::imaginative introspection::

Imagine that all life is an illusion. All that exists is this moment. No past, no future, each memory, every plan, a part of the illusion. Life, in a photograph.

Do you like the image of yourself?

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Instinct: Waking (Meet Kitra)

(More to come! I'm still working on the middle part, will post when I'm satisfied with it.)

Ryker crouched close, watching his charge as she slept.  Her body barely moved, her breath slow and even.  The sunlight crept into the room, her dark hair gleaming with hints of red he hadn’t noticed before.  Kitra had been clear: do not wake her, do not touch her, do not question her, do not let anyone in.  She had been sleeping for two days already, the village waiting for her to wake—even the children sensed the importance of this stranger, and kept silent, lined up outside Kitra’s home, waiting. 

He had heard whispers, of course.  Since her arrival the elders had been silent, holed up in their chambers, waiting like everyone else. Was she truly Nadari’s child?  Did this mean the others were coming?  If so, why weren’t they preparing the archers? 

Ryker stood, silent, waiting for her to speak.  The intrigue surrounding her was almost tangible, as if light itself bent around her protectively. 

“Yes. Nadari was my mother. The others awoke and found me in thecity, gilled my guardians there – all except Everest.” 

She spoke quietly, while staring through the window, not looking, her eyes simply set forward.  He wanted to ask about the others – he had only heard stories, and even those were vague, folklore and old wives tales told to dissuade mischiefvous children.

“They are powerful” – as if she could hear his thoughts – she looked directly at him now, her eyes aflame with hatred, sadness and pain – so much pain, Ryker gasped with the power of it.  Shocked, he stepped back, working to push her mind away.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were Chimaeric.  Your eyes. . .”

“They change as I wish. “  This he demonstrated, his eyes flashing from brown to blue to violet. 

“Impressive” She smiled, just slightly. Her new protector was a powerful Chimaera.  She would need to be more careful with her emotions. 

“Please, excuse me.”  Ryker spoke quietly, stepping out of the room to regain his composure.  Where did this. . .creature. . come from?  And why did he want to save her?


Kitra stood waist deep in the river, laughing as the children splashed and swam around her. As Ryker approached she stood tall, her face growing serious. 

“You were not to leave her.” 

Ryker bowed his head, ashamed. How could he protect Elisesofia when she possessed more power than any being Ryker had ever encountered?

Kitra’s face softened—“She is incredible, isn’t she? I must tell you . . .”

Ryker interrupted his leader, “We were bonded as children, weren’t we?  You thought she 
was human.  The infant I kept.” 

All Chimaera, at age 5, are given a human infant, often taken in from orphanages.  Occasionally the chimaeric child wanders into the forest, and returns with an infant whose origin is unknown – it is believed that the forest senses the power of the Chimaera and provides the infant.  The chimaeric child must protect and nurture the infant until it begins to speak.  Usually about a year, sometimes less as the Chimaera assist the child and provide superior development. 

Kitra smiled, most Chimaera do not remember this bond.  “Everest saw that she was weakened, biven the trauma of her short life.  We decided that your power may be strong enough to repair the damage.  When she began to speak you were enchanted with her.  We had a difficult time removing her from your care.”

This Ryker remembered. He had packed up the infant and headed out into the forest, his six year old self certain she would be safer kept away from any and all people.  

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Real Life

I usually keep this blog mostly creative works, but since there are several people reading this, I wanted to spread the word.  

One of my students has applied for a scholarship.  Please vote for her HERE.

The prompt:   Who has been most important tutor, teacher or coach in my life and why?

This is her essay:

I just started my education at Cleveland State University in the fall of 2010. I believe the tutoring program (TASC) at Cleveland State is a very successful program in which students (mostly graduate students) help undergraduates with their classes. I have been very successful with my tutor, Klaire, for my fall and spring semesters. In my fall semester Klaire helped me with study skills and learning how to deal with a teacher that has a thick accent for my Anatomy and Physiology class. Klaire has also been very great to me. Other than a tutor, Klaire is a friend, and a peer mentor to me. She is always keeping me in a great mood and wanting to study. In my spring semester, Klaire is helping me out with two classes which include Anatomy & Physiology 2 and Microbiology. Two sciences are very hard and if there was not anyone to reinforce how much i needed to do to accomplish my goals i would be struggling. Klaire has taught me many things about college. She has taught me how to study, manage my time, have fun, make friends, and deal with roommates. I look up to Klaire so much. She has a great personality which is caring, humorous, and energetic. Klaire also is very determined, strong willed, successful and awesome. I know I could sit here and write more about Klaire and how she has affected my life, but I would just stress how spectacular she is. Klaire has made my college experience much better, and I will take everything she has taught me about time management, team work, personalities, roommates, and goals with me for the rest of my life.

Monday, March 28, 2011


This soul, 
so often frantic, 
finds calm amid 
such chaos.  

This mind 
quieting its soul 
with willpower,
its poise brings 
such authority.  

This heart, 
while aching,
continues to beat, 
the mind reassuring,
the soul calmed.  

Friday, March 18, 2011

The Act

the magician stood silent,
waiting for quiet
before he began the show.

he sang and he danced,
he spoke of romance,
flashy smile, all bright lights and promises.

oh, he did quite well,
fooling crowds with his spells,
the illusions all formed from science.

but physics,
you see,
is no child's plaything.

and miscalculations

some say he planned it.
some say he fell.

those who were there, oh they said they could tell.

midway through the act,
he stepped on a tack,
caught himself on a lever,
which wasn't so clever,
and he hung from the rafters,
loose rope now tight round his neck.

The audience gasped,
then burst into claps,
thinking, of course, this was part of his act.

But their praise was cut short,
as they saw his effort,
ending, as his face amort


he hit the stage--limp body bowing as if controlled by an unseen puppeteer.

So they cut him down,
and all gathered 'round,
half expecting him to jump up alive.

The magician was silent,
for one final show,
a slow vanishing act.

Sunday, March 13, 2011


For the loud, dangerous, beautiful world that is -- a world torn asunder.

For those who would like to donate: American Red Cross


I seek out knowledge,
like some old-world gypsy,
wandering within the confines of this earth. 

I am a seeker.

Unlocking secrets, cloaked in science 
               --my own alchemy overturning riches of a new kind.  
               --my own captivated curiosity an enchantment, 
                 enticing the most delicate creatures to divulge the intricate details of their existence.  

And I piece together the world, from the bottom up.

Fairy Fly (Mymaridae Wasp) Photo Credit: Mr. Spike Walker

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Instinct: Old Forest

Old Forest
She knew, as she approached the clearing, what would happen next, some memories never fade.  Pausing at the edge of the forest Elisesofia braced herself, before stepping into the bright light that fell amid the wildflowers.  Still shrouded in her cloak, she slowly moved towards the center, head down, silent, listening. 

“What is your purpose?”  The voice came out from directly in front of her, smooth and flowing, like the music made by the flowing of an isolated brook, high in the mountains.  It was not threatening, but serious, with a slight inflection that gave away curiosity. 
“I must speak to Kitra.”  This was all she knew.  Kitra could help. 
“What is your name?” This voice, identical to the other, came slowly, on her right. 
“Elisesofia.”  This she whispered.  She had not spoken her own, true name in years. 

There was no response.

Elisesofia waited.  Then looking up for the first time since she had entered the clearing, began to speak, telling beginning of her story:
dim light illuminates her,
standing naked once more, proud.
shivering as cool air
passes over pale skin
that now swells to reveal new growth
the last remnant of Love.

she shakes away the single tear and stands, strong.
to walks back into the deep comfort of the forest.

rain falls quietly in the night, again
and she runs, wildly in the dark
carrying the child born to destiny,
with spite following just behind

crossing through the waters
she hands the child to the trees
and turns, facing spite
from the trees emerge the few
who still believe in Love's remnant,
and without a word they stand to fight.

Upon these last words Elisesofia Petlykov sank to the ground where her mother fought, her legs unwilling to bear the burden.  Around her form stood the elves, tall and thin, like wisps of fog.  Their skin was pale, glowing delicately with a soft light.  Their heads bent low, long hair well past their hips, in pale shades of green, shrouding their faces.  In silence, the elves gathered her, carrying her through the forest, to Kitra.