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Message: <blockquote data-quote="tadk" data-source="post: 2581116" data-attributes="member: 32497">Round 2 TadK posting In PeripheryIn Periphery© 2004 CW Kelson III (Tad) All Rights ReservedFor the Ceramic DM Contest September 2005Breathe in breathe outBreathe in breathe outBreathe inBreathe inBreathe inGot a machinehead better than the restGreen to red Machinehead…I walk from my machineI walk from my machineBush    "Machinehead"WinterThe sign says a world and nothing all at once there at the edge of the sprawl.Welcome To PeripheryPopulation 2000 Census  50,000But that does not tell the entire story of the city along the oceanfront. It does nothing to indicate who or what comes to visit in the dark of the moon. In that time of the year when Uncle Ice hands the unwary their head on a platter, when Sister Moon is absent from the sky and only the cold stars are out for comfort where there is none to be found. This is the time when things come up to the surface, wander down from the far frozen plains to the north, where nothing ever thaws, things that come to the lands of man to prey and cavort. There are 3 Men on the Cold Promontory or perhaps not men after all. The wind whips snow and ice shards around and up and down the granite faced from overlooking the white caps down far below. Granite knives appear and disappear from between waves crashing. All along the way to south and north it looks the same. Storm water lashed landscape where man is no longer welcome till spring comes to visit again. <a href="http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=22227" target="_blank">http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=22227</a>NowIce StormThere might be spyingIt might be a Tech-no-logical device perhapsFaceless things standing around on shear ice concrete slabBlack outfits all aloneVisionVisionaryIce reflects past and futureOvertureFog shroudFuneral silenceRolling in off the Northern Atlantic seaboardGranite Etched stone monoliths tortured spirits moan, betraying their fate on the unforgiving deepThe trees are all dead, covered with ice and cracked limbs wishing spring would come and the hope for life once more. Unless Old Man Winter wins out this time and then nothing changes. An Ice Age come in a hurry at his behest. Fog, towers lurking in the distance glittering in the light, secrets, flesh and skins personas and the end of relationshipsThis is the land the three have come to visit once more, down from their home of unforgiving nature.This is winter, it is just past the Winter Solstice and their power is at the peak. Soon, within days, it could come to fruition. Patience rewarded finally. All the while the winds come down from out of the Noreast. It is a blizzard of salt water and hypothermic winds racing along.This is the heart of winter when spirits and aliens walk the land in search of what it is they think they want.SpringThere is a Modern Home sitting alone. The house sits there along the walkway covered with ice from the drizzle and snow of the night before. Rotunda-like house, encircling a dead garden of plantsFilled with wrap around windows<a href="http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=22228" target="_blank">http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=22228</a>Suze & the house locked away all alone on the promontoryShe is a recluse, an artiste, painter sometimes sculptor and performer. A Mime, a clown, ala Cirque du Soleil performance artistRed in China Wealth, Prosperity, Feng Shui, facial decorations making a Triangle, Triad, 3 of a kind, the first stable geometric figureThe first third of the New Year devoted to her kindness bringing forth life and love to the new growth.It symbolizes the 3 Shadowy figures lost in time and ice. They are alone as she is, even with each other they are alone while the winds whip away their thoughts leaving only the empty garments that they are.She is unaware of this all. Still for her, all alone, in the 3 by 3 space allowed in her mind, she moves in fluid graceSculpted brows over smiling eyes and lips parted ever so little while she dances to the howling winds outside waiting for spring to arrive. There is a rose of crystal water hanging start in the air suspended by the weight of devotion. It spins crazy in the twisting dervishes of convection and tree altered courses. The woods are comforted with the sounds it makes and the expectations is ensues with.Far away the city lies to the other direction, up towards Providence way, not that close to Portsmouth, the three Ps so to speak. There is Periphery. Sitting all alone in the dark.“Old Baso knows the way there, but ain’t going this time about no sir, no sir.” His thick local drawl, coming out past rotted gums and gold tooth stark exposed when he speaks. The throat of his thick with mucus made severe from chronic bronchitis and a nervous twitch to the eyes. Ash gray face from parching wind wrapped up in thick scarves all around, trousers damp on the ankles from wading through foot some deep snow. Old Baso knows the ways around the lonely places, but no one seems to hear him speak.Peripheral, being or having or part of, constituting the periphery, out of the way and on the fringes.SummerCrazy ballistic dance of lifeEchoes off the ceiling, sensory boundOverload of lights and kinesthetic balletToe to toe, fingertip to fingertip, dance the life away, Old Baso in the background of memory pasted on the mind’s eye, a cornucopia of disjointed digits.Fingers spayed out in supplication to eroding fateThe three are not kind, kindred to their home a fourth of the time extant on the earthSpirits of the laments of eternal white and frost bit. Not allowed here now with the sun high in the sky and temperatures well above the freezing mark. No they are only allowed down here when the cold wraps the land in a cocoon of deadly cold.The radio is playing now,The words epic in relationThe children stop playing in the street and begin to cryOnly knowing something bad has happened. “no bangs, no yells, merely the seais Mr. Freeze inside of meno bangs, no yells, merely the seais Mr. Freeze inside of me”Sitting there on the radio in the background of the house music from somewhereShipwrecks in the Arctic Circle leading to death. Drowning after slipping under the ice. A Grip of Glacier, they are coming home againThe Daughter of Spring was ambushed and with her discarded vitality, the three there, only two seasons, six some months or less, remaining till triumph is possible. The ones in black that live in white using the weak to bring it around again. The plans continue to enfold.A cold stone seat in the heat of summer, holding onto the promise of winter and her aching grip on the joints. It is a promise to the powers of white lying in wait.<a href="http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=22229" target="_blank">http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=22229</a>FallNo more will my green sea go turn a deeper blueI could not foresee this thing happening to youIf I look hard enough into the setting sunMy love will laugh with me before the morning comesRolling Stones Paint it BlackAll aloneLost in the park waiting till the snow comes again to keep it companyWorried overOldAgedPocked and torn townIn summers lament<a href="http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=22230" target="_blank">http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=22230</a>The photo place far down the street is lit from the street lamps that are left of the nightlife.Winos sitting along side the alleys, marking the hours till morning comes and the agony of life with the drink starts all over again.There was Old Baso squatting outside, marking time till the shortest day comes back around again, leading towards the longest day not so long past.His thick local drawl, coming out past rotted gums and gold tooth stark exposed when he speaks. The throat of his thick with mucus made severe from chronic bronchitis and a nervous twitch to the eyes. Blacked skin made darker than usual in the wake of the summer months. Now that the season has turned, and the way lies open to things to return to the world once more, his step is slower and measured. Black and White folding into the nightWalking all alone, down the deserted side walkA circle of life, darkest winter till spring summer fallingInto night strident pastiche of Kaleidoscope</blockquote>

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