Red Beryl was a weathered person. Her face a road map of lines, detours and traffic jams tracing over 9 decades of journey. In her younger days she was a slow slinky rhythmic Fandango dancing men into dusky graves. A Sepia Voluptuous Beauty with flowing cascading curls just touching the beginning of a well rounded backside.
She was a rollicking river sweeping away numerous suitors and lovers. Wanton abandonment coupled with Hades ovens gradually over time turned to Holy Water Baptism. As her flower faded she was at first angry with the code but who can be angry with code you did not program? Many family, friends and neighbors had gone to the Whispering Shadows. Others exuded aromas of angst with madness quickly gaining hold. Losing altitude she quickly realized that the light at the end of the tunnel had been turned off due to non-payment.
Or was it the pursuing Restless Womb syndrome of she who was barren from birth? Many seeds were deposited but none took root save for a few mud-bound mannequins laid waste to premature graves. Lamentations by and for all my graces and muses relegated to being communal property for every feudal chieftain and Lord. Yes the Light at the End of the Tunnel has been extinguished. The Bright Colors are the Facades we create for ourselves much like the Prisoners Village. The Prisoner being You.
Tapestries woven upon a drop stitch broken Looms. Writhing Thrusting old bones from towns and villages. Old ear and nose whiskers, balding craniums energetic like lusty youths waving Turgid Stamens yet failing to pollinate eager expectant eggs.
Clouds, Gems, Jewels and Stones
Red Beryl clad in long free flowing Caftan that swirled breezing about her body’s ebb and flow. She possessed boundless Galactic spaces inside her head. She shook her meager cloak releasing rainbow dust, moon beam fibers, and robust grains.
Having absorbed her twin in utero Red Beryl claimed two separate yet unequal strands of DNA. She who lived dominates. He who died is subservient.
For she be a Chimera creature housing two different DNAs. Yet the one thought annihilated and obliterated still contains energy mists seeking a human host.
One for the mind and body the other for the spirit and soul. Traveling through fields of purple grass, clovers and dens. Sidestepping towns and villages populated with radio bursts. Anxious to avoid another century decades of wandering in Limbo she hurried to the place where the Trees Meet at the Sacred Grotto. Greeting the fog, mist and smoldering embers Red Beryl quickly gained entry to Nomadic dreams and Discourses.
The past lurks around your dark silent corners waiting like a cat patiently ready to pounce on it’s prey. Your mistakes haunt you for a lifetime. You become an Effigy of your former self.
Step over the bodies and try not to trip as you leave the cave.
On the surface it appeared to be a Way-station for Wandering Wayward Souls. The Damned. Some doomed to wander the Land of Shadows for eternity awaiting an incarnation that would never take place. For their souls were weighed and found wanting.
Ever had an experience that went awry? As you kept at it thinking in your heart things would get better but realistically not.
No Accolades here………… But There is a Transitional Period
The Chime Keeper
Redemption Among the Relics
Deep Within the Underbelly of the Palace of Pink Pilasters was a medieval castle that could have been easily built or destroyed by ancient invaders from another dynasty. A grand foyer flanked by two long hallways of Byzantine art leading into Medieval Sculpture Hall filled with statues of Madonnas, Saints, Catholic Mystics, Relics, and tombs from Egypt, Europe, Greece, Cyprus and South America. Each international tomb had a goddess from the respective ancient culture at the head and foot of the sarcophagus.
Venturing further into the castles subterranean chambers were overturned ossuaries, bones bleached white scattered throughout the tombs.
In my haste to record within my memory banks all that Mr. Peabody lectured I loitered a bit too long at one of the displays whilst Mr. Peabody strode on seemingly ignorant of my silent absence.
Panicked I vainly tried find a pathway leading to my host and teacher by attempting to pinpoint his now faint vocals. My radar telepathy was interrupted by a chubby male being possessed of pink flamingo tresses with equally flamboyant clothing who appeared to be an escapee from a fractured fairy tale.
Certainly Not expecting to encounter me he bellowed and frothed about band members of the Choppy Poppy Zany Zach allowed to wander around without proper escort.
I’m not a member of any musical band. I’m a student and prospective Soul Seeker under the tutelage of Mr. Peabody.
“So you’re not Snakehips Susan of Hummingbird Gardens, Florida nor a bandit seeking kidnapped souls?
“Truly this man comes from a place where plants take up their roots and walk to better nourished soil. And obviously his had not reached any mulch in a very long while.”
NEITHER!
My name’s The Chime Master or as many call me The Chime Time Historian. Qualified Expertise in Refractions of Memory.
My face produced a look of puzzlement and befuddlement coupled with lines of bewilderment such that The Chime Keeper felt pressed to launch into expressions of apology and explanation.
Young Lady mine is a Niche Unit. Much ignored but integral to the Soul Manufacturing Mission. He huffed and puffed with indignation but his consternation was interrupted by a loud persistent gong sound that seemed to issue from his very being.
Young lady you will have to come with me! Now! At that point he grabbed me by the elbow and we were whisked away into what I can only call a garden of clocks. A veritable arboreal forest of tree like time pieces whose roots and hands stretched as far as the horizons in every direction.
Clocks of all shapes, sizes and from all time periods. The noise of all these clocks chiming gonging and announcing the hour, half hour and quarter hour was deafening.
Most mysterious was the clock with no hands nor did it issue the time verbally, well at least not out loud. It’s claim to fame was to change colors or filters every quarter hour along with a persistent hum that reached into your brain and pulled onto your cerebral cortex.
This my inquiring student is where we program sent souls with their finite time. Meaning the time allotted them on earth before they return either to eternity or annihilation.
Somewhat disparagingly along with a snarky tone in his voice he said, “I will help you catch up to the illustrious Prof Peabody as I’m on my way to Depot 52. Thus began a series of Frantic Antics Gestural pulls, pushes, waving of his upper extremities, the jumping and leaping of the lower limbs. This impromptu step the light fantastic seemed to be an introduction to some upcoming magical jest.
Before my startled eyes the Chime Keeper began to morph into a series of anthropomorphic and bio-morphic shape shifting beings.
Manifesting an enormous ruby red burgundy apron he thrust his hand into one of the side pockets and quickly anointed both of us with glitter gloss granules.
I felt like a Debutante late to the ball. Rushing forward with profuse apologies I curtsied to the elegant cake.
As the Chime Keeper would say, “Humans are just bags of fleshy molecules filled with wanton desires.
Elegance and Decadence. Deference to old style Aristocracy Aristocrats. All Hail the Landed Gentry but Sir Death takes them all!
Island of the Damned
Harr! Bed Cometh!
The Blue Bed
Blue Bed Aitken Galleries British Period Rooms
Glitter Boots Soulful Strut
Glitter Boots Soulful Strut
Upon seeing us manifest Mr. Peabody exclaimed, “What O! My Dream Warden? Greeted us as the Chime Warden and I exited the hansom carriage piloted by a gleaming set of Unicorn Pegasus equines.
Espiritu en Fuego/A Fiery Spirit 