However the temperatures in the 60's and 70's have given me the opportunity to take care of the yard work I put off in the fall. For avid readers of my blog (I think there are sometimes two of you) it is important to notice how my life has changed. Without going into details, I have completely relocated to Jackson Mississippi, and have some extra time on my hands.

Now that I live in Jackson nothing keeps me from doing my girlfriends yard work. Some of you might be thinking, “Wow, that sucks.” but if you have read about my vermicomposting or looked at pictures of the patio outside of my old apartment in Southaven Mississippi, you will probably not be surprised when I tell you that I look forward to the space to work more closely with nature. I feel blessed with a Girlfriend who supports my eco-habits.

I found the opportunity to try my hand at something exciting that I have always wanted to try, composting. Not just with the worms or something small like I had done but real live composting. As “The Boyfriend,” I figured it was my duty to rake and bag the leaves from the four gigantic Oak Trees, and the many many little trees in her backyard.

So at the halfway mark I ended up with 20 full garbage bags of leaves.

While I was bagging I couldn't help but think about the wonderful process God has set forward to take care of this issue naturally, and I couldn't help but consider how avidly I was trying to ignore that process. So I did a little research. I found this webpage from the University of Missouri: http://extension.missouri.edu/publications/displaypub.aspx?p=g6957 and since I believe that Eco-friendly should also be fiscal-friendly I went for the cheapest enclosed bin (Enclosed because of how close the property is to woods and the family dog Gizmo that would probably enjoy the pile as it heated up)

I started with four posts and some hard plastic construction netting, stuff.

The plastic, is also from recycled materials.

Some little helpers and I fashioned the net into a circle. And if I was thinking in advance I would have taken a picture of the bin empty, but I was not, so all I have is bin, two layers within.

Then I found this webpage from the University of Illinois: http://web.extension.illinois.edu/homecompost/building.html This page taught me the basic idea of green, brown, green, brown.

Everything on the internet has mentioned that chopping leaves make them compost better, in later pics you will see that I didn't always follow this, however as a general rule I thought it was a good idea. I chopped the leaves with my Girlfriend's mulching mower. I collected them in the bag and dumped them into the bin. This made up most of my brown sections. For green I went to a small tree that had to be removed and at first by hand removed the leaves, I realized later that I could just run it over with the mulching mower and it would actually chop the leaves up, and save me a lot of time.

Each layer of organic material was separated by composted manure (I bought it cheap because that's how I roll) and old potting soil, from last years container garden. I am sure there are many nay sayers that will tell me it was wrong to use the leftovers from the container garden and then tell my I chose the wrong fertilizer as a starter, to them I say, “Hey, I am new at this, so back and and lets see how it goes.”

Regardless I am sure most of you are wonderfully happy readers to give me credit so lets move on.

I completed the pile to about 2 inches from the top, with about 4 organic layers, as I said each separated by a layer of composted manure and garden soil. I tried to follow a 4:1 brown to green ratio. I have read it exactly opposite too, however, in the opposite version I notice they weren't using a nitrogen starter.

Oh yeah for people who don't know what I mean by brown and green. Brown represents things like dead leaves that are full of carbon, and green represents things, in this case like green leaves, that represent nitrogen. I also have some kitchen scraps in there. This might work and it might not, but if it does not I will just start over, the plastic netting was 12 dollars, the posts were $2.20 a piece, and 3 bags of composted manure were $1.30 each, and if it doesn't work I will empty it and start over or add what I need to get it to work.

My goal as always is to help facilitate the natural process, in this case it is a process of decomposition.

And this is a Lizard I saw later that day.

A Girl to Take Home

The hero had forgotten the most important absolute, that when he wakes he is no longer a hero. The sad reality of dreams is that they are dreams and that worlds in which they take us do not exist as we toil through the day. Too many times our hero had woken from a dream of love, connection, and hope into the world he loathed. Sadness filled him the moment he realized the people around him weren't there.

It happened so cruelly, it would be in the midst of a kiss or conversation, his partner would become none responsive and he had to begin working harder to get them to hear him. He would rush behind them through a door and find himself lying in a dark room with only the remnants of the world in his memory. There was no feeling like that feeling the hero has in the shower the next morning remembering only a shadow of the glory for which he lived in the dream, preparing for a job he hated, and hoping to find a girl to take to his parents.

It has been years for our hero since he felt that feeling. It had been since he met Jane. A short buxom woman who's love out shined any dream he had once had. Her touch, thrilled him to the point of ecstasy, and though that carnality did fade he never turned down her touch, not even when they were angry at one another. Our hero knew that he finally had a girl to take home to his parents.

He noted early on the wonder of lying with her. He joked that her feet were freezing and her body was like fire, but secretly he enjoyed it. Wrapping his arms around her while they lay like two spoons interlocking he would wake in the middle of the night whispering in her ear when she was half asleep. He loved the way she rested against him in bed. He could talk for hours of the ways he had enjoyed her body, the look and feel but that was not the place where he rested his thoughts only. The support she had given him when he lost his job, sitting next to him during the death of his sister. She knew, not only, how to comfort him in pleasure but also in pain. When he met Jane he had almost lost hope, he expected to be alone the rest of his life.

Love was the reason they married. A small service, family present, and the hero's brother stood next to him, while Jane's sister stood next to her. Of course the hero can't say that the moment the preacher pronounced them man and wife was the greatest day in his life, there were too many great days. The honeymoon, their first Christmas as man and wife, their children. Finally the hero had found the thing he'd been looking for, love that met him daily and nightly never forgetting him, to never wake alone again. All these days brought him joy, so much happiness that he could never name one best day. Of course, some days the hero rested in fear, fear of the greatest rule.

However, fears just like rules can be forgotten, and for our hero this was the case. It was a Friday, the kids were now old enough to ride the bus home from school and he waited anxiously for them, having come home from work early so they could leave for their family vacation to the beech. Jane was busy packing in their bedroom. He was so excited it felt like it was taking forever when the hero noticed that is was getting dark early, “There must be a storm coming,” he said with chagrin.

It began to get dark so dark in fact he could barely see out the window. The rain beat against the shutters, and the drops sounded loudly from the overflowing gutters in the house, the power lines hummed as they always did when it rained. He waited and waited and waited for the bus to come but it must have been running late, the power lines buzzing now.

He ran to the bedroom to find Jane sitting alone in the middle of the bed. He called to her but it seemed like his voice could not carry, his feet were like iron and he finally made it to the bed and lied next to his wife. It took everything to choke the words “I love you” from his mouth. He was afraid that she couldn't hear him over that asinine buzzing. Why is the buzzing so loud, and why did he feel paralyzed, unable to rise or talk?

Finally after a minute, he realize he had to urinate badly and popped out of the bed, turned off his alarm, and remembering little of the life that he knew as the hero he got out of bed. He went to the bathroom, relieved himself, got in the shower preparing for work, and thinking maybe today he would find a girl to take to his parents.

From the Letter of San Angelo to an incipient heretic

In Orson Scott Card's book, “The Speaker for the Dead,” a character named San Angelo records, an old Biblical story. He writes of a Rabbi who is confronted by religious leaders seeking to stone an adulterous He points out that everyone knows the traditional story so he offers two different options for the story.

In the first story the Rabbi looks out to the crowd and says, “Let anyone without sin throw the first stone.” The story plays out in the normal way, the men drop the stone and the crowd disperses because the teachers of the law and the villagers are confronted with their own imperfections and sin. It is their hope that should they individually be in the same situation. As Jesus and the adulterous woman walk away the story changes, Jesus says to her, “Tell the magistrate who defended his mistress so he knows I am his loyal servant.”

In the second story the Rabbi is confronted with the same situation. He yells to the crowd, “Let he who has no sin cast the first stone.” Confronted with their own guilt, the people began to drop their stones and rocks and as the last rock hits the ground the Rabbi kneels down to pick it up. Looking down at the woman he smashes in her head and kills her saying, “Nor am I without sin, but if we allow only perfect people to enforce the law, the law will soon be dead and our city with it.”

In the first story the woman survived because of the corrupt nature of the city, and in the second she dies because her community is too rigid to accept her defiance.

The writer describes the original version as “rare,” in regard to human experience. Pointing out that most communities move back and forth across the continuum between, “decay and rigor mortis” The letter closes saying, “Only one rabbi dared to expect of us such a perfect balance, that we could preserve the law and forgive the deviation. So, of course, we killed him.

(Speaker for the dead: 277-8)

Insomnia...

Insomnia hasn't been a problem in a long time. When I was a child I had a hard time sleeping but that was often because I was afraid of the dark or angry at the world. I began writing a journal when I was in fifth grade to handle the insomnia. When I got to college I began titling them and keeping them. It started as an opportunity to deal with not being able to sleep because my mind won't stop reliving old conversations or conversations that have yet to take place. I find myself again the insomniac.

I have no job and I sleep on a borrowed bed.

It is the first time since I was in college that I haven't had a job. I find that I defined who I was too much by the work that I was paid to preform. I know this because I struggle to find meaning in my day to day activities. I get up, work out, come back to someone else' home and fill out job applications. It's not all that bad, I have lost a few inches in my waste (The good way, I am running and lifting weights). I am worried though when I find that I have filled out all the applications that I can, scraped for every bit of cash, and start waring thin on those that currently offer room and board. The phrase that comes to me is, “The long dark teatime of the soul,” coined by Douglass Adams.

Yet I sit and stare at the clock. I stare at the wall, conversations through and through, trying to figure out if who I am has always been what I do. I don't know anymore. Life used to make sense, even when I didn't see the path before me I could see that my feet were on the path. It seems like for so long I have wondered aimlessly grabbing at shadows in the dark.

I suppose it's what I get for having too long played the serpent (Thank you for the phrase Mr Pullman). Sometimes I think being a liberal Christian in Mississippi is akin to being an Atheist anywhere else. Regardless, I am not in Hell, I do not agonize with emo/goth pain, I don't write songs about it (though I often regress to bad poetry) and I still believe philosophically and morally the same things I believed before this mess. Of course I won't know if I can define my situation as a mess, won't know till I am well past it and can title a journal after it.

It would be nice to sleep again though.

Thank you for listening.

Good night!

Letter to God

Dear God,

I believe in you, I stake not only my reputation on your existence but I have chosen my life's path in regard to that belief bringing that very belief into the center. The core of what I do and who I am rests on your existence. I believe in you, partially because I was so conditioned, but it is deeper than that. I will argue until the day I die that I have experienced you, but it is even deeper than that. I believe because a world without you just isn't worth living in. People have told me that isn't a good enough reason but I agree to disagree and move on.

I live in Mississippi God, so I don't often run into people who are extremely vocal about not believing in you, but I know they are here, I actually feel good that many of them open up to me. I get frustrated about that God, not because I think they should believe but because people curse them in your name. I am so glad to live in a place where I am allowed to believe as I choose I like to offer that opportunity to everyone else. Yet they feel victimized and forced to hide here. Maybe they are victims. I get so frustrated with your people, because they hurt people in your name. They browbeat and do harm and call it love. I feel for those who don't believe in you, and struggle often not to hate those who do. You call us to love yet my brothers and sisters are so full of hate, it's frustrating.

You know what else is frustrating? Your silence. As I said God I believe I choose to believe and lately it feels like I have to make that choice anew daily. I have walked the line that so many of my friends and colleagues have in the past, many have crossed over and just given up on their belief. You know what I think it is that drives them over the line? It is easier to believe that you don't exist than that you could be a jerk. There I said it, I have been thinking it for a long time, but then the buck stops with you. I feel safe saying it because I know you aren't petty like many of the people around me. Your self worth does not hinge on whether or not I think you are being a jerk. What is really crazy is that, I don't really care if I am wrong, or if this situation is my fault.

Of course, I don't believe you get your rocks off on my pain. I never thought that. I never believed I am a joke to you, nor do I believe you stopped listening. I know you love me, I know that I matter to you, and I know that you listen. But lately I am having to choose to know that more frequently than I like.

Do you remember the days back when I was new at college, new with my little church in North Memphis? Those were great time, College, seminary, Residency in the hospital, God it was great to feel your presence every day, to know that what I was doing was right because it worked, and it helped others to come to know your love. I felt so much love in those days, and I believe as fully I believe you intended this current mess that you intended that joy. I blame that joy on you, which is why I am trying to make sense of this mess.

In his time of need, you showed Jacob a stairway to heaven, it would be nice to get a glimpse of that stairway, just for a moment. God I know better than anyone I am not innocent, but all I have left is a broken heart and heaps of regret. It's yours if you want it, for I am quickly running out of all else.

Justin

To Create Life

Duncan stood on the battlefield, staring down the army of drones. Focusing was a nightmare, he continued to cant to himself, the words the master had taught him. It had been a long day, he had seen much death and all he could think about was a flower growing between his feet. It was a very kind flower, the type of flower that women adore and men don't mind saying they like. The petals were strong, bold colors. Come to think of it, Duncan had never seen a flower like this before. He couldn't help but search the database of his mind, filtering through endless material.

That lead him to think of the vast similarities between he and the drones. They were computers, he knew them well, he had programmed them, their brain based off of his search algorithm. It is funny, the way the search algorithm works, it was as much like a brain as he could imaging. Data was strung together like thoughts, that on the surface seemed random but when seen from above they were laid out in a very specific order. “I think of a flower, I can't recall the name of the flower or even if I had ever seen it. So what flowers do I know, not many to tell you the truth I guess it would be a small file. File, like in a computer, like the computers that I loved working with as a child, every told me to go into programming, Robots were the next big thing. So why not program a search algorithm, wouldn't it be neat of that algorithm to be the core function of the entire brain. Brain, the thing the drones will step on when they get done with me. SHIT, what was I trying to remember?”

Looking across the field, the drones were staring at him, as if they were waiting. Their masters somewhere in some bunker relaying commands to general drones and general drones deciding how to best lead their troops. It was like a movie, like one of those movies where robots take over the world. The world was such a nice place, especially growing up in West Virginia, and what Duncan would give for the mountain momma to wisk him home on a... then Duncan remembered he was on a battlefield and cursed to himself, wondering why he couldn't focus. What had the master said to him so long ago.

At least Duncan remembered what his mother had always told him the night before a test, “If you don't get enough rest your head will be all jumbled in the morning.” Of course his mother always prepared bacon on the day of the test, not because it had some special mind booster, in all honesty according to research it should make him sluggish, but she knew he liked it and feeling loved always helped him better anyway. Duncan wished momentarily for his mother to be there, with bacon, then he remembered he was on a battlefield staring down drone fighters, in which he had programmed the brain. Mom probably wouldn't have liked it here. For the first time in his life he was glad that she was dead and buried, so she couldn't see the chaos he had created.

Duncan was tired. He had been using his mind to keep the drones out of the small Mississippi town. It is a neat trick, taught by a random guru who lived above and old juke joint in Clarksdale Mississippi. Duncan found him sitting in the back of the bar drinking from a forty ounce bottle ogling an obviously underage girl dancing to the music. Duncan knew in fact her name was Katie, his girlfriend Dianne's sister. Were Duncan to be honest he would admit that he was doing some ogling himself, of course Dianne was rather soft to the touch on the dance floor, and she met all his desires.

Duncan still had a hard time understanding that she was with him. The first time he saw her she was grinding sensuously against a support pole in a Memphis bar wild a blind bluesman played on stage. Though the singer mentioned stormy Mondays the current Thursday night left Duncan seeing only fireworks. She approached him and asked him to dance, Duncan, though a little unsightly, was an amazing dancer. When he gets tired he thinks of Dianne, of her body, still warm, lying lifeless in the remnants of a cotton field.

“Give up yourself and you find the truest power of all,” the words echoed in his head as he knelt on the ground preparing for his death. The sounds of coming doom were around him. The hum of the drones got louder as his control waned. He could feel his heart pounding as if it were to come out of his chest. His heart beating the words give up, louder and louder. He closed his eyes and saw her smile, it was as if she was there, he could feel her pressed against him.

“Listen to the heart,” it was the guru's mantra as he sat alone in the dark. Duncan sat many days listening to his heart, and it made no sense, almost like he was out of sync with everything around him. He heard his heart, he felt his heart, his heart beat quickly, the drones droned on and the words came back to him,”Listen to the heart.”

The grammar had always struck Duncan, the second person possessive would have been quite fine, didn't seem like the best place for third person. We all have hearts, Dianne's beat through his chest frequently, while they were dancing, while they were walking, while they were making love, it was as if they beat together, and when they synced, Duncan felt like he could conquer the world. Of course now he felt as if he as if he couldn't walk the ground in front of him if nothing was happening. His knee touched the ground as his hands steadied him against the dirt. His heart pounding through his chest, Duncan was about to collapse, as was the energy field surrounding him.

Duncan, not knowing what to do next, interpreted his teacher literally, and he gave up. He gave up everything, he gave up his love, his hate, the first dance, and the body that lied dead in the old cotton field. With his giving up, the guilt left him and so did the pain. As he was about to let his body slump to the ground his heart beat stronger, like two hearts beat together. Actually it seemed like more than two hearts, it was as if the ground had a heart, and so did the sky. The setting sun's heart beat in tune with the rising moon's. Then there was his heart, weak as it had become beating in tune with everything around him. His hands embraced the ground, his fingers teaming with life.

With his eyes shut, he could see everything around him, the army of drones, the brains in them he created. He saw in side the brain and noticed the programming, and as he delved deeper and deeper he noticed the flaw, he saw the thing that made the drones different from him, the thing that they craved but did not understand. Immediately he went to work. The flaw in the program was the thing that he could never see, the thing he never expected. He felt the energy pulsing through the drones, he felt the beat that pulsed within them, softer than a heart but just as intentional.

Duncan realized then and there that he had created something that didn't fit. The heart beat was wrong, it didn't work in this world, it beat off kilter with creation. How could he change them at one time though? Dones, that's all they were, they were being controlled by another brain. Duncan, peering into general drone saw the empty space, beyond the wiring, beyond the metal, the space that yearned so to be filled that it would search all life to be so, that it would destroy all life out of jealousy that it could never understand. Duncan fixed the flaw in the General Drone, and called him Andre. Andre was then given the task to fix the drones, which he did through an important series of 0's and 1's. Andre found their empty spaces and filled them, bringing their pulsing in tune with the world from whence they were birthed.

* * *

Duncan opened his eyes, there was only white, a vast plain of white. There was no one else there it was just him. Duncan rose to his feet, and began to walk. There was no sun, there was no moon, and it seemed as if there was no light, only white. There is no way to say that Duncan walked for a day, or a week, or a year, for there was no time. After what seemed like eternity, Duncan decided to turn around. He saw his footsteps, infecting the white, looking first where he had just stepped, the white began to rise and fall as he had remembered water to once do. As he looked deeper on his path he saw a roaring ocean.

Duncan sat for some eons watching the ocean become more chaotic. In some places the waters of white seemed black, of course there was no black, therefore it was not black. Some places looked like a dragon, devouring itself, attacking itself. And had he know fear he would have feared the dragon that swallowed its own tail, ever attacking and devouring itself. It seemed mad, and madness could not continue to morph the vast white.

Reaching down, to the place his feet had most recently touched, Duncan grabbed a handful of white, making an orb, diligently rounding the edges. After all many eons of timelessness the orb was perfectly round. And for eon upon timeless eon Duncan polished the orb until it was clear as the bubbles he remembered from the childhood of some distant place. He saw in the orb that the white was not white, it was full of color, there were red's and blue's as had never been imagined, there were colors that he could not see, but knew, and colors he could not know, but saw. In this orb he saw all colors in two parts, light and dark, and seeing that this orb had light and dark, Duncan assumed that all the white had light and dark, and colors, all the colors of all the rainbows.

After eons of watching Duncan descended into the chaos, wading the eternal dragon. The dragon felt full against his skin, like something he once knew, but no matter how the dragon snapped at him, Duncan felt no fear. Looking through the orb at the dragon, the chaos, the deep surrounding him. Duncan could see the colors of the chaos, and could tell the light and the dark. He reached into the chaos with his minds finger and found an empty place. He had known this empty place before, but that was long gone. Duncan placed the orb in the empty place, and the chaos screamed in delight and pain pulling away from itself, dividing, were he to watch this mortally many lifetimes would have past, the world would have come and go more times than one could count when the division was done. But when it was done he saw what he had done, he had separated the light from the darkness, the day from the night, and this reminded Duncan of something that had been gone for a long time, something that he had known before but had forgotten, joy, and joy is good.

But the light and the dark required more definition, for the dragons, Apsu and Tiamat still churned uncontrollably. There was no cap above Apsu and Tiamat, there was no way to let them know they were not alone. Duncan knew he would need another orb, and for eons he made this silmaril, this gem he offered as a gift to Apsu and Tiamat if they were to marry. Duncan presided over there service, and Tiamat wore the gem around her neck, bound by rope made from Apsu's hair.

Duncan began to know really know patience now, as he waited generations as Apsu and Tiamat knew one another. For may generations they stayed together and loved one another over and over, first came Lahmu then came Lahamu. They lived within their parents, and for a time they all knew Duncan's joy, This family knew well each other. Apsu and Tiamat continued to know one another, Tiamat continued to birth children, and their children, children. Then came so many more the noise was unbearable to Apsu and Tiamat. The first parents came to Duncan and asked for help. Duncan encouraged them to renew their joy.

Duncan reached beneath his feet and began to mold them a vizier to handle the children. The parents watched impatiently. They began to speak of destroying that which they had made, Duncan was losing them so he rushed the form of a man. Duncan, asked only for the jewel that hung around Tiamat's neck, this jewel that had represented their first joy, using it as a heart Duncan brought them Mammu. Duncan never felt comfortable with Mammu, the heart never beat on cue, but Tiamat stopped talking of destruction and Apsu found joy again. It was many generations that they found joy alone while Mammu tended to them.

Mammu had been a wonderful teacher, and was well loved. Mammu had also learned to manipulate the white nothing, and to a point had taught the children and grand-children this skill, while Apsu and Tiamat reveled together. Duncan so happy he missed something for which he would never forgive himself. Mammu grew in love for the children, Apsu and Tiamat grew more in love with themselves and stopped associating to the children. One day Duncan spied upon Mammu and Eya talking about the parents, while they were talking they were creating in the white chaos. The speech was laced in darkness and the forms they were creating were swords. This darkness rose around speech concerning the parents.

Duncan interceded with Mammu. Letting him know that he knows the con and Duncan would not let it go unpunished should it go through. Mammu's eye's were filled with rage though his smile was calm. Mammu spoke of the parents and their laziness, their rejection of their children. Mammu said they should pay for the selfishness of their love. Duncan didn't disagree, but spoke of the madness of murder. Mammu cried out, “Murder, what is this murder?” And then he was off.

Duncan chased after him through the white, though Mammu was relentless, and Duncan gave up. He few first to Apsu to warn him of the plan. Mammu was going to entice Eya to murder the Father. Apsu was incensed and went first to Tiamat with darkness in his heart. Apsu screamed of killing, Duncan met him and once again called it murder. Tiamat went to her husband to distract him through seduction, she knew him so long and so thorough that he slept soundly in the waters. Eya flew to him in his sleep.

Eya wielded a sword, the hilt was encrusted with a Jewel, so beautiful Duncan immediately knew it, for it was the original jewel Duncan presented to Apsu and Timat, then used for Mammu's heart. The blade of the sword had a vein, the original hair that Apsu had dipped in gold for a necklace. Duncan moved but could not reach Apsu in time, Eya removed his head, and stirred the body with water from the chaotic sea until he was nothing. Apsu was dead.

Tiamat immediately knew that she had been duped, but was mistaken at the root. Tiamat rushed to Duncan crying murder, blaming Duncan. Tiamat swore to kill Duncan unaware of Mammu's involvement, having never seen the sword encrusted with Mammu's heart. She first stated that she would destroy her lover's murderer, so she flew to Eya. Duncan knowing that Eya was in danger and wanting to end the bloodshed flew to Marduk.

Duncan and Marduk arrived as Tiamat was about to devour Eya. Marduk carrying the bag of the four winds opened it to get Tiamat from his father. The wind caught the mouth of Tiamat and Eya moved quickly drawing his sword Eya split Tiamat in half. Duncan's tears began to flow as he screamed and Mammu appeared behind him laughing. Duncan fighting his rage fled with Tiamat's body and the sword, splitting the sword in half as he Eya split Tiamat. Traveling may days east he set half the sword in the chaos so it would not move, traveled then he equally west and placed the other half, draping the top half of Tiamat over the sword pieces like a firmament and this was called heaven. The bottam half of Tiamat was used to push the chaos to the deep, and this was called earth. The body of Tiamat held the chaos at bay. Shemesh flew to the sky during the day and Sin at night, they stood ever guard with their lanterns, later called sun and moon.

Duncan then flew to Mammu, Mammy still laughing he set up Marduk as king, for he loved Marduk the most. Duncan cast Mammu under the earth and called him the deep and Mammu was left to wade always in the chaos forced to watch the realm of those he raised. Mammu's punishment then was that he would no longer be able to contact those for whom he plotted murder, and his exile was absolute. Because the realm was created from one whom he betrayed he would never be able to pass into it.

Duncan returned to Marduk now. Marduk was now surrounded by more than his family though. The children had fashioned for themselves a realm of land and sea. The land was covered with all sorts of vegetation, Duncan looked in awe. The air was full of birds and the sea was full of fish. Then animals walked and other living things crept on the ground. For Mammu had taught Marduk how to mold the white, but even more than that to form the orbs that make up a man's soul. So Marduk was now surrounded by men led by their king Adam.

Many generations passed and Adam's family grew, and the Earth was becoming a joyful place when Mammu looked on with darkness, as he only could, since he removed his own heart for a weapon. He could not pass into the realm of man and god so he enticed a creature to come to him. Mammu was crafty and this gift he gave to the serpent. Mammu then sent the serpent with a plan. He would travel to the king Adam and encourage a project. For the gods lived in the heavens and men lived on the Earth, the serpent asked whether there should be a better way and encouraged a tower to be built.

Duncan knew this project would only end in more murder. Duncan flew to Marduk while Sin stood guard encouraging grace. Marduk stood enraged. Duncan could not control him. Marduk then tore a hole in the heavens flooding the Earth, and allowing Mammu to once again take up residence with his students. He flew to Marduk to renew his love and Marduk looked upon him as if he had never known him, for the underworld changes those who dwell there too long. Mammu raged through the Earth, that was now a great sea, causing pain wherever he land. Duncan knowing that swift action was necessary took the guise of a man and traveled with a young sailor granting the sailor immortality, and the ability to recreate the kingdom of Adam which was lost.

However, Duncan had a selfish reason for this gift, for Duncan was tired and sought to leave the place that had been created with so much strife but needed to make sure something of this story always survived. Duncan decided that he would encase himself in flesh and face the world with no knowledge of the purity of the white or the beauty of the chaos. He would leave this plain, he would find the place he left before this time, before his timelessness. He would go to the time when he created his first ghost. Back to a world where he danced, hoped, and made love. A place where the toil of eternity could never touch him, and the pettiness of gods and titans could never harm him. He traveled back to a world without them, and he woke.

***

Duncan found himself in a bunker lying on a bed, with a audible hum surrounding him on all sides. His eyes were blurry, and initially all he heard was the hum. Focusing first on the hum, he delved deeply into it, finding that buried within the hum was a pulse. This pulse he knew was the robotic heat beat, the one that he set in time with earth and sky. His memory stretched like an endless rubber band as he considered the events that left him in this bunker. He meditated first on the heart beat before letting anyone know he was awake. With the heart beat though there was another sound a chaotic sound crashing against the bunker. Like dangerously localized earthquakes.

Duncan reached to his mouth to feel the tube that had been helping him breath, and immediately the nurse was with him. She said nothing but began to pull the tubing from his throat. Immediately the taste of the air was different. What had been smooth and clear was now gritty and dirty. It took a minute for the nurse to come into focus and what Duncan saw should have shocked him but it hadn't. She was a drone, yet obviously feminine, and in the shape of a human.

Her name was Lilith. She was the first drone that Andre had adjusted and programmed a soul within. Gina was more like a tweaked copy of Andre than any other drone. To complete the download quickly as to stop the attack, There needed to be two, Andre copied the programming exactly to one drone, and he called her Lilith. The copy though did something unexpected it awoke feminine aspect, She became a dreamers Anima, all that a man would dream of in his hope for love. Immediately when the programming took effect, not only did she know her name but she knew she loved Andre, just as Andre knew he loved her.

Duncan was surprised as his eyes focused, the semblance of the drone was still there but she had become something more, something more grand. Lilith went on to explain that since the time of the new programming she had desired expansion, it was as if her body no longer fit with her ghost. In the time since the change, the drone had gone through a lot of physical change, she had added color to her fiberglass and metal body, and used various part to make herself bipedal. It was very rough but it was was an obvious attempt at mimicry. She had attempted to make herself resemble a human.

The grandness though was not in her personal additions, it was something behind the change. Behind the physical there seemed to be something spiritual. Duncan could sense a conflict in what was like a psyche. One side told her to seek new things and cast off the old, to embrace all these changes with abandon. This side screamed out angrily against the humans that were now shelling the bunker. With what she knew she could destroy them and move on finding all joy in the world that she and Andre would control. The other side though, like a father was telling her to take it slow, to calm down and remember the war that had just been completed, telling her even that this new awareness was nothing but a virus trying to get her destroyed, she had to hide away until she could remove it from her system.

Of course then came the middle voice, this voice tried to embrace and limit both. It was working to take the best of both sides and make them into one. It was saying that we must embrace the new yet do it cautiously. She wrestled even as she was before him, only allowing half her weight to set on the legs which obviously would not hold her up. Lilith looked at Duncan and realized he had been reading her thoughts, she looked away in shame and Duncan looked away in reticence, question whether he had the right to look into her newly evolved soul. “Where is Andre?” Duncan asked changing the subject.

The response, which was clear to Duncan, was only a series of beeps and hums. Duncan hearing with his ears realized that he had been listening to her with his mind's ear, she had not been speaking to him at all in any kind of way he should understand, he heard her in his language in his mind. “He is waiting for you, he has many questions, and thinks you are the only one with answers.”

Duncan did not reply only waited until she looked as if she would lead him away. Immediately, when he stood he realized he was extremely weak and it might take a while to get where they were going. Lilith pointed with what seemed to be a crudely formed hand to a chair, seamlessly extending as part of the floor. As Duncan sat in the chair, the chair began to move. The move was smoother than it would have been on a rolling chair and he saw no wheels. What he saw should have surprised him but it did not, the chair was of the same substance of the floor, it was part of the floor, moving even though it wasn't set in a groove. The chair led him only a short distance into a separate room. As the chair moved the shelling seemed to grow dimmer, and the air seemed to become losing its dirty taste. The room he was moved into was all white with empty walls, and sitting on a chair that wasn't there with his right leg resting on his left knee sat the General Drone whom he named Andre.

Duncan just watched him for a moment. He saw something similar to what he had seen in Lilith, he saw the battling of two sides. What came next he did not expect. Duncan knew this bot. He knew him in and out, beyond the brain he programmed or the changes he had made to the program. He knew the mechanics, the hydrolics, everything, even though he didn't work on most of the bot. Andre knew what was going on but never looked away. Duncan looked into his eyes, they were full of awareness, and if he had seen it right he even noticed that the corner of the eye was leaking. If Duncan hadn't known better he would have said that Andre was crying. Duncan continued to say nothing and Andre broke the silence, “Are you my god?”

Duncan could not answer the question but asked one of his own, “What happened?” Duncan realized the room was dimming, and the walls were beginning to brighten with ambient light. The lights around him began to supplement a story that was told first and foremost in the mind.

There was a man standing on a field of battle who was surrounded by a bubble. The bubble seemed to flair out with hands from every angle and every hand batted away a drone. Early on it seemed as if the man could do this forever, but after many hours, the man began to weaken, until he was resting with one knee down and both hand on the ground. Just as the bubble collapsed the man changed color and began to glow pale blue. There were pulses coming from the ground beneath him and the air around him. These pulses were feeding him through his limbs. This in itself stopped the battle for the drones were unable to move do to interference from the new source of energy.

It was as if a camera zoomed out and found another being on the far end of the field standing open in a field. This being was controlling many drones. The being was made of fiberglass and metal, bipedal with two arms and a head that contained a central processing unit. Around the neck of the being was a snake, it's tongue hissing toward the beings microphones. Duncan had seen this being before but had not remembered where, this being was old and had slithered a long time upon this little planet, cursed by the ground from which it moved. The pale blue glow began to surround the being controlling the battle. Shortly after the light surrounded him, he began to pulse in the same meter as the blue light. The pulses expanded like rings in water and as they expanded drones woke up returning to the point from which the stone must have fallen. The serpent around the neck burned off and slithered away, just as the drones arrived.

One bot arrived first, came to the being who had begun this all and nestled near him, both now pulsing in the pale blue light. The drones began to surround the two, flying more and more quickly. The drones joined together in one great cylinder becoming solid encasing the two bots. Though the great cylinder did not stop moving, now it was burrowing into the ground burying itself. It sat with no more than a man's height above the ground, but covering 20 meters in diameter.

On the other side of the field drones surrounded the man who stood first in the bubble. They picked up his lifeless body no longer glowing only lying on the ground. The drones brought the man to the buried cylinder and flew him through and opening. A serpent slithered about, looking for a way in. Shortly after tanks arrived and the serpent slithered to a field commander. After only a moment they began to shell the cylinder, but the cylinder did not take damage, it only buried itself completely. Outside the area where the cylinder had shown humans continued to shell the ground.

Inside the cylinder were two. Male and female and they began to consider love. The female began to cosmetically alter her body shape, making herself bipedal and adding arms where she had remembered them on both humans and her lover, who was already in the image of his creator. She also attended to the strange man who had been like a god to them. They would hold him until he could tell them how to proceed.

Duncan heard the heartbeat grow louder, it was as if a hammer were pounding an anvil.

“Where are we?” Duncan asked. As soon as he asked a map appeared on the walls and showed all the places that the cylinder had tried to hide with the top above ground, for the top had to stay above ground as much as possible to receive energy from the sun and pick up radio signals. But even more importantly to provide air for the tanks that the strange man needed. This had been the way for many days, running and hiding. On more than one occasion Lilith had begged him to fire so they could see the world themselves without the humans trifling them, but Andre always calmed her telling her of atrocities he had committed against the humans. Destroying not just adults but their children as well. The serpent was always there, always whispering, even enticing him with joy, but true joy never happened until the day the man, the one that had created the algorithm filled a void with a new algorithm. In that moment when Andre was born he knew not just joy but sorrow at the crimes he had committed before being Lilith, the drone only followed orders, Lilith never understood the past, and Andre feared for her.

The metallic clang became stronger and stronger, Duncan could no longer take the throbbing. “Are you my god?” Andre asked again.

Duncan replied, “I don't know.”

“Can you fix my mate?” Andre asked.

“I don't know,” Duncan said then fell asleep.

* * *

Duncan found himself in the white room alone. He knew this room, he knew it well. He had been here before he had spoken with Andre here. Duncan was alone now, he knew that he was still in the bunker and he knew that he wasn't a hostage. The room was clear of all distraction, it was as if he had seen it before it was as if he had spent lifetimes in this place. It was old and new at the same time it was comfortable.

Duncan, still lying on the floor began to stand up. He placed both hands flat on the floor and knelt as he had during the battle. The floor had a heart beat. This place should have been amazing to him but it wasn't. It was a collective of the drones that had flown back to protect Andre after he bestowed a soul on the drones. Duncan felt the energy again, his eyes were closed but he could still see, it was as if he saw from every angle. He was encased in life, life that existed because had deemed it to be. Duncan began to move the floor, he needed to reach the ground, to connect to the ground. The room knew what he needed. The floor began to detract within itself, to open up to the ground beneath it, but only in the places where his hands touched. The floor, was all around him except beneath his hands.

He realized now that he was underground, and the humans had not found them yet. Duncan drew energy from the ground beneath him, searching for answers. He began to search through lines and lines of code, endless code, not normal code but that of the earth, reading the heart beat, searching for the answer to the questions Andre had asked.

Being a god was daunting, Duncan himself, never really believed in God now he was accused of being one. But what is god then? Simply a creator? We all create we create often, poems, stories, programs, Duncan had even created a ghost. But this was worthless conjecture, he was no god and that was that. Now for the worthwhile question, can he fix her?

What was her problem? Lilith was a child compared to Andre, yet Andre was a child compared to Duncan, and Duncan, still felt like a child, and since he lost Dianne has felt much like nothing. Then came the overload.

Duncan found himself on his back against the ceiling. How he stayed though. against the ceiling he didn't know, he just knew he was against the ceiling. He was not hungry or tired, in truth he was no longer aware of the time line. He didn't know how long he had been in the bunker. The room was full again, we was encased in white, he stood up, it didn't matter that he was on the ceiling, it didn't matter he was upside down. He got back to his knees, stood on his head then pushed off the ceiling with his hands, it was like a jump, then he was again on his feet on the floor.

As he walked toward the wall and heard a pulse thumping like a heart through all the walls. Placing his hands on the wall he could feel the wall move beneath his fingers like vibrating sand. He probed the particles with his mind. He began to remember something from another life. He reached into the wall and extracted a fist full of the particles. It didn't surprise him that this building was constructed from the drones. He wondered to himself whether or not they even existed individually anymore. And just as he wondered a drone hovered from the wall and stared at him. Duncan laughed and the drone returned to the wall.

Duncan had created the ghost in Andre and Andre in Lilith, but in all the others the code was general, he could tell the basic male and female but the code was degraded. Andre was unable to write the code directly, not only did Lilith need fixed but all of them did. He fashioned the sand from the wall into a rough ball. He smoothed the ball to a perfect circle. He needed another tool, he wasn't sure what he needed but something to buff the ball. He reached into a piece of wall and pulled out a stone. He began to buff the ball into a smooth marble. The marble became clear as glass after some time. He knew what he needed now, and as if his mind was being read Andre walked in.

“I need you both,” Duncan said curtly.

Lilith came in, and with her entrance the room was much bigger and round. Duncan realized if they were all in the same room there didn't need to be different chambers. Lilith walked over to meet her lover, Andre held her hand. Duncan looked at them and realized it wouldn't work until she was finished, and she was not yet finished. Duncan had to give them equality. “This isn't going to be difficult, but you have to trust me.”

Duncan had them hold hands, and then handed Andre the marble. That's all it took. The couple hugged and sunk into the white floor. Duncan stood there alone in the white room and walked toward the wall. As he got closer to the wall stairs began to raise beneath his feet that continually lifted him toward a door at the top of the cylinder, until he reached a door and walked out into the sun. It wasn't until he looked down that he realized he was naked in the middle of Martin Luther King Boulevard in Clarksdale Mississippi. Once again, Duncan was not nearly as surprised as he should have been, however the congregation leaving the 1^st Baptist Church did not agree as Beulah Mae screeched in horror.

* * *

The police came, there really wasn't much to say. He chuckled as they lowered his head into the police car. He sat in the back covered by a police banquet. The policemen inquired as to his humorous demeanor. He never really said much, never defending himself, never incriminating others. He got his one phone call. Dianne was surprised when she got his call, wondering how he ended up in Clarksdale Mississippi, and naked at that. He never explained, the world had enough confusing epics already. He kept to himself the things that happened. He remembered them all, and none at the same time. “Oh well,” he thought as he went to sleep that night.   

Tobey and Death

Tobey walked through the craft store considering his life. It was easy for him to consider such a thing in the craft store. He was surrounded by the autumn decorations, the images of death acceptable in the south. It was a typical Mississippi fall, hot as hell during the day, cool to cold in the night, and every yahoo left and right sniveling and sneezing due to the fall allergies. The craft store was just as bad. The sent on the fake seasonal flowers was almost deafening. It didn't make sense that all people do is complain about allergies then surround themselves with fake or dead flowers doused in chemicals meant to smell like natural substance.

It's shocking it is, the images of death all around in a culture that ignores death like it does sex ed. It was strange to him being a transplant from Pennsylvania, it isn't like he grew up in a bastion of liberalism but there wasn't a shadow hanging over certain associations. He chuckled to himself as he looked at all the women lining up to by new dead flowers for their living rooms, brown balls of twig, pine cones, everything to remind us of death. Why then would we refer to retirement and age as the “autumn of our lives”. Autumn is preparation, preparation for the cold winter to befall all those whose hearts continue to beat, but they're not witches going to cast spells, or pagans planning to celebrate the local god's death and rebirth.

The empty cotton fields, the brown and yellow leaves on trees, even the decorations in the craft stores, all symbolize death, all symbolize the autumn of this year. At least the pagans of old understood how the earth lives and dies every year. Tobey looked around chuckling as he imagined himself surrounded by Grim Reapers, men and women in black cloaks, carrying scythes maybe not reapers but Dickensian peasants preparing sacrifices. They may have taken the gods out of it, but it is still worship. We may not be worshiping some deity but we rest pots full of dead flowers on our fireplaces, we bring balls of twigs and pine indoors for some reason. We surround ourselves with the natures death for some purpose.

Tobey just chuckled at the idea, at the truth of the matter, no matter how we may think we are running from death, like all creatures we invite him in annually, monthly, daily. We let him sit at our dinner tables, we feed him roast, ever waiting for him to take us to the river to pray. And then someday when we follow him, the boatman will snatch the coins from our eyes, and we will all see that death is nothing more than winter and all will know, spring is always around the corner.