So you can read my books

Friday, October 1, 2010



Some call me Turquoise Woman.

Others call me Gaia.

I call you temporary ... a fleeting rash upon my surface. Irritating, viral, and in the end, self-destructive.

Your race is like a tick that will gorge itself until it bursts. Bemused, I watch you scurry along my skin, moaning you are bringing an end to me.

I would laugh if it were not so pathetic. You are merely bringing an end to yourselves. I count the moments. You make my scalp itch.

You think you know what life is. Sad. Do you know what life is for you?

A firefly's flicker in the night, the breath of a buffalo in winter, a cloud shadow that races across the green grass to lose itself in the blood-red of the sunset.

Do not try to understand me. I look, not only down upon you, but out across the vast glittering sea of eternal night.

The color of my thoughts are the Northern Lights and the reach of them is from horizon to horizon and unto the vastness of the stars.

The electro-magnetic field of my body gave birth to my consciousness long before there were human hands to chisel stone into mute, blind idols or to brush your world in paint on cave walls.

Your only true contribution to me was your language.

Before you crafted words into being, my consciousness was unfocused. I listened with wonder as you spoke to one another, slowly piecing the concept of language together in my thoughts. Through the prism of your languages, my awareness crystalized.

I became aware.

Now, I know a haunted melancholy.

Like a windmill's blades, my thoughts dip into my memories. In misty after-images, I see your fleeting lives walking soft like prayers across my green fields only to fade into the inflamed oblivion of the sunset.

My son, Elu, will survive. Hibbs, the bear with two shadows, I have spirited safely away into a sister dimension.

But Samuel, my sad-eyed, adopted son, will soon die I think. Not at the hands of his life-long enemy, DayStar. But by the two-edged sword of his love for his wife, Meilori.

And that trickster scamp, Victor Standish, he, too, will die. I will miss him, for he, also, will be "consumed" by his love for the unnatural creature called Alice.

You are wondering why I am talking to you?

You are close to my heart as well, for all of you craft with words. So I have come to say seven words to you :

"Goodbye. Die well.

I will miss you."


  1. Did you compose this? Very nice.

    By the way, I meant to tell you that I love the picture at top of your blog. Lady of mystery and what beautiful eyes.

    Have a good weekend.

  2. Amazing post! I tried to leave a comment on your last post, but couldn't, and then I could not get off of your blog!! I had to shut my computer down to exit?! It was like the twilight zone. LOL Have a great weekend!

  3. Beautiful post, Roland. Very nice choice and handled so aptly. Bravo!

  4. Well, I guess even Gods need someone to listen to them rant :)

    I liked the anger in this. It heightened a sense of loss, and loneliness. I felt a contradiction between her words, and the driving sentiment.

    Mythology is your usual stomping grounds, so the only surprise here is I think this a new writing for the blogfest. Yes? No?

    (sighs) Your writings always amaze me with their depth of character. An enviable talent; one I constantly try to emulate in my own writing.

    Good work.


  5. Hi,

    Oooh yes, my eco warrior sentiments expressed exactly as I see it!

    Beautifully written, and so few aware of the potency of our existance!


  6. I like how Gaia changes sentiment towards the end. She starts by being dismissive but then something changes mid way as she recalls how she is trying to save those closest to her and how those she is unable to will soon perish. Then she gets sad and so I know she really likes these creatures with their essential craft of language. Take care

  7. Oooh.... I love it. Vivid images and fluid prose. Powerful!

  8. That was so beautifully executed. Well written and evocative. Lyrical.

  9. "A firefly's flicker in the night, the breath of a buffalo in winter, a cloud shadow that races across the green grass to lose itself in the blood-red of the sunset."

    *dies* Absolutely beautiful, Roland. Have a lovely weekend.

  10. Your writing is divine. It always is. You never cease to amaze me how you manage to work our (pretty random) blogfesty themes into your story, and come away with something as beautiful and poetic as this.

    You rock, you really do!

    Thanx for joining in my 'fest!

  11. That was engaging and creepy. I feel loved and threatened.

  12. Everyone : I have been mortally wounded by error 503!!

    Let's try this for the 3rd time, shall we?

    I've been absent from replying and visiting all my friends' blogs since I've been overloaded with work from an incompetent regional suprvisor's mistake,

    been injured on the job, further injured by the company doctor I was forced by law to see instead of my doctor of choice --

    and now, I am in pain even as I write this, considering what path to take.

    Thanks for all the visits, everyone, and the much appreciated comments, Roland

  13. Really cool, Roland! I love the part about her itching scalp.

  14. This is a wonderful piece. Loved it. I must have been channeling you while I was attempting my entry--something different for me. I hope you're feeling better soon and good luck with the work thing. :D

  15. Roland, I thought this was a wonderful piece. I love the windmill blades metaphor, it stood out to me. Well done.

    Scribbler to Scribe

  16. Beautifully worded! It flowed perfectly :) And I loved the ending, very powerful.

  17. A dark, superior attitude toward our fleeting lives marked in moments by a being who sees eternally-told is such a lovely way. I almost feel sorry for her-she is eternally alone.

    And I hope she's wrong about Sam and Victor. Maybe she's just jealous....?