Excerpt: Midnight Interruption

A short excerpt from my next novel in progress, Sanity’s Edge. Enjoy.

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I slipped off the ship after dark, once I could sense that everyone in the village was asleep. The forest was new but Mama had found me a new friend. We stared at each other under the shade of a mango tree as the Moon climbed into the sky.    Its tongue flicked the air in the three-meter space that divided us. This wasn’t one of the gen-altered snakes I was accustomed to from my home. This bugger was all wild, possibly the first of its kind that I’d seen since childhood, possibly the first I’d ever seen in my life. Sweet Ngai, was she massive! Her trunk was thicker around than my thighs.

I sensed her full belly, so I had no worries on that score. Her scales had a fresh gloss, as though she had just completed shedding not too long ago. I suppose she wouldn’t object to a warm body to enfold. I closed the distance between us and stepped into her embrace.

I knew this would be a problem as soon as a hundred kilos seemed to land on my hips, pressing me down. My knees buckled at first, but I kept to my feet as a second curl of muscle wound behind my legs, brushing the skin of my thighs before plopping atop the first coil, in the process pushing up my breasts.

Both were solid rippling muscle. A thrill shuddered through my chest, and perhaps a little excitement. I’d never given myself to such a beast before. A third coil slipped past my shoulders, pressing my breasts into flattened ovals between them. Sweat trickled over them and down the middle of my back; but that was probably just the heat of this place. For now, I was content.       As I held out my hand, the last meter of its tail settled in my palm, circling twice before cinching tight. With my eyes shut, we dropped as one bundled mass into the soft grass.

Of course that wasn’t the end of it. When was it ever so? The sun had barely emerged as a pink fingernail on the horizon when my hand comm chirruped in my waist pouch. This was ten meters away, along with the rest of my clothes.

Brutus, for so I named her, showed no inclination to release such a rich source of warmth, and gods, I didn’t want to leave this body hug just yet, either. Oh well. I stretched forth my free hand, the new new left one.

The hand comm made an oddly hard thump as it whipped through the grass into the false meat of my false hand. I settled back in Brutus’s coils, pillowing my neck on hers as I put the comm to my ear. “Jambo?

“The correct greeting would be I ni sogoma, young miss, but we will let it pass this time,” a firm male voice replied. “Am I speaking to Miss Jamai Dlamini?”

“Yes,” I said, suddenly a little nervous.

“My name is Magistrate Oumar Hadad, the local prefect for this hamlet. Would it be possible for you to spare me a few minutes?”

“H-have I done something wrong?”

“Not at all. Your Captain Ismalla discovered you missing this morning and got it into his head that you would be in the fields, with a snake. And so you are.”

My body seemed to have frozen, even snug in Brutus’ coils, though my stare darted left and right. “Don’t be alarmed. The local children spotted you sleeping from some trees they were climbing. They almost took you for dead, but for the fact that you were snoring.”

“I snore…?”

“My deputy has been watching you via long-range glasses, to see to your safety. He will escort you to my office, in your own time.”

My own time…I could make them wait another hour…No, best to be done with it. “Whenever he’s done masterbating, I’d like to dress in peace.”

A deliberate pause followed. “Let me speak with him. You can pull yourself together while I’m berating him.” And the comm chirrped off.

mango-trees

The End is Not Near

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I wrote this piece eons ago, after years of writing about a situation in a certain African nation that seemed unresolvable. I was looking for some way out. I suppose this piece came out of that dimming hope. It’s a two-handed dialogue between two POVs, one as seen from my present state of misery, while the other come from a perceived future. Now that nation I spoke of seems to be making inroads to a better form of governance. It remains to be seen whether that comes to pass. That need for hope is still an ongoing thing, unfortunately closer to home these days, so I’m re-presenting it here.

 

A Song of Hope

 

What kind of world are we leaving our children

who can they believe after all the lies

why must the mistakes of the past

be visited on the generation to come?

 

My generation thought we could do anything

my people touched the Moon

our songs moved a young nation

The path was ahead, not behind

But that’s where this generation is hiding away

 

All the wonders we have seen

are forgotten by narrow minds and narrow hearts

all the questions our children will face

are coming to haunt our fading days

Tell me, why haven’t we learned?

 

Oh my love, your glass is so half-full

your eyes see only half the picture

This much is true

there can be no rest so long

as men rule the world

 

But the winds change with the seasons

The minds of men open and shut as easily

The doors you now see closing

one day will open again

You can’t put aside what Ngai has decreed

not before ten billion more seasons pass away

so how can you say that the end is so near?

 

Please tell me, why can’t we learn?

When did we become slave to the black goo

dribbling ‘neath holy ground?

Haven’t you called it ‘The Devil’s Excrement’?

 

How can so much money flow into so few hands?

Why are so many promises left unfulfilled?

Tell me why another generation can only hope

 

Oh love these things are not new

Freedom ebbs and freedom flows

even in the shining lands

Everything you fear to lose

will come back to your hands another time

Even the darkest night must have a dawn

 

Even the Earth you walk one day will cease to be

But that day is so very far away

Take my hand and believe what I say

This day, today, the end is not near

 

From the future to the past

With love from the Emancipation Posse

 

In landmark case, Supreme Court rules LGBTQ workers are protected from job discrimination

https://www.nbcnews.com/politics/supreme-court/supreme-court-rules-existing-civil-rights-law-protects-gay-lesbian-n1231018?cid=sm_npd_nn_tw_ma&fbclid=IwAR0HwgKEcELvefL4zrx7mzH8TJE4vS2aWLvBsfRPI0cnUvwvo32WD2-1X6k&fbclid=IwAR1K0ndi-hAYGVTQm-9A20v9jRirSo5r_tjAAWrg5fLztwfIPHpGwwcG23M&fbclid=IwAR0a0ZHpqKekkU6NvSfnrOxJe1-03Pb1SJTD4-4TjHda-9izN_bTjWiQhtE&fbclid=IwAR11QanDEMha9qn995EJHc3PD0ptfeBMtOfszTiIn2EL8de59fnuNEbe0i8&fbclid=IwAR3w-yN0Sw19_JFN3HUqUCnICS-ZpUBlaoKxUX8fkwE4dYBkUA7M8Tvfd6Y

Look at this… 👀

Look at this… 👀 https://pin.it/3V0Qyj1

I don’t know this country anymore. How you can do these sins and dare to call yourself a Christian nation. That’d be funny if it weren’t so pathetic.

America doesn’t know Christianity. If you had, you would run from these obscenities. You would tear the fences down and let the children go. Jesus loved children. He would never condone this, never make excuses like, ‘oh they ain’t one of ours. ‘ What a crock. And you’re fine letting them die, letting them starve in cages we wouldn’t subject a dog to? What the fuck is the matter with you people?

I don’t have any grandparents left. I miss them terribly. I’d love them to be here to keep me grounded, to keep this contained. But I don’t and a lot of other people do. So on their behalf I will say this: if any son of a bitch asks us to sacrifice our grandparents for something as nebulous as ‘The Economy ‘, my answer to you now and always will be to go to hell. Suck a cock and go back to the devil that spawned you.

We are not Christians. We are everything we were told to avoid back in school. Our leaders disgust me and as long as we cheer on mass murderers like Trump, we have no future worth looking forward to.

Overview: ‘Disturbing the Peace ‘ by Vaclav Havel

Between 1985 and 1986, Karel Hvizdala conducted a book length series of interviews with playright and reluctant human rights activist Vaclav Havel, via underground mail. At the time Havel was living in Prague, Czechoslovakia which was still under communist rule; Hvizdala was corresponding with him from West Germany. The book that came from these questions was first published in Czechoslovakia in summer of 1986. Later it would be translated by Paul Wilson and published in the West in 1990 just as Czechoslovakia’s democratic revolution was underway.

I thoroughly enjoyed Havel’s candor and modesty, even if it was only evident on the printed page. He describes his parents and grandparents as enterprising men born to create. Despite an admittedly privileged upbringing, in his childhood Havel says he “felt alone, inferior, lost, ridiculed, ” emotions I’m all too familiar with. Perhaps those feelings are the bane of every writer’s existence. He also touches on the depersonalization of modern society, of losing touch with our fellow man and losing a connection with the work we do, whether it’s in a communist or capitalist state.

He remains hopeful in the power of the masses, which had to be a hard thing as he’d been imprisoned three times for his activities, which would probably not raise half a fuss in our country, even today. “All power is power over someone, and it always somehow responds, usually unwittingly rather than deliberately, to the state of mind and the behavior of those it rules over. One can always find in the behavior of power a reflection of what is going on “below “. No one can govern in a vacuum. ” That gives me some hope too, and believe me we could all use some of that right now.