Clarion West Write-a-thon
I want to remember, the go-back, go-back. Back in the day. Back in the day when we were new. When we were our own. Back when we belonged to the land. Back in the day when we were beloved of Maknongan.
Go-back, go-back. Travel the spectrum. Engage the spirit. Not of this flat land. Not of this place where the wind carries the foul smell of decay, refuse, spoiled carcasses, discarded relics, opened and tossed onto the belt. Not of this broken landscape where all the eye sees are mountains of debris.
Go-back, go-back. Dance now. Let the wind take you away beyond the boundaries of this present place. Our brethren walk the in-between and are safe. They call to us from the shadows. They say: Come to us. Come with us.
But the net is closed. The lines are drawn. We are caught. Stayed. Anchored in this here, waiting for the return or for him who will draw us through the net into the stars, onto the belt of mountains that he took with him when he left the happy land of our dreaming.
I will sing, I will sing. I will dance now. I will speak a wisdom and tell a tale of the son of the mountains. I will tell of the man who shed mortal flesh so he could be as they who dwell in the Skyworld. I will sing, and I will tell of his journey. Of the seven arks and the valiant manun’o, the hunters who shackled themselves to their ships, all for the love of him. Balaycon.
That above is another excerpt from the WIP which I will be working on during the Clarion West Write-a-thon (there's another excerpt on my write-a-thon page). I'll be writing along together with a good number of brilliant writers, graduates and friends of Clarion West, all throughout the six weeks of the Clarion West workshop. My page is here and if you feel inclined to donate to the cause, please feel free to support me or any of the other writers listed on the Write-a-thon page.
Go-back, go-back. Travel the spectrum. Engage the spirit. Not of this flat land. Not of this place where the wind carries the foul smell of decay, refuse, spoiled carcasses, discarded relics, opened and tossed onto the belt. Not of this broken landscape where all the eye sees are mountains of debris.
Go-back, go-back. Dance now. Let the wind take you away beyond the boundaries of this present place. Our brethren walk the in-between and are safe. They call to us from the shadows. They say: Come to us. Come with us.
But the net is closed. The lines are drawn. We are caught. Stayed. Anchored in this here, waiting for the return or for him who will draw us through the net into the stars, onto the belt of mountains that he took with him when he left the happy land of our dreaming.
I will sing, I will sing. I will dance now. I will speak a wisdom and tell a tale of the son of the mountains. I will tell of the man who shed mortal flesh so he could be as they who dwell in the Skyworld. I will sing, and I will tell of his journey. Of the seven arks and the valiant manun’o, the hunters who shackled themselves to their ships, all for the love of him. Balaycon.
That above is another excerpt from the WIP which I will be working on during the Clarion West Write-a-thon (there's another excerpt on my write-a-thon page). I'll be writing along together with a good number of brilliant writers, graduates and friends of Clarion West, all throughout the six weeks of the Clarion West workshop. My page is here and if you feel inclined to donate to the cause, please feel free to support me or any of the other writers listed on the Write-a-thon page.