The Beginning Of My Book

Post your short stories, articles, etc. here.
Post Reply
Shawn Blackwolf
Banned Member
Posts: 334
Joined: Sun Feb 19, 2017 4:47 pm

The Beginning Of My Book

Post by Shawn Blackwolf »

Some days , when she looked in the mirror , she did not recognize herself.

Or maybe , the mirror did not recognize her , as she was , heretofor , a
child between worlds , by nature itself , no man , yet no woman made
construct , instrument , nor design.

She was her is , and now , yet been , beyond a where , and yet a when.

Existence is perception.

The only answer that makes sense.

Then I exist.

I perceive , therefore I am...

I am awake...

I am asleep...

Yet , I am the dreaming , and the dream.

The mirror is mine.

I am the mirror , the being , the image.

I am dreamed awake...

I exist...

She wiped her eyes of sleep , yet dream pervaded her , like an astralhangover
of epic proportion , bifurcating in creation , and fractaling like crazy.

She came into body.

All is forgotten , overlaid and superpositioned over , all is known , and
experienced , and been there done that...here to do it again...

A good morning glance in the mirror of self , recognizance , reality , and
all it seems , individual , yet unity at a core , among the many , in the one...

Mirrors shatter...pools of perception...

She was awake , aware , and assimilating , before she knew it with her mind...

She touched the world wide web of weyyrd , and all was good...

Now good is relative , yet for these purposes , as they appear in the moment ,
good is most conducive , and interrelated to a most auspicious , and fated ,
event in the space time continuum , namely , her waking not in a fog of what
could be called be wilderment and folly , yet a cappuccino driven consciousness
vehicle , capable of manslaughter , if any got in her way...

Chocolate fueled , with cocoa nibs , and fillings of dark satin , she allowed
the weavings of dream into her reality , solidity as the gravity of mind , born
and brought forth , her own child...and her own mirror...

And all was good...

And that was just the way it was...

Wherewithall , not to leave out anyone , nor to wither any new growth , yet to
speak of all sacred , water , fire , and twilight , air and earth , depth and
height , ceremonial and naked , not left path nor right , all shall be all is done...

One glance in the mirror...she knew...

She brushed her hair...and smiled at the cosmic joke she was...

Morning broke , pockets of darkness turned inside out to show the blank slate of a
new day , the bankruptcy of the past , and the golden promise of possibility ,
an optical assault upon her nocturnally tuned senses...

All was not good...

Good is relative...a law of return and it's reciprocate , intertwined and interrelated ,
structure built against anarchy of the mind , rebellion not rational...yet not intuitive...

The third party of the mind , is the arbitrator , and refuses to sit in judgement , on the
hot seat of Chapel Perilous , one more time...

It still needs coffee...

And low light , she swore , under her breath...



Trees break light...or leaves , or their arrangement , or just because...

She was grateful...nevertheless , any light was painful , after the night before...

Bachunalian bodaciousness , remembered through the eyes of wild women , swept up
in a night of Pan...

Pan , Pan , Io Pan...

hi yo silver...moon away...

She remembered time before , yet time again , after time forgot.

For time is only in between...

and a second is eternity...

The cappuccino foam divined her day , bubbling like a cauldron , with a brew potent
as an underlying bass note , beneath the surface , rising to the occasion , announcing
a cerebral celebration as her neural tree lit up with caffeine and cocoa , little fires burning
with electrons dancing , as she took another gulp...not a sip , as she seized the day
by the throat , demanding the answer before the question was ever asked :

"What is the answer to your universe ?

"I exist"

And that was enough for her...

On the move , billions of cells stimulated , cause and effect , as the synchronicity of
the universe , and single verse , she was internally chanting , took effect , and she
was in the flow , electric , yet magnetic in her sensual nature , for is not nature yet
magnetic at it's core ?

Or is the current of rational thought too much to embrace the id as the idea that
nature could be considered some thought form which could be possessive ?

Ahh , if this is the case , then all is a lost world for those bound by provability , and fact...

For imagination , and fantasy , are behind the dark matter of the galaxies...

And empower each one's real...

Coming into body was process orientation 101...

Nothing...myself...nothing...myself...

The binary , as the algorithmic sequencing counted down the standard neural charge
as seen to be needed to jolt her into what she called awareness...

She took a step into her reality...

A stream of consciousness , or a scream of consciousness , which shall it be ?

If stream , by qabalah , stream equals 113 , consciousness 355 , and 355 divided
by 113 = 3.14159 , so a stream of consciousness is an irrational number , which
goes on and on , like a human mind in slipstream , shapeshifting in it's psyche ,
it's colors of mood , its layers of perception...

I percieve , therefore I am again , she thought...

All is what I see , and more...always more...sensual is a story in itself , written
in more than five , and experienced in orgasmic realization when embraced ,
like some lost lover returned , though never parted...

Yet if a scream , is it a scream like a Munch on a bridge to forever ?

And if a silent scream , a howl unspoken , words unwhispered , then is there
anyone to hear it , and pass it down the line ?

She often wanted to scream...just to scream , primal , and forbidden...

If anything , it was rage at the universe , just for demanding her prescence...

How dare it...she was perfectly comfortable where she was...between worlds...

I am Alpha Omega...Beginning and End...

Sucks I still need sleep and food...

All is sacred , nothing is sacred...my mantra , and my life , she thought...

Reality beckons...come within the funhouse...a hall of mirrors , mirrors
and playing cards , connect the dots , number and letter , pattern and soul...

The oversoul speaks in symbol , and my thoughts are neural sigils...

Neuromancer lives , a human bio-computer...

I be bad...

Yet bad can be good , just bitter medicine , and excess can be temporal
ecstacy , for as long as one can stand it...

All the eloquence of the dichotomous subprogram of the whole , sometimes
hidden , yet watching for any knee jerk over reaction to a situation , as is
all too often the case...

All watches...all sees...the percieved and the perciever...

A feedback loop , a mobeus strip of conscious , yet subconscious ,
as the other side...in and out , on a one side plane...

Yet cyclical , like a moon , in it's code...seen in one side , geophysical
perspective creating shadow and it's balance...

Tao now , yesterday and tomorrow...

My ebb and my flow , and all my tides , I am , and my water is holy ,
holding my pattern , and a body of light...

I am where my immovable meets my unstoppable , and my impetus is
neither a here nor there , yet a given constant , for my story is not yet
ended , nor even written , less indeed , not in stone...

So she thought , looking over the water...

She and the ocean , were one...once...and yet again...

She needed to separate to know herself...self referral , infinite recursion ,
a plumber in the depths of her subconscious...

She should be earning overtime in the karma bank of the universe...

Just for trying , dammit...

Sh*t , I should just write a book...

In the beginning was the word , and proceeded from there a sentence , and ,
by and by a paragraph , if it is not blocked by it's writer...

So she heard it said...

The cappuccino was gone...

The foam left in the bottom of her cup , firmed by exposure , spelled a message
in cryptic scriptology...

She was warned...life was ahead...

Reality is a signpost for the coming dream...

Life is the equation , between the Dream , the Waking , and the Manifestation...

Some say illusion , we say enchantment...just the Way...

The Way is a candle , burning at both ends...

And the Tao can wait till tomorrow , cause the yesterday is already past...

She saw...dream , enchantment , manifestation , all that I am , I shall be...

Some worship the frozen moment they call history , the mystery in that
which chains you , and that which sets you free...

She was done with handcuffs , in whatever form...

They served her purpose , and taught her of power over...

Yet power over becomes power lost...

And history once , becomes mystery again...

Yet , she was open to light shed upon matter , and dreaming the dream...

Shadowside , become illumined...the reset of my dawn...


Running code , like a programmer of her universe , in phase , cerebral
hypertext her prayer , she danced her invokation , and grounded her current...

She was the motherboard , and this was her matrix...

Her movements cut the air in arc , and thrust , rhythm , and measure...

Swirl , and line , interfaced in fluidity and pressure , chaos and control...

She , and the flow , were one...

All was good again...

She was an endless barely woman on an naked beach...

A sex slave in the corner of a dungeon ,

A temple whore , streetwise , yet mystery savy , she was who she was ,
and f*** those who thought otherwise...

And all was good...again...

And her inspiration brought forth manifestation's child ,
like some birthing mother and young girl wild...

Her daughter was at school...

Supposedly...

She heard that somewhere , from her daughter or the system ,
or non system as far as order , yet chaos reigned , like a
maelstrom unleashed , in any system self declared , self
regulated , and self ruled...

Her daughter was in school , she was free...

Provisional authority was temporal at best...

The best dictators live long lives , she thought...

And temporal flow defines politics , time becomes the essence...

She waited for no one...

And she did not vote , nor play their game...she never did...

She just tilt a whirled , and merry go rounded , with the best of them...

And in the space between ride , rider , and observer , she found her
bliss , and her passion for endorphin addiction , sustained by her
wild woman , beyond age of virgin or crone , a creatrix of her destiny ,
dominatrix of her throne...

By goddess , she was worth it...

She was the all , many and one , she was her own queen of forever...

Though her daughter called her a b**ch...no...perspective is the b**ch...

Who are you ?

By you , me , or the crowd of the masses , shall your appearance and
mask , be built ?

Shall surface rule the depths , or verse the viza ?

Are you measurable , and what rule ?

What the education , brainwashing in what school ?

Steal your mind , and then hypnotize yah...

Are you now any wiser ?

The strangest thoughts came to her , like she was her
own statue of liberty , and they were the disenfranchised
and lost , bereft of a mind to house them , a refuge from
the neural storm of changing consciousness , she was
their saviour , and she was their slave...

Freedom wears the cuffs of responsibility...

Anarchy wears the chains of a new order...

She claimed her independence from the whole , when she
chose , by divorcing herself , as the thrall of her reality...

Yet she always came back...at least , so far...as she remembered...

Prisons of mind breed invention unfettered...

So she believed...

And , belief is most important as the engagement tween real and unreal ,
so as it is called , by those invoking perception as their deity of the moment...

Engage thy heart , thy bliss shall follow thy blazing trail...

Thy center is thy stillness , while chaos dance surrounds...

And this chaos dance is thine ordered form , rational seeks prevail ,

Yet , chaos and order , still do a round and round...

Or so it seems , she thought...so it appears...

Appearances are deceiving , yet I seem to be...Am I ?

For if I am not , then for what is the purpose ?

A thousand pardons begged for the question , yet it is so much a
question of this , the moment...

For if I am not , then why the question , why the thought ?

Is there a thought , question , or thinker ?

An inquisitor ?

An asker at the gate of the answer ?

( The Password Is : "I Exist" )

And that was good enough for her...

Life was a presence , and she was a gift ,
in the present and the moment , none other
than herself , while she lasted...

So far , so good...

As she went down the road , she saw the above
and the below , and the wheel of the eternal...

And the song remains the same yet always changes...

Every shamenness has her song...

She had hers...

She knew her tone...and it was good...


In all eternal , there is division...

And trinities , and beyond , and
all one can dream , and yet envision ,
draw one together ,and create one a bond...

Each moment was a rite of passage , like some initiation
game of spirit into flesh and no one knew who did not
know the game...

Faery Rules...I plead the fifth...

I shall not incriminate myself , by word , deed , nor thought ,
as a crime unto myself , nor my progeny , by taking myself
in vain , for I shall render unto myself as needed , and thus
willed , as deemed so by my self , as self is self referred...

And I am self inferred...

Differencio !

Invented or existing , mattered little , when in the word , thus
spoken , or written , ( or intoned , by those inclined ) , was hidden
except to an initiate or stumblebum on the path of Liber Atu...

And language is a shaman's song...

And I sing the dawn to wake , and the twilight to sleep...

Before cappuccino , after a day...when I can , and when I will...

Still , it is my intent...by Will 'O The Wisp , or Power 'O Will ,
one's potential becomes fulfilled , one's change , is yet constraint ,
when thine aye becomes thine ain't , when who you are , becomes
shall be , then there is the mystery...

And fill it out in triplicate was the mantra...

As easy as one two three...

In a four five beat...

And she was her own song , disharmonic , harmonic , a beat
beyond of both...she broke the mold by her being...

Her own reality was her equation...

And her music of her spheres...


She looked into her waveform , her song and her dance ,
Her movement and her sonic , her calm and her storm ,
her planned event , yet circumstance , her control , yet
her respect , and ever is that which some call wrong ,
and many others call correct...

She was all that she was...and that was good...

Now I have said good was relative to moment and to
way , by manifest dream , and all one doth say ,
By one's surrender , or by one's own fall ,
by one's pride , and one's own gall...

Yet more than this to standing tall ,
I see my constraint , I break down my wall...

I am my mirror , I am my all...

And there is absolution in between...

She wondered about her daughter...

Half in half out...like some cat goddess , and worshipping
at her own altar , like any teenager , and girl in heat...

Only here while it suited her , an outfit of personality ,
and nubile persnikkityness , or submissive seductiveness ,
whatever she chose , as any teenage girl's unwritten rite...

And she danced her primal rhythm...

She was the goddess of her temple...

And this , in the end , beyond of mother judgement ,
or daughter arrogance , was good...and good is relative...

All is perception...

A wave , upon a particular shore...with quantum foam ,
hissing upon the sand of time...

Shifting with the winds of forever...this was her existence...

And it seemed good...in the moment...

And every beach with it's dunes , it's hills of resist stance ,
a refusal to live in a flatland , rising to it's mounds of all
possibility , she saw herself in this candid capture , caught
and framed in perception...

For , as said before...is not all the way all sees ?

And though I be all , I can only be me...and this is good...

She looked at herself in the mirror...

Physical mirror , physical self...

All was good , though not to her , like almost any woman ,
confronted by herself...girl especially...

Her perception , was skewed to affirmation...not self defamation...

Necessity and memory are a geometry infolded unto itself...

She was perfect , as physical the beauty...

It was in her mind's chaos , nymphs and neural sprites
stirred the depths of her subconscious desires and
fears , evoking and invoking body judgements , ego
appraisals , and am I good enough iterative mantras...

Her inquiring mind was on a need to know basis , and
her introspection was an amateur detective inspecting
files long buried...

And why , cried the answer , as her question fled the scene
of her crime of innersearch and realization request...

Psychic alarms may be painful , awareness is a ward...

A gift is precognizance , and yet a curse as well...

Seeing a possible future can be a preview begging for forgetfullness...

Blindfolded before reality was justice for incarnation...

Psychic insight the recourse in the prison of mind...

Or so she heard...

And she was a creature of her desires , her needs , her sustaining
matrices , seeking without seeking that which would set her free...

Opposites attract , herself to herself , like some holy guardian angel
to the body and blood , sword to grail , water trough to some special
intelligence , drink me , eat me , I am divine...

Sex and death , are tied in the self referred mobeus strip of my subconscious...

Where I dance , and play , and become that I am , including my sensual nature...

For the sensual is howl I refer...my wolf is my guide...

Wild wolf , capricious coyote , dominant's dog , she was herself...and that was good..or so some said...

And she was fine with that...

Can't please everyone...so far , and so the much...no fear , no guilt , no shame...

She was who she was...and all she was , was the present mistress of yesterday's ghost , the future
dominatrix of her today's dream...none other...for who could dream herself better than she ?

She took a deep breadth , overwhelmed by her non linear thinking , her rational , flying out her mind's window ,
like some carrier pigeon , with a mission of a message to her subconscious to expand...

She is I am We become...or so she thought...

And her instantaneous opinion became a long lasting dogma...

And this was known as religion...

And all was said to be good...

And this was dangerous , if she thought about it...

Thought becomes religion...schizoids dreams become dogma...

And then who was she then ?

Who was she , self claimed , and saying no , not to other's perception ,
yet her own multiple choice creation , and dice rolled , angular momentum
creating her potential...snake eyes...

She saw the rainbow at the end of her gold...

Coins , laid end to end , the al - khem - ists path of the peacock...

Perspective changes dependent on one's to and fro...

Or , one's depth , heighth , and one's wide...

Or one's center , or one's deep inside...

Or one's fast , one's very slow ,

Whether one comes , or whether one goes...

Awareness and consciousness , all that one knows...

She knew she never stopped learning...

And that...was always good...or so it seemed so far...

She spun in place , a waveform rhythmic of phase
shifted light , a portal shakti , in human shell...

She seemed normal to most...

Yet she was much more than that...

She was an equation unto herself , unsolved until
she turned her key...

Beyond the door to the heart , lay many folded paths...

Weyyrd walkers know no fear...yet embrace the
dragons of power , and serpents wise...

And chutes and ladders is the game all play , o my ,
drama in the theater of the mind...

And the masks are many , chosen are few , the mask
wears the maker , maker wears the mask , all that I am ,
and all that I ask , life experienced , then be anew , is both
one , none , or any...for both includes the three...

So she thought when it fancied her...

And when her mask dropped , as her veil of existence ,
she was her sphinx and her Salome , seducing her inner
male in an incestuous riddle , a kundalini feedback loop...

And though the blind may walk , once crippled now I see...

I am alkhemi , ego , angel , stone wall ,

Babel towers and personal power...

One weyyrd , All again , not yet still small ,

A seed takes root , and then does flower...

Energy , entropy , reincarnation ,

Initiation , abstinence , satiation ,

A wheel goes round and round ,

And the sound of my breath can drown me ,
the sound of my pulse , awaken the dead...

That which I am , is yet to be found ,

And found in the heart , if not in the head...

And my dream can free me , or set me enthralled...

Not just what I say , yet all that I've said...

Those are the weyyrds I say this day ,

That I hold in my heart and head...

And all that there is , is much as the all ,

In all the imprint and embed ,

And written in stone , song and the call ,

Create your path , or be led...

She spun herself to stillness...

All one...naught...one...naught...

Nothing...myself...nothing...myself...

Stop...stop not just to stop , to cease ,
but to become all that one's movement ,
led one to be...

Where all one's chains , shall set one free...

First there is a mountain , then there is no
mountain , then there is...

Vigilance is the keyword of all unchained...

And every mountain is a molehill , from
another's perception...

Oh , her thoughts were her amusement rides ,
and her fare was her sanity...or insanity as her
case may be...

It was either that , or get her fortune read...

And as she was both reader , and the read ,

She would have to pay attention to words she said...

Or create her own consequences...

And that was more work , than it needed to be...

Strangers were not too close , to be blinded ,
by friendship , or love...

Distance creates perspective...

Divination is remote viewing...

And I am a psychic self observer , she thought...

Enchanted in my mirror , awakened in my dream...

And in the alpha and the omega , hummed the
om before the changing storm...

When my word of the aeon becomes real...

And om becomes passe'...

For so it is in the theater of the mind...

As the world all you feel , and all come as it may...

It is always a personal universe...and lens of my
perception...

She took a breadth in the width and height of her
multi layered creation...

Mapping one's reality may seem like psychic cartomancy...

Yet self knowing is wietchery pre school...

And one's shaman may choose a throne of power...

Yet is not every shaman , still yet one's great fool ?

How , she thought , does one pass all this to one's child ?

When she is , so all she is , both innocent , yet so wild ?

Genetics was a ladder to heaven and hell ,

Progeny be blessed and cursed with life...

May you live in interesting times...so she heard it said...

And some sought eternal life ?

Some hell that never ends , or boring heaven where nothing
changes , or in between , where all changes , without end ?

I can shapeshift like nobody's business...

None shall know me when I am done...I am more than I appear
I am , and less than you condemn me to be...

I am more , and less than human...

Destiny is a road in reverse , and the fool is a fool dog...

Heyokah walks backwards...

I have always known myself...forgetfullness is a tool to remember...

I jumped in the fountain of youth to save myself...

And saw , in the mirror , my past and future...

Entanglement is the root of every tree...

And the bush that does not burn , both particle and wave ,

Your future ancestors can set you free ,

And you become all those you save...

We each one is saviour , we each one is slave ,

We each one is coward , we each one is brave ,


And though I am each one of you , I am , just still , all me...

And the me I am , is seven generations , future and past...

Round a wheel of one's forever...

And once connected , energy ever shall last ,

Unless cording removed and severed ,

Entropy slow becomes transformational fast...


My hand traces hypertext code ,

On a stone wall in an astral field...

Most malleable , stone doth yield ,

And all that comes , I have sowed...



Generatrix , it is I who creates , and weaves
my fate , both one and yet , still yet all three fates...

I may write on marble or I may write on slate ,
and if I am always present , well then I am never late...

Though some may futuresee , and some do antiquate...

And thus I never seek , yet am both seeker and am sought ,

And as such I am the thinker , and as such I am the thought ,

And as the fool is one who mental masturbates ,

By the fool's own actions , so the fool is wrought ,

And though some may never learn , ever they are taught...

May all you create , through love and hate , never come to naught...



She willed her creation into being...

Thank goddess she had cappuccino before meditation...

Caffeine was one of the goddess's thousand names...

Praise bee the goddess...and dark honey liqueur ,
shall she confess , her love's saboteur ?




Cappuccino foam divined her day...life was ahead...

All that I am I am , and this I must confess ,
both the living spirit , and yet the walking dead...

And though death and I , had an understanding ,
neither of us would be more demanding ,

Both of us would lay our claim , to my holy soul ,
after the body , which is all that which remains ,

All the many parts from the one holy whole ,
both spiritual fire and sack of cold coals ,

And though many stories may thus then be told ,
my reality is as I maintain...both the silence and still yet the name...

And my dream , into life , shall unfold...

Who said she did not work ?

Process orientation was a science , dogma , and creed ,
yet the journey of return to self , was just self fulfillment ,
yet still , just yet need...

For always the mighty oak , comes from the dreaming seed...

And to be full of oneself , evokes the hollow reed...

Sh*t , she had to find a way to download this to her daughter...

Was dna enough ?

A twisted sister to herself , coiled as a serpent of wisdom ,
she was her own tree and book of revelation ,
her own dungeon , and her emancipation ,
her own prophecy , and her queendom come...

Yet whatever is done , is done...sensate or numb...

Some say love is all there is , some say slap , and some
say kiss ,some say map it , some play hit or miss ,
you just know I've been that , and thus I shall be this...

Beyond of all , I do not care , nor feel guilt , nor sin , nor shame ,
not emotional armor , I do what I dare , and I wear , thus , no one's blame...

For whether the many , or one in between , can that which I say ,
be all that I mean , and naught I say I saw , convey all that I've seen ,
for however I perceive , it is still within the dream ,
and in the dream itself is not intent first seemed...

God , I am weird , she thought...

That which I think...

Or is it the I am , because I think , or is it the think because I dream ?

Self is not singular in it's purpose...

Some just say it is...

Convenience does not equal genius...

Buddhism only begins at one point...

Enlightenment is kindergarten...

I am beyond this , and more , to be and yet before ,
the grail and the quest , the book and the lore ,
initiate , yet test , between , yet the door...

Back and forth , rather than beyond ,
rather than separate make word yet thy bond ,
make thine craft , and thus then thine witch ,
remember time unto nine doth stitch...

And thirteen , is androgynous...

Any high priest , or priestess understands that..

Or witch , shaman , or guru , though some's
consciousness is incredulous , self knowing
is a program of mental incestuous , and it is
my psychic acrobat , within a world of tit for tat...
Post Reply

Return to “Creative Writing”