The Craft Crashes. Sholuk’ Responds To The Citizens
I rushed into the seven month seat and I wanted to take off like we had taken off during my favorite kiss.
It was those three moments before that ring Tjugo tre. The pure moments of life ring Tjugo tre. It was three moments before that ring Tjugo tre and I have to silently smile now because the entire time for these years I have tried to get myself up and into life. Then, with the pulse of these pure moments I remember over and over that first smile.
The diversions of that celebration were complicated for me. I wanted to look the other way. You kept looking. The fireworks went off and they have never stopped exploding. There was this tip of a fantastic chance to look in the perfect direction and at the perfect time. You are my first memory of the love that youth brings. You are the Tjugo tre years that ring inside of me.
There were a million smiles inside of that first one that burst in me like fireworks and fire signs. We have missed a million stories in that one day. There are Tjugo tre gears and more than enough tears. It was those three moments that ring Tjugo tre.
I kiss those tears goodbye forever. I look down upon the highway on my way up and down these two states. I smile at what may never await. These states and our plates are traits. The fate of the fourth and that moment when you rose up above it all and looked at me. Then, you smiled. I have never been the same.
The purist moment of my life can be found in Tjugo tre years when remembering these three moments in movements and their sequence which makes me understand that land between time and before the sign. It is these three moments now that make me understand why I wanted to be a Father.
The fish spin in their way in this sign. I want to be yours and then you signed it. The document that binds it left me incorrect. You would never be a possession. However, I wanted you to be mine.
The kindness of this sequence is our Tjugo tre years and it has made my love even more profound. I have reached into a hidden sound with Tjugo tre years of headphones. I have found the sound of a cue and the pickup art of a guitar that chunks and asks to get together before the sign. The document that binds it is now correct.
I rushed into the seat of the càrrega von and we took off in a language and a knot. There are chances in life and there are pursuits. There are Tjugo tre years of gravel and truth. There are Tjugo tre years of lies. There is no longer a soft disguise of lies. There is only the strongest armor and it can only be found in the honesty of what I am now and what I have missed. I kiss those three moments every time I wake up and go to sleep.
Je me suis précipité dans le siège et nous décollons.
The Stellarmaphone plays…
I shall be like an air ship
She spilled her second beer on our amp. This is when I knew that I would see her again. Three years had passed and she went on and on about how I would never realize my dreams. She had become two hundred miles of sunshine. The rain soon came after and *Atlantis* to *Lemuria* came in a flash. I shall find the reason for all of this in my somber song. Luckily, we do not live in either of these locations. They are always at war with each other.
I shall be like an air ship. We would look out of the window and take off. It is the day after the eleventh sighting and things are very silent. However, the engine roars, but we cannot hear it. I’m going back to the training camp even if there isn’t anything else to learn. I would never get as high as the ***. Although, we flew over on this day. i would never understand their reach.
I believe that what we are forced to believe has a distinct nature. I believe that she bled. I believe that the citizens are fed up with the lack of answers. I believe that we fed her the wrong way. I believe that she is putting us to bed. I believe in the good red road. I believe that it is time to get rid of this load. I believe.
The roads are not being built fast enough to the points where the citizens demanded a shrine. The Evermore Machine still rolls. I knew that it was the same day twice because my youth reminded me that it had taken over. I knew it was true because I heard it in the curing waves of The Evermore Machine. I was not shivering like a child. I was shivering like an adult. This was yesterday. I really miss the Queen today. I can feel her tears near the weir.
The waters near the sightings are the sky to many is the house is the mouse is the place where we live.
What kind of tragedy is playing out inside of my heat? What kind of cruel joke is taking place for the masses to feel? What do I feel? I wait to no longer be captive. They should arrive at any moment. Still, I am a slave.
What kind of machine can read this today? The sky is a fray and grey today. It does not enjoy these surroundings. Still, this is paradise. I have walked into the according turn on evenings when I turn over and see my best friend laying next to me. I catch her when she is sleeping sometimes and my insides catch fuego.
I smile beyond a smile to myself. It is almost to the point of tears when I conclude what I have found in her. Paradise is where I can say what I really feel. This Queen peels it even in this cell. I am released in the presence of the thought of her. This is a complete feeling. A complete feeling. I believe in paradise.
The main guard is very nice. I guess she should be my enemy. She is obviously not a friend of the Kingdom. She is of the tan clan. These fringe members of our lands have become to take stride and these outposts are becoming a major concern.
The other day she told me that those who would surrender their freedom to search for the craft that fell through the pizza trees in order to acquire just a small amount of temporary safety, deserve neither freedom or safety. In fact, she told me that they are destined to ruin the Kingdom with their reasoning. Again, the tan clan. Again, the tan clan. They call her 1S-004541. I do not know what this number means or why it is significant.
I cannot act sad in front of the public. This would ruin the good name and honor of the court. It would be sad if I could never go back to Luna Avenue. I do not wish to stay here any longer, but I am confident that they will be here soon. I see me life on Luna Avenue. She saw it as well down those roads. These loaded chariots rose beyond what we now know.
I wonder if it was a mistake to sanction the ban on searching for the craft in the woods. I thought it might eventually become long forgotten. Instead, the opposite is upon us. The beautiful thing about law is that it may be changed upon the will of the people. I did not create this law. The people demanded it. This is something that the tan clan failed to recognize in our negotiations. Still, I am the figurehead and this is part of my role. I accept it freely through my stewardship of the citizens of these lands.
This next time around was not so long forgotten.
They sang this song to what was found
It wouldn’t be sad if loneliness was not so darned lonely. I know that if the grains were grown and if I were alone that it would be flown out of the woods and back from wherever it came from on that day.
Then again, I would be lying if I said that I am not still intrigued. Is it a threat or a blessing? Why could we not find it? One thing is for certain. The Kingdom cannot stop talking about it and this means that they will have the last word. I steward for the lives and the lives of their families. Still, I consider the outcome.
I’ve been getting by for too long on my knees. My kindness is often misinterpreted for weakness. Let me be nice to these guards. Let me be honest with these guards. I will choose love today.
Wouldn’t it be sad if grains were grown? Wouldn’t it be sad if I was truly alone? The mystery has a plan for me. The mystery has a plan. The way things are going is proof that the mystery is real.
I’m sad now. The code has flown and crashed and splashed and mashed up this entire Kingdom. I’m sad and all alone. The citizens cannot see my tears. 1S-004541 can see them running down my face. Loud and clear.
We are both very tired even though we are on two sides of this conflict. It raised a wall between us and left us tired. I left for the loop and knew that they would come for it. The arrival of the meal is the highlight of the day. I get to interact with her. 1S-004541.
There was nothing I could do except to try to climb the wall. There was not a ladder or a rope. there was not a lift. However, I had to climb.
How dare I compare myself to myself or to – for that matter.
How dare you even read between the lines. They are lines that should not exist in the first place. We’re both tired like when the speed of love slows down because it was never really love. We called it the name that it had been given and realized what we had was made real.
The speed of love cannot support itself. This was the perpetual problem of what we had come to know as normal. It was impossible to blame this whole thing on just one event. It was impossible to keep up with the speed of love. Now we are here in the home of a racing love and her lights will shine at the speed of sight. 1S-004541.
The Queen was edgy on the evening of my first capture. Someone shouted, “Gondola! To the Gondola! Ha! Sa’lon Te Gondola!”
I had no idea what it meant, but I was detained within seconds of this phrase. We knew some of their language and what it meant. Then again, we always kept learning. I thought I overheard 1S-004541 whisper the word one time around the corridor, but then my mind began drift towards what is almost always on my mind. This is my service to the Queen.
They are getting closer. I can hear the fourth rhythm of our banner. It should not be long now.
Then, the fifth.
Then, seven more beats.
Then, our people cry out and say, “Tjugo Tre Race.”
Four more beats and they will only be one hundred yards away.
I moved to the other side of the cell because they were bringing their bishop through to question the murderer next to me. They always summoned the western bishop and I have never once gazed my eye on the one from the east. However, I have heard stories.
Then, it finally came through the window.
The fifth arrived. It was louder than usual. I could almost hear the banner in the wind. It might have been the wind that made it louder or it might be the fact that this was my second capture.
The bishop seemed to ask the same questions over and over. She had a special was of making it sound different every time.
“Repetition itself is in the nature of the angle” – The Muter
“It is by the nature of the angle, sun to earth, that the seasons are made and that the waters of the lake change in color by the season. Blue goes to grey and then to white and then black to blue. The water receives color. The water always knew as the kingdom flew.
The water returns it with flint, valleys and many hills. Really real. There are hills and then the water returns it.
The angle shapes reality. Winter ice becomes the steam of summer as flesh become spirit. We are nearly partly windows, partly mirror, always null; water swallows sky, which swallows earth. Then, the seagulls part their ways and are robins for another day.
The statues were shared by two lovers. Their stature was love. The loved the statutes. They shared two books and one country. They ruled the order of these boundaries. The laws were passed down from these lovers from the first book and then into the volumes that would provide order to their lands. Their courage was beyond near. It was always there. They mocked the mud, but there was more to their love. They did not mock the mud behind closed doors. Their courage cam from another place. They could walk right up to the mud and knock and mock because their brevity was beyond the lands. They danced in the celestial glances. It was quite something to see. It was almost blinding. Their love was binding.
They shared this love for the ionic place where the word of their statutes became the law and their civility. They shared this love for the place between the bishops even though they derived themselves from the same clay that was supposed to separate. They shared each other. It was clear. Every day they would whisper, “no fear”.
They shared their love and they were free from fear. They held their lanterns. It was clear.
This is why the impossible exists. The other lands cannot resolve themselves in the dark mist of a possessive ideology in a land where the reflection of those honored stars live. They shared a passage from the early songs of their mothers and it became clear again in their kiss and it rang out through all of the valleys. Tjugo Tre.”
They took him down to the Gilhoyn Wings
“Battles were pronounced as they went into the sun to the earth. All of the porch lights went on that evening. We had to save our land from this terror. Tell me! Sons and daughters of the engineers! Tell me! Have you stepped into the invisible waves? Should you not see between the porches and the potential terrors? Have they not regularly put their backs to our lands? Every face using the waves to mutate it and to use it for their hope of the paranoid lands? You have stepped into the invisible waves.! You have not really been given a choice! What you do with these waves is a coil. You only may spoil yourselves. Then, you go down into the place where you deserve.
You do not understand what you serve.
Bring back our hope and faith to these bridges.
Ascend past these battles that they have filled in our works. Bathe in the Shabe Lakes. and rise out as a cleaner kingdom. Then, she stood up. She looked at the birch trees. She gazed upon the cedar. She could see the breeze and the temples. The citizens called her aloof. They did not understand that she was concentrate. She was thinking. This is what made her royal. They never called her aloof to her face because they were cowards. Moreover, they were not very bright. They could not tell that her aloofness was not a weakness. It was her light.
She was concentrating on the wisdom. She was determining myself and the spy. She was not very cool with lies. I knew my fate. I deserved it.
The temples stretched beyond the cedars. It stretched beyond the birch and the wind. She was with the waters.
It was her temple. The waves and her words beyond the cedars maintained it. The one rock in the one place where smoke and fireworks worked together as a bounce and a smile. This too was the temple. Then, she would know when it was right. She raised up out of the water and could control the fire in the way that only her court knew how to maintain it. It could burn bright. It could calm itself. It could level out. It was her hand. Only she could control it.
These waters too were the temple. She handed him a bottle rocket as if to say something like I choose you today. They chose each other before the fireworks. I never really understood it. Then again, I am not allowed to love.
They chose each other and were carried away.
The white and black winged flew ahead of the black winged. These two flew before the Gilhoyn Wings.
Their pair of eyes took each other down to the waters. It was there where the temple sings.
They still sing
Each post had five corners like a door that led to more doors. Each corner had ninety degrees like thirty feet marching with thirty more widened flanks, porch lights and lanterns.. Thirty more feet of doors opened even more. The two sets of chains held me and I could here the whispers around the corridors where they spoke. I could hear their whispers, but the bishop always knew when to raise her voice. That is the thing about cowards.
They always whisper.
The left and right chain wanted to hurry me against the wall or scurry my to the floor to lay down, but they were just long enough and just short enough to never make it completely comfortable.
Still, I would try to hurry myself. I would scurry myself.
Many built these links. Then, the waves fell under the weight of the hatred and the flood of their mud and their weak studs. This is how I knew that it would all fall apart. They were mud. They were never solid.
The start was not the mystery. This was only a sentence. I knew because the drums were getting closer. It was much easier to understand and see the weight of the fleet when you could smell the Gilhoyn Wings. The migration was occurring. It was the season. The smell was brilliant.
You could not blame the wall or the floor. You could not blame the hurry in your mind. It was my sentence. Instead, I whispered, “Amaruht” to myself. One led to the other. I had to whisper to myself. These corridors always whispered with former prisoners. It was not audible. It was not always cowardice. I often whispered to myself. It was not audible. Many built these links. Then, the book was before me. One led to the other.
Every provocation of their terror must be seen as a deal in fury like Bahsile and her bone marrow. These were the battles. Two arrows were left in her quiver. Two led to the brothers. She never named her arrows after boys. But this was a completely different circumstance. Therefore, she would name the two arrows after the two boys she could not stand. This was her way. One was Drew and the other was Dustin. This girl and her arrows did not play.
I have pity: and triumph through the wailing with an even louder voice. We still had a choice. Two led to the brothers.
Shall we never listen or pity the pathetic mud people however they may deceive by the mutations of our truer orders of these lands? Our traditions as told from mouth to writ belong to us and we must protect it. Still, I had this sentence.
I said, “I won’t leave you wall.” I said, I won’t leave you floor.” I lied to myself because neither were completely comfortable. This is as sure as the bluffs and you are alive. We had to save it to survive. I had to trick myself during this sentence because I did not have a choice. This was my cell. Still, I had a voice.
Elishab sang to me in my whispers. I cried.
This is as sure as the bluffs and you are alive. We fought fire with fire and light. However, we knew to start with the water and with her wisdom. Then, there was complete control and complete comfort for a moment.
Then, the drums were as loud as they ever could be and the Gilhoyn Wings appeared through the cell window. I knew that the porch light would turn on tonight. We knew to never start with fire. Then again, we were not mud people.
We had something different inside.
We planned for this for some time and we rise. The kingdom made twenty seven songs together with verse and chorus. The eighteenth chapter had been written. They had been flung by flingbeetos and who knows what else during the long season near the waters of her name. It was a sentence. Then again, it was a sentence that my faith did not deserve.
The Hailed Scales
The weight of the lies began to weigh him down. The proof of these lies gave them even more weight. He could eventually not carry it.
He was the spy. The weight of the lies and the proof of these lies are heavier to carry, tell and to maintain. This is the real problem. Lies are never fully maintained. There is always a terrible end for these lies. I know. He was her spy.
These lies go on the scale and the weight is always heavier than the truth. Therefore, to the keep they drop until there is no other place for them but Hubaylo. To Hubaylo they go! It is the lowest place. It is so low that I should not even call it a place. It is such a very empty space.
They drop there because of the lack of balance with the way any citizen of our kingdom may see themselves and then this inevitably radiates out and it may only move in one direction towards Hubaylo.
Why? Because the scale does not lie.
The scale cannot lie unless it has been modified. Then, to Hubaylo they may eventually go as well because lies can never be fully maintained. Lies always die. You never modify the scale. It is what the donkey clan regularly does. Why? Well donkey is as donkey do.
They live in their dumb dumbs of what is not true.
This was the trouble with the mud people. They didn’t know how not to lie. They often said that it was not their fault. Mud is as donkey is as they bumble around in their one way ticket to Hubaylo.
I knew the citizens could fly. I also knew what the scales told the muter about those of the mud. They were wired specifically to not tell the truth. Have you ever tried the “fruit” in Hubaylo? You don’t even want to know.
The other side of the scale is completely different. The other side immediately rises up because the truth is always lighter. The truth is carried away from the Chiral Hubaylo and then rises with the Gilhoyn Wings.
This is because the truth is always the lesser burden. I should even call it a burden because of how light it feels when you fly upon their wings. You have to be quite something to fly with these winged creatures because the truth is found in a certain place where many may not wander. Their is this wobbling of light at first. It is more of a sound and then you see the flicker of the spark. Then, the embers start to appear. The music is faint at first then grows casually in volume. You may travel to find this place a any time in our lands, but be warned of the trees. Travel lightly and bring your own lantern. You never know when the time may turn to night. Inside you may find the soul of this journey. If not…Worry.
The only thing the scale may do with all of the weight on the other side is to ascend up at this point. The scale cannot lie unless the lies are placed on one side. Then, if only the scale has been corrupted may it not show balance. Otherwise, the spy must come to trial.
He was the spy, but he was much more than just a problem. He was the immediate problem. He had tried to kill one of the Gilhoyn Wings. by attempting to trap it and then dissect it. He was a spy, but he was more than just a spy. He did not understand why he needed a lantern. In fact, he thought someone should carry the lantern for him at all times. This is why he had to go to the keep. This is why Hubaylo was his already decided destination. He was a spy but a spoiled frustration.
Otherwise, our land and the craft that came down and the consequences of the antennae that we were building appeared as light as day. Still, the burden that we carried was lighter because it felt this way. Today, I remain in this cell and this sentence. However, I know that the burden is lighter in our lands because there is no room for mud. We knew this because their lies turned us against each other at one point during the Flister Season. We vowed never to make that mistake again.
It is morning now and I know she is out there somewhere. She may be choosing tiles. She may be appearing to choose tiles. She may really be choosing smiles. Then again, she is always rising.
It is morning and the drums have stopped.
Tomorrow we fly. Tomorrow they cry.
Tomorrow they die. These keepers of mud.