The House Down the Road (poem)

It was built in '94,

Its walls white,

Its rooms empty,

The house down the road.

Its caretakers were afraid

That it would fall apart,

So they covered it up

And tried to protect it from time.

But they couldn't leave it empty,

And so the woodworker moved in.

He built miniature houses,

Decorated them like they were real.

He detested his new home,

Thought his toys more suitable,

So he neglected it,

The house down the road.

In drunken rages he'd return,

Curse the inadequacy of the house,

And paint the walls with holes

He would later cover with paper.

One day he left,

Found a more suitable home.

It was beautiful,

And collapsed two months later.

He didn't go back,

Not for longer than an occasional night.

On cold nights he'd break in,

And steal the heat he forsook.

When his visits stopped,

Someone else moved in.

The woodworker had skipped town.

The new tenant was softer.

The new tenant was a doctor,

And patched up the walls right,

Painted over the scars,

Secured its warmth.

Months later, the woodworker returned,

Having been homeless since,

With the memory of the house fresh,

And the desire for its stability and warmth.

When he arrived,

The doctor was tending to the garden.

But instead of trying to steal the house,

The woodworker smiled and left.

-Zero

The Fourth Year (update)

     Today marks the fourth year that this blog has been running, and it has been quite an eventful year. A lot has come to an end, such as the first drafts of "Kuna Zero: A Wanderer's Tale" and "A Plead to Iris" in April, as well as "the Wanderer's Journal" over the summer. A friendship has ended, a relationship, and the lives of some loved ones. It has been a difficult year for many of my family members. Those who survived have to face now an irreparable absence as well as those who are having trouble coping. A lot of mistakes have been made, and there has been a whirlwind of emotion.

      But a year so full of death, destruction, and suffering is bound to find itself possessing exuberant life, creation, and joy. Sometimes pain brings people together and unites them in a way that fights back against the pain. After all, in the darkest night, people create their own light. And with that said, I will speak more about the year, starting from the beginning.

      My return to university after the month long break was welcomed passionately, as the lack of a schedule had driven me to irregularity and boredom. That being said, when I returned to my room in residence, I found out that things had changed. It wasn't an immediate obvious change, but one that had taken place within the people there, including myself. My room had somehow become home and an appropriate workplace in which I would work the most in. I returned to my hermit habits and found myself making daily trips to the on-campus chapel as my Divine and Ultimate Concern class questioned the nature of the Infinite and posited the notion of the Calling.

      As for my writing, I did the same as in the fall, which was characterized by reflecting on my past and giving it expression as well as writing about new characters that I had developed in the fall. I remembered and reflected on the experiment I had undertaken a year prior, although I had been seemingly blind to the mistake I had made. "The Daughter of Athena" (my NaNo novel of 2013) began as being about a friend. When I first started it, I was curious as to how the process of fictionalization would function with a living friendship. While the novel itself did go on to ignore its root inspiration, I satisfied my curiosity. The fictionalization began destroying the friendship by placing a barrier between us. Gradually it intensified, got worse, and the words once exchanged were lost to an unbearable silence and recognition that I had created it. And unlike the experiment, this person was aware and more or less engaged in what was happening. My stupidity caused for them to suffer and for this I am truly sorry.

     But that is only the beginning of the year, really, although that particular story found its true end in this past fall. When summer came around, or rather summer break when I would return to Aylmer, I was working hard on my writing until camp NaNoWriMo ended. Once it did, I fell into a near insanity from the lack of work, only to be pulled out of it by an eventful week, beginning with a synchronized event and peaking at the crash. From there on, it's a storm of emotion.

      In the wake of death, I got lost pursuing a light I thought was eternal (see "The Frustrating and Mysterious Spark"), but the truth became apparent when it was swallowed up by the mere concept of distance. I almost found myself again, only to be thrown right back into that pursuit to try and cope with a new change. It disappeared again, but this time with an awakening, a return to myself. But that whole time, my pen scribbled about Love, praising it for its strength, for its light. Although as much as I wanted to call it truly infinite, I always found it lacking somehow. Once I remembered this, the storm quieted, submitted to that power I've always felt guiding me, and gave me up.

      Now, as I look back on the past four years and compare myself to the teenager who started this blog, I wonder how things will be next year, how things will change, and how wrong my future self will think I am. Ah well, he'll probably think I'm trivial as well. But that is for another time. Take care. Until next time,

-Zero

To Love a Goddess (poem)

He wakes up,

Her face in his mind,

The sensation of her lips

Against his cheek.

(This is his passion,

His foolish love.)

He rolls out of bed,

Wishing she was there,

Wishing he could hold her,

Instead of cuddling reality.

(His love is destruction:

Conversations turn to silence.)

He admires her,

The way her glasses fit,

And her always shining eyes,

As if belonging to Athena herself.

(But she is no daughter of Athena,

And he falls further.)

He confesses his love,

A child jumping into fire.

She turns away,

Tries to kill his sick passion.

(Time to walk away.

Only a fool pursues the unwilling.)

His passion lives on.

Its origin was never in her,

But in his mind:

The love of an idea.

(Let this be a warning.

He has isolated himself.)

-Zero

If I Write You No Longer (poem)

In a poem, you appear.

In a meeting, you disappear.

So I question:

Are you Love's impossible ideal,

Destructive, and broken,

But not helpless?

Are you my fallen pursuit,

Enough to comfort my grief,

But not enough to guide me?

The answer to both,

It seems,

Is yes.

In the Fall,

I return to Love's ideal,

Forget its limitations.

Then I take up the pen,

Scribble hundreds of lines,

All referring to you.

The yearning takes form,

An emptiness grows:

Love defined by absence.

But when the Truth awakens,

The pen refuses your name,

The yearning dissipates.

So I wonder:

If I write you no longer,

Will you vanish forever?

-Zero

The Untouched Temptation (poem)

Energy drinks are his past,

Mixed in with cigarette smoke,

Under-aged drinking,

And broken hearts.

He always keeps one with him,

Not in case he needs it,

But in case he falls,

All the way back to the past.

It would be so easy,

Open up the can,

Throw in his heart,

And watch it fizzle away.

Instead he stares at it,

Examines it,

Goes out to buy more,

A fridge full of unopened cans.

Late night comes,

Five in the morning,

Not a wink of sleep,

Not a can opened.

Temptation always present.

Like a yearning to jump from the bridge,

He contemplates it seriously,

But fear holds him back.

A friend notices the cans,

Asks “why so many?”

He shrugs, says,

“You can have some.”

Gradually they disappear.

Some smashed apart,

Others given away,

But not one drank by him.

The temptation fades

Like chalk in the rain,

Washed away by necessity,

His soul's catharsis.

Energy drinks are his past,

When he was self-destructive,

But no longer.

He is self-creative.

-Zero

On November (non-fiction)

      This past November I undertook in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) once more. This November proved itself to be difficult in many ways, often having very little to do with the actual challenge. It is noticeably the only November NaNo that I have not started a new novel, deciding instead to work on "The Beginning of The End", as well as the only time that my novel has little to do with romantic love.

      For those who are unaware, NaNoWriMo is an online challenge where participants attempt to write 50,000 words (or 200 pages) of a novel over the course of the month. I first attempted it in 2011, winning with "Love: A Chaotic Insanity". The year following I wrote part of "A Plead to Iris", and the next year I wrote part of "The Daughter of Athena", winning both times. All three of these have roots in romantic love, and it makes a significant appearance in all three of them. "The Beginning of The End" (or TBOTE) is quite the opposite.

      Reflecting now on the month of November, and how my thoughts (and writings) were being formed, I find that TBOTE was perhaps the best novel for me to have been working on. After all, as discussed in my last poem "The Awakening of a Fallen Man", I fell back into old habits from a time long past, predominantly a self-destructive praising of Love. But TBOTE began as an expression of the failed ultimate concern that my younger self experienced with Love.

      As it has developed, I have borrowed (from the poet William Blake) a notion of the Fallen states (which he uses for his Four Zoas, a coincidental parallel with the Four in TBOTE). To be Fallen is essentially to be broken in some way, to have something missing, to be less than one is. In falling back to a previous state (that of the Grey to extend the parallel with TBOTE), I became Fallen and forsook that which gives me the strength and confidence to do as I must.

      For the first time in four years, I had become Kuna Zero (of TBOTE) once more. I possessed doubt, was overwhelmed by sorrow, and felt as if I was wandering about in a world without meaning. Truly, I was more alone than I had been since those old times. And my attempt to break the loneliness of the finite was the same. I tried to find a love. (and inevitably failed).

      So why was "The Beginning of The End" so important in this past month? Why was it so helpful? Why do I think that it was so crucial that I wrote that and not another love-based novel?

     It is quite simple. For the whole month (without even realizing it at first), I was reminded of my initial failure, of the inherent flaw in the belief system which I had fallen back on in fear. Even more so, I was forced to face that which had guided me thus far, and write how the child of Fire has to put his faith and trust in it, as well as in himself. I rewrote the awakening of each of the Four by this awakened Kuna Zero, this flame-bound man following the path that lay before him. I was setting up my own reawakening.

      Had I not realized my folly, I might have fallen even more victim to the allures of affection, misusing the pen for mild and undeveloped affections. I suppose I was lucky I could write so much about that Flame-haired woman. Otherwise I might have written more about the friend, or even more recently the girl whose eyes I could not pull away from. Inevitably, this would have ruined any relationship with them (it has happened before).

     There is a strange power in the pen, one I feel I still fail to understand. But I understand it enough to not write any possible thing. Otherwise I would give life and substance to more fictions than I can keep track of, more fictions that very well may trick me into believing they exist outside of my mind.

     But with the end of the month came an awakening, in which all my doubts were expelled. Sorrow was seared away, and the loneliness of the finite (the terrible grey) was banished by the connectivity of the infinite. The flames in my eyes had returned.

     And with that potentially more metaphorical statement made (one should rarely take what I say as literal), I feel I have written enough in this post. Take care of yourself and never fear to reflect and reconsider your values. It might just save you. Until next time,

-Zero

The Awakening of a Fallen Man (poem)

I have fallen.

Why?

When I faced my father, Death,

I ran into a safer past.

I ran into passionate loves,

Cold winter walks,

Terrible and destructive habits,

Powerful and awful emotions.

Instead of moving forward,

I stepped back,

Renounced my sacred friend,

And returned to the old worship of Love.

But he, my old friend,

Would not simply leave me.

He stayed and reminded me

Of the folly of that old pursuit.

He showed me the grey,

Which I was diving back into,

All because of one belief:

That Love can overcome all.

But no matter how much I love her,

I'm still distant and alone.

No matter how much they love me and I them,

The family struggles won't go away.

And every time I give into Love,

I set myself up to fall,

To give into anger, jealousy, hate,

Become overwhelmed by simple sorrow.

Four years ago,

This was who I was.

And I hated it.

Love wasn't enough.

So when I ran from Death,

To a time before its touch,

I fled from the Flames,

And became lost and confused.

I have awakened,

And my old friend welcomes me back,

Putting in one hand the pen,

And taking the sword from the other.

And I kneel,

Thank him for returning,

Or rather for accepting my return,

And directing me once more.

I had fallen, yes,

Because I feared the Future,

But now I stand awakened,

The Flames burning throughout me.

-Zero

Arguing with a Spectre (short fiction)

      Ah look at this pathetic boy sitting at his desk in silence! Look how Love tests him so, granting him her wonderful feeling but taking away her touch! Let's go down to this poor soul to laugh at him further!

      “You there, poet-boy-thing! Why do you bother yourself so much with Love? Clearly she is only out to torment you!”

      “And who are you, spectre looming above? You laugh at me and mock my being, but you cannot understand it.”

      “Understand it? Child, I know far more than you! If I am so wrong, then why must you love three different women, and in three different ways at that? If you understand Love so well, then why has she split your affections into three impossible ways?”

      Look how he falls to silence and turns back to his desk! Look how he fails to give a reply! Look how he admits defeat! How pathetic! If I were human, I might have compassion for his troubled state! But then again, compassion is one of his flaws! It is the way in which Love seized him so powerfully! Had he steeled his little clay heart, he would not know these pains! Let this be a lesson to you!

      “Hey, fallen spectre! I know you remain! Your laughter causes for my bones to shiver! But I have laboured on as you proclaimed your own fabricated magnificence and righteousness, and now I have an answer for you!”

      “Then why wait? Go ahead and give it so I may remind you of your flawed logic!”

      “I can be nothing more or less than I am. To try to deny my passions is to try to deny a part of me. But that is not why I do not condemn Love for this which I suffer.”

      “You see, spectre, beings such as myself are a combination of the past, the present, and the potential for the future. Moreover, we know three loves, which have multiple variations. There is carnal love (or lust for those who wish to condemn basic human need). There is the poet's love, the spiritual and transcendental love. Then there is companionate love, the love between the closest of friends.”

      “Then why do you not condemn Love for your 'holy' trinity, child?”

      “Because my three loves are a testimony to my humanity. The first is a past lover, with whom I was once in the throes of passion, carnal love with a mix of companionate love. The second is a young lady of my present, with which I share some carnal desire, but it is mostly companionate with some spiritual love mixed in.”

      “And what of this third one? The one Love forced you to fall for before the others, and the one Love has not let you hold for much more than a month at a time. What of her? Who is she?”

      “The potentiality of the Future is determined by the combination of the Past and the Present. But she is exactly that! In the beginning, it was purely the love of the poet. I could barely touch her. But in the last month we were together, I learned how to hold her, and now I learn how to be friends with her!”

      “So if this is true, then why even bother with the other two? They are Love's unnecessary toying with human emotions!”

      “If anything, it is humanity toying with itself. After all, what determines the actions of Love, and the directions she takes, is human will. I chose to leave the Past behind me, just as I choose not to pursue the Present blindly (because I know we're lacking). Instead I learn from them, and learn to love in all three ways so that I can unite them in one pure and fulfilling love. And I know I might fail. I know Love can quickly turn to Pain. I know the potentiality is not the actuality (all things I'm sure you'd love to tell me). But it's worth trying, not matter what you, as a manifestation of my doubt and frustration, might say. You're not real anyways.”

-Zero

The Flighty Poet and the Lost Star (poem)

Once, there were two,

Two stories to be told.

Two that became One,

Him and her becoming 'them'.

Like any story worth telling,

This one consists of struggle,

Conflict to be resolved,

The flaws of humanity to be overcome.

It's a story about Love,

A love shared between two,

Torn into chaos,

By who they were.

He was air,

A flighty poet looking for meaning,

Searching the whole world

For something right in front of him.

She was fire,

A lost star in the cosmos,

An inferno of troubles,

An abundant courage.

The throes of passion united them,

Gave them a sincere love,

But it wasn't enough.

They became two again.

If wind stops,

It is no longer.

If fire cools,

It is no longer.

So she let him fly,

Her heat elevating him,

And he let her burn,

Even though he hated to leave.

How could their story,

How could they,

Ever overcome this distance,

And unite their two natures?

She could not ask him to stay,

For fear that he very well might.

He could not ask her to come,

For fear that she might go out.

It seemed hopeless,

As if Love was impossibility,

Pursuing the forever distant,

Instead of embracing the near.

Hours, days, weeks, months,

Would be spent thinking,

Trying to overcome these obstacles,

Half-debating just giving up.

He wanted her happy,

She wanted him happy,

Regardless of the self:

“Go on without me...”

Now, the solution,

Inherent in Love itself,

Not easily attained,

But well worth the pain.

The hotter his winds,

The higher he flew.

The more she burned,

The higher her flames.

What had once been separating

Became unifying,

Became an exuberant system

That raised them both higher than alone.

So he fanned her flames,

Gave them all the breath he could,

And she burned hotter and brighter,

Gave him all the heat she could.

The conclusion:

Love is worth the pain.

Love unites two as one.

All fly higher together.

-Zero

For the Doubtful (in Pain) - (poem)

You are capable

Of changing the clouds

To let the light

Shine down upon you.

It's hard, yes,

But so is childbirth.

Sometimes miracles need pain,

Just ask your mother.

The heartbroken lover,

Who refuses to love again,

Only suffers more and more.

Sometimes trying is less painful.

Every single wildfire

Begins with just a spark,

And every novel

With just a word.

Every addiction is beaten

One day at a time,

Every mountain is hiked

One step at a time.

So take that step,

Take those days,

Write those words,

And light those sparks!

Brave the pain of trying,

Love yourself again,

Like your mother does,

And create your miracle!

You are capable

Of changing these clouds

To let your light

Shine out from you!

-Zero

Rebellious Youth (poem)

A time of darkness,

Full of falling leaves,

Moonlight on the beaten path,

Teenagers smoking stolen cigarettes.

Meeting in a park after dark,

Sharing a drink,

Keeping an eye out for authority,

Ready to run at a moment's notice.

One kiss,

One hug,

Two holding hands,

Two becoming one.

Call it youth,

The spark and the wildfire,

A time in nostalgia,

A time of joyous darkness.

-Zero

A Word for the Lost (poem)

You may feel weak,

Broken,

Lost,

Forgotten.

You may not know

Where to go,

What to do,

Why you're here.

You may only know

Pain,

Defeat,

Confusion.

But you are not alone,

Not abandoned,

Not forgotten,

Not worthless.

When what lays in front of you

Is a valley,

A mountain,

The shadow of Death,

Remember:

Valleys are nature's cradles,

Mountains are large anthills,

And shadows require light.

Remember:

No one knows the future.

We all stumble through the dark,

Feeling around in an attempt to understand.

And remember this:

The only way you'll get anywhere

Is with one step at a time,

And you long ago learned to walk.

-Zero

Encounters with The Wanderer: His Journey Back (short story)

       You are the strangest person I could have imagined to come across in this world. From what you've told me, you're trying to find someone you've never met, someone you don't even know is still alive. But I have encountered this wanderer of yours, although it was ages ago. I had just come out of hiding as a large group of powerful warriors had passed by and I did not want to find out whose side they were on. Back then I was staying just outside of New York city.

       I sensed him long before he arrived. At first I hid. When he arrived, he stopped and fell against a concrete wall. I risked a glance over at him and noticed he was overwhelmed with sorrow. His head was between his legs and a katana with an orange-red handle lay by his side. He sat there in silence for a long time, until, finally, he started crying.

       Once he stopped, I worked up the courage to approach him. “You there!” I called out with fabricated confidence. His head picked up and revealed the face of a teenager sent to war. The youth had been drained from his eyes and they themselves seemed on the verge of disappearing entirely. I fell to my compassion. “You alright?” I asked softly.

       “What the Hell do you think?” He snapped back. “Look around. Does this look like Paradise to you?”

       “Look, buddy, I don't know who in the Hell you think you are, but I came here to check up on you. No need to be an asshole.” My anger got the better of me, but I wouldn't know that until he got to his feet. “What's your problem anyways?”

       “My problem? My problem?” He yelled. Suddenly the power I had sensed in him began to pour forth. Fires raged in his eyes. “My problem is this world! This war! This utter failure!” He threw his fist hard against the concrete.

       “What is it your problem? Who are you?” I returned, the fear of his wrath beginning to take root.

       “My name,” he howled in furious agony, “is Kuna Zero.” Fires burst forth from the ground surrounding him and spun around him like a tornado. His left hand seized the katana by his side and its shining blade burst into orange-red flames. “My spirit is the Firecat.” He started getting to his feet. His skin ignited; the fires enveloped his whole being. “I am the coward! The child of Seth himself!”

       I stepped away from the flaming man without lifting my eyes from him. He seemed to look right through me and ceased to move entirely. Then he let out the most bone-chilling scream I have ever heard. A grand pillar of flame erupted from him that shot up into the grey clouds above.

       A breeze, not of my own doing, blew by me, whispering to me carefully. “One who has stumbled across this child of Fire, put distance between yourself and his pillar of flame. He will recover.”

       I spoke and let my winds carry them to her. “How can you be so sure? Demons for miles will flock to him because of this show of his. He'll be overwhelmed in moments.”

       The whisperer on the winds took no time to reply. “He is an old friend of mine, and he is the child of Fire. The demons may feel victorious, but his flames serve as a warning.” She paused. “I hate to leave him alone, but he must grow. The wanderer, as he will likely become, will return when the day of clouds is over.”

       “How do you know he'll return then?” I questioned on the winds as I watched your wanderer carefully.

       A grand breeze blew around me and said, “the day of clouds will be over when he returns, awakened from his fallen state.”

       “How long till then?”

       “I don't know.” The winds sighed. “But I hope it's soon... We need him...”

       That was the last I heard that voice on the winds. Sometimes I would send out a breeze to the source, but I've never gotten a reply. I don't know who she was, but I'm sure that you've already heard of her by now. I don't want to know about her, no. Let me finish my story.

       With the whisperer gone, I was left alone with him again and a new sea of questions. I sat and waited. Then, after a short eternity, his flames vanished in an instant of change. The wanderer within glanced at his blade, which had been extinguished, sighed, and followed the road north without so much of a word. I wanted to call out after him, but I let him go in silence. I suppose the day of clouds is not yet over. I guess you'll be going to find him once more. For the good of us all, I hope you find him awakened and ready to find the voice on the winds.

       Good luck on your journey, stranger. May we never have to meet again.

-Zero

Encounters with The Wanderer: The Forsaking (short story)

        I do not know who you are, young one, or why you are inquiring about the child of Fire. But I do not imagine this information to be dangerous, so I will tell you about my last encounter with Kuna Zero, or the Wanderer as you call him.

        It was some time ago (although time seems broken in this desolate world), not long after he and the others had left to battle the tyrant god. He arrived alone and in great distress. His katana was drawn, but its flames extinguished. By his appearance alone, I deducted that something had gone horribly wrong. I called out to him and approached him, but upon seeing me, he fled deeper into the city. You see that I am an old man, and have been for a long time, but I am far from helpless. Calling upon my spirit's strength, I changed my form to that of an owl and quietly flew after him.

        He stopped not far from here, in a park that had been ravaged by Nightmares before the grey came. He stood before what had once been a flourishing maple tree and then fell to his knees and wept. When the teenager's tears had dried, he got back to his feet and pierced the tree with his blade. He turned to leave; however, the tree had burst into flames, as well as some of the grass that surrounded him. He let out a sigh and turned to face the black cat who had materialized in the fires on an outstretched branch.

        “Is this what you wish for, Kuna?” The spirit of fire asked.

        Kuna shook his head. “Of course not! But I can't be the hero you all need me to be!” He fell to his knees once more. “I'm not my father! Seth wins this time and there's nothing we can do about it!”

        “So you are giving up on this world you once called home? Will you reject all that you vowed to protect and forsake all those that you love so dearly? Will you simply turn away as each one of them falls one by one to the darkness, even though you might have had the strength to save them? Most of all, will you forsake me in this terrible grey, only to be lost within it yourself?” The spirit replied with a fiery wisdom. It is to be expected of the oldest children.

        Now, at this time, I had half a mind to intervene and tell the child that he was being foolish and should not abandon his flames, but then I sensed a power not much different from his own approaching downtown. I suppose he sensed it too, as he quickly got to his feet, looked around and faced his spirit for one final speech.

        “Old friend,” he said in solemn haste, “I am too weak, too cowardly, to fulfil the duty that you ask of me.” He sighed. “Find yourself an appropriate partner. Farewell.” The child burst through the flames and disappeared into the distant grey.

        As he ran, his spirit's voice resounded through all of Montreal. “Return, oh Wanderer, when the day of clouds is over!” Then everything went silent.

        That is the last I saw of Kuna or his spirit, but perhaps you would like to see the place where those very same flames wait for him?

        Yes? Very well. Follow me.

        It i quite beautiful, isn't it? Once the child had run off, his spirit sighed, jumped from the branch, and disappeared into the ground. Flames spread across the ground, even going beyond the boundaries of the park. Then they too were absorbed by the earth, and in what felt like mere moments, the radiant forest before us had formed. It is amazing what exuberant power the child of fire possesses.

        What's that? You wish to go in? No, we cannot. I have tried before. When I drew close, the flames erupted out at its border, blocking my path. Only those the spirit chooses can enter, like the child of wind. I do not know her name, I admit. Nor do I know where she had been hiding for so long. What did she look like?

        Well, she seemed to be about the age of Kuna at the time. She stood with a broken will within her and carried an aura of abandonment. Her hair was long and light brown. Somehow she still retained her color. At first she was bundled in winter clothing – for the snow had not yet vanished – but she quickly shed the unnecessary garments and was wearing blue jeans with a vibrant green top.

        She had been led to the forest by Anis, a spirit who has, since ancient times, served the Four nearly as diligently as the emanations themselves. It was only under her guidance that the child of wind entered the forest and has not emerged since. That is all I have to tell you, I am afraid, but if you search for the Wanderer, then there is little you can do but wander as well in hopes your paths cross. I do not know of any other survivors. Good luck, child, and farewell.

-Zero

Encounters with the Wanderer: The Walled City (short story and update)

       I don't understand your interest in this 'Wanderer', but I will recount the time I crossed paths with him.

       I had been watching the grey horizon from atop Old Quebec's walls when I sensed his presence. I didn't know what to make of it. He radiated power, but it felt empty, almost absent. I turned and headed towards the source of the strange power, only to find him sitting against the outer wall with his head down. I drew my weapon and let my thundering powers rage forth.

       “You there!” I cried out defensively. “Who are you and why have you come here?”

       He lifted his head and I saw nothing but dread in his face. I let my powers recede and stepped forth, hoping for an answer.

       “My name,” he said with an exhaustion greater than the desolate world's, “is Kuna Zero...” He paused and met my stare with eyes of swirling torment. “I am the Wanderer.”

       That was when I noticed an empty sheathe by his ragged side. “You had a blade. What happened to it?”

       He broke eye-contact and focused strongly on the grey horizon. “I lost it.” He said after a long silence.

       “So you're looking for it?” I asked. He stood up silently and walked past me into the walled city without so much as glancing at me. He was the first person I had come across in such a long time that I did not want to lose him so quickly. I ran up beside him and joined him in his walk through my desolate home.

       “You are alone here.” He noted with his eyes fixed on the grey horizon.

       “Yes.” I answered. “Even the demons left with the others. It was before the Fall. They haven't returned.”

       “They're dead. The sceptre of tyranny misses no one.” He said bitterly, referring to something I was unfamiliar with. I wanted to ask, but his tone told me it was best left unknown.

       I followed him to the spot I stood in when I first felt his presence. He overlooked the grey horizon with an aura of gloom surrounding him. His silence almost made him disappear into the grey. I stared at him as if a single blink of the eye would make him vanish forever. My gaze kept falling to his empty sheathe. He was a void greater than the grey itself.

       “What happened?” I broke the silence.

       He turned his head slightly towards me. “We failed...” His head dropped. His fists clenched.

       I felt compelled by my spirit to ask, “why do you wander?”

       He spun around and walked past me. “I'm running away...” He admitted as he came to a sudden halt a meter or so away.

       “From what?” I questioned further.

       “Myself.”

       Silence followed for a long while. We stood there as if turned to marble. He sighed heavily and turned towards me. His eyes were brighter than I had ever seen them, although it was nothing more than a speck of light, a lone star in the black sky.

       “I have to go.” He told me as his eyes grew distant. It was as if he was looking right through my soul.

       “Where will you go?” I questioned, worried that I would never come across another person again.

       “You are a spirit of lightning and thunder.” He stated in reply. Then he grabbed his empty sheathe with his right hand. “I was once of Fire. But I am lost in this grey...” He paused and let his fingers release. “And I must wander until I feel the light on my skin once more.”

       “So you go to find yourself?” I inquired.

       His gaze shifted to the sky and he shook his head. “'Return, oh Wanderer, when the day of clouds is over.'” He paused. “That was told to me by an old friend when I abandoned him.”

       “So you're waiting for all this to end?” I felt frustration boiling up within me at his perpetual inaction. He nodded solemnly. Lightning began to cackle out from my body, shocking the ground around his feet. He returned his gaze to me. Then I spoke. “Wanderer, I don't know you, nor do I know what lies in your past, but I can feel the great shadow of your power. It looms over that damned grey. Awaken your flames, damn it, and find a way to bring back the sun! Do not wait for fate to do it for you! Make your own fate!”

       His gaze fell away again. His fists tightened, his right brushing up against his sheathe. A breeze whispered by. “Farewell.” He said through his teeth. Then he spun around and walked away, blending with the surroundings like a ghost of days past.

       That is the last I ever saw or heard of him until you showed up. I wonder where he is now...

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

      Above, as you must have noticed, is a short story based very heavily on the in-between of "Kuna Zero: A Wanderer's Tale" and "The Beginning of The End", when Kuna is wandering the world in self-imposed exile. I have written a few stories titled "Encounters with the Wanderer" which are all written from the perspective of someone outside of Kuna, who only hears what other people have said about him. 

       The reason I am posting this, however, is because I have decided to write "The Beginning of The End" for NaNoWriMo this year instead of a new novel. So, to get myself back into the novel's world (not that I ever truly left it), I will be typing up and posting the three short stories written so far every five days up until November 1st, when I can begin my novel once more.

       I am excited to begin NaNoWriMo, even though it does not mean a new novel for me to write. In fact, I am even more excited, as this novel is far more thought out and ingrained in me than any of the others have been. Moreover, "The Beginning of The End" very well may be the only novel that does not concern itself with love and romance. Considering it is technically my oldest novel (not including the lost version of "Kuna Zero: A Wanderer's Tale" from 2007), it is rather amusing to think that it is the change of pace from my usual style. 

     But that is enough for tonight. Until next time,

-Zero

  

When I'm Gone (Poem)

Is distance too hard for us?

The me you met

Would scream 'no'.

The me I am

Would accept defeat.

I knew we'd come to this.

But still I shake,

Wanting to scream,

Trying to fight it:

This incomplete end.

Why can't we be strong enough?

Just hold me

When I'm here.

I'll love you

When I'm gone.

Every kiss feels like the last.

A moment of passion,

Overshadowed by difficulty,

Another reason not to,

Another goodbye to bear.

I want to protest this fate.

But I can barely breathe.

Take away my breath.

I don't need it.

Why must Love feel like Death?

-Zero

To My Next Love, (Poem and update)

I don't believe in “The One.”

But I do believe in Love,

That it comes and goes like the seasons,

and Life itself.

Late at night,

When I am left to my yearning,

I look at the stars

And wonder if you are too.

I used to see you everywhere,

In every passerby on the street,

And in a friend lonelier than I am,

Who I just want to see happy.

Now everything is empty,

Like somehow I drained the possibility from them:

A vampire sucking his prey dry,

Excess leading to lacking.

But all these poems,

And all my novels,

Cannot show me the future,

Or give me the Love I yearn for.

I'm hopeless.

The world is so big,

And my programming set to wander,

As if no bond can face distance.

And I wonder how or why

The last I've loved

Have found Love again,

As I get lost amongst words.

I loved Love for so long.

Now I just want the bond,

Those soft, caring arms wrapped around me.

I'm sick of waking up alone.

I thought myself unfit for Love,

That I was more broken than others,

That forgiveness was a myth,

But an end showed me a beginning.

Sometimes I want to summon you,

With these words of black ink,

So maybe they might be useful...

And maybe, just maybe, I could hold you.

But for all my tears and prayers,

That won't happen.

My dying imagination knows it,

So I stop pretending it will.

A final note to you:

I will love you without end,

Because there is no end to grief,

And Love is the best we can do.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

I had initially decided not to post this poem, not due to its length, but due to the fact that it feels so personal. However, I am a poet and do nothing except expose myself to the world in hopes that I am not alone in how I feel. Art, after all, all comes from a subjective source, and yet finds its own cultural and social meaning outside of that initial perception. 

As for this poem, it was written at the beginning of the month in one of my infrequent emotional moods often triggered by various forms of art and expressions of emotion, predominantly Love. There is something truly beautiful that I recognize in it, and I have wished for it for some time. A day does not go by when I do not find myself thinking of it, but at the same time, I recognize that Life is far more than simply Love, and that there is much I must do with my own person before it truly becomes reasonable to truly enter into the pursuit of Love, which, as described above, may be described as conflicted, as there is the yearning, but also the rejection of possibility around me.

Lastly, the month of November is approaching quickly and I have planned to take part in NaNoWriMo once more. This year, however, I have yet to have any sort of inspiration quite like years past and have been contemplating either continuing older unfinished first drafts, or continuing the rewrite of "The Beginning of The End" instead of working on a new project. If something strikes me before November begins, I very well may post an update about my plans for the month. We will see. Until next time,

-Zero

NaNoWriMo - National Novel Writing Month - Nanowrimo.org

The Touch and The Thought (poem)

The world spins about,

Reality faces the Dream,

The close friend versus

The beautiful stranger.

Convince me

Love and Reality are one,

Or let the other win:

Love as powerful imagination.

Teach me

To let my heart beat for Real,

Or let it lie still:

Love lies in the brain.

Show me

The loving touch of another,

Her warmth filling my soul,

Her fingers running through my hair.

Dream's touch is cold,

Like that of a ghost,

But she promises everything

With her distant gaze.

It's strange

To think them at odds.

Like Fire and Ice,

Opposites but not quite equals.

The coldest cold

Is that which lacks heat.

The hottest heat

Is the most extreme abundance.

I have always loved Fire,

And hated nothingness,

So somehow...

The Real outweighs the Dream.

-Zero

Angering the Divine (Poem)

I am Hell-bent

On angering the Divine.

I hear my instructions,

Then do the opposite.

I am told to be quiet,

So I howl with the agony

Of Ten Thousand Souls.

For all my lifetimes lives,

For all the wisdom I've had,

For all the gifts It's given me,

I can't help but to disobey.

I choose Fire

For its rebellious nature:

How containment means death.

I've asked for guidance,

But that doesn't mean I'll listen.

Embrace Life's suffering

While wrestling with it for control!

“Do not go gentle into that good night,

Rage, rage, against the dying of the light”

Do not be passive in your life!

-Zero

“Do not go gentle into that good night,

Rage, rage, against the dying of the light” -Dylan Thomas

A Promise and an Adventure (poem)

Let's escape the turmoils of now,

The wretched present

Where we are alone,

And betrayed by those we trust.

Come with me,

Let's go on an adventure!

Let's discover an ancient wall,

And wander within its limits,

As if the whole world is there,

Bowing to our wild souls.

Wander with me,

And I'll follow your steps.

Let's take up residence in a castle,

That towers above our wildest dreams,

And stone walls whisper sweet everythings,

That sanctuary we always wanted.

Talk with me,

And I'll tell you a thousand secrets.

Let's swim in the grand seaway,

Far below our castle's walls,

Where a ferry passes through worlds,

And the sun shines again.

Promise me,

That this won't be the last.

-Zero

What Scares Me (Poem)

“Write what scares you.”

The Oblivion -

Is what some write,

But I do not fear my end -

The show must go on.

My fear:

Soulmates -

Love in its perfection -

The One -

The impossible to find...

Missing her,

Not because of a great war,

But some stupid thing,

Like leaving a party at 11:09

And her arriving at 11:11.

A perfect opportunity wasted

Because of one little choice,

Damning me to eternity,

Searching for what already passed.

My fear:

That in all the Infinite,

There is only one,

One chance,

To find a love worth the pain.

-Zero