Tales of the Village Msagro chapter I in earnest…

 

Last time in the Tales of the Village Msagro…

 

None of them ever suspected that that day would change their lives forever…so it didn't

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( V )

The cool water was a refuge on this scorching July day on the last edges of the village. Things were different in the Outer Ring. The Gods were different, the life was different, and the love was different. The Outer Ring hugged the river and was threaded through by some smaller brooks and naturally occurring ditches. Lezy-Long-Tongue was perched naked on a soft mossy boulder that protruded from the center of the stream. The sun licking the tiny droplets off her belly and shoulders warmed her skin and everything was right in the world.

    The peaceful busy white noise of the water was interrupted by tense muffled murmurings emitting from The- Camera and The-Burdened's home. The sound was stressed and abrasive to her energies. Irritated she slipped off the rock. She had brought Fire-Crotch's cloak with her and she wrapped herself tightly in it now as she marched purposefully towards the hut. The voices grew as she approached.

"…is just after her birthday. We can't do that, that's not who we are."

"I'm so tired of you telling me who WE are. What about me? What about you? What about me? We are only a 'we' when we agree."

"You're getting off topic. Its one of those days isn't it? You just want to fight."

"No! This is important! We just can't have it her fucking around in there. Its not right! Her…'lover' is not one of us, Burdened! She doesn't belong here. She belongs back on the other side of the mountains where she can't touch our daughter. It's a disgrace. You saw how they ignored me last meeting. This must be stopped."

A sad resigned sigh slipped through the air, shifting the energy entirely, it sent goose bumps up her spine. The cloak slipped from her shaking shoulders, pooling around her hips in her lower back.

"Well. We are in no power to move her back. We'll have to find some other way."

Long-Tongue leaned heavily on the side of the hut, oblivious to the rough siding diviting the skin on her back. Scuffing footsteps approached the door. She sucked in a sharp breath and pushed off the wall, bolting back to the Sacred, the inner village…and away from her parent's home.

Tales of the Village Msagro Part I chapter 3

Last time, in the Tales of the Village Msagro…

Then Ellen saw the hate rise and she took a scoop of the mud of good gay humor and mixed it with a rib from Eddie Izard's side and created her daughter to watch over the land she had created. She called her Margaret Cho. Then Ellen in all her glory, rose above the Earth and was gone."

(.)(.)

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( v )

 

The calm intense light faded from Long-Tongue's eyes to be replaced by their usual intelligent but mischievous fire. The gathered villagers noted the shift and began to rise and disperse silently into the night as Long Tongue peered curiously up at the stars. Fire-crotch kissed her fingertips and touched the heel of the goddess sobsel for serenity before trotting to Long-Tongue's side. She caught her just as she started to tumble aimlessly off the rock. Longue-Tongue executed a small yelp upon gentle impact then snuggled briefly under her lover's chin before popping out of her arms and chasing off into the night. Fire-Crotch smiled and let out a resigned sigh, beginning the process of catching and calming that was usually necessary every night before either of them could get any sleep.

 

Hours later the sun was beating down on the corn fields (that seemed to be there purely for decoration). Bends-For-Bottoms was in his hut working out, Runs-With-Guppies was setting up another fish trap in the creek, Longue-Tongue and Fire-Crotch were working on the gardens that dotted the village, and Dances-With-Dildos was…well…practicing her namesake. None of them ever suspected that that day would change their lives forever…so it didn't.

Tales of the Village Msagro part I Chapter 2

Last time, in the Tales of the Village Msagro…

Long-Tongue stands, swaying, upon the boulder and begins to speak...
"So, my family. You wish to hear a story. Tonight I have brought with me, the epic of our beginnings. Would you like to hear of the great ones?" She gestures to the wall grandly under the moon as the villagers nodd eagerly...

"In the beginning there was only closet. Then there was Ellen. Ellen saw the closet and saw that it was not good. So she raised her arms and said: 'let there be light!' and there was and she saw that it was good. Then Ellen said 'let there be night' and there was and she saw that it was good. Then Ellen said 'let the days be for nomming foods and the nights for nomming genitals' and it was so and she saw that it was orgasmic. Then Ellen saw the land and noted that it was flat and she said 'let there be lesbians! Let they be strong women with strong moral fiber—mmmm….fiber—and let they range in scale from lipstick, hard femme, femme, soft femme (that's me!), innocent, soft butch, artsie, butch, hard butch, boi, stone butch, bull dyke to trans men!' and it was so and she saw that it was vagina-tastic. Then Ellen saw that the world lacked flare and she said 'let there be gays! Let they range in whatever realm they may range in and let that be self explanatory because years from now the narrator of this tale will be a lesbian and not so savvy in the realm of gay men!' and it was so and she saw that it was…whatever it is.

Then She saw that the world lacked the interest of conflict and she said 'Let there be haters and homophobes and angry closet cases!' and it was so and Ellen bit her lip and said 'um…too much.'

Then Ellen saw the hate rise and she took a scoop of the mud of good gay humor and mixed it with a rib from Eddie Izard's side and created her daughter to watch over the land she had created. She called her Margaret Cho. Then Ellen in all her glory, rose above the Earth and was gone.

Tales of the Village Msagro part I

There is a harvest moon, dripping down over a tiny village nestled in a rocky valley. Stalks of corn stand uncomplainingly, laying thin shadows in the moonlight.
There is a sheer cliff wall at one end of the village with portraits of four deities carved shallowly into its sandstone side. below these massive watchers sit three young adults, cross legged under their respective patrons.
Runs-With-Guppies is fidgeting with her long dark curls under Efilasdeen, goddess of the crop. Beside her is Dances-With-Dildos. She sits peacefully in contrast with her sister, ice blue eyes open and calm. Above her towers the goddess Ofmyn for fertility. Under the God Maximus Clamberus, Bends-For-Bottoms is leaning against the cliff itself, for reasons undisclosed he is unwilling to sit at the moment.
The all seem focussed intently on an empty boulder with a flattened table-like top. None of them look behind it where a hut stands, little thuds vibrating its walls. They seem to be waiting for something.
Soon the moonlight cuts two figures emerging from the hut. It is Lezy-Long-Tongue, and her lover Fire-Crotch. Fire-Crotch makes a line for the others, sitting between Bends-For-Bottoms and Dances-With-Dildos under the goddess Sobsel as Long-Tongue clambers up onto the rock. Because of Long-Tongue's accessively drifting attentions she can only concentrate enough to relate a tale in the quiet strength of after glow and so stories are rare. The gathered villagers know this and savor the expirience.
Long-Tongue stands, swaying, upon the boulder and begins to speak...
"So, my family. You wish to hear a story. Tonight I have brought with me, the epic of our beginnings. Would you like to hear of the great ones?" She gestures to the wall grandly under the moon as the villagers nodd eagerly...

To be continued...

Meet the Gandalfs

Last night, just like every Tuesday, I went to crash with Gandalf, Tweak and The Bug. The Bug was very happy to see me. Upon my enterence she began squeaking and talking up a storm (unfortunatly I didn't catch it all. Something about "mmmiaaaagupppt!" and "wyaaaa?") and decided to illustrate her point by toddler-jogging in a tight circle around the high chair then plopping on the floor and sticking her feet up in the air and kicking. Needless to say: I agreed whole heartedly.
I helped Tweak clean a little. It wasnt' really any worse than my room until we peeled (or pryed rather) up the maton the high chair... and encountered Death! Death can come in many forms my friends. It can be a robber of your body, or a muck-about of your soul. It can come in the form of a knife, a gun or, I have recently learned, several months worth of congealed baby sustanence that looks as if the idea of leaping up and devouring your brains has occured to it on more than one occasion.
Tweak thinks she's getting old. I say: who can be old who still holds to the three pillars of teenage-dom: music, the internet, and ignoring cleaning the room for more shiney ideas?

Until further, more interesting events arise, I leave you with a poem, compossed at 6:30 this morning within 5 minutes (so don't judge me).

In slow motion
We explode

Then we peer about
And Quietly we implode

It takes several years
For the unfurling to peak

For us to rise to power
Only to be rendered weak

On so many planes we bloom
Until the life force is faded to gone

Then we choose a comfortable room
And inwardly we abscond.

Coyote out

Genesis

I had intentions to have my first blog be full of deep thoughts about society delivered with dry detached wit or a sarcastic spin but now that my fingers are on the keys I find absolutely nothing in my head save the events of the morning (nondescript and routine) and what is marching obediently onto the screen right now.
I guess I wanted to start this because I feel like there are hundreds of me out there. There are hundreds of little poser-redheads with glasses and few friends. A little recently out girl in a school counting down the days until she's 18 for the legal rights to celebrations, inebriations, fornications, ...inhaling small conflagrations, and all the other -ations that come with the accomplishment of surviving for 216 months. Its funny. They've turned life into a video game. when you turn 15 there's level one: congradulations you can now go to therapy without parental consent and have confidentiality with your doctor. level two is 16, now your car can take you to those appointments. 17: level three. Now you can drive, in your car, to your therapist, to talk about the R rated movie you just saw. 18 is the second to last level most people get to use. Now you can smoke outside the R rated movie leaning against your car plotting who you'll vote for, and which porn video you just purchased will make better fodder for your therapy session.

There, I've commented on the mediocrity of society in a detached sarcastic manner.

But really, my life is logically a very good one. I've got everything I need. I've got a dog who worships me when he's not worshipping himself, a dad who, while still growing, makes me the apple of his eye, and a girlfriend who the most realistic person I've ever dated. Somehow her seriousness, her authenticity makes this the first valid, adult relationship I've ever been in.

I just thought that my pedestrian experiences and somewhat esoteric ponderings should be documented and published, not because I am somehow extraordinary, but because I know there will be others who had nearly the same day and will be glad they weren't the only ones.

I wish I could say that I am sitting in a local coffee shop that's struggling under the recession and recent invasion of Starbucks. I wish I could say my bangs are a curtian over my horn rimmed glasses while I sip a black coffee (to match my soul of course). I wish I could talk about the muggy day and watching some overly perky cheerleaders bounce along outside like breast-augmented sheep in social droves while Malissa Ethridge tells my iPod about "refugee" and my "tree hugger" sweatshirt clings to my shoulders.
Unfortunately for my reputation (forntunatly for my mood) I'm in chemistry waiting for class to start. There's a Gatorade next to my (unadorned) lap top (this is to appease my girlfriend, we'll call her Numbers). I'm listening to "The Shins" and my T-shirt says "pickles: cucumbers soaked in evil".
I lent my calculator to Lieutenant Bowie last class. The screen, upon awakening for me just now, blinked, lit up, and flatly told me "BOOBS". He is in this class also and He's snickering from his table. Thank (insert respective higher power) that some of us can still regress to 4th grade. we need more of that in these times.


That's all for now.

Coyote Out