History of Love - a tale of two.

Dropping eves like
peanuts and peas,
the passerby glanced
at the vanishing seas.

The waves remained reminders
of the same collapsing memories,
that came back again
through a forest without trees.

A strange sense
of absolute pretense
washed over his eyes,
like the melting evening sun
that faded out of sight.

Before he drowned
and after he was saved
his life passed by
before his uncrowned grave.

When he looked at the sky
he too wondered why
the tremendous infinity
seemed so desperately dry?

The lightening arcs shouted
behind courting clouds of white
while the wind muscled a chunk
of solar heat and light.

A zephyr whispered some wishful plans
while the clan of others stepped out to dance.
Above all it was nothing at all
but a factual twist of fate.
The passerby's stories
were too frequently late
- sometimes to love sometimes to hate.

She touched his shoulders before he could speak.
And before she could seek he had vanished from the shore.
Once more they parted like the pigeons off the street
who pecked on the peanuts and the charitable peas.

Words in the center
of conscious disaster
appeared to focus
somewhere near.
The voice was his own
but his music had outgrown
the everlasting bliss
that he carried in his moans.

He looked at the sky
and wondered why
she arrived so late
after making him wait.
He looked beyond
the rising waves,
a horizon had appeared
through his lover's gaze.

Aspirin Wars

continued from

The tidal waves washed ashore the bruised egos of famished Heedons.
Thoughts were like buildings erected upon stolid water that flowed unlike anything above the sheath of glistening grey and white matter.
The pace of change rearranged one piece of reality with another as the un-ending puzzle of questions and quests terminated into offshoots of nonplussed gazes - staring far into the abyss.

Before Dr Woltz happened to realize that his headaches weren't getting any better, he took a few aspirins. The salicylic molecules made it through their familiar pathways, inhibiting enzymes that mediate pain.
But soon something kinetically abnormal took place.
A young Heedon was marking its territories over a borrowed patch of Dr Woltz's neurons - sizzling the electrochemical signatures of pre-patterned thoughts through un-channelised dimensions.

The dead sounds of the evening disturbed Dr Woltz's solitude for the first time in the past 3 decades he had been working for Quintronic Simulations Inc. Beneath the dusty ceiling and over a crooked flow, Dr Woltz simmered in his own marvelous immortality.

But was he really immortal?

Chaotic thoughts grazed all night through his eyes and his ears. The fever seemed vaguely strange for a trivial case of being under the weather. Before he shot a glance towards the mirror, his eyes felt redder than the tropical sun under a treacherous sky.

The Heedons had taken over Dr Woltz's brain. They had no idea of control nor did Dr Wolts had any control over his ideas.

Thus, imminent breakthroughs percolated in Dr Woltz's life. Memories appeared anew - for the first time ever.
Clues of all kind and sort pushed through the barriers of his tacit imagination. The entire world swayed with the shifting paradigms generated by Dr Woltz.

The Aspirin wars had thus begun.

A few questions for theeeeeee?

Floating indeterminately through ever expanding space, we drifted through intricate chaos and macroscopic probabilities.
Quantum causalities ended up in a temporary state of zero-ness.
That and the inevitable contact.
It was sort of like Mind meets Matter - and when no one was watching - what mattered met the Mind.

At this point all human evolution appeared to be for the manifestation of some sort of a message, that would eventually intersect with the messages from neighboring dimensions.
First contact is bound to change it all - that we are not alone.

What it could mean, as far as we know, is that the tree of life will expand beyond our times.
Times and Space of course. The heads and tails of the perpetually flipped coin, snaking through the abyss of chance and fate.
If the cards are played right we might even see beyond our humble insignificance in the cosmic pattern of reality.
Human history would then profess the eventualities of an extremely unpredictable phase in time.
These moments will never feel the same.
Who will we pray to then?
To whom will we honestly tell?

Absolutely nothing could collapse onto the imagination of this scene.
For a long time history will happen and we will happen with it.
But there is bound to be a time.
There is bound to be a threshold beyond which history will not be written as a record of the drifting past, but would rather be a prophetic portrait of a future.

In other words, the authors write their own stories, and the readers dream someone else's dreams.
Some critics may fear that we will be eternally trapped in pure freedom.
What an ironic plight that would be?

So will our life times meet us this way?
Will we forever be ensconced in a revolutionary space and time - finally rid of our desperate collusion of perennial loneliness?

Or will we seek solitude?

The title of this story is...

It takes you away with it as you realize what just happened that is now pulling on your fabricated ID, leading you into a new unknown.
These eyes swept across the room as heads turned around in incremental angles - bound by some invisible force.
A big wave of time crossed its path with yet another shade of midnight blue.
It was all so suddenly new.
And what had changed no one knew - not any more.
After all it was all so momentary - years come by and then they go.
This is how it has always been.
This is what we have mostly seen.

Every dramatic joy and pain accumulates at the cusp of time when some invisible co-ordinates of a mercurial where fluctuate in the eternal now.
Quietly, another year passes by like a big 18-wheeler that whizzes by every time you careen 2 wheels around the bend at 90 miles an hour.

Every second you move about 4000 centimeters through space, as thousands of rotations pump pistons full of hot air through crafted metal and machinery.
Its a quantum soup beyond this point, but that's pretty much what I would do at 12:00 midnight on some new year's eve - just to appreciate the moment of change from the perspective of velocity.

So Al's well now that we all sip champagne as the band crescendos into an act of celebration for having lasted another year.
Pages of history will turn over and over.
The inevitable end still seems farther and farther.

Here's to another year of visions, divisions, revisions, premonitions, contemplation, consolidation, confirmation, corroboration, devastation, seduction, and massive lot of creation.