Deux ex Machina

The number was 17, the view unmistakeably graphic.

Wind rippled the the waist high grass, producing a sheen of light that flowed south to north like an ocean wave.

I stood on my pedestal, dressed impeccably for the occasion. Cufflinks new and polished caught and released the sun in honed brilliance; starched collar and precisely knotted bow tie at the ready for the performance. And dear god, what a performance.

I raised the baton to eye level and gestured just so - and all motion stopped. Clouds up above paused; birds hung in mid flight, at ground level rodents, ground worms, insects and microscopic dust mottles simply waited.

I tested

A quarter circle clockwise, lower left to upper right, and a watchful 180 degree eye as the audience - creation - moved again, then

Pause (at the top)

And they stopped again.

All good, it was set and settled, procurement had, for once, given me everything on the waybill, and I smiled in satisfaction. So many disappointments lined the cobble stone path from past to present, from desire to fufillment. To be clear, fufillment had not manifested yet, but this was the penultimate of aggregate penultimate moments. The tension between planning and production, want and manifestation, everything had led here.

Then why did it feel ... incomplete?

At the most obvious, it was because it wasn't complete. But that wasn't it, not entirely. It was just a feeling that something had not yet been drawn for this final scene. Or maybe it had been drawn, but it was not what was expected.

Tension within the tension.

Hoosah!

Sudden revelation that the release was not in creation, but that from which creation came from and dissolved into. And that the way there was not for the feinged-of heart.

I brought both hands down, commanding the grass to fall.

First surprise: It didn't so much fall as recede vertically into the ground, like it was being pulled from beneath by a million hands. And this was not so far from the truth.

Second surprise - what was revealed. 6 Billion heads, just the top of them at first, a sheet into the horizon of humanity. Or part of humanity. They were detached but not separated from their bodies, supported I supposed by the torsos that connected to the hands that pulled the grass down on my command.

Time was quickening now; the sun sped across the sky, pulling a circular quilt of stars and moon and itself in a dizzying cycle of mouth eats tail. The heads turned as one to look up at the display, awestruck as I was and then

The scene stopped again, moon, quilting spilling silver milk over the heads; mouths agape at the beauty, eyes as doubled pearls lit from without and within, light joining light, and then the awful groan of despair as the light faded and the heads forgot themselves

Need

6 billion heads needing succling, but not for nutrition or power, just hungry ghosts wanting more of the milk they didn't realize came from within in the first place and then

Hoosah!

grass up

insects - queue!

Bright sky, deux ex machina powered off

pen down ,

writer back,

forgetfullness forgotten

alone, in the net of pearls.

Between the Keys

Bflat triangle, that's what it feels like in my head before it makes it to my fingers, where it holds fairly true, but a little SOLIDER that what was upstairs.

As it should.

F/A - connected but a tetris left to right shape, not much translation and then down onto the keyboard.

C&/Bflat - like an isosceles triangle on its side, left to right almost like you can close your eyes and slide down the side and

plunk

In between the keys.

It's a little Rick Moranis-like to start, looking up at the towering ivy on both sides of me and then like some huge terrible beautiful khumba icefall - the tower to the left comes down. But it's a shearing, not a tumbling, and though I can't see the finger I know it's there. Way up in the sky I can see the eyes, mostly closed in concentration or joy, but the rest of the form fades as it comes down to the ivories and then

I realize what's coming and I start to think quick. Real quick.

The mechanics are straightforward - pressure on the ivory or ebony, key comes down, counter-levers a hammer which hits a string which vibrates at a particular rate; particular enough to send compensatory or complimentary shivers up and down it's bloodline.

It's the timing of the mechanics that has me wondering here. I suspect that I'm close to the timeless place here - music does that doesn't it - connects the divine space with the subtle with the gross - but time is still an engineer in my fate, and I really wonder how long I have before the hammer literally falls.

The tower to my left - and I suspect a key over to my right aw well - is still moving downwards but I can see where it will hit bottom and I think STOP and to my surprise

it does.

Not exactly a full stop, but slowed significantly, enough to give me a fighting chance and I run down the length of the hammer cantilever and stare up at the hammer, which is almost imperceptibly pulling away from the string, distance greater now, and greater and farther and the tension -

The tension between the notes between the keys is almost unbearable. Gravity, telos, sex and magick as the chord teeters from its context over its future and looks at it dead on and then

It splits. Moving closer to the subtle now, visions are sprouting seedlings and seedlings upon seedlings into a full carpet of magentas and yellows - so many yellows - an impossible number of shades of yellows. And the cat in the box, keeping the isotope company and reminding me that

...in the gross /subtle world, the futures are splitting faster and faster, Mickey's buckets of water borne by broomstick faster and faster and more and more uncontrollable and now

The Vision of visions is putting it's screen up behind it all; but its solidity is temporary, it particles and splits and tears (always in one piece though) forward and back until the visions are encompassed by the vision, everything is surrounded and underscored and now it's moved from a visual to a ...

feeling

and the Feeling is the ride of where the next notes will land. Odd, because these haven't landed yet, but before they can they must know where they're going

And the gravity is delicious, I AM the screen now, and the screen is an ocean powered by love, shimmered and shadowed by the little things as it moves towards the surface and breaks and when it breaks

Opalescent Moon! As bright and pure as imagination, shining over the strings and I am reminded that with the decision made the hammer is going to fall and fall it does but instead of sound it's just

vibration

and the stamping of the moon in my throat center and I'm

Back looking down at the keys, throat on fire with love and other layers, and now it's time

For the next chord.