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aidendh · 2 years

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RAU! Abigail/Adrik Harris [P2]

RAU! Adrik Harris

(RAU! Fyodor → Abigail Harris)

His handwriting is terrible in the English alphabet, but can be decently neater in Russian/Japanese

He'd seem very Chuunibyou with how he still feels connected to ppl like Nagisa

Alongside normally having a ginger cat called Simba, he would beg his Mother to let him keep one the Simba's little sisters

She would be a spotty grey cat

He'd call her Teress (Tigeress/Atsushi)

Teress would love climbing and laying on his shoulder, even when she out grows it

Especially his face

She wouldn't be cuddly, but would be very clingy/'My Human!'

His fave animal are Otters

In his Palace his Shadow has frail Butterfly Wings under their Kimono

The main rodent security shadows are Otters

The only time the treasure is out is during a preaching, the preacher varies

The strength of the brainwashing pull depends on who's preaching and can result in lost time/

(Book)

Crime and Punishment, by Adrik Hinata

[Russian]

A slice of life story with vauge character descriptions

Each character would have a nickname instead of proper names

Eg, flurry, Tea Leaf

It was published not long after the author's passing

Its mainly a collection of many different short stories

The book overall is decently long

Persona: Pfeiffer

(The Pied Piper)

A figure that plays a flute with many different types of rodents chained to follow him

Ice/Brainwashing

Weakness is Bless

Mask: Asylum Mask

Theme: Fyodor

Code name: (Mi')Lord

Because of an inside joke between him and Diamond

Weapons: Flute / Water Gun

(Different ammo shoots different liquids (eg, Gasoline))

Awakens when he decides to forgo his secrets to save those he cares about

Cognition!Abalynn fight

Because of a friend from secondary school, he also has a pet rat named Daisy

-:Revamp:-

Adrik Harris (Secondary School)

A popular kid with a skill for cooking and a high intellect

Quirk: Quirkless

Confidant: Judgment

Adrik Harris (Casual)

An Incarnate struggling with their suppressed psychotic urges

Ability: Crime and Punishment

Diagnosed with Schizophrenia

Death: Killed by K!Mori

Shadow! Adrik

A Distorted Soul that just wants to rebuild their legacy

E: Psy/Curse/Bless, W: Fire

Treasure: Библия → Преступление и наказание

Lord

A Persona-User finally letting himself loose

Persona: Pfeiffer (Judgment)

E: Ice / Brainwash, W: Fire

Weapons: Erhu / Water Gun

#aiden's aus #bungou stray dogs #rau #oc #adrik harris #persona 5 #pied piper #lord #fyodor hinata #bungou stray dogs: lost souls #Teress #Daisy #simba

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jf3co · 5 years

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Down In Mexico

Article appears in the Summer 2019 issue of The Palisades Magazine & Issuu:

Mexico City. How do you cover one of the world’s largest cities in just 4 days? Take a deep breath, be prepared to walk… and let’s go!

Day 1 - The Travel Day is to wonder or worry, depending on your predispositions. I am slightly apprehensive before any foreign trip. And noting Mexico in the news a tiny bit recently, I plan to exercise good street smarts. I do not plan to (just a whimsical example) don a child’s costume bulletproof vest to fit a narrative of “scary place”. One shouldn’t look for trouble, but the same applies in any American city. I’ve been down in Mexico three times in as many years and have found a wonderful vacation destination each time.

You arrive at the Mexico City airport after flying over a sprawling metropolis. The mind boggles that this is only the 25th largest city in the world with a population of 8.8 million. It seems much larger. By contrast, Los Angeles has about 4 million. Clearing customs was simple. As was locating our hotel-provided driver. After a jaunt through traffic we arrive at our hotel, the Nima Local House in the Roma Norte Neighborhood. Again, simple.

Did you watch Roma? No? Go watch Roma. It was a happy coincidence this is the neighborhood featured in the movie. The streets are reminiscent of those in our older cities; Rittenhouse Square, Brooklyn Heights, Russian Hills (sans hills), Dupont Circle. And the streets are wide, grand tree-lined promenades crossed with a gridded layout. I fell in love with the walkability as we strolled to find some cocktails, eventually ducking into Licorería Limantour, a hipster hot spot.

Do you know Spanish? No? Mexico is our closest non-English-speaking country, and hey it doesn’t hurt to be neighborly... but if you do not, everyone speaks English. After a couple of "Margarita al Pastors” followed by a some “Mezcal Stalks”, proper cocktails at times served tongue-in-cheek in ridiculous vessels, though due to the drink itself I don’t remember them, I picked my head up off the bar to check out the locals; think fashionable. This is an old, cosmopolitan city full of art and culture; whereas I just got back from a business trip to Las Vegas and noted that the current fashion trend for US tourists is “freshly dumped out of a canoe”. One should bring their casual “A” game to Mexico City; men: button-down shirt (button one less than usual), nice jeans or pants, stylish shoes; women: think NYC in Spring, keeping in mind you will be walking a lot. Speaking of walking, we are going to be late to our dinner reservation. “La cuenta, por favor!” This will be your first double-take, a ‘twenty dollars in LA’ cocktail is only three bucks. Score one for the exchange rate.

Do you like when I start every paragraph with a question? No? I’ll stop. Dinner that evening was at Maycoll Calderón's Huset, a self-described “country kitchen” with a rustic indoor/outdoor space. Preceded by more craft mezcal cocktails, the entire meal was superb, having the gnocchi, grilled beef, chicken-ginger rice, and roasted vegetables. But I must note, regarding the steak, that the local interpretation of “medium rare” requires one to chase their dinner around the room a bit first; hot travel tip: order “medium” or above. We skipped dessert, as it was not a possibility given prior intake, and meandered the few blocks back to the hotel where we sat on the roof terrace enjoying the warm night air… that is until a screeching steam whistle announcing Death Incarnate punctuated the stillness, creeping ever closer; what the hell is it? I was not going to find out. Time to retreat to bed.

Day 2 - Zero Sleep. I am going to die. Did I magically catch the flu? Is the pollution really that bad? Apparently I am allergic to lilies. I did not quite know this until I spent the whole first night coughing and sneezing. And the room was charmingly decorated with them. But, once removed, all was well again. I did sleep late though, and this altered our plans so we missed out on the large art museums and grand parks; but this will only justify a future trip. We ended up taking an Uber to the Zócalo, the main square, and visited a street vendor for some Tlayudas Oaxaca, a masterpiece of grilled meat, veggies, and cheese on a large toasted flatbread. Then ambled over to the Templo Mayor, the main temple of the Mexicas in the city of Tenochtitlan; some fun facts: it was once referred to as "island of the dogs” because the elevation provided a safe haven for strays during flooding. It is also considered by the Aztecs to be the center of the known universe - sorry cat lovers.

You will now be thirsty from standing under the hot sun on the exposed square. You will go to the La Frapp rooftop for drinks. You will order a Model Negra with Orange Juice and Tequila. You will send me a thank you note later.

After the beverage constitutional, another Uber to the La Condensa neighborhood, full of Art Deco apartments and a large park. The Parque España (formally Parque General San Martín) will subtly remind that you are in a warm, jungle environment with it’s lush greenery and hanging mosses. We wandered and admired and then found ourselves at Milos for a mezcal break. While in CDMX, drink mezcal, drink tequila… they are health drinks. Don’t believe me? Google it.

After some miles we made it back to our neighborhood for dinner at Taqueria Orinoco. This is no frills. But it’s TACOS! East as many as you possibly can. Order the tres proteínas for a combination of trompo (al pastor), res (steak), and chicharrón (pork belly). Wash them down with a few Superior Cervezas. Then request someone roll you over to Churrería El Moro for a paquetes combination of Mexican hot chocolate and churros. We sat idly on a park bench along Avenue Álvaro Obregón, swinging our legs, enjoying the passersby and warm night air.

Time for bed… one again the Locomotive of Death slowly approaches. I dream fitfully of stone and stairs and feathered warriors as I stand at the nexus of the earth, the sky, and... the underworld.

Day 3 - More Annoying Uses for Plastics, and The Aztecs versus the Oxfords. We awake to a quick breakfast in the atrium of our hotel - making a commitment to reverse engineer their roasted pepper salsa recipe. Then hop in an Uber to head to the Aztec pyramids. We are in a hurry. It’s the free day for locals and we want to beat the crowd.

The pyramids are sublime. Works of permanence and precision laid out with obsessive specificity seldom rivaled the world over. The crude plastic jaguar and hawk noisemakers that every third person is selling to bored children by the thousand are not. The location is jarring with annoying noise. This is probably the reason there are no more actual jaguars or hawks in the area. Scared away. There’s too many people here. Too much plastic. Too many failed attempts at trumpeting a catcall or hawks’ screech. I was struck by the juxtaposition of laborious achievement against cheap novelty, just as I was by the fact that Oxford University is older than the founding of Tenochtitlán by the Mexica; humans seem to have both a sliding scale of antiquity alongside the inability to contemplate the longevity of their particular contributions.

We return to CDMX and hit the Juárez neighborhood to eat at Contramar, an airy, popular lunch spot. We ordered tuna tostados, a Serrano ham omelet made with French fries and cheese, and shrimp & octopus tacos; get the tostado, devour the omelet (and make it at home during every single meal for the rest of your life), skip the tacos. Afterward, we decided to visit one of the many parklet traffic circles to idly watch the world revolve and sip a few beers at La Zaranda Miravalle.

Cabrera 7 was our dinner. The decor is garden party and pop art. The view is of Plaza Luis Cabrera with it’s large fountain in across the street. Food was good. Portions were great. But we were simply not in the mood. Too much walking. Too much overindulging. It would be a disservice to describe anything further - we simply didn’t eat. Go there only when you are hungry.

At this point we plod the streets back to our hotel. Stuffed like Piñata. Catatonic. Directionless. We feel a distinct pull toward life and vitality; Gravity beckons us toward Plaza Rio De Janeiro where there is a gala Oscar viewing party. Alfonso Cuarón is up for Roma, the semi-autobiographical tale of life in this neighborhood during the early 70’s “Dirty War” period. Roma ended up winning 3 Oscars and the place absolutely exploded with jubilation each time; Best Director, Foreign Language Film, Best Cinematography. Congrats to Cuarón. Congrats to Roma Norte. Congrats to Mexico. We celebrated in our own way back at the hotel with a wine from Valle De Guadalupe (Mexico has a wine country. It is fantastic. You can drive there from LA) and a viewing of Roma. En route we accidentally identified Whistling Death, himself - not the soul-stealer of lore, but the Camotes Cart man slinging a confections of sweet potato and plantains. We ran smack into his cart on our way back to the hotel. I am told the whistle is the sound of childhood to a lot of locals, and not a harbinger of corporeal impermanence. I don’t see it.

Day 4 - Goodbye to Roma Norte… We awake on our last day and head to Toscano Roma for breakfast. Notable was the beet, orange, raspberry smoothie - I now put beets in smoothies at home. One last idle stroll. And off to the airport. See you next time, Mexico City. There’s so much to see. So much I missed. I will definitely be back. If only to dress well, admire the architecture, sample the haute cuisine, and practice my Spanish, in a grand city chock full of life, vitality, art and culture.

Links:

Nima Local House - http://nimalocalhousehotel.com/

Roma Norte - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Colonia_Roma#Roma_Norte_I

Licoria Limantour - https://www.yelp.com/biz/limantour-m%C3%A9xico-5

Huset - http://www.huset.mx/

Zocalo - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Z%C3%B3calo

La Frapp - https://www.facebook.com/pages/category/Coffee-Shop/La-Frapp-356500598031678/

Parque Espana - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Parque_Espa%C3%B1a

Milos - https://www.tripadvisor.com/Restaurant_Review-g150800-d2297923-Reviews-Milo_s_Bistro-Mexico_City_Central_Mexico_and_Gulf_Coast.html

Taqueria Orinoco - http://www.taqueriaorinoco.com/

El Moro - http://elmoro.mx/

Teotihuacan aka “The Pyramids” - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Teotihuacan

Contramar - http://www.contramar.com.mx/

La Zaranda Miravalle -

Cabrera 7 -

Plaza Rio De Janeiro - https://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plaza_R%C3%ADo_de_Janeiro

Cafe Toscano Roma - https://www.tripadvisor.com/Restaurant_Review-g150800-d3251109-Reviews-Cafe_Toscano-Mexico_City_Central_Mexico_and_Gulf_Coast.html

Down in Mexico, The Coasters - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ebl5Sx4zqYw

#Article #Magazine #Travel #Writing #Mexico City #Mexico #CDMX #Pacific Palisades #Stuff

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artificialqueens · 7 years

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Cupid’s Blind Arrow (Group Fic) Prologue - Ginger Nut

AN: Hi everyone so this is my first fic ever, it will be loosely based on the story of Romeo and Juliet, but this prologue is just introducing all of the main characters and how I want to portray them, there will be side characters I just haven’t included them in this. I’m still a bit unsure on what ship to centre the idea around so forgive me if i play about with a few for the next couple of chapters.Pronouns used are mainly she/her and sometimes they/them. I got this idea as I’m currently studying this play at school and I would want to read something like this, I’m really excited planning all of this out so please let me know what you think! I’m very open to feedback as I know I’m not the best writer, trust me my English teacher has told me, but I’ve tried really hard because not gonna lie I need an escape rn and this blog gives me life

“A glooming piece this morning with it brings;

The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head:

Go hence to have more talk of these sad things:

Some shall be pardon’d and some punished:

For there never was a story of more woe

Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.”

“Well then class that is the end of the play, we have finally finished the first reading of Romeo and Juliet.” Miss Raja tone was monotonous despite her inner self feeling a sense of relief considering it had felt like a chore to even pick this play up as every time she did her students gave an audible groan in protest.

“What do you mean the first reading, you only need to read it once” Someone from the back corner interjected however the teacher didn’t even need to look up to know who it was,

“Willam I’m surprised you think that you’ve read it once considering most often times than not you’re leaning against the wall with your eyes and book closed.” Willam Belli surprised everyone when she showed up to the honours English class and hadn’t walked into the wrong room. She never took anything seriously and didn’t apply herself to any of her classes. Secretly however, that had changed towards the end of last term as exams were on the rise. Her mum had hired her a tutor and it just so happens that Willam became head over heels for her, only secretly though, no one could know that Willam Belli had a crush. It just wasn’t her brand; guys lusted after her and girls loved her, Willam preferred to be single at all times, no commitment no issues. But for some reason she just couldn’t forget the blonde Australian who taught her about imagery, persuasive techniques, and poetic tones. Oh, and by the way, the beautiful aussie, named Courtney, became more than just a tutor. Their time together was short due to Courtney’s exchange programming expiring but Willam came out on top, scoring almost perfect in many of her exams….and in other ways.

“Nuh uh,” Willam looked at Miss Raja wearing a face that was a mixture of offense and boredom. “They meet, fall in love, find out they’re from feuding families and kill themselves to be dead together. Ya know “happy dagger and all that shit””

Miss Raja didn’t bat an eye at Willam’s language, at this point in the game she’d heard it all and was more interested at her participation than anything else.

Just at that the bell for 3rd period rang, and the stampede of students started to flow into the river of people in the corridor. Miss Raja started to collect in copies of the play as she felt weight being lifted off her shoulders, this class had to be the most challenging; Aside from the infamous vain character that is Willam, her class was full of huge personalities and Raja had no clue how this year was going to pan out, she groaned at the thought of it. Violet Chachki she thought as she picked the copy of the play off her desk, a prestigious yet intimidating student who had extremely high standards and walked the halls as if everyone disgusted her, you did not want to disappoint Violet. Her signature feature being a small a waist as Willam attention span, she also had an amazing eye for fashion and almost always showed up at school with an outfit that was coordinated head to toe. Raja admired her determination; that girl could achieve anything she set her mind to which is why she consistently turns in exceptional work on independent tasks. Next to Violet sat Bianca Del Rio, brutal honesty being her forefront and her over it attitude certainly contradicted her eagerness to participate in discussion which she usually took over from Miss Raja. Before you know it, Bianca was educating the whole class instead and Raja would sit back and let her go for it. As miss raja scanned the class she picked up the 3 copies belonging to the more laid back, chilled students in the back row: Right in the back corner was Pearl Liason, Pearl had only moved to the school a couple of months before summer which gave her a disadvantage regarding a social life, most of the kids had been going to the same school as each other their whole life. Pearl didn’t seem to mind though any time Raja had been on school lunch monitor duty, her dreaded day of the week, she noticed Pearl sitting at the end of a table with headphones in and usually doing homework or something of that sorts, sometimes she had a sketch pad out. A thought emerged, Raja believed that her and Violet would be good friends considering their arty, creative interests, maybe they worked together in a fashion or media class, but Raja never dared to get any closer to find out what was on Pearls paper. She just felt weird doing so, even though it’d probably be more interesting than listening to Miss Sanchez’s stories of her son or Miss Imfurst’s rages over her classes. Pearl was a more reserved student, that’s just how she was, nevertheless she got on with her work occasionally getting into trouble for smelling of cigarettes or weed as she came into class with the other back row students. In the middle sat Adore Delano, a grunge rocker who had an abysmal at best attendance record, but a raw talent that Miss Raja longed to see all the time, but it was hard fucking work. Adore preferred to talk than listen, write than read. Raja understood that, her mind produced some really wonderful things but examiners won’t ask you about the origin of life and importance of spirituality. Surprisingly Adore got on well with Bianca who sat immediately in front of her; they were polar opposites but somehow had an undeniable connection. Raja couldn’t keep herself from laughing sometimes at the things they came up with and their dynamic. Completing the back row was none other than Sharon Needles, Sharon had smart moments but for the most part Raja wondered how she managed to get into this class. She had a no fucks given vibe and for that reason she rarely turned any work in. Sharon didn’t do much work in class in fact she didn’t really do anything. She spent most of her time listening to Adore ramble on, engraving shit like “Andy Warhol is dead” onto her desk or staring out of the window looking like she was in love with the rain. The leather biker looks raised some eyebrows but on the inside Sharon was really goofy and a big softy. Raja could’ve sworn she’d caught Sharon gazing at one of the girls in the front row, but could not place her finger on who. Across the room Willam sat at the other back row alongside a few other students who Willam found pleasure in angering. One of them however seemed to enjoy her witty and usually narcissistic comments, and that was a Russian born gymnast called Katya. Raja had given up with her real name after less than one class. Katya had a weird sense of humour, that’s for sure but found Willam out of all people hilariously funny even when the joke was aimed at her. Katya’s work consisted mainly of historical events that had modern day twists, she had a weird thing for futuristic Barbie’s and it never failed to bore Raja. Making her way back down to the front row she guided past Alaska Thunderfuck scooping up her copy of the play. Alaska was actually quite intellectual; however, her class work was always to a much higher standard than her home assignments, Raja wondered what the fuck is that girl doing outside of school, who are her friends? Alaska insisted that she had a busy life, which one may be lead to believe. The girl was a cheerleader and featured in many of the school events such as the musicals. And finally, next to Alaska sat Trixie Mattel. Trixie’s personality and hair lit up the room, like Alaska, Trixie was a cheerleader and often came to class in uniform. Trixie was an ideal student, she always showed up on time to class, did her work, completed all homework, and scored pretty high in all class tests. Raja had no worries with her, god forbid she got into a relationship.

Miss Raja just noticed a pounding headache coming on as she proceeded to read the rest of the requirements for the Romeo and Juliet section; “Class must have a discussion on whether the plot of the play was a cautionary tale regarding the stupidity of youth and lust or a beautiful tragedy where poisonous hatred can be conquered by love.” Fucking hell, thought Raja. Class discussions are a waste of time. She scrolled down, the next requirement was a nine-point essay on why Romeo was a character created to evoke sympathy in the reader. Class discussion it is.

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listentowords · 7 years

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Grand

It was the beach where I used to live. Where I remember a different childhood life. Ten minutes drive from the main road that fell through the suburb of Wattalla. From the turn-off where a statue of Mary stood somewhere alongside the highway that connected the only International airport in the country to the rest of Colombo. The highway, as long as my childhood memory can remember, that used to be obstructed with military checkpoints; but not anymore.

It was the beach where I saw your footsteps. The sea was covering the traces, but the deep giant damp steps were yours. I could always identify the path you walked like recalling the national anthem of my motherland even though I’ve never heard it for almost all of my adult life. My childhood memories are now stubborn. They no longer listened to my request of recall. We’ve had words, we’ve had conversations about bitterness, and they don’t seem to like my adult self. But there were still things left behind that I could pick up and recognise without much trouble. Your black leather shoes were on the dry sand waiting for their occupant; you never wore socks – at least this was what I can remember. I felt your presence close by, you were back from a very, very long walk; just that the sun had business somewhere else, and I was having trouble spotting you amongst the crowd in the distance. There is a notebook in my hand so I’ll write till I wait for you. Till you come into closer view, I will spend my time with a blue ball point pen, an exercise book (double ruled in blue and red) and words.

The name I chose to address you was established before my birth. From my older sister, five years after, I unknowingly stole the term. The same name my grandmother addressed her father. As my memory holds, my mother followed to use the same with her grandfather. My sister picked up the same for you; for our grandfather.

I still remember how you most passionately wielded into your body with waving arms, the classical music you listened to in awe. In those moments I saw aspirations hovering above your head, there were dreams of being a conductor. When your music surrounded you, at home, despite wearing your white sleeveless t-shirt and striped blue sarong you would have fit effortlessly into the middle of an epic orchestra.

Only now I understand that the walks you took were no easy feat. They were always a couple of days long, few cities apart. And always to visit someone in need of your smile prescribed through your stethoscope. They needed your presence and advice; though they never realised. We were always commissioned to rub your feet after they were weak from many kilometres of street. You always paid us with forgotten gems from history which were never brief and chocolates to keep us from falling asleep. Now my sister has your old stethoscope. She has taken over the task of prescribing your smiles. The patients who still come looking for you find cures from her.

My walking habit maybe something I picked up from you, I think. I’ve been walking the paths that you would have wanted to see, and been learning the history you wanted to teach.

The coffee cup that was made for you always lasted many more takes before it was all pure water. The kitchen always had a fresh brew in a flask dedicated to you. Good food and drink you appreciated, we always knew when you enjoyed a meal when your right eyebrow gave its approval of excellent taste. My caffeine habit I picked up from my father, but having it strong and black, I think came from you.

The low wooden ceiling of your room made it look like a captain’s cabin on an ancient ship. There I used to speak to you when I wanted the world to disappear and the universe to fade out of sight. It smelled of old books and spilled coffee. Your books were alive when no one was around. They listened to your thoughts and constructed maps to places in the world you couldn’t travel to. I used to think and still do that all the books you read were an inhuman feat. In your room, I wandered alone sometimes when you were not around. There was a squeaky bed in the middle of the room and where maybe I’ve taken nap or two. It may have been the books whispering to me because the dreams I had were always about me sailed into the Siberian Sea.

You warned me of the poison that came out of the television screen. You pulled out the chess board and invited me to play whenever you saw my mind blurring to the rays of a cathode tube. I always lost the game of chess I played with you. There was no mercy for the single digit old me. Your smile of victory was proof that you were into the game and didn’t leave room for mistakes. But your greatest challenge was to make sure I learned. It was always challenging to go to war with you and humbling to lose my king to you. You told me to always protect the queen but also warned me to not to get fooled by her power. There was that one afternoon in the house in Kotte I managed to finally win a game from you. And you suddenly realise the teenage grandson had finally beaten you. Your smile of defeat was proof that you didn’t let me win. There no more bulky cathodes filling up the living rooms of middle-class homes. But lately, I’ve been addicted to new type of screens. I keep changing channels looking for reality and truth. I’m constantly feeling more and more under someone else’s control. I may have forgotten my chess moves, I think you will beat me soon.

The evening before your last long walk you were sitting on a hospital bed. For a soul who was always making everyone else well, you were looking out of place in that place. You wore your upside down smile; the last time I saw you. You asked why I looked upset. The weight of impossible Sri Lankan advanced level math exams, my Shakespeare character practices in ‘Comedy Of Errors’ and organising an English-Day school function was spinning webs in my head. There was confusion in my mind and the lack of sense to understand what was really going on in your space. I think, as usual, you knew something heavy was crawling inside my head. At that moment, you lent me your upside down smile; my last prescription from you. Though I don’t realise, I still occasionally use your borrowed smile; it’s still in good shape. But on that night fear caged my words and numbed my face. The evening before your last long walk, all I could do was nod my head.

It’s getting darker now. I can see the fishermen loading their boats for another night out at sea. I can see a small ship anchored close by near the Pegasus reef. An ancient but sturdy ship. One which would have a wooden cabin for the captain, just like your old bedroom. A captains room with the speaking books and the squeaky iron bed. The type of ship which would withstand the Russian seas and break through the Arctic ice. Its hull and body were painted with black stripes over pale blue. Stripes running around similar to the pattern of your blue sarong. I can see the dim yellow electric lamp inside; illuminating the brown walls of the ship’s bridge. There is a mug of steaming black coffee next the instrument panel.

I know you may know some of this, but I thought I should repeat. If I don’t meet you soon, I’ll write these down, slip the paper inside an empty brown ginger-beer bottle, seal it and throw it into the sea. I still try to believe that magic exists in this crazy place and old souls among us are just visiting from a future state. And there are tricks in words inside air tight bottles floating in the sea. They sail tirelessly looking for the person to whom they were written to or a mind they can sufficiently fill.

The pale blue ship, it’s beginning to vanish out of sight. There is a shadow of a tall man waving a Nila-Kuura (a sparkler) in the dim room. He’s wearing your old watch with a black leather strap. He keeps shifting his wrist to look at the minutes on his hand. The ship’s not moving but blurring into the winds of the Indian Ocean. It seems like wizardry or some new kind of technology. It’s blurring like it’s trying to travel forwards and backwards in time. The captain in the shadows, I think it’s you. You have patients in out-of-space, in history or in some future place they eagerly wait.

This message in a bottle will ask directions from the whales whose minds you have cured. It will jump through time with the help the stars you’ve walked under. They will follow broken maps and even take miniature flights to the universes you wander. They will come swimming to the sea you anchor.

This was a dedication piece to my late grandfather, written a year or so ago. It has been almost 20 years since he passed.

#grand #srilanka #grandfather #dedication

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