#literally had to lean on the wall when he saw our electricity meter

[ofdarklands]

the poor IT guy that came to check up on what can be charitably called 'our building's computer system' is having a crisis of faith i think

#literally had to lean on the wall when he saw our electricity meter #“how are you keeping all this running on this amount of power. this is for a HOUSE”

[devilatmydoor]

love is fatal I calum tattoo artist/ piercer au I part 1

A/N; A new series that has been in the works for almost 2 months! I am clearly a sucker for Cal AU. This is my first time writing in 3rd person & I hope you enjoy this, if there is something you love/hate or stuck out to you tell me! Feedback is my fave.  Stay safe and rested; mind, body and soul. 

Word count; 3.8k + 

Warning; drug mention , swearing, angst 

“Do I look okay?” He asked nervously as he was standing in front of his best friend. 

Veronica reached over to straighten his tie after she finished paying for the parking meter, “You look handsome. Now stop moving.” She giggled and finished fixing his tie, “Perfect. Grayson you are going to get this job. You interned at a tattoo shop for 2 years and you’re an artist. Your art is literally on my body.” She winked and walked with him towards the tattoo shop he was interviewing for. 

“I know but Ronnie, you’re my best friend so of course my art on your body.” He remarked as he walked with her.  He stopped in front of the Starbucks, “Can we get some coffee before my interview?”

 “You are already jacked with energy without coffee. Plus you’ll get even more jittery.” Veronica expressed hoping they’d get out of the heat sooner rather than later. 

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair and gave her the puppy eyes she never could resist, “I’ll get decaf. Plus you forgot your water, you need something to drink!” 

She shook her head and rolled her eyes playfully, “Let’s go, I won’t deprive you of Starbucks.” She smiled and Grayson opened the door for both of them and Veronica walked in and Grayson followed. 

“I don’t know anyone who goes to Starbucks just for Iced Tea and a cake pop, besides you.” Grayson remarked as he walked up to the barista and ordered his Decaf Iced Vanilla Latte, Veronica’s Iced Passion Tea with Lemonade and Cookie Dough cake pop before Veronica could even register he had already paid for it. 

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at him, “Grayson! I could’ve gotten my drink and cake pop. You didn’t need to pay for it.”

“Oh yes I did, you are giving me a ride for this interview. It’s the least I can do.” He smiled at Veronica and led her to the spot where they picked up their order. They both looked around noticing how busy Starbucks was getting. She looked at him and he looked at her and they both started giggling. 

“Thank god we got here when we did!” Veronica cooed as they stood there and waited for their order. 

“I know right?” He responded and crossed his arms and before hearing his name and grabbing his coffee and giving Veronica her drink and snack. He grabbed her hand to get themselves through the crowd of people, he opened the door for her as she followed his lead and walked with him. 

As Veronica and Grayson got closer to the tattoo shop, Grayson’s grip on Veronica’s hand got tighter and she looked at him and squeezed his hand, “You’re going to do great. I know it.” She encouraged him as he looked at her nervously. 

“You sure I don’t look like a complete idiot?” He asked nervously, his cheeks flushing pink. 

“I promise you don’t. You got this Gray.” She reassured with a smile on her face, she gently squeezed his hand again. She led him to the tattoo shop and they both were amazed by the size and the huge sign in black and red saying Gotham Tattoos, in the middle of Los Angeles. She finished her drink and threw it in the trash outside before grabbing the door knowing that Grayson was too nervous. 

He followed her inside as she led him to the front desk where a blonde curly-haired man with blue eyes sat waiting, he saw them and smiled, showing his dimples and he stood up and Veronica realized Grayson was no longer the tallest man she’s met. “Hi! Welcome to Gotham Tattoos. I’m Luke, what can I help you with?” Luke said with a faint Australian accent.

“I’m Grayson Nicols, I’m here for my interview with Calum.” Grayson explained nervously and Veronica could feel his hands getting sweaty against hers. 

“Oh, of course, you are his 12 o clock. I’ll page him and let him know you’re here.” Luke affirmed with a smile and sat down to use the phone. 

Grayson looked at Veronica with the look she knew so well, “I believe in you. I know you will kill this.” 

Veronica and Grayson heard Luke put the phone down and then he stood up, “He’s ready for you Grayson, I can walk you to his office.” Veronica let go of Grayson’s hand as Luke made his way away from his seat and before he could even leave the desk, another tall man walked up to the desk. His skin was Carmel, he was dressed in black dress pants and a white button-up and tie. He had blonde curls with his black roots showing paired with his dark brown eyes. 

“Thank you Luke, I can walk him to my office. Hi Grayson, I’m Calum Hood.” Calum's voice so deep it shocked Veronica, his Australian accent thicker than Luke’s. He outstretched his hand for Grayson. 

Grayson shook his hand and said nervously, “That’s me, G-Grayson Nicols.” Veronica giggled at his nervousness and he let go of Calum’s hand. 

 Calum raised his eyebrow in Veronica’s direction while he pursed his lips, “Thanks for being early, Follow me.” Calum stated as he led Grayson to his office and they disappeared. Veronica smiled at Luke and leaned against the front desk looking around the shop feeling comfortable with her favorite sounds heard only in tattoo shops; the sound of tattoo needles buzzing. 

“What’s your name gorgeous?” Luke asked with a smile and Veronica felt her cheeks turn pink 

“Veronica, most people call me Ronnie.” She smiled and her cheeks turned even pinker when she looked in his gorgeous blue eyes. 

“No one calls you Ronica?” He teased and winked, putting his hand in his pocket as he leaned on the desk. 

Veronica couldn’t help but giggle, “Surprisingly, not a soul.” She winked and smiled at him 

“Huh, people are weird Ronica.” He smirked and giggled and ran his fingers through his luscious blonde curls. 

“Don’t I know it.” She smiled and crossed her arms as she leaned on the counter, “So Luke, you wanna show me around or do I have to give myself a tour and try not to walk into Grayson’s interview?”

Luke chuckled and stepped away from the desk and motioned Veronica, “I can definitely give you a tour, follow me.” He smiled and walked away and Veronica was in awe of his impeccable style as she followed him throughout the shop. 

Veronica looked around at the body jewelry, the prominent dark red and deep black artwork mixed with electric blues, “So tell me Luke, what else do you do around the shop?” She felt silly for asking but she was curious. 

“Well Veronica, I usually schedule appointments and let customers know how much their deposits are, coordinate rooms and I help clean if I have downtime. I help with payments for tattoos as well” He smiled and her eyes looked up to meet his eyes and Luke showed her one of the empty rooms and Veronica gazed at the walls and how artistic and unique they were. Each room had different color schemes and anesthetic. 

“Why is this entire shop decorated better than my entire house?” Veronica joked and smiled at Luke who was laughing at her remark. 

“That’s a good question, you’d have to ask Calum and our tattoo artist Ashton about that darlin’.” Luke winked and walked away from the doorway. 

Veronica followed him and asked, “Did they design the overall anesthetic to the shop?”

“In some ways yes. The owner is the artistic director for the whole place and tells us what he wants.” He smiled and Veronica noticed she could only hear the music in the shop.

Luke looked at her and smiled, “I’ll be right back, I’m gonna make sure Tucker has everything ready for the payment for the tattoo okay?” 

Veronica nodded and smiled, “Okay!” Luke smiled at her and walked away and went over to the desk and Veronica looked around at all the artwork and she smiled when she heard her favorite My Chemical Romance song playing in the background and she smiled and looked around the shop and stopped by the body jewelry. 

Her eyes were glued to the barbells, she had been wanting nipple piercings since she turned 15 but her family and Grayson would always argue with her about it. It was always at the back of her mind even when Grayson would remind her how much it would hurt, how long the healing process was or how he didn’t think she’d like them. She checked her watch to see that it was almost 1:15. Time flew by when she was talking to Luke, she looked at the other body jewelry and tried to guess what jewelry went with what piercing without cheating and reading the labels.

She heard Luke’s laugh and smiled instantly. She fidgeted with her rings and the popsocket on the back of her phone before she felt it vibrating in her purse.  She looked at her screen and saw Grayson’s name. She unlocked her phone and read his text. 

-As you predicted, I got the job. Doing paperwork now! 

Veronica squealed softly and looked around for Luke and he disappeared. She went outside to get some fresh air and she immediately regretted it. The heat was overwhelming and she put her sunglasses on to shield her eyes from the blaring sunshine. She felt her sweat dripping down her back as she stood in the sun and leaned on the wall of the shop. She felt her phone vibrate in her hand and it was her boss asking her to come in early if she could. She told her boss she could try her best since she was still out with Grayson. 

Veronica put her phone back in her purse and cigarette smoke filled her lungs unwillingly.  She turned to see Calum who was leaning against the shop wall with one hand in his pocket. 

He looked her up and down and inhaled his cigarette and exhaled in her direction.  She tilted her head and rolled her eyes at his immaturity. “What’s got your panties in a twist princess?” Calum coaxed as he leaned toward Veronica, his mysterious eyes seeing right through her soft pink sunglasses frames. 

She pressed her lips and rolled her eyes at him, “None of your damn business. Don’t call me princess, you prick.” 

He exhaled his cigarette and narrowed his eyes at her, “Who peed in your coffee this morning?” He grunted. 

She crossed her arms, “I don’t drink coffee.” She spat and tried to avoid the smoke by moving away from him. 

He inhaled his cigarette and blew the smoke in her direction again. She coughed reacting to the smoke hitting her lungs, He rolled his eyes at her overreaction,  “Well maybe you should, might put you in a better mood princess.” He emphasized the last word to get under her skin. 

“I doubt that. Aren’t you supposed to be in an interview with Gray?” She commented

“He’s finishing up his paperwork, he doesn’t need my help.  I needed a break from him talking about you every other sentence.” He stressed before inhaling his cigarette and narrowing his eyes at her. 

“He’s my best friend, I’ve known him since I was 10. There’s nothing more to it than that. It’s not your business if it was.” She breathed before he exhaled his cigarette undoubtedly in her direction 

“You’re listed as his emergency contact and you drove him here, I think someone is blind to the fact her best friend might be in love with her.” Calum explained and inhaled his cigarette. 

“We live together, that’s why. His dad took his car so I drove him. That’s what friends do.” She insisted, sighing from annoyance. She was so tired of people assuming that they were in love with each other. 

“I dunno about that princess, that’s something a girlfriend would do.” He breathed as he exhaled his cigarette smoke in her direction. 

“Fucking shit,” She coughed and glared at Calum who was smirking, “Would it kill you to blow your smoke in the opposite direction?” Veronica argued before leaning away from him. 

“Maybe. Maybe not.” He hummed and winked before Veronica walked away, leaving him outside in the heat to finish his cigarette far away from her. She walked past him and opened the shop door. She took off her sunglasses and smiled instantly when she saw Luke talking to Grayson. She walked up to the front desk and Luke looked at her and smiled. 

“There you are! Luke and I thought you got lost!” Grayson mused. 

“I was outside talking to my manager and you’re douchebag boss.” She explained and heard the shop door close. 

Luke laughed at her comment and Grayson's eyes widened, “Shhh. Are you ready to go?” Grayson asked before Calum walked up to the desk and Veronica glared in his direction. 

“Mhmm.” She agreed and grabbed her car keys out of her purse. She looked at Luke and smiled, “It was nice meeting you, thank you for the tour.” 

“Of course! It was nice meeting you doll. If you ever want to hang out,” Luke smiled and got out a piece of paper and wrote his number down and smiled at her, “Text me.” He winked and she could feel her cheeks flushing. 

“I will! Have a good rest of your day Luke.” She smiled, grabbing the piece of paper from him and tucking it in her pocket. 

“Thank you!” He smiles and Veronica and Grayson leave and Calum gives Luke a weird look, “What’s that face for?” 

“Why do you wanna hang out with her?” Calum doubted as he ran his fingers through his hair 

“I like her, she’s cool.” Luke informed as he shrugged. 

“That’s not the word I’d use to describe her.” Calum advised as he looked at the schedule for the rest of the day. 

“What’s your point? Honestly Cal, you’ve slept with clients so I don’t exactly trust your judgment on this.” Luke explained as he sat down. 

******

Veronica parked in front of Luke’s house and cut the engine of her car. She sighed as she read her most recent text from Caleb, her friends-with-benefits for the past 6 months asking if he could come over tonight. She told him she was busy and put her phone in her hoodie pocket before grabbing her car keys. She got out of her car and closed the door and smiled when she saw Luke standing outside smiling at her as she walked up to the front door. 

“Ronica!” Luke joked as he stretched out his arms and she walked up to him and wrapped her arms around him and he hugged her tight. 

“Lucas!” She joked as she hugged him and he let her go and they both laughed. 

“You’re the only person who I let call me Lucas.” He smiled and opened the front door. 

“You’re the only person who calls me Ronica.” She smiled and he led her inside of the house. She looked around to see soft white walls with black and white decor, smells of cigarette smoke mixed with sandalwood and vanilla filled the house. 

He giggled and turned to look at her, “I still don’t get that.” He winked and he closed the door behind her. 

“Me neither, it’s so much better than Ronnie.” She giggled and followed Luke towards the living room. She heard a loud groan and she saw Calum sitting on the couch. She rolled her eyes in response to his obnoxious groan. 

“What the fuck is she doing here?” Calum spat as he stood up and crossed his arms while his eyes met hers. 

“She has a name and it’s Veronica, asshole.” She spat back as she pursed her lips and she could feel the frustration in her eyes as she looked at Calum. 

“Fuck off Cal. I invited her.” Luke interjected and led Veronica down the hallway past the kitchen towards his room. He opened the door and led her inside, “Sorry about him. He’s been weird lately. I think it’s cuz he hasn’t been laid in a couple days.” He smirked and his cheeks turned pink. 

Veronica giggled and shook her head, “Probably. Grayson can get that way too.” She turned red and smiled at him. 

“Lucky us huh?” He chuckled and grabbed his phone, “Shall we order pizza and turn on Netflix?” 

“Sounds perfect. I’ll eat any kind of pizza as long as there aren’t any anchovies, mushrooms or spinach.” She smiled and sat down on Luke’s giant bean bag. 

“Who actually eats pizza with that shit on it?” He narrowed his eyes and smiled and got on Domino’s website and started ordering pizza, “Do you want those bomb Parmesan twists?” 

She nodded and smiled, “Hell yes.” He finished the order and put his phone down to grab the remote and turn on his T.V and get on Netflix. 

He plopped on his king size bed and looked at Veronica and motioned her, “C'mere. There’s no need for you to be sitting all the way over there.”

She giggled and got off the bean bag and walked over to his bed, “I didn’t want to assume and just climb on your bed!” 

“Well it’s definitely big enough for the both of us.” He smirked and winked as he moved over to make room for her. She climbed on the bed and scooted closer to him and he started to look through Netflix. 

“Why do you always smell so good?” She smiled and inched closer to get a better smell, “I don’t know anyone who smells as good as you.” 

“I mix two colognes.” He smiled and looked through T.V shows. 

Veronica smiled and looked at the t.v and recognized her two favorite T.V shows, “We could watch American Horror Story or Orange is The New Black!” She recommended 

“I’ve never seen American Horror Story, which season should we watch?” He smiled and tilted his head. 

“Asylum, Coven or Freak Show.” She smiled and he looked through the seasons and clicked on Coven and she smiled at his choice. 

Luke's energy started to drain and he laid his head on her lap and she ran her fingers through his curls and gently massaged his scalp. Halfway through the first episode, Luke almost fell  asleep in her lap and he decided to sit up. He randomly would check his phone and check updates on their order. When the pizza was getting delivered Luke left the room to wait and Veronica paused the show and waited for Luke. She checked her phone to get another text from Caleb and she ignored it. She usually would text him back but this was different. She told him she was busy and he didn’t leave her alone like he usually did. This was the second time in a week he was texting her about coming over, weirdly both times she was with Luke and she wanted to hang out with him verses someone who gave her mediocre sex. 

The door swung open and Luke smiled as he brought in two pizzas and their Parmesan twists. “Finaaally! I’m gonna set this down and then get us plates and drinks.” 

“I could help Lukey!” She insisted and got off the couch with her phone in her hand and grabbed the pizza’s and set them on the bed and he smiled. 

“Thank you, follow me to the kitchen so we can get some drinks!” He mentioned and she followed him and they grabbed some plates and Luke offered her drinks ranging from cranberry juice to tequila. They both grabbed Coke’s and went back into his room. 

Luke and Veronica sat on his bed and ate their pizza and watched American Horror Story until Luke wanted to watch a scary movie. Veronica knew almost every scary movie on Netflix, they decided to watch The Ritual since neither of them have seen it. Once they finished the pizza they moved the empty boxes off the bed to make more room for them. 

Veronica felt her phone vibrate again and she groaned and Luke looked at her and narrowed his eyes, “Are you okay?” He paused the movie to see what was going on. 

“My friend-with-benefits Caleb is driving me crazy. He hasn’t seen me since Sunday and he’s impatient.” She sighed and looked in his eyes. 

“Damn, usually it’s the other way around.” He grabbed her phone and set it on his night stand, “Now you won’t get tempted to text him back, horny bastard.” He chuckled. 

“God I know right? Where’s the bathroom? I should pee while the movie is paused.” She explained and smiled at him. 

“Down the hall to the left.” He smiled and got off the bed so she could get off easier. 

“Thank you! I will be right back.” She smiled and climbed off the bed and walked towards the door and opened it. 

“I’ll be here darlin’” He smiled and crossed his arms. She walked out of the doorway and walked trying to figure out which room it could be. 

There were three doors on the left side of the hall and all of the doors were closed. She slowly stepped closer to the first door and put her hand on the handle and slowly opened it,  realizing it’s the laundry room. She closed the door and  walked towards the second one slowly and before she could reach the door handle she heard sounds she somewhat recognized, in a way she wasn’t expecting to hear tonight. Bed creaking and the bed frame hitting the wall repeatedly. As she got closer to the door it became clearer what was going on, the loud moans and unfamiliar voice saying Calum’s name confirmed her suspicions.  She quickly walked away from the door trying to ignore what she just overheard. She opened the last door and sighed in relief when she saw that she finally found the bathroom. 

She stepped inside and quickly closed the door and turned on the light and went to the bathroom. Once she finished she washed her hands and then put her hair up in a messy bun. She flattened her hoodie and shrugged her shoulders. She turned off the light and opened the door. She saw a girl with jet black hair walking towards her wearing the shirt Calum was wearing when she saw him earlier. Veronica failed to avoid eye contact with the other girl as she got closer to her. Her green eyes caught Veronica’s hazel eyes and she narrowed her eyes at her as the other girl stopped when she was side by side to Veronica. The strange smell of cologne blended with a fruity perfume made Veronica cough when it engulfed her lungs while her olive green eyes met Veronica’s as she gulped in response. 

t a g l i s t ; @pxrxmoore @lukesflaredpants @lilacsos @sublimehood @talkfastromance4 @ghostoflrh @calumscalm @mellifluoushood @calumthomcs @twilightmomentswithyou @malumsdildo @boytoynamedcalum​ @ohhmuke​ @calswildflower​ @highscal​ @sanrioluke​ @softlrh​ @flowers-on-the-graves​ @currentlyupcalsass​ @clemmings​ @tirednotflirting​ @highfivecalum​ @wastelandcth

#calum hood #calum hood au #luke hemmings #5sos #love is fatal

[drinking-coke-in-hell]

7. Syyskuuta. 2019 (2/3)

Everyone got in their own rooms. And nea started taking off Allu’s clothes.

“Sori ku lainasin.”

“Ei se mitää. Kun ei täällä niinkään noita peruskuteita tarvii.”

“Allu.. Meidän pitäs varmaan käydä suihkussa kun tota (köhköh) mun eilisilta ja ei pahal mut haiset hirveelt hielt.” Nea sais. Allu laughed and nodded.

“Jep. Mee sä vaan suihkuun. Saan hoidettua tämän mun vitun WinxClub voimilla.”

“Miten vitussa. Onks teil joku suihku taika?”

“Siis kun pystyn sytyttään itseni tuleen. Ja tuli sterilisoi pöpöt jne ja tässätapauksessa polttaa kaiken ylimääräsen mun kropalla...” Allu decided to demonstrate this trick and got up in flames. Everything that burned vanished as black ash in the air. When the flames were gone Nea started laughing her ass off, literally. Alex looked at himself and saw that he was naked.

“Vittu mä voisin joskus ajatella asiat loppuun...” Allu cursed and took fresh pair of underwear from his luggage. “Hei turpakii ja mee sinne suihkuu!” Allu couldn’t hold his own laugh.

“Haluisitko matchaavan asun Codyn kaa. Kun siis mulla ja codyllahan on antikristuksen etiketti eli me ei ees saada pukeuta, ainakaan kokouksissa, perus pukuihin. Se on pakosta musta missä on punasta ja sit edes jollain tavalla viktorian aikasta.” Allu kysyin ja meni nean kaapille #gentleman.

“No totta helvetissä. Mut nyt meen suihkuun.” Nea said. Alex kept digging thru nea’s closet that had different dresses, gowns to add to them and all from heaven to hell. Alex found a dolly black red dress and decided that it will do fine with yesterday’s other pieces, also this one covers the base of nea’s neck.

For his own wear, because of the little incident, he picked up a pretty confusing looking top and other pair of leather pants, and pretty tall creeper boots. As usual Alex tipped off his suit with small clip on chains and rings.

“Eloo!” Nea came from the bathroom, her hair had gone perfect with only blowdrying. “Älä liiku!” Alex said and run to get hairspray. He went to confused nea and started to spray on all the hair, nea couching. “Finito!”

“Aika nice. Mun pitäs viel meikata.” Nea sighed. She started putting on the dress and other’s that Alex has laid on the couch. When they were both dressed up nea took her makeup bag and turned to Alex who was standing meter away from her, bit taller than her.

“Mitäs vittua.” Nea asked seeing the tall shoes. “Pakko. Hih. Näyttää niin tyhmältä ku meen Tillin vieressä pätkänä kun se muutenki on sellane jätti. Anna mä teen sun meikin ni päästää nopeemi.” Allu said.

“Ethän sä osaa enää meikata.” Nea snorted smiling but Alex was already doing her base. The eye makeup was pretty basic, dark red around the eyes, thick blended black liner and thick mascara, and dark red lips with pretty sharp cutting contour.

“Tänään panostetaan ulkonäköön enemmän kun on nää ite palaverit.” Allu said and put some red on the corner of his eyes, same that he did on the end of last school year, inspired by ahs apocalypse.

They took last check on the mirror and Alex hooked his arm around nea’s hand who looked at him quoestoning. “Manner’s” Was his reply.

Both walked out of the room to till and cody waiting for them. Alex handed nea to cody who took her hand the same way, and himself, placed kiss on Till’s cheek. Alex and Till didn't walk käsikynkässä but nea decided to not ask about it. they were weird pair.

The four walked to the canteen, Cody and Nea first, Till and Alex behind them. Whole canteen quieted down for a moment and everyone bowed their head a bit. Nea turned to look at cody and was about to ask when she heard allus voice in her head. ”Even if quinton and such are the highest rank on a tree, in fact me and cody, the antichrist are the ones who rule here. I mean, we arent the bosses but our ideas and voice is higher than other's and if we wanted we could kill quinton and them all and be the bosses. but respect is everything. me and cody would be swimming in piss without them. they do the paperwork and not the dirty work but we do that.” Nea nodded and they got to their seats on the corner with Windows to both directions.

”There you go Mr.North, Mr.Fern, Mr. Lindemann (pieni paussi) and Mrs. Fern" The waitress says as she places breakfast trays in front of them. Nea was about to correct it but Cody patted her thight and the waitress left. ”Why did she think I'm your wife but Alex and Till were seperate?” nea Asked

”Because, Dear, they haven't seen you before and you are with me so they are told to call escorts and such by their, well person they are with.” Cody explained. Nea nodded slowly. ”But you aren't an escort dear. They just can't know.” He added.

They ate breakfast in silence and then left. They all went to Neas and Alexs room. ”We've got 30mins.” Till said, smirking at Alex.

”Oh shut it. You take 30mins to making out.” Alex scoffed. Till took a small glass bottle of some kind of whiskey and took a sip then handed it to Cody. Cody took a sip and handed it to Nea who looked at allu and then back to cody. Allu looked at cody angrily, who’s eyes seemed almost pleading.

”This once.” allu grunted. nea took the bottle and sipped it. She was handing it to Till as Alex grapped it from her and chugged the last of it. All of them stared at him eyes wide. ”What? I'm a devil bitch. I can disolve alcohol the way I want to in my guts.” Alex said. He was kinda pissed but played it cool. There was reason why he didnt drink and now there was reason he did. One, Alex didn't want to be part of the Order anymore. two, if he didn't like how the alco felt he could disolve it in his guts. three, he trusted Till to take care if something happened.

”Nea. please dont tell anyone back in finland.” Alex pleaded and threw the empty bottle to trash.

“We should get going. The earlier we are the better places we get.” Cody said, and took nea käsikynkkä. (siis mä en kestä.)

They went to conference room 3. Some people already were there. “Well cody you were wrong, some people have assigned seats.” Till said. The four started to walk to the front of the room.

There were rows of seats with tabled and on the front there were puhemiehen sellane jännä niiku pikkupöytä and on both sides of that, facing the others.

“That’s where the elite sits.” Alex said and swallowed. Anxiety kicked in, sitting there in front of about hundred people who look at you like a traitor who came back. Till placed hand on allu’s back and stroked it reasuringly.

“It’s going to be okay. Just concentrade on me and nea sitting here.” Till said and nodded to the direction of seats named for them on the front row.

“Why am I sitting here with you?” Nea asked Till. “Because you can’t be sitting with the elite but none of us want you to sit alone in the back with some (lowers voice) whores.” Till said.

“What if people think I'm your girlfriend.” Nea panicked. “That’s a silly question dear. I’ll mark you as mine and everyone coming close to you can feel youre mine.” Cody said. Nea got ready for another bite, but they could think till did that. Maybe he takes a knife and writes it on her. Cody leaned down and gave nea a deep kiss, making her feel literally owned.

“It’s not physical. It’s an aura.” He said. Nea nodded and more people started to flood in. Till and Nea took their seats, the way that nea had the side one so she didnt have to sit next to starnger. Alex breathed heavily and walked with cody to their places on the front. They didn’t sit down but stood behind the chairs.

“HEY! ISN’T THAT THE BITCH WHO WAS THROWN OUT OF THE ORDER BECAUSE SHE WANTED TO BE A MAN!?” Some man shouted. Everyone turned to look at him, fast enough to see how he flew with raging force to the wall and then out of the window. Gaspes where heard, mostly from escorts and newbies. Members know that you don’t fuck with the elite, or the antichrist. The window repaired itself and everyone turned heads to see how Alex had reacted, to find her hand stretched out, two fingers pointing to the window. Some people whispered but quit it as Alex’s eyes met theirs, some were already pale and scared. Alex put her hand down, leaning on the back of the chair, not saying anything. Nea looked at Till, who had a smirk on his face.

“EVERYONE!” Quinton shouted from the puhemiehen jakkara. Final people took their seat and quieted down, Elite still standing.

“Now we will forget that little incident here and concentrade on the reason why we are here. As some of you know, our ‘job’ is to keep world and humanity going, and repair our ways of living. But now we are at the point where action needs to be taked, or there wont be return..” Mr. Quinton talked in firm and strong voice, no microphone were needed, the acoustics of the room were good too.

“It’s safe to talk about this with people out of The Order, because they are enchanted to not be able to speak, descripe, write or anything involving sharing thing talked about in this room. (small brake) Climate change. We’ve all heard of it. Most of us have felt it, seen it. Northern europe’s climate has been unstable for years now. Winter comes even more late but stays longer. This year, we had winter coming back *five* times in time of spring. Our summer was cold, but changed to hell hot in minutes, multiple times a day. There is no control. It is like a child playing with weather machine.” People hummed in agreement, some let out gasps.

“This weekend are the starting conferences where we depate what’s our act on this and how could we stop this. Permanent damage is still done, and for good enough change, it takes a lot. At this point it is NOT enough to shut the light off in room youre not in. NOT enough to take the puplic transport. NOT enough to use electric cars, because those polute more than you think. Our seas and lakes are full of trash and shit. Our forests arent green and fresh, they are white and aluminium from the paper and cans. Our streets are not from stone and asphalt, they are a carpet of cigarette stumps and candy wrappers. Our paper collection is full of cardboard, biowaste full of plastic. We are at dead end if we do not act on this.” Quinton nodded his head and sat down as aplodes and some ‘wohoo!’s were thrown. The elite has sat down, but cody and Alex walked on front of the puhemiehen jakkara. It was quiet again.

“Some of you might understand how bad the situtation is that even i am asked back to the elite. (naurahdus) I’ve been in my private life monitoring everything going on with nature and climate. Haven’t looked good in europe. My brother here, Mr. Fern has been looking in this on American and australian continent.” Alex said, stepping bit to the side, showing it’s cody’s turn to speak.

“Yes. Australia is always been known as hottest continent of them all, we spend our christmas swimming in the ocean. Lately, the heat has been even higher, but sometimes eye-catchingly low. America and Asia has been seeing a lot of tornados, or otherwise unnormally windy days.” Cody said. He got applauses. They went to sit and Till looked at Alex with somewhat sad smile.

‘rather be without the attention. Negative or positive or fake’ Alex said in Till’s AND neas and codys head. The conference kept going. Elite members spoke about their research, they didn’t rise from their seat tho. After it was over, and main theme was run thru Quinto went to the front and announced that we will have a 15 minute break, then elite and members will meat without companions.

“What will I do?” Was nea’s first question as they got to al’s and nea’s room’s balcony, all four. Everyone took a smoke but Alex stayed without, he had stopped vaping too.

“I can introduce you to a nice young girlfrien, like actaual lover, of my friend.” Cody said. “You two should discudd fashion and makeup, shes into those like you. Grab a coffee and so on.”

“Okay.” Nea said. Cody took his phone out and called his friend telling the situtation. He could hear the girl beaming at the other end. “Yeah meet us in front of the conference room in few. Yeah thanks bye.”

“You’ve got a date!” Till joked and got playfully slapped by nea. They got out of the room and Alex seemed worried all the way to the room.

“Hiii Cody so nice to see you like this.” A young woman with a side-cut and pretty punkish style said and hugged him. “Same to you, Sindy.”

“So this is nea?” She asked happily as she looked at nea. Nea nodded and they changed names. “I came with All-Alex here. I’m not he-his companion or nothing just friends.” Nea stammered. Sindy took a glaze at Alex and had a mixed look of disgust and shaming on her face, but turned back to nea smiling. “That’s so nice of *her*. I bet you’ll love it here!”

“Don’t trust what she says about Alex okay. She is amazing but some people cant get over things.” Cody whispered to nea and gave her a quick kiss. Alex looked away, kind of trying to leave out of the group but John saved it, going to Alex and greeting him happily, giving a hug. John and sindy changed a kiss and us men left to the room.

“Okay! What you wanna do first?” Sindy asked. “Maybe a coffee? But i have to get my purse from my room first.”

“Oh no honey youdont have to, they give us everything for free, Order pays.” Sindy said, taking nea’s hand and seeing their way to the coffee place on the top floor. They ordered special coffees and went to sit down to the outside balcony with mesmeraising view. They get to know each other. Sindy’s face seemed to flinch everytime nea mentioned Alex, but she decided not to ask.

“So... How do you feel about this all? Like how Alex just came to you and used some demonic power on you?” Sindy asked, secretly hoping to get something to spread a bad word.

“Well.. I got spooked a bit to be honest. But then again it was pretty cool. It happened fast but with good night’s sleep i feel like i got thru it. It’s kinda weird all this luxury and etiguette but i kinda like it. I wa slike S H O O K when i saw cody here and alex told that it was like in ahs. I think i died for a moment when he kissed my hand and all that flattering stuff. Do you mind if I smoke?”

“No I dont, John’s a smoker too. But I get you at the ccody oart. He is charming. I actually met john thru him. I’m a makeup artist on tv industry and as cody being a fashion hoe he is we turned out to be very good friends.” Sindy said. They starter talking about makeup, fashion, girly things, boys, best coffee places, everything between heaven and hell.

“You’re so lucky to get liked by the antichrist. Like we did have two of them as higher chanches but when cody became the only one it’s kinda been a sea of whispers within us girls. I feel like it’s a bigger thing for us humans, as all that power reveals to us as so unbeliveable, when the demon gurls already know that shit.” Sindy laughed. Nea’s phone buzzed and it was text from cody, the meeting was over.

“Wow, two hours passed like a train.” Nea said as they started to get going from the caffee. ‘Meet in your room, Alex is at Till’s 😉' Was a new text from cody. Nea showed it to Sindy.

“Ooohh.. You gotta get some! (laughing) Alex and Till is a weird thing tho. What’s with them?” Sindy said, asked nea as they were walking to the hallway of their rooms, damn big place it was.

“No idea. They seem pretty close but then again, it seems like they have much disagreements. And that chain thing. Last spring me and Alex had this joke where he had a long chain and wore it just like that on his neck and we joked that he is my dog, only within friend group tho.” Nea said laughing.

“She can be a weirdo sometimes. But like when you look at Till holding Alex in a chain it just so ruins this ‘Alex North the antichrist’ thing. Like if she is so powerfull and able to rule everything and everyone how is some basic demon, who is powerful tho, hold her under spell like submission.” Sindy said, it wasnt hateful kind of voice but more likely gossiping voice.

“Yeah, been thinking the same. But sometimes Alex seems to correct Till’s doings with strong hand.” Nea laughs, before sindy could have said anything else their boyfriends came to hug them. Cody took nea in his arms, and so did john to sindy. Alex and Till where nowhere to be seen. They all said byes and seperated to their rooms. Cody kept kissing nea who stopped him for a moment.

“What did you mean by beliving in what sindy said about Alex?” Nea asked, thurthfuly curious. They sat to the sofa.

“Well... I’m not sure if Alex showed you this story in the class but.. There’s two antichrist for a reason, on man and one woman. Historical books say that those two spawns of satan are to be united and give birth to a baby woth power of them both, and that baby is to be allmighty of earth heaven and hell. But.. Times have changed and our reason is not to rule the world as bad and sadistic beings anymore, it is not much about satan and blood. So being here on the new age, around mid 2000’s Alex had been very womanish, just like you right now (wink), but as a person and single minded he is, felt that he is wrong body. In that time our people still went with the runic writing, and the oder was just made, still in mind to have that almighty who would be the order himself. When Alex gave up the dresses and winged eyeliners people started to be worried how is the plan going. And just to add, there never was anything romantic with me and alex, it was one reason why i didn’t give a shit on his gender change, but helped him. The old war and hitman stuff hevied on his shoulder and he lost his sanity alltogether. He went back to cia, fbi whatever and offered to kill masses again. The people there used his power for their advantage and let him kill with bare hands, no need to snap fingers and lick the blood on the shoes as there was no chance he would die from too slow action. When the elite got to know that, Alex was ripped back and tortured for what he had done, used his power wrong, on eof the worst sins. When fbicia wanted him back, the elite took his physical soul (?????) and gave him anither body, as punishment, a girl, that you knew as Aino. He grew up without remembering anything of this, but bit by bit in the last 2 years the memories came back. Rembering the reason he was thrown out, he didnt want back by any chance. At the start of this summer, so happened anyway, because as he joked, the situtation is that bad.” Cody finished his story time. Took a glass of water that was on the table.

Nea didn't say anything. she processed it all. what the fuxk. my life is a lie.

#vaikee selittää

[ulfwolf]

The Northern Lights of Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D-Minor: My home

Did you know that the aurora borealis makes a sound? It emits a sort of electrical hiss, a subtle shifting of audible frequencies, as it both shapeshifts and colorshifts across the black, star-studded sky.

I count myself very fortunate to have been born and raised in northern Sweden where each winter we had vivid northern lights (norrsken—literally, northern shine) a dozen or so times a year.

These were gigantic, multi-colored church organ pipes covering half the northern sky, fluttering or shivering slowly in the sun-particle breeze while whispering its unoiled song to all little humans standing in the snow, head back in awe.

The first several times I saw the northern lights I had yet to hear of Bach or any of his music, but I was introduced to this god of music sooner than most in that we lived a five-minute walk from our local church which sported a very impressive (I’d go so far as to say magnificent) organ, and in that the church organist was also my music teacher and he had invited me to come hear him practice any time I wanted.

The keyboards to this organ were housed in the choir loft (some call it the church balcony) at the rear of the church which you reached by climbing a narrow and spiraling set of stone steps.

Sometimes of a quiet winter night I could actually hear him play even from our house (yes, I’d have to be outside, of course, and yes, it would have to be very quiet) and then I’d rush up to the church, climb the stairs and debouch into this wonderful space that housed not only the multiple-keyboard organ cockpit, but also the seats for the choir and (of course) the magnificent pipes.

And there he would sit (his name was Harald) both hands and both feet busy with their magic. He’d sense me arriving and turn and smile at me without stopping. Me, I’d sit down and just watch and listen.

Now, it was not that I knew that the music was written by Bach—yes, he may have mentioned it but that did not register at the time. What did register, however, was Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D-Minor, which Harald played more than once (he obviously loved it, too). Those ten heavenly opening notes found two eager ears and a forever home in this young boy, listening in open-mouthed wonder to his music teacher’s conjurer’s trick.

The association between the northern lights and the grand pipes of the church organ is easily made—they do sport the same features—and it’s only a few short associative steps from there to seeing Bach up there in the winter sky (once I learned that he had written the Toccata and Fugue).

To be honest, perhaps it’s not so much that this stellar piece of music was my home (as I wrote in the Wolfku above); it’s more that I became a home for it, and from there on, looking up at the divine winter-night spectacle, there they were, both Harald and Johannes Sebastian, smiling down at me.

That said, let’s fast forward a few years, and I now live in Stockholm in a very cold little apartment with a very good stereo system. One night—and, yes, I must admit to being high on hashish this night—I put on Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D-Minor, and as the heavens opened in those first ten notes, I saw the familiar northern lights right there in my room, real as anything, descending through the ceiling.

Fast forward a few more years, and I wrote a short story about just that night called “Bach Lights,” which I’ve included it below. It tells of the wonder and why I still am a home for Bach, and he a home for me.

:

Bach Lights

The Winter Dawn is timid this far north. That is why she tiptoed up to my window and then hesitated, as if unsure about what to do next.

Within, Night, her brother and contrast, lingered in many places: on the windows and along the floor as frost, in the cold hash pipe as ash, in the lava lamp as yellow and red bubbly ghost still rising and falling and rising and falling from the heat of the little bulb that could.

On the table as story.

The sun scaled the sky a little more before Sister Dawn finally worked up the courage to pry herself through the frosted glass and heavy curtains and onto my face where she settled and with the help of pure physical (as in bathroom) needs found and excavated me.

I opened my eyes to wonder at the ceiling, then turned to my left to wonder at the all the little letters written on the wall, then turned to my right to wonder at the table, then at the large sheet of paper on the table with many more inky letters scrawled all over it, all mine. And when I say wondered, I really mean wondered, for as yet I could not imagine what I might have written on wall and paper.

I heaved myself halfway up and onto my elbow to wonder a little harder at the sheet of paper: so many letters, all running around scratchily in my barely legible hand. And looking, and looking again, and making out a word or two or three it came back to me, little by a little more: that long, glorious and wordy exhaling under the spell of Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D-Minor.

I sat all the way up now and retrieved the sheet from the table, wrapped the blanket around me (noticing my breath as faint mist in the cold air), leaned back against the thick wall behind me, and began to read in earnest.

Reading, I returned to the night before and again fell in with Brother Cold and Dark (aka Brother Night)—Cold and Dark despite the two gas burners on my stove burning as high as they would go and hissing heat into his icy heart and despite the little kerosene heater that did all it could to give the gas burners a hand from its frosty corner.

But those were only gestures at warmth, for I live in Stockholm and it is deep winter in the capital N North with a meter of snow outside my window, glittering now and would be sharp to the touch, I could well imagine, and would squeak now underfoot, I could well imagine.

And in this capital N North my room is a tall rectangular box of frigid space: a three-meter-high ceiling with two almost meter-thick walls colder than death facing the outside, another wall nearly as cold facing the entrance way, and a fourth (not so cold but not-at-all warm) wall that I shared with my neighbor. It is in this box of winter that Brother Night and I spent an interesting evening; a cold and stoned evening—just me, though, with the stoned part, Brother Night doesn’t smoke hashish.

Initially, after a pipe or two, I had sailed across first one ocean (the Atlantic) and then a continent (USA) to reach the next ocean (the Pacific) and the big city by the water they call Los Angeles which had gifted me the Doors and their Strange Days Long Playing (LP) record. Leaving my very good speakers as stereo adventure I listened through all of side one and then all of side two and still my frosty wings were spread and eager to go places so I carefully lifted the Doors LP off the turntable and returned it to its sleeve (only touching the record edges), then found and disrobed and carefully lowered a Bach LP onto the turntable instead. Then, as carefully, brought out the stylus from its cradle and lowered it, slowly, slowly, respectfully, the way you should always lower even the most eager stylus onto Bach.

I have a theory: Bach is God. Well, if not God God then at least of the same substance, of that I have no doubt.

:

Of sounds there are none more God-like than those first measures of the Toccata and Fugue in D-minor (or D-Moll as my Archiv German pressing says). They arrived through the ceiling, from a distant somewhere up there in the darkness, as descending lashes of beauty to kill the frozen silence.

Stunned, I reached for pen and paper as would a photographer for his camera when suddenly stumbling upon extraterrestrial aliens—slowly, carefully, centimeter-by-centimeter—hoping not to draw their attention, you know, spook them.

I had to get him down om paper.

Him God. Him Bach. Had to. For were I not to let what now flowed into me, flow through me and then out of me as ink onto this stiff paper I would overfill and drown in beauty. Not a bad way to go mind you, but I was young then and not ready that final passage just yet.

But I did not reach for pen and paper inconspicuously enough. Those first few measures, midflight, spotted my movement and rushed me and wrestled me to the floor where some part of me, some sunny sandy California part of me somehow remained in the Doors’ Los Angeles: prostrate upon Santa Monica beach sand, warm ear to the warm ground listening to the Pacific, listening to wave upon wave reaching sand like wind reaching trees but another part of me—most of me—remained in the wintry Stockholm here and now hearing Bach/God descend and I scrambled back on my feet and discovered a pen in my hand and the sheet of stiff paper on my table and then I began to write down all that Bach said.

Those first few measures again, resurrected in a lower register, circling, then entering me like so many lovers: through my ears, through my eyes, through my skin, embracing me each as they entered. My body sang with Bach. Then the vision.

It was brother North Wind: the ever dawn of the northern lights, their shimmering pipes of icy organ rising shifting rising in a mid-winter fantasy making snow sing. It was God coming down through my ceiling as the aurora borealis and I knew then and there that Bach and God are indeed one and the same.

Then the world rises. It starts somewhere in the engine room of time, his feet on the lower pedals, hands too to the keyboard left as he begins to lift the planet. My room vibrates with the effort, with the strength and sheer joy of that rising. I am water I am wave I am blue ink and I flow onto stiffly white frame after frame of photographed aliens or no one will ever believe me I actually hear this.

The lifting escalates and crescendos and is done escalating now and flings open the door onto Spring.

I hear and see and follow with the tip of my very costly fountain pen which I bought just the other day knowing full well I could not afford it. But these were the days when a check was automatically good because you signed it and gave it to the clerk who then handed you the pen with smile. I have since learned the meaning of the word overdrawn, but meanwhile here it is in my hand and anyway, it’s too late to take it back now, no matter how expensive it was, so I do with it what I hoped and dreamed I would do with it and I write with it.

And out into Spring: The doors are flung wide open, onto narrow crystal steps that dance up into the morning into sky. No more brother North Wind now, just dawn and dew and those little lakes of silver that form on my petals and leaves and do to sense of smell what Michelangelo does to rock.

I wish I could cry matching tears.

Though for whose benefit? I am overcome, yes, but not beyond control. So, un-crying, I keep writing. I no longer know exactly what I say or why really just that I know that this is a capital M Moment and I am having some sort of epiphany here and maybe just maybe I’m a genius of some kind that someone is waiting to discover and make immensely rich and warm and to move out of this freezing almost ceiling-less room so full of darkness and frost and this immense music.

Sound as Mountain. Physical. And I confess I lose my way. In Him.

I reach the end of the paper and there is more to write as I sail on, cast about by waves—a soul in blessed turmoil. And then a new cresting that lets me sprout wings and out and over I glide. He does this to you, you know, God does. Bach does.

I have taken leave of Stockholm of winter of snow and Boreas’ and Bach’s Light and now there is only ocean reflecting soul and I cannot comprehend how anyone encumbered with arms and legs and fingers and toes could possibly have conceived and composed beauty such as this, wings such as these and again I remind myself that I am in His presence, sailing His air, and that for Him all is possible.

I turn the sheet over. The one sheet. I only have the one sheet? Why have I only the one sheet? But wondering does not turn it into several, so instead I turn it over and continue this scribbly dance on the other side and I hope that at least some small vestige of what enters actually exits as I race ahead by one inky Swedish word after another and turning my head now I see a path that perhaps can be followed, perhaps should be followed, perhaps must be followed, or I will never find my way back.

What goes through God’s mind when he writes music like this? What could possibly inspire Him, source of all inspiration? But something does and did and am I really the first to hear this? To hear what He meant. To see what He saw.

There are islets below. They could be Greece or they could be Australia or they could be our own Stockholm archipelago in the summer I don’t know and really, I don’t care as long as my wings carry me and I don’t fly too close to the sun.

My speakers make a faint hum from an inverter I need in this old apartment, so old it only has direct current (DC) electricity which needs chopping up into little AC bits to drive my stereo and that’s what makes them hum but God doesn’t care and I no longer notice. Now there is only space and the windy tapestry of pipes as I approach the edge of the second page and there is so much more to say but nowhere to say it so I turn to the clean wall behind me and now I have a sheet to last me.

We sail on, Bach and God and I for the final measure.

Timid Sister Dawn (she is very perceptive) sees all this of course which is perhaps why she finally ventured through frosty panes and heavy curtain to find my face, beneath which I sleep the sleep of last night’s frost and though I slowly know her on my face up there on the somewhere surface I choose to ignore her for a while. But she has come to stay and soon manages to dispel her brother to some nether, even colder region, to under my bed perhaps and into corners where he will sulk till the sun sets again to set him loose and she tugs me gently and tells me to wake up, to wake all the way up and to open my eyes.

:

“So what do you think?” I ask.

My friend gets to the bottom of the stiff sheet and mumbles, without taking his eyes off the text, “Amazing.” Then he turns the sheet over.

“Do you think your dad might publish it?” I ask. His dad is an editor of some sort. It’s a small magazine, but quite prestigious I’m told.

“I would think so,” he says and keeps reading. “Surreal,” he adds after another while, still not taking his eyes off my scribbles.

Then he gets to the bottom of the second page and says, “Does it end here?”

He turns the sheet over again and over again and over again looking for a better ending. “Where is the rest?”

“On my wall,” I remember.

http://rowansongs.com/blog/2019/2/2/the-wolfku-garden-22

#Short Story #Bach #Toccata and Fugue in D-Minor #Northern Lights

[anotherdirtylaferte]

- Tales from an Orphan: Alec - The Boy with the Silver Hair -

When Alec first came to the orphanage, I was maybe four or five years old.

At the time of this event, I was in my second of three orphanages. As many of you know, I was adopted. In the orphanage “system” you “age out” of certain facilities every few years and are moved to another, age-appropriate place. Nevertheless, when Alec first came, most of the other kids were made uneasy by him. They kept their distance and did not interact with him too much.

Maybe it had something to do with his metallic-gray hair that was in a strange bowl-cut. Maybe it was the fact that if you got to close to Alec, the hairs on your body would stand on edge as though too close to an electric current. Maybe it was because if you touched Alec, your head hair would raise up as though by static from a balloon. Or maybe, it was that when you made physical contact with Alec, he would vibrate. We all know how a cat feels when it purrs, well; imagine that within a small child AND without the purring. It almost seemed as though he might have an engine in idle within him. Maybe it was because of the child’s ability to talk and understand in adult terms.

But that’s nonsense.

I remember Alec to be a strange boy but we got along. I like how the orphanage bully left him alone too. Little punk.

Alec was a quiet boy, but reacted to any interactions had with him. He was pleasant enough, and like I said earlier, we got along.

There came a time when Alec began to act stranger than he normally did. He began to display “unique” abilities several months into his tenure with us. When he would sit or stand in one place for longer than thirty seconds and then were to move about, his shadow seemed to “lag” behind him. It almost seemed as though his shadow “forgot” to stay with him. I remember one time, when we were both sitting in our beds, we had gotten called downstairs for chow and when he got up from his bed, Alec’s body-weight impression stayed in the bed as though he was still on it. I said something about it and he turned to look at it;

“Huh, how peculiar is that?” he would shrug. Then before both of our very eyes, the impression would raise, as though, leaning forward, the impression moving on the bed JUST as though someone was getting up and the bed covers would go back to normal. He would look at me and say, “Pretty cool, huh?” and then move on as though it was as normal as the sun coming up each day.

That same day as the bed incident, we had gone downstairs and joined the two matrons and the other 27 children in eating soup. It always seemed to be soup...

My seat was two down from Alec. Staciavocha (we all called her Stace [holy hell how do I remember this?]) sat between us. We were all devouring our potato and cabbage soup when a slight commotion began a few seats down, on the other side of Stace, where Alec would have been. After a quick glance, I saw that all the other children were trying to see what was going on in front of Alec. I looked over and saw what everyone was going on about.

The tiny bit of soup that was left in Alec’s bowl was boiling.

Try to picture this. Alec has his soup spoon in his hand and seemed to be staring at something outside of the window. The bowl of half-eaten soup in front of him was boiling so hot that steam and bubbles were coming up in front of him. It was splashing all about. This was my first time seeing something like this too, so I quickly reached behind and around Stace and nudged Alec. He rapidly blinked his eyes and seemed to be coming out of a trance.

We looked at each other.

The boiling soup in his bowl quickly stopped boiling but steam continued like a smoking chimney from the bowl.

That became the talk of the day.

Then came the week when Alec became the strangest I’d ever seen him.

The sleeping arrangements in the orphanage were very simple. All 27 of us and the night matron slept in the same, large room. The beds were lined up against the walls as well as down the room’s center. My bed was Number 13 and Alec’s was Number 21. To see him from my bed, all I literally had to do was to just turn my head a slight bit.

During the first night of this particular week, I was awoken in the middle of the night, freezing my rear end off. I scanned the room to find the source of the cold but everybody was sound asleep.

And then my eyes came to rest on Alec’s bed.

Somehow, without anyone noticing, he had moved another kid’s bed over away from the window and he had slid his own bed directly below one of the windows along that wall.

And the window was wide open.

Alec was sitting on his bed, Indian Style, staring out of the wide open window.

A bright light, which I always assumed to be moon-light or maybe even a streetlamp, shone directly down upon him and reflected off of his platinum, gray hair.

There were several strange things about this vision. The light coming in was not coming in any of the other windows along that section of wall. Nobody was alerted by the sound of beds moving around. And lastly and most unnerving, was how, with the light on Alec the way it was, it almost seemed as though his hair was “alive.” There were times when it seemed as though it would move on its own.

I would hiss across the dark room at him, “Hey man, what are you doing?” Without moving ANY part of his body, Alec would JUST turn his head around, inhumanly far back, almost like a doll, and in the most no-nonsense tone he would say:

“In a few days’ time, I will be getting on the ship with those people who come and visit me each night. They said I could live with them. It would be really cool if you came too. We aren’t getting adopted. Nobody loves us. That’s why we’re here.”

And then he would just sit there, with his head way too far back, and wait for me to respond. I would say:

“You’re being extra weird right now Alec. Are you dreaming?” He would get a brand new expression across his face and he would return to “his” normal and laugh it off in a creepy, hollow way. He would stand on his bed, close the window, and go back to bed.

Every morning, the beds were back where they should have been. Nobody was the wiser.

—

With everything I know now… with all the strange things that I have experienced… if I had just had my current knowledge back then in my four or five year old body, there would have been no way in HELL to keep me in the same orphanage as that kid. I would have “noped-the-hell-out-there” so quickly my 40 meter dash time would have been an Olympic standard.

“Oh hey, guys, does anybody notice the platinum haired, vibrating kid over here?”

But how was I supposed to know any different at that age?

Honestly, I thought it was kinda neat.

Anyway, for the next couple of nights, this continued. I would wake up and the room would be a freezer. What struck me so odd about this whole experience was that I seemed to be the only one affected by this. I have always enjoyed sleeping in a cold room, even to this day; so it was strange that it bothered me so much. Everybody else would stay sound asleep, almost as though they were not allowed to partake in whatever was happening these nights.

I would sit up and see that Alec and I were the only ones up and we would go through the same dialogue and the same reactions from Alec. The only difference each night, though, was the amount and sense of urgency in Alec’s voice.

He would be sitting there with the bright outside light shining in on him. His hair was hard to look at because it seemed to be in constant motion, without actually moving. He still had the hollow tone when he would recite his mantra and talk about the people and the ship.

Remember, I was only a kid myself. I found all of this weird, exciting, and new. But now, some nineteen years later, as I try to recall this memory to you, I realize how far-fetched it all sounds. You can be the judge here.

Towards the end of a particular week, I woke up in the middle of the night, per usual.

Without even moving or opening my eyes, I said: “Come on, Alec. Close the window, its freezing and you’ve done this every night this week. “

Silence was my answer. There was no commotion, no noise.

“Alec!” I hissed across the room.

Still, there was no response.

I opened my eyes and looked over towards Alec’s bed.

It was empty.

The bed was directly beneath the wide open window. There was no light shining in tonight though. For the first time all week, there was no external light. I could see, in the dark that his covers were pulled back and the sheets were ruffled from recent use.

But Alec was not there. I scanned the room. He was not in here.

Long story short, I never saw Alec again. Never again, did I hear about OR from Alec.

I was not adopted for another 2.5 years after this incident, and in that whole time, not once was he brought up by anyone.

It was almost as though he never existed or never even came to the orphanage. Everyone moved on with their mundane lives as though all was normal. The other kids went back to normal and the matrons seemed unaffected.

Was I the only one to have known Alec? That couldn’t be so, the other kids acknowledged him multiple times. He had his OWN bed!

Now that I am reliving this memory, so many years later, there are more questions than answers. I now question the source of the light that would shine in ONLY upon Alec. I also question Alec’s origin AS WELL AS where he did in fact end up. I question this whole account because I have nobody to neither corroborate nor attest to it.

I’ll have to go through my “old” photos and see if he is in any of them.

#my writing #writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #poetsandwriters #original art #aestehtic

[readbookywooks]

An Underwater Forest

WE HAD FINALLY arrived on the outskirts of this forest, surely one of the finest in Captain Nemo's immense domains. He regarded it as his own and had laid the same claim to it that, in the first days of the world, the first men had to their forests on land. Besides, who else could dispute his ownership of this underwater property? What other, bolder pioneer would come, ax in hand, to clear away its dark underbrush? This forest was made up of big treelike plants, and when we entered beneath their huge arches, my eyes were instantly struck by the unique arrangement of their branches - an arrangement that I had never before encountered. None of the weeds carpeting the seafloor, none of the branches bristling from the shrubbery, crept, or leaned, or stretched on a horizontal plane. They all rose right up toward the surface of the ocean. Every filament or ribbon, no matter how thin, stood ramrod straight. Fucus plants and creepers were growing in stiff perpendicular lines, governed by the density of the element that generated them. After I parted them with my hands, these otherwise motionless plants would shoot right back to their original positions. It was the regime of verticality. I soon grew accustomed to this bizarre arrangement, likewise to the comparative darkness surrounding us. The seafloor in this forest was strewn with sharp chunks of stone that were hard to avoid. Here the range of underwater flora seemed pretty comprehensive to me, as well as more abundant than it might have been in the arctic or tropical zones, where such exhibits are less common. But for a few minutes I kept accidentally confusing the two kingdoms, mistaking zoophytes for water plants, animals for vegetables. And who hasn't made the same blunder? Flora and fauna are so closely associated in the underwater world! I observed that all these exhibits from the vegetable kingdom were attached to the seafloor by only the most makeshift methods. They had no roots and didn't care which solid objects secured them, sand, shells, husks, or pebbles; they didn't ask their hosts for sustenance, just a point of purchase. These plants are entirely self-propagating, and the principle of their existence lies in the water that sustains and nourishes them. In place of leaves, most of them sprouted blades of unpredictable shape, which were confined to a narrow gamut of colors consisting only of pink, crimson, green, olive, tan, and brown. There I saw again, but not yet pressed and dried like the Nautilus's specimens, some peacock's tails spread open like fans to stir up a cooling breeze, scarlet rosetangle, sea tangle stretching out their young and edible shoots, twisting strings of kelp from the genus Nereocystis that bloomed to a height of fifteen meters, bouquets of mermaid's cups whose stems grew wider at the top, and a number of other open-sea plants, all without flowers. "It's an odd anomaly in this bizarre element!" as one witty naturalist puts it. "The animal kingdom blossoms, and the vegetable kingdom doesn't!" These various types of shrubbery were as big as trees in the temperate zones; in the damp shade between them, there were clustered actual bushes of moving flowers, hedges of zoophytes in which there grew stony coral striped with twisting furrows, yellowish sea anemone from the genus Caryophylia with translucent tentacles, plus anemone with grassy tufts from the genus Zoantharia; and to complete the illusion, minnows flitted from branch to branch like a swarm of hummingbirds, while there rose underfoot, like a covey of snipe, yellow fish from the genus Lepisocanthus with bristling jaws and sharp scales, flying gurnards, and pinecone fish. Near one o'clock, Captain Nemo gave the signal to halt. Speaking for myself, I was glad to oblige, and we stretched out beneath an arbor of winged kelp, whose long thin tendrils stood up like arrows. This short break was a delight. It lacked only the charm of conversation. But it was impossible to speak, impossible to reply. I simply nudged my big copper headpiece against Conseil's headpiece. I saw a happy gleam in the gallant lad's eyes, and to communicate his pleasure, he jiggled around inside his carapace in the world's silliest way. After four hours of strolling, I was quite astonished not to feel any intense hunger. What kept my stomach in such a good mood I'm unable to say. But, in exchange, I experienced that irresistible desire for sleep that comes over every diver. Accordingly, my eyes soon closed behind their heavy glass windows and I fell into an uncontrollable doze, which until then I had been able to fight off only through the movements of our walking. Captain Nemo and his muscular companion were already stretched out in this clear crystal, setting us a fine naptime example. How long I was sunk in this torpor I cannot estimate; but when I awoke, it seemed as if the sun were settling toward the horizon. Captain Nemo was already up, and I had started to stretch my limbs, when an unexpected apparition brought me sharply to my feet. A few paces away, a monstrous, meter-high sea spider was staring at me with beady eyes, poised to spring at me. Although my diving suit was heavy enough to protect me from this animal's bites, I couldn't keep back a shudder of horror. Just then Conseil woke up, together with the Nautilus's sailor. Captain Nemo alerted his companion to this hideous crustacean, which a swing of the rifle butt quickly brought down, and I watched the monster's horrible legs writhing in dreadful convulsions. This encounter reminded me that other, more daunting animals must be lurking in these dark reaches, and my diving suit might not be adequate protection against their attacks. Such thoughts hadn't previously crossed my mind, and I was determined to keep on my guard. Meanwhile I had assumed this rest period would be the turning point in our stroll, but I was mistaken; and instead of heading back to the Nautilus, Captain Nemo continued his daring excursion. The seafloor kept sinking, and its significantly steeper slope took us to greater depths. It must have been nearly three o'clock when we reached a narrow valley gouged between high, vertical walls and located 150 meters down. Thanks to the perfection of our equipment, we had thus gone ninety meters below the limit that nature had, until then, set on man's underwater excursions. I say 150 meters, although I had no instruments for estimating this distance. But I knew that the sun's rays, even in the clearest seas, could reach no deeper. So at precisely this point the darkness became profound. Not a single object was visible past ten paces. Consequently, I had begun to grope my way when suddenly I saw the glow of an intense white light. Captain Nemo had just activated his electric device. His companion did likewise. Conseil and I followed suit. By turning a switch, I established contact between the induction coil and the glass spiral, and the sea, lit up by our four lanterns, was illuminated for a radius of twenty-five meters. Captain Nemo continued to plummet into the dark depths of this forest, whose shrubbery grew ever more sparse. I observed that vegetable life was disappearing more quickly than animal life. The open-sea plants had already left behind the increasingly arid seafloor, where a prodigious number of animals were still swarming: zoophytes, articulates, mollusks, and fish. While we were walking, I thought the lights of our Ruhmkorff devices would automatically attract some inhabitants of these dark strata. But if they did approach us, at least they kept at a distance regrettable from the hunter's standpoint. Several times I saw Captain Nemo stop and take aim with his rifle; then, after sighting down its barrel for a few seconds, he would straighten up and resume his walk. Finally, at around four o'clock, this marvelous excursion came to an end. A wall of superb rocks stood before us, imposing in its sheer mass: a pile of gigantic stone blocks, an enormous granite cliffside pitted with dark caves but not offering a single gradient we could climb up. This was the underpinning of Crespo Island. This was land. The captain stopped suddenly. A gesture from him brought us to a halt, and however much I wanted to clear this wall, I had to stop. Here ended the domains of Captain Nemo. He had no desire to pass beyond them. Farther on lay a part of the globe he would no longer tread underfoot. Our return journey began. Captain Nemo resumed the lead in our little band, always heading forward without hesitation. I noted that we didn't follow the same path in returning to the Nautilus. This new route, very steep and hence very arduous, quickly took us close to the surface of the sea. But this return to the upper strata wasn't so sudden that decompression took place too quickly, which could have led to serious organic disorders and given us those internal injuries so fatal to divers. With great promptness, the light reappeared and grew stronger; and the refraction of the sun, already low on the horizon, again ringed the edges of various objects with the entire color spectrum. At a depth of ten meters, we walked amid a swarm of small fish from every species, more numerous than birds in the air, more agile too; but no aquatic game worthy of a gunshot had yet been offered to our eyes. Just then I saw the captain's weapon spring to his shoulder and track a moving object through the bushes. A shot went off, I heard a faint hissing, and an animal dropped a few paces away, literally struck by lightning. It was a magnificent sea otter from the genus Enhydra, the only exclusively marine quadruped. One and a half meters long, this otter had to be worth a good high price. Its coat, chestnut brown above and silver below, would have made one of those wonderful fur pieces so much in demand in the Russian and Chinese markets; the fineness and luster of its pelt guaranteed that it would go for at least 2,000 francs. I was full of wonderment at this unusual mammal, with its circular head adorned by short ears, its round eyes, its white whiskers like those on a cat, its webbed and clawed feet, its bushy tail. Hunted and trapped by fishermen, this valuable carnivore has become extremely rare, and it takes refuge chiefly in the northernmost parts of the Pacific, where in all likelihood its species will soon be facing extinction. Captain Nemo's companion picked up the animal, loaded it on his shoulder, and we took to the trail again. For an hour plains of sand unrolled before our steps. Often the seafloor rose to within two meters of the surface of the water. I could then see our images clearly mirrored on the underside of the waves, but reflected upside down: above us there appeared an identical band that duplicated our every movement and gesture; in short, a perfect likeness of the quartet near which it walked, but with heads down and feet in the air. Another unusual effect. Heavy clouds passed above us, forming and fading swiftly. But after thinking it over, I realized that these so-called clouds were caused simply by the changing densities of the long ground swells, and I even spotted the foaming "white caps" that their breaking crests were proliferating over the surface of the water. Lastly, I couldn't help seeing the actual shadows of large birds passing over our heads, swiftly skimming the surface of the sea. On this occasion I witnessed one of the finest gunshots ever to thrill the marrow of a hunter. A large bird with a wide wingspan, quite clearly visible, approached and hovered over us. When it was just a few meters above the waves, Captain Nemo's companion took aim and fired. The animal dropped, electrocuted, and its descent brought it within reach of our adroit hunter, who promptly took possession of it. It was an albatross of the finest species, a wonderful specimen of these open-sea fowl. This incident did not interrupt our walk. For two hours we were sometimes led over plains of sand, sometimes over prairies of seaweed that were quite arduous to cross. In all honesty, I was dead tired by the time I spotted a hazy glow half a mile away, cutting through the darkness of the waters. It was the Nautilus's beacon. Within twenty minutes we would be on board, and there I could breathe easy again - because my tank's current air supply seemed to be quite low in oxygen. But I was reckoning without an encounter that slightly delayed our arrival. I was lagging behind some twenty paces when I saw Captain Nemo suddenly come back toward me. With his powerful hands he sent me buckling to the ground, while his companion did the same to Conseil. At first I didn't know what to make of this sudden assault, but I was reassured to observe the captain lying motionless beside me. I was stretched out on the seafloor directly beneath some bushes of algae, when I raised my head and spied two enormous masses hurtling by, throwing off phosphorescent glimmers. My blood turned cold in my veins! I saw that we were under threat from a fearsome pair of sharks. They were blue sharks, dreadful man-eaters with enormous tails, dull, glassy stares, and phosphorescent matter oozing from holes around their snouts. They were like monstrous fireflies that could thoroughly pulverize a man in their iron jaws! I don't know if Conseil was busy with their classification, but as for me, I looked at their silver bellies, their fearsome mouths bristling with teeth, from a viewpoint less than scientific-more as a victim than as a professor of natural history. Luckily these voracious animals have poor eyesight. They went by without noticing us, grazing us with their brownish fins; and miraculously, we escaped a danger greater than encountering a tiger deep in the jungle. Half an hour later, guided by its electric trail, we reached the Nautilus. The outside door had been left open, and Captain Nemo closed it after we reentered the first cell. Then he pressed a button. I heard pumps operating within the ship, I felt the water lowering around me, and in a few moments the cell was completely empty. The inside door opened, and we passed into the wardrobe. There our diving suits were removed, not without difficulty; and utterly exhausted, faint from lack of food and rest, I repaired to my stateroom, full of wonder at this startling excursion on the bottom of the sea.

#20000Leagues

[ulfwolf]

Toccata and Fugue — Musing 22

The Northern Lights of Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D-Minor: My home

Did you know that the aurora borealis makes a sound? It emits a sort of electrical hiss, a subtle shifting of audible frequencies, as it both shapeshifts and colorshifts across the black, star-studded sky.

I count myself very fortunate to have been born and raised in northern Sweden where each winter we had vivid northern lights (norrsken—literally, northern shine) a dozen or so times a year.

These were gigantic, multi-colored church organ pipes covering half the northern sky, fluttering or shivering slowly in the sun-particle breeze while whispering its unoiled song to all little humans standing in the snow, head back in awe.

The first several times I saw the northern lights I had yet to hear of Bach or any of his music, but I was introduced to this god of music sooner than most in that we lived a five-minute walk from our local church which sported a very impressive (I’d go so far as to say magnificent) organ, and in that the church organist was also my music teacher and he had invited me to come hear him practice any time I wanted.

The keyboards to this organ were housed in the choir loft (some call it the church balcony) at the rear of the church which you reached by climbing a narrow and spiraling set of stone steps.

Sometimes of a quiet winter night I could actually hear him play even from our house (yes, I’d have to be outside, of course, and yes, it would have to be very quiet) and then I’d rush up to the church, climb the stairs and debouch into this wonderful space that housed not only the multiple-keyboard organ cockpit, but also the seats for the choir and (of course) the magnificent pipes.

And there he would sit (his name was Harald) both hands and both feet busy with their magic. He’d sense me arriving and turn and smile at me without stopping. Me, I’d sit down and just watch and listen.

Now, it was not that I knew that the music was written by Bach—yes, he may have mentioned it but that did not register at the time. What did register, however, was Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D-Minor, which Harald played more than once (he obviously loved it, too). Those ten heavenly opening notes found two eager ears and a forever home in this young boy, listening in open-mouthed wonder to his music teacher’s conjurer’s trick.

The association between the northern lights and the grand pipes of the church organ is easily made—they do sport the same features—and it’s only a few short associative steps from there to seeing Bach up there in the winter sky (once I learned that he had written the Toccata and Fugue).

To be honest, perhaps it’s not so much that this stellar piece of music was my home (as I wrote in the Wolfku above); it’s more that I became a home for it, and from there on, looking up at the divine winter-night spectacle, there they were, both Harald and Johannes Sebastian, smiling down at me.

That said, let’s fast forward a few years, and I now live in Stockholm in a very cold little apartment with a very good stereo system. One night—and, yes, I must admit to being high on hashish this night—I put on Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D-Minor, and as the heavens opened in those first ten notes, I saw the familiar northern lights right there in my room, real as anything, descending through the ceiling.

Fast forward a few more years, and I wrote a short story about just that night called “Bach Lights,” which I’ve included it below. It tells of the wonder and why I still am a home for Bach, and he a home for me.

:

Bach Lights

The Winter Dawn is timid this far north. That is why she tiptoed up to my window and then hesitated, as if unsure about what to do next.

Within, Night, her brother and contrast, lingered in many places: on the windows and along the floor as frost, in the cold hash pipe as ash, in the lava lamp as yellow and red bubbly ghost still rising and falling and rising and falling from the heat of the little bulb that could.

On the table as story.

The sun scaled the sky a little more before Sister Dawn finally worked up the courage to pry herself through the frosted glass and heavy curtains and onto my face where she settled and with the help of pure physical (as in bathroom) needs found and excavated me.

I opened my eyes to wonder at the ceiling, then turned to my left to wonder at the all the little letters written on the wall, then turned to my right to wonder at the table, then at the large sheet of paper on the table with many more inky letters scrawled all over it, all mine. And when I say wondered, I really mean wondered, for as yet I could not imagine what I might have written on wall and paper.

I heaved myself halfway up and onto my elbow to wonder a little harder at the sheet of paper: so many letters, all running around scratchily in my barely legible hand. And looking, and looking again, and making out a word or two or three it came back to me, little by a little more: that long, glorious and wordy exhaling under the spell of Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D-Minor.

I sat all the way up now and retrieved the sheet from the table, wrapped the blanket around me (noticing my breath as faint mist in the cold air), leaned back against the thick wall behind me, and began to read in earnest.

Reading, I returned to the night before and again fell in with Brother Cold and Dark (aka Brother Night)—Cold and Dark despite the two gas burners on my stove burning as high as they would go and hissing heat into his icy heart and despite the little kerosene heater that did all it could to give the gas burners a hand from its frosty corner.

But those were only gestures at warmth, for I live in Stockholm and it is deep winter in the capital N North with a meter of snow outside my window, glittering now and would be sharp to the touch, I could well imagine, and would squeak now underfoot, I could well imagine.

And in this capital N North my room is a tall rectangular box of frigid space: a three-meter-high ceiling with two almost meter-thick walls colder than death facing the outside, another wall nearly as cold facing the entrance way, and a fourth (not so cold but not-at-all warm) wall that I shared with my neighbor. It is in this box of winter that Brother Night and I spent an interesting evening; a cold and stoned evening—just me, though, with the stoned part, Brother Night doesn’t smoke hashish.

Initially, after a pipe or two, I had sailed across first one ocean (the Atlantic) and then a continent (USA) to reach the next ocean (the Pacific) and the big city by the water they call Los Angeles which had gifted me the Doors and their Strange Days Long Playing (LP) record. Leaving my very good speakers as stereo adventure I listened through all of side one and then all of side two and still my frosty wings were spread and eager to go places so I carefully lifted the Doors LP off the turntable and returned it to its sleeve (only touching the record edges), then found and disrobed and carefully lowered a Bach LP onto the turntable instead. Then, as carefully, brought out the stylus from its cradle and lowered it, slowly, slowly, respectfully, the way you should always lower even the most eager stylus onto Bach.

I have a theory: Bach is God. Well, if not God God then at least of the same substance, of that I have no doubt.

:

Of sounds there are none more God-like than those first measures of the Toccata and Fugue in D-minor (or D-Moll as my Archiv German pressing says). They arrived through the ceiling, from a distant somewhere up there in the darkness, as descending lashes of beauty to kill the frozen silence.

Stunned, I reached for pen and paper as would a photographer for his camera when suddenly stumbling upon extraterrestrial aliens—slowly, carefully, centimeter-by-centimeter—hoping not to draw their attention, you know, spook them.

I had to get him down om paper.

Him God. Him Bach. Had to. For were I not to let what now flowed into me, flow through me and then out of me as ink onto this stiff paper I would overfill and drown in beauty. Not a bad way to go mind you, but I was young then and not ready that final passage just yet.

But I did not reach for pen and paper inconspicuously enough. Those first few measures, midflight, spotted my movement and rushed me and wrestled me to the floor where some part of me, some sunny sandy California part of me somehow remained in the Doors’ Los Angeles: prostrate upon Santa Monica beach sand, warm ear to the warm ground listening to the Pacific, listening to wave upon wave reaching sand like wind reaching trees but another part of me—most of me—remained in the wintry Stockholm here and now hearing Bach/God descend and I scrambled back on my feet and discovered a pen in my hand and the sheet of stiff paper on my table and then I began to write down all that Bach said.

Those first few measures again, resurrected in a lower register, circling, then entering me like so many lovers: through my ears, through my eyes, through my skin, embracing me each as they entered. My body sang with Bach. Then the vision.

It was brother North Wind: the ever dawn of the northern lights, their shimmering pipes of icy organ rising shifting rising in a mid-winter fantasy making snow sing. It was God coming down through my ceiling as the aurora borealis and I knew then and there that Bach and God are indeed one and the same.

Then the world rises. It starts somewhere in the engine room of time, his feet on the lower pedals, hands too to the keyboard left as he begins to lift the planet. My room vibrates with the effort, with the strength and sheer joy of that rising. I am water I am wave I am blue ink and I flow onto stiffly white frame after frame of photographed aliens or no one will ever believe me I actually hear this.

The lifting escalates and crescendos and is done escalating now and flings open the door onto Spring.

I hear and see and follow with the tip of my very costly fountain pen which I bought just the other day knowing full well I could not afford it. But these were the days when a check was automatically good because you signed it and gave it to the clerk who then handed you the pen with smile. I have since learned the meaning of the word overdrawn, but meanwhile here it is in my hand and anyway, it’s too late to take it back now, no matter how expensive it was, so I do with it what I hoped and dreamed I would do with it and I write with it.

And out into Spring: The doors are flung wide open, onto narrow crystal steps that dance up into the morning into sky. No more brother North Wind now, just dawn and dew and those little lakes of silver that form on my petals and leaves and do to sense of smell what Michelangelo does to rock.

I wish I could cry matching tears.

Though for whose benefit? I am overcome, yes, but not beyond control. So, un-crying, I keep writing. I no longer know exactly what I say or why really just that I know that this is a capital M Moment and I am having some sort of epiphany here and maybe just maybe I’m a genius of some kind that someone is waiting to discover and make immensely rich and warm and to move out of this freezing almost ceiling-less room so full of darkness and frost and this immense music.

Sound as Mountain. Physical. And I confess I lose my way. In Him.

I reach the end of the paper and there is more to write as I sail on, cast about by waves—a soul in blessed turmoil. And then a new cresting that lets me sprout wings and out and over I glide. He does this to you, you know, God does. Bach does.

I have taken leave of Stockholm of winter of snow and Boreas’ and Bach’s Light and now there is only ocean reflecting soul and I cannot comprehend how anyone encumbered with arms and legs and fingers and toes could possibly have conceived and composed beauty such as this, wings such as these and again I remind myself that I am in His presence, sailing His air, and that for Him all is possible.

I turn the sheet over. The one sheet. I only have the one sheet? Why have I only the one sheet? But wondering does not turn it into several, so instead I turn it over and continue this scribbly dance on the other side and I hope that at least some small vestige of what enters actually exits as I race ahead by one inky Swedish word after another and turning my head now I see a path that perhaps can be followed, perhaps should be followed, perhaps must be followed, or I will never find my way back.

What goes through God’s mind when he writes music like this? What could possibly inspire Him, source of all inspiration? But something does and did and am I really the first to hear this? To hear what He meant. To see what He saw.

There are islets below. They could be Greece or they could be Australia or they could be our own Stockholm archipelago in the summer I don’t know and really, I don’t care as long as my wings carry me and I don’t fly too close to the sun.

My speakers make a faint hum from an inverter I need in this old apartment, so old it only has direct current (DC) electricity which needs chopping up into little AC bits to drive my stereo and that’s what makes them hum but God doesn’t care and I no longer notice. Now there is only space and the windy tapestry of pipes as I approach the edge of the second page and there is so much more to say but nowhere to say it so I turn to the clean wall behind me and now I have a sheet to last me.

We sail on, Bach and God and I for the final measure.

Timid Sister Dawn (she is very perceptive) sees all this of course which is perhaps why she finally ventured through frosty panes and heavy curtain to find my face, beneath which I sleep the sleep of last night’s frost and though I slowly know her on my face up there on the somewhere surface I choose to ignore her for a while. But she has come to stay and soon manages to dispel her brother to some nether, even colder region, to under my bed perhaps and into corners where he will sulk till the sun sets again to set him loose and she tugs me gently and tells me to wake up, to wake all the way up and to open my eyes.

:

“So what do you think?” I ask.

My friend gets to the bottom of the stiff sheet and mumbles, without taking his eyes off the text, “Amazing.” Then he turns the sheet over.

“Do you think your dad might publish it?” I ask. His dad is an editor of some sort. It’s a small magazine, but quite prestigious I’m told.

“I would think so,” he says and keeps reading. “Surreal,” he adds after another while, still not taking his eyes off my scribbles.

Then he gets to the bottom of the second page and says, “Does it end here?”

He turns the sheet over again and over again and over again looking for a better ending. “Where is the rest?”

“On my wall,” I remember.

::

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