Windmills

When you were young, your house was cold and beaten and full of blues. Mourners trailed through, leaving behind watery handshakes and little pools of rain. The room next to yours was preserved like a time capsule, but yours had windmills on the walls.

When I was young, I was near mute. Dad, drunk, is convinced of a smell of vinegar from behind the fridge. My mother, with limited patience, but more than could be expected, explains that he's mistaken. The argument gains ferocity during the piss-bubbled evening. Dad, the rocket-fuelled instigator, would pay for his noxious houseclouds. Shame, the wallpaper of my life.

When we were young, we built a secret tower of flesh-flavoured empathy. Your hips rose, stretching the confines of your drum-tight skin. Your chest shook with beating blood. Smelling of cherry blossoms, strands of your black hair stuck to my lips and my hands nestled in the notches of your spine. Tears battled their way down your slender neck but perished between our pressing skin. Your chest shook with beating blood, and all I could see was windmills on the walls.

ZigZag Wanderer

ZigZag Wanderer kept on the move and in the groove. He was non-linear and strayed the course. When life felt like a tether, when gravity was a complete downer, he cut the ties that held him down. He gathered the stars and crushed them to dust, they fizzed on his tongue and made his head rush. He rolled like thunder, in a shroud of static, looking for someone to stir up a storm with.

ZigZag Wanderer veered here and there, sometimes up, sometimes down, but always maybe happenin'. Then one night at Chico's he felt a different kind of pull. He was being drawn like a bad cartoon. Riding high on the back an the oriental dragon, ZigZag double-taked, unzipped his eyelids and stood still in silent awe. She danced like a flame in the centre of a grand circle of bodies. The others, in their various psychedelic threads were like still-life, pieces of fruit, stunned into inertia by the moving body of life and light. ZigZag felt it in the steamy den amid the dazzled dreamers, sizzled sceners and every single saturated sponge in search of zen. Yeah, she was a stone groove.

ZigZag weaved his way through all sorts of colourful cats, and came at her from an angle. Exotic ladies swayed and sasheyed around, and he was headed off at the pass. ZigZag found one on each arm. There was a pipe and the walls bubbled and melted and ran like dark, red paint. Zwischenzug was a good idea - ZigZag had to play it cool and play for time. He threw one eye in her direction, bounced on the floor nearby, squelched and squinted, kept her in ZigZag's sights.

ZigZag was drawn, but so were the curtains of his vision. Music melded with beating hearts in one, slowed-down rhythm. Every thing slowed down and then . . .

Now Zugzwang got ZigZag bad - stuck fast, struck dumb, unable to move. He could see her drift away like smoke. So long ZigZag, his eyelids zipped themselves shut, and his body turned to fluid and quietly pooled on the floor.
*
Now ZigZag rides a zebra in the hot air of morning. A concrete pillow is not such a stone groove, horny cars harp on and ZigZag zigzags off the street. Like a flash flood, memory washes down. Wet with longing he wonders where she went. Was she a smoke signal, a waft from a wigwam or a wisp caught in an updraught? Was she a mish-mash of imagination, or a mirage at the desert of hallucination?

ZigZag wonders, ponders, wanders.

The Importance Of Being Earthlings

It was a big day for the two boys. Quo drifted between Mars and Jupiter, paused, then shot through the black void to Mercury for a different view. He still wasn't happy with it. His brother, Quisi, rested his gas on one of Saturn's moons and yawned.

"It's fine."

Quo spun back and hovered above the thick orange smog of Titan's atmosphere, looked at his brother and shook his head.

"Hmm. I don't know, I still think it looks funny."

Quo's barely discernible essence streaked over to Earth again.

"I'm just going to get rid of some of the cloud, make it show up better."

"Quo, it's fine. In fact, it's perfect, it's creation in its ultimate majesty. Now leave it alone, if you muck it up now we're screwed. They're nearly at our solar system."

"Okay, okay."

"You'll end up getting dark matter all over it if you keep playing with it."

"Shh! He's here."

An unfathomably deep voice resonated beside Quo and Quisi.

"Next up. Quo and Quisi's entry, titled, 'The Importance of Being Earthlings.'"

"Sir Lumpyplop, can I just say how much of an honour it is to have you in our quadrant. I'm Quo, and this is Quisi."

"Yeah great, but there's no points for massaging my ethereal emissions, lads."

Quisi stared cosmic daggers at Quo, whose verve had been tempered somewhat by Lumpyplop's gruffness.

They both watched Lumpyplop as he examined the royal blue blob, jotting notes occasionally. "How long did it take to get it to this stage?"

"Eh, about four and half billion years."

Lumpyplop just grunted and continued peering at the planet. Eventually, he drifted back and directed his attention to Quo and Quisi.

"Give me a reason why this entry deserves to win."

Quo responded with vigour and zeal.

"Well sir, it's a Category Five creation. Obviously from this faraway vantage point it looks fairly standard, but I think you'll find that it boasts a quite outstanding array of life. If you'd like to have a quick zoom in while I recount a few of the more notable examples."

Lumpyplop sent a swathe of almost intangible effluvia into the Earth's atmosphere while Quo proudly babbled on. Quisi squirmed to suppress another yawn.

"The specimens are all free range; we've designed the construct so that they have free license to create and expand and prosper as the see fit. They're puzzle-solving skills have proved to be very impressive, albeit over the course of a few billion years. And the sky's not just the limit, either. A number of specimens have even managed to sail to the moon. Although, one of them did defecate on its surface as a private joke amongst him and his cohorts."

"Tsk Tsk Tsk."

"Afraid so, but you see, they do display amazingly interesting habits. And they've never escaped the scatological fascination. It seems to be inherent."

Lumpyplop suddenly went from irritable to a fully fledged bad mood. A whole eon of wading through the students half-baked experiments had taken its tole. He'd picked the wrong day to give up ionized-plasma.

"Yes, yes, bloody great. Lads! Do you know how many other planets I've seen this morning exactly like this one? And it's the same bloody story, the students are always so fascinated with their own little ball of sludge. You've got the next 30 moon-phases to sell me your planet."

Quo's gassy countenance floundered and flared its way through the whole spectrum of colour. Quisi flowed forth, billowing his brother to one side.

"Listen Sir Lumpsalot, or whatever your name is. Our specimen kicks arse and here's why. Not only are our monkey lads self-aware, they're self-important. We've got little groups kicking the shit out each other because of what one little monkey-man may or may not have written about some other lad centuries before. A whole load of them chase little scraps of filthy paper like it's their ticket out of there. They've made an absolute shite of the place, but they make themselves feel better by pretending they're gonna fix it. And to top things off, they dare to wonder, wonder if they're the only intelligent life in the universe. They've got an ego bigger than the heavens and delusions of grandeur more insane than anything we've ever seen. They are a truly magnificent creation. Who else could come up with something as unique as this?"

Lumpyplop grimaced in thought, then his whole swirling substance started to nod in acceptance.

"Hmm. Well done." He sounded slightly surprised at himself. "When you put it like that, it really is quite an achievement. First prize! Congratulations."

Quo almost froze solid in shock, but quickly bubbled and burst around the void in excitement.

Lumpyplop had gathered himself into one purposeful blob. "Right, lads, which way to the nearest celestial boozer? I could murder a pint of the black stuff."

"Oh there's one just down there, next galaxy over and it's on your left." Quisi was feeling magnanimous in victory.

"Cheers lads."

Sir Lumpyplop disappeared and the two boys were left staring at their prize-winning creation.

Quo blushed slightly.

"Boy do I owe you one, Quisi. I thought we lost it, but you really pulled it out of the fire."

"Yeah I did kinda didn't I?"

"First prize. We'll be well known for this. I can see our long and glorious careers as Creators of Life ahead of us, buddy."

"Settle down Quo."

"Oh, yeah, sorry."

"So what do you want to do with this monstrosity now?" Quisi pointed at Earth.

"Well to be honest mate, I'm sick of looking at it. If I never see it again, it'll be too soon."

"Me too."

"Bin it?"

"Bin it."

Quo clasped the planet in his unearthly fingers and squeezed.

The Desperate Kingdom of Love

The Desperate Kingdom of Love

Live performance.

Blood Contract

Frank Fisher tried to move. When that proved impossible, he tried to open his gritty eyes. Not much success there either. Images of planets and moons went through his mind. Thoughts of the empty void of space and the cold depths of interstellar oceans chilled his heart.

Briefly, he considered it odd how in movies when a character wakes up after a life-threatening situation they often ask themselves, or others, "Am I dead?" In the bleary moments of Frank's returning consciousness and the realisation of his battered condition, he could frankly see an upside. His throat was as dry as the Martian desert and his mouth tasted like sulphur. He felt like he'd been tenderised.

After some minutes he cleared his filmy eyes. The dimming blue of Europa's ocean stirred around him. It took a moment to realise he was inside a translucent oval orb, and that its luminescence originated from an array of plant life growing along its inner surface. He could breathe, which meant oxygen, though a sweet, heavy scent invaded his nostrils.

Memories stirred in his aching head. Exploration of Europa was well underway, and the fact that so many had gone before him had been reassuring. No anomolies in the oceanic conditions had been forecast. Frank remembered encountering a black smoker - a nebulous hydrothermal spring - and was collecting samples of plant life nearby. He wanted, needed, to go a little deeper. He yearned to discover and unearth, like the ancient explorers back on Earth.

That's when he hit trouble. The controls in his bucket had gone crazy as he went deeper underwater, and radio contact with the others was lost. Shortly after, the lights on his craft had failed and he fell and fell, the safe ceiling of ice miles overhead and growing more distant. Icy water flooded into his craft leaving only his suit for protection. Pain! Jagged rocks and more pain! One final moment of terror flashed through his mind - a luminous creature reaching towards him. Its blue endoskeleton flashed across his vision before unconsciousness swallowed him.

He tried to lift his head. This time, he succeeded, and at the same time became aware of a presence close by. Similar to the material of the oval construct, the figure was just a complex outline of blue light. It's limbs were too numerous to count, and what may have been antennae poked randomly from its upper parts. Frank assumed that the bulkier part was its head - a strong, bulbous mass with a golden wad of matter burning visibly inside. Four barely discernible circles of yellow light, possibly its eyes, were spread out - two at the front, one on each side. The complicated tendrils along the bottom of its mandible began to vibrate.

Like the pages of a book being flicked by someone's thumb, the sound rustled its way through the thick, subaquatic atmosphere. For a few seconds Frank gawped, uncomprehending, until the sound morphed and expanded around the phosphorescent bubble.

"You are well now human?"

It didn't sound like a question, such was the decidedly certain tone of the words. The rational part of Frank's brain seemed to be waiting for mortal terror to appear, and was confused by its notable absence. He felt no danger, despite the monstrosity that was addressing him.

"Where am I?"

"You are close to where you had your accident. It is our intention that you return unharmed from where you came."

"My bucket..."

A couple of its antennae twitched. Frank offered clarification.

"Er, the DSV - Deep Submergence Vehicle. My craft."

"We have almost completed restorations. It is our intention that you return unharmed from where you came."

"Uh, okay. Good. Thanks."

The creature stood, unwavering, in silence. Frank got the impression that it was not averse to more conversation.

"May I ask a question?"

"We await your question."

"What the hell are you?"

"We are the Amylode. We live. It is our intention to continue to live."

"Okay, wow. And I'm the first one to meet you? The first human?"

"The veracity of that statement is inaccurate. We are known to humans. Not to this human, but to humans. It is our intention that the humans remain unharmed."

Frank finally accumulated enough strength to sit up. Only then did he notice the strange bed of coral he lay on. It shifted underneath his weight and it exhibited a strange sense of sentience. During the course of the effort, he noticed for the first time the black lines stretching from under his armpit downwards around his back.

"Your anatomy was breached during your accident. A large amount of the liquid that sustains you was lost. In order for you to persist, we were required to transfer a replacement fluid into your circulatory system."

As if reacting to Frank's expression of concern, the beast jerked awkwardly, as if to move to assuage his fears.

"Your alarm is unnecessary. The Amylode specialise in genetic technology. It is most advanced. The replication of your cellular matter was elementary. We are satisfied to have granted you necessary aid. This is already known."

"Don't you want something in return? From humans? Maybe we could share technology, or resources?"

"We live. We are satisfied. It is our intention to continue to live. It is our intention the humans remain unharmed. Unnecessary contact should be discouraged."

It cocked its beastly head and flicked out a limb randomly. "Restoration of your vessel is now complete. You may depart The Amylode when you wish. The surface of the orb will disperse when you board the vessel. It is our intention that you return unharmed from where you came."

It shifted strangely to the side and scuttled to where the lustrous vegetation converged.

"Hey, thanks. I'm grateful, you know."

It paused, twitching.

"Yes. You are known to us," it said, disappearing into the darkness beyond.

*

Back on base, Frank was ordered to enjoy some compulsory R&R. A drama played on the vidiscreens on the wall. Some winsome, melodramatic young thing was elucidating the pitfalls of love in the twenty-third century.

"It's all about trust. It has to be earned, not stolen!"

He glanced at the online medipedia, and the information he'd researched on circulatory systems and the cellular breakdown of blood cells, before shutting it off. He hadn't even read it. It seemed somehow unnecessary now, as though his perspective had broadened, along with his horizons. He scratched at his dark scars absent-mindedly. They had faded fast.

"Evenin' sport, enjoying your time off?"

Doc Thompson stood in passageway to Frank's quarters, chewing gum. "I got some good news buddy, you're going home early. Head Office gave the orders, you're to be shrinkwrapped and posted back to Callisto pronto. Plus, and you didn't hear it from me, but there's talk of a promotion too. The samples you've collected will give us an even better idea about the biological possibilities. Congrats again."

Frank stared blankly as Doc left, wondering exactly why he'd never spoke of the Amylode to anyone on the base. As far as anyone knew, he'd lost contact with the team, before arriving back to base a day later with some standard samples of Europa's marine life. He'd tried to tell them, but something held him back. For the first time in his career, his life, he felt a reverence for the unknown. As though he'd rather let the secret exist as it is, rather than compulsively desire to unearth it. He wheeled his seat over to the porthole and peered out at the huge rafts of ice and the vapour-thin atmosphere of Europa.

He would return to Jenny and Mya soon - a few more weeks to them but just one long sleep for him. Mya would be almost five now, but only two of those years had been spent with her father. He had some catching up to do. One day he'd tell his daughter about the Amylode - share his secret with another person - but only after he let it ripen inside him first. A secret should be kept and loved and only revealed at the right time. Only when it was ready to reap the rewards. Frank would reap the rewards. "We all will," he murmured.

Memories Of Another World

"You know I love you, right?"

The once-famous neurologist Dr. Nathaniel Locke echoed the words. Fingering his lips, he glanced around in confusion, to find himself standing alone in the mess of his lab. He'd been scrabbling around, tossing things aside with frantic determination. A rare, incurable degenerative disease of the mind had begun to rob him of his identity. Just as quickly as they cured Alzheimer's, derivative forms of the disease had formed, stronger, and attacking even earlier in life. Now it claimed a self-described expert in neurology and memory loss! Mother Nature's latest cruelty seemed especially barbed to Nathaniel.

A myriad of montitors and screens, some idle, some processing data, formed the backbone of the room. Off to the east side were numerous empty clinical test rooms. Thousands of tapes were stacked along the opposite side, though the once orderly pile was now in disarray. Thousands of subject's mindscapes - recorded and studied in great detail - remained behind on digital tapes. Not one contained his own - hypocrisy or an undefined superstition, he couldn't tell - but his late diagnosis had meant his own mind was too unstable and fleeting to be captured. He'd built a fort of other people's memories around him and now his own had gone and betrayed him.

"There is only the 'now', and anything else is just an illusion," she was saying, eyes concentrating on the middle distance, biting her lip for a moment before looking back to him. "We're constantly moving forward so the past is as false as what we imagine the future to be." Claire's heart-shaped face suddenly broke into a smile like sunshine and she chuckled. "The main thing to remember is not to remember anything. It only encourages attachment, and as my Buddhist guru tells me, that's a just a ticket to more suffering."

Her smile faded from his vision. His house had fallen into a state of disrepair. He was starting to neglect himself. How cliché was it that he blamed it all on one woman? Blame was a strong word - he acknowledged fully that it was his own curious whims that had brought him to this stage. She'd turned his dreams into memories, making reality even dimmer. Soon, it would all be gone, one way or another.

His friends were 'worried'. They expressed this to each other more than to Nathaniel, despite an occasional phone call. But as such friends go - the numerous academic aquaintances who term themselves as such - they hid behind the impression of a respect for his privacy when in fact they couldn't afford to miss this weekend's trip to the peaks with Sandra and Tristan and all the gang. Nathaniel was glad. Memory wasn't the only thing that was fleeting.

Morning sun shone through curtains onto two warm bodies. Like a dream, the myth of fusion had been dispelled in the morning light. The present always seemed to mock the past, belittling emotions that were cursed with impermanence. "Crap, Nate, I'm gonna be late. Flight is at noon. Lucky I packed last night, eh? Before..." Nate hauled her back into bed in a cloud of giggles. He could smell the lavender on her soft skin, feel her ribcage underneath. It was all so real, so immediate, but...

Did she ever come back? He was foggy again. It happened a lot these days. He quickly scolded himself to not lose sight of his immediate objective. He was searching for something and he couldn't let the lure of memory distract him. The living quarters had gradually become cluttered. The debris was rising - all dishes and cutlery had long since been soiled and lay piled up in the kitchen. As his brain drained like a leaky tap, the refuse of his life had built up around him. A tape! That was it! What was he doing back in the living room? He weaved a path through the takeaway boxes that littered the floor, knocking over empty bottles and cans on his way.

It would be in the lab somewhere, for sure. It was obvious that he'd turned the place upside down already. Slumping backwards into his chair he stared at a handwritten note stuck to his desk. It read:

LAST CHANCE, NATE - BOTTOM DRAWER ON THE RIGHT!

Did he write that? He followed the instruction and rooted through the drawer. Finally, his sweaty seach had ended. Along the spine of one battered little box were the words he'd been seeking.

'Bentham, Claire Elizabeth - DOB: 12/11/2048 - Recorded: 23/02/2070'

23rd of February 2070. That one he did remember. She'd been one of the many volunteers. A student of philosophy and religion, they'd had that conversation the day he copied her memories. He'd told himself he would marry her. He saw the future like a memory. In the tentative years that followed, his heart only beat to her rhythm. For her to exist on the planet without him would have made his heart tear itself out of his chest.

He rushed to the centre of operations, typing instructions and setting up the machine. As he finalised the settings for the transfer, tranquility settled over him. The feeling of being lost to the world didn't matter. He didn't care. In just a few moments he would get back his world. He switched on the Erase terminal and fumbled Claire's tape into the Transfer terminal, setting it to begin immediately afterwards. He then set the Transfer terminal to play on a loop, ad infinitum. As he plugged himself in, he realised he would never forget again. He would finally get his world back.

And this time he would experience her completely.

A note...

Since I haven't written a word for about 2 years, the next few postings will be more poo than usual.

Regards,

Jaina