Sipping in the Solarium while Snacking on Speckled Nebula


Sipping in the Solarium while Munching on Speckled Nebula

 

Splinter Stories from the Hardware Store

 

Saga of JoyBaieda Rueine

 

 

https://dancingpalmtrees.com/2018/01/18/return-of-the-prodigal-daughter-series-three/

 

The Old Churchyard’s rough terrain was akin to the contents of an kitchen junk drawer and the neighborhood junk yard minus the dog.  Our planet was slowly but surely spinning counterclockwise to it’s Axis.  Bumping along like a car with a broken Axle.  The issues and problems with the malfunctioning Ancestor cards were becoming more urgent each passing solar revolution. She cringed when thinking about the upcoming meeting with JoyBaieda Rueine. Very little progress had been made concerning corrections  to the process.  Time was running out for Home Planet.

 

Female Ancestor from my Dad's side, Name lost to Time
Ancestor known only to God.

Zahara the Sentinel carefully watched and observed all the scribes but the one called Jabez caught her eye for more careful examination.

The Lust filled doe eyed fool Emerson Skreech had made no headway in releasing the Ancestor cards therefore a trip in the Escape Pod was necessary.  The Dayforming Process was in danger of imminent collapse.

 

https://dancingpalmtrees.com/2018/01/13/the-ballad-of-emerson-skreech/

 

Something about Scribe Jabez. He possesses a supernatural connection to the selection process.  Must make a study of Jabez.  He might possess the Keys to Salvation of Home Planet.  Such an unscholarly Scribe as Jabez just might have access to the Elders of Nephilim granting access to the Wisdom of the Strix.

 

Must employ the Wisdom of the Strix and their descendants The Nephilim

 

 

All Day and well into the night the Scroll Scribes searched The Book analyzing seeking a solution for the troubled planet.

 

Scribe Jabez had the air of damaged goods about him.  He walked with such a Lumbering Lurching gait that caused him to tread on his face so severely etching out pathways, streets, avenues, highways and byways that his skimpy beard barely succeeded in covering.  His reddish brown beard seemed to have been plucked out in places by attacking hordes of birds or fleshing eating insects.

Watching him was such a painful ordeal that the other Scribes were relieved when he sat down and on pins and needles when he arose for bladder relief or food.  His shock of vibrantly magenta red hair seem an anachronism of youth mismatched with old age.

 

During his fasting times Jabez was more specter than corporeal. His appearance discomfiting his fellow scribes who desperately wish to be excused from their research/writing duties.  But Alas for most Scribes Freedom meant having Furies cut the soul cord binding one to the terrestrial like a mid-wife cuts the umbilical cord at birth.

Jabez’s family was a small Village of petty and career criminals.  Try as he might Jabez was not a Member of the Collective and had not the recommendations nor the credentials to be more than a fringe dweller. For entry into the hallowed framework of the Collective one could not just simply be absorbed but had to be scrutinized and evaluated.  In the case of Jabez his Javelin wasn’t right.  It failed to hit the mark.

Jabez state of mind also hindered his progress.  He was obsessed with a Woman he had never met.  He had only met her in his vivid reoccurring dreams.  At night his body seemed to take flight through the Mandala where his soul was whisked via Windmills to the entry of a complex Labyrinth.

 

A Maze guarded by a malevolent Sphinx whose riddles sent many a time traveler into a Abyss where they were trapped for One Thousand years until their turn came round once more.  Each time his spirit was deposited at the Sphinx regal paws.  The sandy soil dissolved through his toes as though he was at the beach feeling the surf place and displaced by the tides.

Most times Jabez Javelin would change course. When that happened Jabez repeated his solemn mantra.  “Lord of the Universe, Make my feet like hinds feet that carry me to my high places.”  During Astral Flight Jabez’s Javelin morphed into an Arrow then a Feathered Plume piercing his side drawing out his blood transforming into an old fashioned Fountain pen. Each time the Blade Sharp Arrow Plume Pen stabbed him it then began of its own accord to ink his precious blood onto ancient Holy Papyrus.

 

Jabez felt the Sphinx ride him like an unbroken angry steed. Bucking him to and fro.  Digging in her talons so deeply that he cried out to Nightwatchman Charon whose multiple sets of keys could be heard loudly jingling out harmony, safety, peace and tranquility as the patrolled the Wastelands.  He felt his life tremble.  Violent tremors that caused dirt and dust to quake.  Upending Jabez into Stalactites and Stalagmites opening his arteries and veins.

 

Blood pouring out of his wounds like a swift running river soaked deep into the earth enriching the soil so as the surrounding rocks, stones and even small pebbles migrated to the crimson streams absorbing the nutrients, putting down roots, breeding, multiplying into Pompeii faces frozen death masks of fright.  Souls buried deep in the ground grow deep roots that reach out for the living.

 

Disembodied Lava flow flames arose and began to lick the flavored air.  Claps of Thunder resounded off the cavernous walls signalling to mummified bodies found encased inside enormous forest trees.   Giant Millennia Tree trunks encapsulated Beings crouched in the fetal position like insects in Amber.  Arboreal hugs for forgotten beings. Revealed when furious Lightening Storms split said trees to splinters exposing the mystical mysterious cadavers. Choirs of graves, tombs, markers, sing out at dusk pining for souls that could never rest.

Enter the Nephilim.

 

 

 

 

1 Chronicles 4:9-10 New King James Version (NKJV)

Now Jabez was more honorable than his brothers, and his mother called his name Jabez,[a] saying, “Because I bore him in pain.” 10 And Jabez called on the God of Israel saying, “Oh, that You would bless me indeed, and enlarge my territory, that Your hand would be with me, and that You would keep me from evil, that I may not cause pain!” So God granted him what he requested.

 

 

Sphnix
Oedipus and the Sphinx
Artist:
Gustave Moreau (French, Paris 1826–1898 Paris)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

African Author wins Prestigious Literary Prize


Continuing with Black HerStory Month.

African Heritage

Jennifer Makumbi Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi

A Ugandan author based in Great Britain whose debut novel was initially rejected by British publishers for being ‘too African‘, has won one of the world’s richest literary prizes.

Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi, the winner of the 2014 Commonwealth short fiction prize from Uganda but now living in the UK, has won one of the Windham Campbell Prizes from Yale University in the US.

Jennifer Makumbi_Kintu1 ‘Kintu’ by Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi

She will receive $165,000 (£119,000). The prize money is more than double the amount that the Booker Prize winner gets, and organizers say it’s the richest award dedicated to literature after the Nobel Prize. Makumbi’s debut novel Kintu was first published in Kenya four years ago after British publishers rejected it for being “too African”. It was finally released in the UK this January. In Ugandan culture, Kintu is a mythological figure who appears…

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