once_upon_a_time l_u_x in a place long ago, there lived a young girl. her name was lum. she lived with her older brother, luke, by a small forest all by themselves; far away from villages and chaos. the forest was filled with trees which had been planted hundreds of years ago by a group of traveling wizards who had been cared for on their journey by lum's great-great-grandparents . . . or so luke used to tell her. each day, lum would walk about collecting little flowers and ferns for the kitchen table, but she had never ventured into the woods. In all her life (she would be turning twelve within the next month) this was the only area of their property that she had not stepped foot into. it's not that she was scared or intimidated by it. nor was forbidden to enter. in fact, lum was not even sure herself why she had never explored beneath the canopy of leaves. it was almost as if she were simply waiting. waiting for the right time. . . 000702 ... DannyH Desert Island The whole population of the island stood on the beach. Many of them were still waving though the ship had long since gone out of sight. The chief and the medicine man stood farthest inland, waiting for the islanders to turn back towards them. “Do you think they’ll be back?” said the medicine man. “They promised.” Said the chief. He was squinting his eyes against the sun but he no longer believed in the speck he had thought he could see on the horizon. “The people will be looking to me again for medicine.” Said the medicine man, “All I have to give them is what the Flatfaces taught me. My old ways would not work now, even if I still believed in them.” “You will remember what they taught you and you will teach another so that he may take your place and carry on the good medicine the Flatfaces brought to us. When they return they will be proud of how we have carried on their teachings.” The chief and the medicine man fell silent. Some of the islanders were gathering together, preparing to face their chief and learn what direction their lives would take now that their mentors were gone. They moved slowly down the beach, chattering in low voices in twos and threes, gathering together into larger groups, heading for the space below the dune-hill where the chief stood. The chief looked across the sand. So much of their island had changed. Whole areas of wood had been cleared. Strong sturdy shelters had been built in their place. Scrubby plantations had become regular organised fields, fertile from irrigation. All this time the beach had stayed the same. He knew the people needed a new purpose, a challenge and a celebration of all they had achieved. Most of all they needed to find a way to revere and praise the Flatfaces. Their legacy had to be fulfilled. The answer was there on the beach. They would build a monument, something time-consuming and dramatic. A huge stone head - a Flatface head, thirty feet high carved with the tools they had only recently learned to make for themselves. When the flatfaces returned they would be so proud and the people would have something to bind them together and keep them busy while they waited. The chief was sure he would never have dreamed of so grand an enterprise before the visitors had come and opened up his world. The people were ready, massed together below him, chattering amongst themselves, waiting for a signal. The medicine man raised his staff and shouted “People!” They fell silent and the chief began. * * * * * * * * * The last of the islanders had gone to the beach to die. Under the shadow of the line of huge stone heads they sat. War no longer raged. There was no strength left to fight and no-one worth killing left alive. Every tree had been felled, every scrap of land turned to desert. the shelters which had not been burnt down in battle had been taken apart for firewood or to build desperate doomed rafts, setting sail at night with twice the load they could safely carry. Scarcely a single animal survived on the island. The medicine man and the chief sat with their backs against the tallest head. Carved from a single forty foot block of black stone, hauled from the other side of the island on sleds across rivers, gulleys and ravines. They called it “Wise-head” after the man they had dubbed the chief of the Flatheads although they could not really be said to have had a leader, he was just the one who had talked the most. “They’re not coming back are they?” Croaked the medicine man. “Bastards.” “If only we’d paid more attention to the stuff about crop rotation. I think I understand what they meant now.” Said the chief. Even in this dying time, the people clung to his command. He was still relatively healthy because he got first pick of the freshly dead. The medicine man’s pupil had been sustaining them both for some days but there were few edible remains left. “They’d never have gone for it.” Said the medicine man. “No-one’s going to leave a field empty when they’re hungry.” “No.” Said the chief, “I suppose not.” They looked out to sea. “We made some fucking beautiful statues though didn’t we?” “We did.” “You know what? Many years from now, when we’re all dead and our bones have rotted away, people are going to come to this island and wonder what the hell happened here.” The medicine man looked at the chief and the chief looked at the medicine man and they laughed, a dry hollow laugh that echoed across the barren island. 010525 ... Anonymous69 then what happened? 010526 ... DannyH They all lived happily ever after, obviously... 010618 ... jezabel once_upon_a_time i was a wonderful wicked little tart... still am, in many ways, but when tomcats get old they get mean and lazy... and now that i've been kicked off my porch, i know i need to find some alley to yowl in, at least for one night... but securing that alley is daunting after more than two years. listening to a cd reminds me of the boi behind it, of the quicksilver seduction that involved two poems and two drinks, no more, no less, and ended with us sharing our Art. this should be simple wish such secrets in my fingertips. but the very need acts against the goal, makes me stammer when i should purr. i can do this. i know i can. it will be harmless, more than i can say for many, and i have an inkling that consent is just around the corner... but there are scary thugs waiting on that corner, a stream of confessions and propositions that must be put forth. i can do it. to have his voice in my ear, i can do it. 030815 ... . :o) 030905 ... ? ? 030905 ... anne-girl no names of blathers had underscores it was a different world then they say 050706 ... oren ♫ A song with one of the most beautiful melodies ever created. 051025 ... Ouroboros ..."when we all lived in the forrest and no one lived anywhere else...." 070204 ... little wonder i introduced blather to a handful of people who i thought would enjoy it. after seeing some who stayed for awhile and others who showed complete disinterest, i came to the conclusion that only the ones who are supposed to be here make it. i don't know if there is much of anyone in my life i'd show now. not after all of my angsty 15-16-17-etc year old fun. not after making the mistake of introducing one particular individual. maybe not necessarily a mistake. just not something i would have shared with them in retrospect. then again, who am i to control it? 080212 what's it to you? who go blather from