FIRE WATER STORY OF KAME, DRIVEN BY RADIANT SUNDOGS
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It has been so long since he has been home. It is so bright outside that he can write from the light through the water, Kame can only give thanks that he has been able to survive this long, but the water is heating quicky, and all that is left to do is recount what just happened.Running out of time, he has to start. The smooth cave walls are the only relief.

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From the crystalline V, the structure emerges
bismuth-like in regularity. well founded
and shimmering in just-beyond-reach foreign
figures, constrained only by
my tearful eye, of the straining hope observer.

First is me, then comes another
big spoon or not, containing none other
than every thinkable wordless permutation
of me and thee, singing and continuing, like this:
holding, through eternity.

And so on, this dream flows,
geometrically, each iteration containing itself in another reflection
for us, it was our forever.
until every silhouette shakes and sweats with a shadowy clay lust.
until you can find the face of a lost lover in the words of another.

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The endless count of boundless grains,
in my ground-up super almost huge unfoldable mahalo shadow grows.
that colossal swanning cloudscape, zero dagger maps
in an unfinished half peach, move the light touch of dust in a finally so long desert double dusk.

Mix-matching these precipitates stirs a moving image into existence
recall the most precious secret panic escape!
When you are blinded by the triple sun,
or cannot even dream of the stars, remember this:

The dasein, movement, in you is so alive!
yet is paused, there but
Frozen, is frozen in that longing for the hushed awe
of the humming hive, just out of reach of our sinuous five.

Searching the...

Infinite cardinality of the dense forest paths,
those multiplicitous tracks bounded by beckoning forest laughs.
We...

are scarlet woodland birds enraptured in the stolen and florid
possibility, lurid,
of you.

Lost melds from uncountable disaster, transforming loss of
what was once your relief and source, clinging understanding,
into transcendent laughter.

It is impossible to lose what you never had.
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The hill stretches from one end of the horizon to another. As he climbed the endless mountain, the people he passed couldn't have been worse at hiding their concern about his obviously distressed state. No one looked him in the eye, but gazed concretely at the dusty ground in an attempt to avoid interaction. There was a small herd of pigs that gave him a jump as they ran through the underbrush, away from some fog that seemed stalled like a balloon that could rise no higher.
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Ode to the Ethereal Hawaii Superstrong Embedding:

All these things together form a greatest,
a swirling encompassing, the
living morning joy cloudburst kalimba playing the crystalline V,
called by some Reinhardt, by others Great Kahuna.

That strictly greater than,
swirling loops around the harvest loving crescent luna
Untouchable in form, this uncountable grove of perfectly shaded Laurel,
my Token..

It gives strength to stumble, to persist
despite my being fragmented into thorns before your feet.
I am humbled by your strength to love,
and annhilated in my attempt to do the same.

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Thoughts of another way, that reluctant companion of choice,
were the ever present whisperers that disturbed the slumber
Every affirmation comes paired with its inevitable negation
in that twisted stark windscape of tepid hesitation
where alternate history meets that vanity and nurse, self-glorification

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Kama was desparately hungry at this point. It looked as if his eyes would burst out of his head from the strain he was forcing on himself, beads of sweat dropped from his wrinkled forehead, forcing himself to remember once again.
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The Sundog Curse:

In the concrete humidity of this very shrouded lambda-jungle,
my nurse-esteem began to implode that day.
I push-away-rejected you, destroying not things but futures.. listen!
The crickets still howl in terror, an auroral continuum of dead possibilities still screams north

through the bending lunalit treetops

Yes.. even walking here is an act of blasphemous villification.
I have destroyed with my pride the prize, the font of my daydreams.
The idyllic Sundogs lie drained before the jealous-anxious arrayed vengeance rings;
Cut down like so many flowers, these uprooted victims of the garland killer king will never sing.

I offered refuge, but to the one with a feathery necklace of eyes and lies,
one born on the day of the dog, terror of the mirror-north, other-coast of thickest fog,
poverty-clutching a gold-skull-crown encrusted with the teeth of his mouse-fold-quarry
Second-guessing can yield many things, including this tortured-life that scorns all but tall worry

That skepticism is in every one, the source of secret snake-negations.
The empty-courageous screaming bloody word of cold-virtue doubt was no friend,
Tasting of truth yet was the flesh of men.. it was not the bold libation, but
was my forever-oaths death vibration, that left me flagging, helpless, in the wind

Three were seen fleeing through a reflection on an obsidian knife-piece,
Through the eyes of the mictlan-cursed executioner-priest.
There, coalescing into a halo-sign chanting the gospel of imminent oblivion,
it came quickly and silently.. after the midnight sacrificial-feast.

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The Now:

For me, thee and we is given. Our how, why, and when is still a longshot hidden.

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The Empty Realization:

Here are some empty deductions of a stale and wordy tart confection:
slow beads of fat on the inky surface
sinking, and eventually..
slipping in to instant complete rank-into-rank lifestyle coagulation,
they freefall into a milky lemon forest of idealistic daynight perfection stagnation.

Mirror-like in the street-light, I daily strive
to fully contemplate her windfall love reflection in the violet cardinal forbidden.
from within the prisonous lurch of my fluxing hope, the fleeting and inevitable penultimate dream will collapse
into desperate lapse
and the blunted stunted realization of shock.

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The Trial:

If only an ultimate consumnation, would pardon my permanent procrastination.
For my vain- mirrorlooking as thrall of intoxicated desire,
has left me flushed, broken, sole possessor of only
the doubtless charge and conviction of ...
I:criminal, my-me mi, turned what I believed to be truth bloomed into pernicion.

My crime is not the love, but my apprehension.
By contemplating, analyzing, and attempting to prophecy with shortsighted gifts
I have recklessly explored the caverns of our divergent and convergent winding possibilities.
Even with my light I have lost my way, lost and chained to the thorough optimistic seer-speak walk
This fleshed-out foresight has forbidden the fruit of my dreams.

Every recollection of the past is necessarily faulty, and it works the other way too.
in memory there will always be a misplaced coin, or a missing flower, or an over-arching of the nose.
What really happened is as remote and inaccessible as the meaning of the rose,
a rush of blood to the cheeks, or the entire summer frozen into a crink of the hose.
Some frostbitten part of me will always cling to a charmed hope in one of those.


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Stonecarving:

Just as this perfect memory is barred from us,
Our reverse-recollection of the mirror-past is
forbidden, bust. our predictions but lithic sand melting into glassy stone loss
If it can be thought by you, we, or me... it can never come to be as was in the dream
This is the absolute law of sundog mirrors, memories, and mirrormemories.

My hopeless infliction,
the product of a heretical total hope.
While repenting of my past-predictions, trying to forget mirror-dispositions
A bead of light shines from within a wicker basket of woven clouds.
Blinded by noon, in an empty dream of a changing moon, I fall on my only and last repose

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That was his last memory before waking up the next day, thankfully someone had left him some food and water nearby the palmetto that had been his shelter for the night. The bites did not bother him, but what did was a note instructing him to see a shaman that lived on top of the nearby mountain. There was also a warning that it would be foolish to try to injure or steal from the shaman, for she was protected by mighty jungle spirits. Kama began walking, with words materializing, dancing, before him in the same manner that vision materializes objects for others.

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Memory Dynamics:

A memory of a girl walking, pure stark ideal against backdrop of two motionless cattle.
While watching her hips, a colored splash of language
draws my eyes to hers. We Smile.
Even now I can't make out the lettering above that door.
I can't remember.

All I know is that it starts with a crystalline V,
Its meaning is the ineffable and necessary weight that chains me from below.
If only I could remember, that smallest and closest key,
I could see and find the true you,
you, that I need to be me!

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At a turn about halfway up, a small shack became visible. A single curve of smoke wound its way upward from a hole in the center. As he reached the door, Kama could feel the air pressure dropping drastically, and savored the sensation for a moment. Inside, there was only an old blackened woman cruelly chanting to herself an even older hula that hadn't been heard outside in years; feeling that he was intruding, Kama only listened for a moment.


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A perfect memory of even the most nightmarish or puny shard of my life
would be the wind
that cuts my cords and sets me free, disposed of strife,
caring only for the pursuit of life.
The impossibility of this memory sits on my heart like the weight of scarlet lost treasures


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Kama'namala walked down from the wooden hovel, stopping only to admire the shrines made by the locals underneath the shadiest trees. The red rainforset clay beneath him was still soft from an afternoon rain that had passed unnoticed, whose looming thunderhead in the distance could be seen receding to the east while the peachy sun began to set on the right. The sound of an ambulance passed in the street below as quickly as it came. Mosquitoes followed only inches behind Kama, at his brisk walking pace he almost didn't notice the flash of green light that signalled the final glimpse of sunlight. Impossible to not notice was the subsequent and complete rending of the skies, as screaming souls rose from below while the war cries of the hypercubic angels foretold a new howling death from what used to be the above.
There is a pillar of flame on the mount, and above the sea rises a pillar of cloud.

Hearing all this noise, Clemence woke almost instantly, suppressing a yell for fear of waking the curled and soft Jesse sleeping almost pridefully next to him. The blinds were moving, and a soft curse slipped from his lips. This was a mistake, since what was about to happen was the real shit. Trying to forget the events that had just taken place, Clemence drifted back to sleep. The first dream was a maze, with lots of jasmine flowers and ivy vines. After the first turn, someone began sobbing through a broken loudspeaker that stuttered with asterisks between incomplete thoughts and exasperated proclamations. There was a giraffe stumbling behind him, running anxiously with the wordy wind and a burgundy bird perched on its shoulder. Jesse thought that Clemence had gone for a walk, but all of his clothes were gone.
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Blackwater
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Even the frozen lava
glistens, shimmering, with the ocean.
Distant blackest cliffs, a
thousand foot basalt tsunami.

Even the most stationary,
eternal, thing, can have
an illusion of movement or change.
Rocks & Gods do not die.