Weed Island to the Raven


I soon imagined an island far away and began to thrive on it. There were two hemp plants
growing in the midst of a rainforest by a soothing waterfall. In that moist tropical setting,
four sugar gliders leap from the tallest of trees to reconnect with each other like trapeze
artists on distant branches. Around a stagnant swamp, sticky black frogs with bright
yellow blotches communicate with each other by bloating in tune. A small walk down
one of the scenic paths leads to a gathering of families who have arisen. They will
partake of their morning duties in an orderly fashion and there will be no discord
for they are the perfect society.



The water that washes downstream is quietly collected by the water carriers of the village.
It will be used for drinking, bathing, and cooking, so many trips to the stream must be made.
Each earthen vessel is crafted by hand and composed of clay, which when dries and hardens
in the baking sun, it becomes almost weightless! The insects are noninvasive, and everyone
is most happy to be apart of one big family. A family that loves and cares for each other.
A family that trades clothes for food has no need of money.



In the center of this region stood a dormant volcano that rose to the sky
like an exquisite breast. Between straw huts in lush surroundings was a
path that led to the isle's core.



The slapping on the rudimentary crafted drum by a small native boy was
like a hypnotic pulse that began to draw out the wild. Ever so slowly did
they make their presence known.

Just then a twig snapped beneath the tiger's heavy paw!



Suddenly, the ground began to tremble and the volcano erupted.
Molten rock oozed down the slopes of its incline in a steady and
continuous motion, yet for some strange reason did not appear to be
hot; neither did it really seem to go anywhere. Like electric fireplace
logs that sparkle and pop without emitting any heat to the touch.

Suddenly, the Goddess of the volcano emerged causing the Heavens to quake!



As the sky became black, the sun was silhouetted behind the belt of
Orion and the ocean tide rose. The crackle of thunder was so loud, the
inhabitants of Palateca still tremble today. As the rain came forth to soak
the land, the volcano queen dispersed herself to become the morning dew.

Soon the favillous mound of extruded waste became nothing more than a
mask of hardened lava. Transparent and colorless like a piece of wood
done burning as it turns into a hollow lighted shell of white ash. Then the
igneous formation of the earth's magma settled down with a thud into a pillow
of powdered charcoal. Then disappeared as though it had never happened.



Because of this, every tree in that jungle gave birth to Pommaretes which
fell to the soft earth and opened on their own. As tiny green ants with little
red faces began to investigate the matter, their antennas begin firing pods
into the air. This brings them all out into the scorching sun. While a colony
of ants were pouring over the speckle colored fruit a lady dressed in nothing
but a shawl made of butterfly wings peered out from behind a tree. As their
abdomens swelled, they crawled deep down into the earth and died. All at
once, the land was overpopulated by the green seedlings! Weed Island had
formed and its occupants were most delighted.



The beautiful land of tiki dolls and magical beasts would unknowingly
play a pied pipers flute unto its citizens who had now come forward
to pay homage to this wonderful plant whose toxins are the lifeline
of an impoverished dream. Castaways from neighboring islands
wash ashore on rafts made of wood and twine. They are griff.

                                                                              Pg 9
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Hula girls in grass skirts wearing their traditional leis conjure images of a life
which could only be told through the text of the worlds purest novel.

Behold my fictitious dream is alive and living in another century!

Long before its destruction was its inception. Where virginity was woman's gift
to man, and the man's prize for living was to treasure and adore her. The sincere
smiles are imprinted on the heart and embroidered on the landscape of the soul.
Here women swivel their hips to enchanting melodies while another offers the
gentlemen upon arrival a refreshing beverage.



Let her lead you into the water by the sacred cave to be cleansed. As pure as an
unclouded lake is the promise of eternal love, concealed within eyes overflowing.
Allow yourself to be kissed and touched, while carefully observing her every move.
Gaze up into the adytum chiseled in stone, where the secrets of time are kept hidden.



How wonderful is the bearer of life! Sweeter than any given fruit is she, so be gentle.

How inviting are the eyes that allure me, than the hands and arms that shimmy up
and down their sides like innocent serpents without sin in a garden of earthly delight.



What a calm and peaceful day it is in the valley of the mind. Where sun and shadow
are but a stones throw away and latitude and longitude come together as one in a whole.
Together they create hearty portions of dreams fed to small eager mouths, like the pride
of a mother in the caring for her newborn nestlings.



*Thus was the challenge earned*

Climbing into my multicolored fish ship, I would push the little red button that said home.
The roof closed like a convertible and the motor turned on like a quiet car. We lifted off
the ground in a way that only a helicopter could, and then fell to the sound wings flapping.
Within minutes, the mechanical sound of wings became the sound of a more modern aircraft.
I said goodbye to Weed Island and the towering estate of an animated mushroom city, where
love grows in abundance and there is no need for law and order because today my heart is pure.



As I lay on the bed with my eyes fixed on the drop ceiling tiles, a meditative trance would
dissolve them completely while sending me deeper and deeper in thought. I contemplated
the daily endeavor of traveling to and from the city each day as my stepfather has done for
the past eight years while working as a janitor. He would later serve as handyman before
being made superintendent. The managerial hierarchy he works for has no significance to
anyone apart from those who rent an office or floor in that habitation or those who strive
to maintain its upkeep. That building whose name I have entrusted is situated in the bustling
heart of midtown and was a contemporary structure in its heyday. With elaborate festoons
decorating its pilasters of stone one could almost see the headlines from the New York Herald.


                       A booming city of industry caters to the masses
                      of immigrant workers now arriving at Ellis Island.
                   Here they will find work, and here they will call home!


Upon entering, one would see a dated cartouche above his or her head bearing the year
of completion. Then an ornate coffered ceiling that I as a child would stare at like a mute
tourist. Nearby stood a fuliginous church whose appearance seemed to mock the inside
of a chimney. Before factories and automobiles, you were surrounded entirely by grass
and trees. The medieval beasts hanging from your facade are left to wither in the rain and
snow. They appear to be somewhat frozen in time ever watching the passersby enter and
leave the sanctuary, while they themselves seem to have been extricated by celestial beings
poised high above as the Heavenly Father looks on in the spirited form of a cross.

Its demeanor could imply a message stating, "let your sins be resolved here,
and take them not with you when you depart from this holy place."



                                                                              Pg 10
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The dawning of the day was now upon me where I lay elevated. My head
propped up on a comfortable pillow turned sideways. The juxtaposition of the
cup and bottle had not changed and for some strange reason I found that to be
fascinating! Like an indomitable warrior suffering the setbacks of life, I rose
to my feet and drew the curtains. How interesting are these two awkward legs
of mine? Without notion or emotion, they just go. . .
                      

                  Welcome to the land of the stoned!!!


As I was approaching the zenith of all conscious plains, I began to envision
a sweltering city at high noon. Air conditioners trembling and horns blaring
from impatient motorists stuck in traffic at a standstill. Jackhammer's pounding
away at a wounded street expose the harsh virtues of an inner city's core. I was
somewhere in the middle of Mott Street and Canal. As I descended upon midtown,
I could now see a composite sketch of a skyscraper that had air conditioners instead
of windows. As color and contrast collided it formed an astounding work of art
before changing into a jig-saw puzzle.



The water dripping out of countless air conditioners was like a faucet in need of a gasket
and soon the trickle would become like that of an open water main. As it flowed from the
units it came to resemble a mini Niagara Falls that flooded the entire city. Soon there would
be nothingleft but a gurgle of air bubbles rising to the surface on a quiet and desolate sea.

Suddenly, my mind grew dark. There a demon sprouted from
a dead flower. The face of indescribable horror was now only
inches from mine in a silver mirror of deceit where my heart
palpitated and my eyelids impulsively opened!

It appears that after generating so much energy on a concentrated level, I let my
mind drift away in darkness where I was startled by this frightening aberration.
A nefarious dwarf with a wizen-face and a pocketful of utter despair. I would
have closed my eyes sooner, but I honestly thought he might still be there! I
then realized I would have to hone in on my basic skills if I was going to get
any resolve. I truly enjoyed the flowing patterns that took me deep inside my
own convoluted realm but what I seemed to be lacking was the ability to
transform these mainstream ideas into anything substantial. I would have to
meditate through closed eyes while searching for the focal point in objects,
without allowing the objects to generate themselves! When this happens,
we become nothing more than a representation of madness.

                                                                              Pg 11
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Through the eyes of a raven I watched the city with apprehension. It was time to go.



I released myself from my perch on high and flew gracefully into midtown on
a North wind breeze. I could clearly see the towering structure reaching up into
the stratosphere and realized it was but a thimble to the surrounding monoliths.
Its impeccable design had been well configured to the exact angle in my mind;
where the sun hung heavy on the black tar roof. A tiny shadow could now be seen
adhering to the roof's edge before it slowly began to creep down the buildings structure.

When it covered the exterior face, the raven who was I swooped down to see Ramon,
who was at ground level near the street sweeping. He whistled a tune like in those silent
movies, and I had absolutely no idea what that tune could be. Several vehicles passed
him by, before a dark green waste management truck made the turn to come up the street.
It was reminiscent in its appearance of a sanitation truck and had a shiny painting of
Coney Island Tillie on its side, and smiling like he was about to explode with joy!



This soot belching monster sounded like it was having a stroke as it lurched forward
before pulling itself into gear! As it did this, fluid spilled out from the rear compactor
where the hydraulically powered tailgate was and onto the roadway where Ramon was
standing. This milky fluid created a stench so revolting it could be smelt from outer space!
Ramon witnessing this chased after the truck, but he tripped and fell barreling down the
street. As he brought himself to his feet and dusted himself off, he yelled in disgust,
"puta que te parió!" (((and))) "La concha su madre!!!"

A man passing by reached into his pocket for change, but in haste lost a dime on the way.
Slipping through his fingers it bounced hitting the steel lined curb where it froze in mid air.
It was at this moment that I, the raven, locked onto its image having caught a glimpse of
his own reflection in the still light. The impression on the dime was gone and the portrait
the coin now bore was that of the raven's own. Time was still moving a second per hour
until the raven blinked. When this happened, life was given back to the living where gravity
reclaimed the object pulling it toward earth. As the raven head coin fell, it made its way
through a hole in a sewer cap and plummeted far below street level. It landed like a drop
of mercury in an inkwell and was gone. Here under the vaulted sidewalk, business was
being carried out in a most proficient way. One that involves large building plans and
swaying lanterns!

                                                                              Pg 12
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I followed the men in suits through catacombs of darkness, past the incessant echo of sloshing feet
in puddles of murk. The tunnel soon split apart and the three men were baffled. They merged to the
right, but I went left where the water appeared to be diminishing. There seemed to be something
down there, and I figured it was probably just a rat scampering about in the ruffled shadows of its
own confinement. As I trudged on, I was overcome with a feeling that I could no longer go back.
With every step I took, the tunnel seemed to be narrowing behind me while expanding out in front
of me. Eventually, I reached a wall with a large rusted turning wheel to open it. As I spun around,
I noticed I was in a huge isolation chamber that seemed to go on for miles without any end to it
in sight. I then looked behind me to notice the turning wheel had vanished.



Suddenly, there was a large roar like the applause of millions. The victor stood alone where
the emperor hailed the crowd! I could see the ruins of the Colosseum assembling all around
me, but shook off new thoughts forming before realizing there was no longer an entry point.
Neither was there an exit way. Upon walking, I noticed something up ahead in the distance.
An out of place square on the floor was blinking rather fast. Skating over to it, I looked down.
It stopped on a bluish grey. I then placed both feet down upon the square and the trap door
swiftly snapped open as if a hinge had suddenly broke!

Faster than the speed of sound I barreled down the shaft! Almost like I was hurled
into a well from a catapult before hitting the great expanse of water surrounding the
cliffs like jelly. This embryonic fluid lapped the shore and gave life to whom ever
touched it. Those opulent waves carried a reflection of the turquoise sky along an
inspiring course, until at last, the crest reached the banks of the escarpment.

Such a panoramic spectacle to behold!

In a guerite projected from the rocky hillside a family of Spanish dwellers wave to
me in their contentment. How splendid is this day indeed, I thought to myself loudly!



I then waved back to them from beyond the glass curtain. They laughed and drank while
Margarita de Pembro sprinkled burnt orange rose petals from the smallest of turrets directly
above her Castilian shoreline. Like sparkling seashells they fell, oh so weightlessly landing
all around me in this amniotic sea. Quickly, they perpetuated themselves into what appeared
to be tiny fish-like creatures. The internal workings of these aquatic organisms were pulsating
as they expanded, and it wasn't long before they adapted to the heavy water. Although when
this happened they became exceedingly visceral. . .

                                                                              Pg 13
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Slowly, they began to swarm around me until they became an ivy of centrifugal force that went
faster and faster until even they had no control over it. As they vehemently lassoed my ankles
an intense suction was formed, pulling me under by my heels. Leave me alone and go about
your way, I wriggled in struggle! They did not listen for they had nothing to hear with.



Instead, I was yanked to the bottom of that ocean like a lead sinker! On my way
down I saw an old wooden ship jutting up from its watery grave. The figurehead
that was still attached to its decaying bow was breathing rather gently as I passed it.
I immediately thought of the artisans of the world who gave life unto that which had
nothing. A block of wood, a chunk of stone, or a canvas. Even the tattoo artist, per se.
Upon reaching the vestige of what was once known as the continent of Atlantis, my
feet touched down upon the arc of a flying buttress from some primitive cathedral.



I saw the great shell of Arcadia protruding out from upon where it had first settled
back in the dawn of evolution. When the mastodon grazed beside the brontosaurus.



I was then thrust into sand through bony layers of clay in salt erosion.

Past dinosaur fossils in hardened muck to the remains of Adam. I then bored through
a knothole in the plate of time, whereas after this, I slowly began to fall from the sky.

I beseeched the Heavens in its glory and became the wind. Looking down I saw Ramon
in the same spot sweeping. His appearance seemed to rival that of an ant moving about
and when put in fast motion he looked like a fat little spider bouncing around! I laughed
to myself at this insanity. Following my movements, a grey cat watches lazily as I take
form on the ground. Quietly, he gazes out at me from where he is curled up below
a double brass standpipe. His tail shivering like a rattlesnake as he watches an insect
scuttle away. It is too small to play with and presents no challenge in the form of carrying
out a swift attack. Don't let those tired eyes fool you, they are the main ingredient of
a killing machine. Ever hunting and always on the prowl, he tantalizes the moon.



The sun is falling rapidly.

Across the street in the little Chinese restaurant that no one has ever been to,
the entire staff stands waiting. It's been almost forty years now and not one
customer. That is because in 1946 young Feng Shi forgot to put the sign up.
Not to worry though, no one would have come anyway and besides no one
has cooked in that restaurant in years. Even if someone did walk in they would
have to take a rag and wipe away years of dust for the employees are merely ghosts
trying ever so desperately to be who they once were. Kind of like us in a way.

The scene then changed sporadically and was gone.
The sun now overshadowed by the earth exploded!
I floated in darkness to the source of all that shimmers.
A wavering strand eclipsed by an ion took me away.
Ninety thousand soldiers on a pinpoint through a hole
escorted me to a river of red. Alas, I found the shore of noses.
To know of this uncertain place where ears make their ascent.
On wings of fashioned hay a bright light shines.
Up into the atmosphere and away into the night
they reach the geometric pleasure dome of brilliance.

                                                                              Pg 14
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Inkpop reviews for chapter 3

Born to blossom; Blom to perish - You have great imagery with great
characters. Your a good writer. You captured my attention at the start
and held it all the way until the end. Good job.

L. C. Candle - Your first paragraph reminds me of the Lord of the Flies. Take
that however you will, lol. And then you kind of just...go off the end with it and
you throw in a sentence that sounds like a three year old wrote it. My visual is
cracked. Your words have lost their vibe that they got in that first paragraph
because of the sentence "Just then a twig snapped beneath the tiger's heavy
paw!" Instead of this mature writing I was introduced to, I'm confused by simple
words. Simple sentences are terrific and commonly used words are great to, but
you always have to stay away from the writing style English teachers taught
you in middle school, it's very distracting and doesn't allow growth in your
writing, either. You have terrific imagery, terrific diction. I'm confused by the
chapter's plot because I've not read the whole thing, so I can't comment on
anything like that. I'd say work on your transitions as well which seem to read
very roughly and occur too quickly. You have good beginnings and such but your
formatting is odd (I.E.; *(The sun is falling rapidly)* ???) that may be something
that was established early on, I'm not sure, but it does look incredibly odd. It
also seems like you switch persons which makes the reading a bit odd. I mean
this is strong literary fiction, yes, but if you're going to write first person, please
try to make that person very visible amongst your imagery, like John Steinbeck
does in the narratives before almost every chapter in East of Eden. Again, good
literary fiction, although it does get confusing. Good job.

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PG 9) Banana Leaves by Mario Gonzalez Chavajay

PG 9) Water Carriers of Zunil by Mario Gonzalez Chavajay

PG 9) Fierce dog by Mario Gonzalez Chavajay

PG 9) Tiger Atrium by Tiger Tateishi

PG 9) Sacred Fire of Pele, Goddess of Hawai'i Volcano by Olga Shevchenko

PG 9) Arboreal Affection by Mark Henson

PG 9) Salamandra by Garret Moore (for Claudia Gomez' CD)

PG 10) Drink with an umbrella by Ali Spagnolia

PG 10) Steam maiden by John E. Kaufmann

PG 10) Water Nixie by Tim Hildebrandt

PG 10) Oddment 5 by Leah Palmer Preiss

PG 10) Ville ile (City Island) by Tim Hildebrandt

PG 10) In the cathedral shadow by Jacek Yerka

PG 11) Turning Point by Ilene Meyer

PG 12) Raven eye (Inkscaped) by http://www.flickr.com/photos/mybigredcouch/5341822687/

PG 12) Coney Island Tillie at Steeplechase Park

PG 13) Transatlantic Tunnel poster

PG 13) A guerite in Puerto Rico

PG 14) Mermaid and friends by Chris Achilleos

PG 14) Academy ruins by Zoltan Boros & Gabor Szikszai

PG 14) The profile by Jacek Yerka

PG 14) The Moon by Sergey Tyukanov