Skip to main content

The Unification of Alexander North Prt 02

(part one can be read here)

The erratic monsoon swept the continent again. Even so, as rains pound the backs of a weary militia, warriors trod through flood waters to be kings of a territory not their own. It would have been admirable during the days of the war games but this was now real. And for what? LOVE they said. For those in the trenches, running through fires, continental shifts and now the erratic patterns of the monsoon, LOVE seemed too pale a reason to be at war but the pride of The Four demanded the destruction of all that lay around even if they annihilated each other, hollowing out the land they inhabited. Soul remembered when they all sat by the same table and slept under the same stars when they visited each other. She remembered these things when mortar shells exploded in the faintest part of her ears.

And it was all Spirit’s fault. He with his righteous banner and loud voice. He called them all wrong. To see Spirit… he honestly thought this was the fifth or seventh century; what with his breastplate and his self imposed indignation over every thing. It is his zeal to conquer the lands in the name of his father that shuts him away from his brothers. Yet for his bravado, he was still a child of sorts, accepting cookies from Soul who knew him past his philosophy… or his faith.

Prt 03: The Blame Game Continues...

Comments

  1. Interesting. Are you dealing with the different aspects of the human being in this piece? The internal war?

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

B in Future Traditions

THE COPY: I was sitting down listening to Norah Jones’ “Come Away with Me” and I began to think about future traditions. I thought… I want to sway with someone. Sway with my lover. To this music. More than that, I want that when we had an argument (and we’d have those because she’d be stubborn and I’d be pig headed (iChuckle)) we would never go to bed angry. We’d pop open a lover’s CD like this one and just sway. We may be as mad as hell but we would sway because we would never want to go to bed angry. And our children would know this. And they would never allow their partners to go to bed angry either because… well, because they would know better. They would sway. They would know it was better to sway. That’s the kind of man I want to be. Moreover, that’s the kind of tradition I’d like to pass on. Future Traditions. What's Yours?

B is for The League of Extraordinary Cutlasses

So Facebook is mourning. Why? A child was snuffed out. How does modern man respond? By blacking out their profile picture. So Facebook is mourning. Why? Crime has reached intolerable levels for the people of a twin island republic. How does civilized, contemporary society respond? By copying and pasting stern status updates. WE WILL NOT TAKE THIS! SEND A STRONG MESSAGE! COPY AND PASTE THIS ON YOUR STATUS IF YOU WANT A CHANGE! Not denying that social media has its power. After all, just yesterday I read of a man who – in honor of Facebook’s role in the Egyptian Revolution – named his first child, Facebook. We do not deny that Youtube and the Twitter was a beacon for Tehran, but do note, these social media enterprises merely acted as a catapult for an already serious war on injustice. My people however… are not that serious. Thus I have decided on a far more satisfying approach. Ladies and Wilderbeasts, I give you, The League of Extraordinary Cutlasses. An organization geared towards ...

B is for The Etch-A-Sketch

I’ve always thought of the Universe as a big, big mouth. And when you make a statement, it opens wide to receive it. It (the universe) rolls it in its mouth and then spews it back out in a more interesting form. Say for example, me. I said once, I want to try/experience everything at least once. And through a series of [un] fortunate events, I have experienced some real heights. I said… I want to do everything. this brought on a wonderful debate with a friend of mine who explained to me in all honesty that iCan’t do everything. Enter John Locke’s voice screaming to the world – “don’t tell me what I can and cannot do!” But he was right though. My dear friend, not John Locke. Maybe. I can’t do everything. Except I probably could. Of course when given the opportunity to try my hands and attempting the everything, I feel my tongue lean back into my oesaphagus, and slowly gallop tactlessly down my arse. Yes… I am aware of how that sounds. I’ve performed poetry at various locations. I’ve pub...