I found this poem I wrote some unknown time ago. I was considering publishing it, but I wouldn't know where, and it's so much work for so long to do that, I just don't want to go to that much trouble when I could just hit "post entry." And it's such an amazing poem! Told from the perpective of... well, you'll see.


“The Brown, The Green, and The Black”
By = Tempest Alexandria Arts

The white man took the world, spreading out among its lands by sea,
Exploiting all they touched, stealing the land from the people already there.
They stole the New World from the natives, killing the Red Man,
Bringing the Black Man from Africa as slaves to work for them.

They went to China, spread drug addiction and misery, for their profit,
And India for spices they never use, spreading misery to the cradle of writing.
Every bit of land they could find they took for theirs,
Exploiting its people even into the 21st century.

The white man went into space, and found no resources, no people to exploit,
So they grew bored with it, for the most part.
Sure, they sent their robots out to fly by far-off worlds,
Touched the moon a few times with their men, but then stopped.
“There's nothing in space but black,” they said,
Upset they'd made no green.

When the people of India and China started going up there, they scoffed.
“We wasted all that money going up there; they're not learning from our mistakes!”
They told us all there was in space was rocks and more rocks,
Forgetting there was a time when all we had were rocks;
All they let us have as they raped our lands were stones.

Like weeds growing in the sidewalk, they tried to kill us off,
So they could keep our lands for themselves.
But like weeds growing in the sidewalk, we persisted.
For life would always find a way, and we still lived.

We found the barren rocks they'd abandoned,
And grew like weeds among them.
In the black, we – the brown – made green.
The green of growth, as we built giant rotating farms in the sky.

From India and China, from Japan, from Africa,
From the Middle East, from the New World,
All the brown and red and yellow, every color but white,
Worldwide, we came together and spread through the black,
Making stone soup, growing life among the stars.

The white man still owns the earth, but we own the stars,
With colonies on the moon, the asteroids, and Mars.
And the moons of Jupiter and Saturn, and beyond.
Millions of acres of farm and factory, raking in two kinds of green.
Feeding humanity, the breadbasket of the solar system is no longer earth.

And the white man? They are tourists with their cameras,
The old Japanese stereotype passed on to them,
As they marvel at all we've built, at all the green,
The same color they've become, with envy,
Because they were too 'yellow' to make green among the black,
Leaving that to the brown.
To us.

This was cross-posted from http://fayanora.dreamwidth.org/1346612.html
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Hey, svaenohr and alex_antonin collaborated on a poem called "Capitalism Is Cannibalism." It's pretty cool.

This was cross-posted from http://fayanora.dreamwidth.org/1283692.html
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I tend to have this problem, wherein I am usually a firm believer in an afterlife and reincarnation, but sometimes - usually at night when I'm trying to go to sleep - I get worried and terrified of death, thinking "What if there is no afterlife? What if there is no soul and nothing happens to us at death but blinking out of existence?"¹ Well, since my main Goddess is a Chaos Goddess, I wrote up something that started as an attempt to make a simple chant or mantra or something to reassure myself that, if that turns out to be the case, it won't matter then. But I had too many ideas to fit into one mantra, so I made an entire poem about it. And here that is:

“Chaos To Chaos”
By = Tempest Alexandria Arts (Fayanora)

From Chaos I came and to Chaos I will return.
“I” am a complicated dance of quintillions of tiny points of energy, and my soul is the choreographer.
When the choreographer departs and the dance is over, the dancers will join other dances.
We're all choreographers of our own dancing energy, the only choreographers we can know in this life.
“I” am a temporary pattern in the chaos, in a temporary world, in a temporary universe;
All of us patterns in the Chaos,
Ever changing from second to second,
All of us sand paintings in the wind.

From Void I came and to Void I will return.
My life is a pebble in a pond, making ripples, the only thing left of my life when I am gone.
I shall not fear death, for I am not real;
I am like a virtual particle blinking in and out of existence, in the grand scheme of things;
A virtual particle in a holographic universe, the Multiverse every bit as ephemeral.
All of it whispers heard in static,
“Objective reality” via shared programming,
All of it a hard drive in an EMP.

From Naught I came, and to Naught I will return.
I shall not fear death, for I am just a temporary tempest of what-ifs and uncollapsed quantum states.
I am a hurricane contemplating its own eventual landfall.
I am a raindrop watching the ground approach at speed, contemplating the sudden stop.
I am a single breath, from the lungs to the blood, contemplating being exhaled.
All of us lightning in a storm,
Gone as quickly as we appear,
And all the world is the storm.

From Change I came, and to Change I will return.
I am like Jupiter's Great Red Spot, in a constant state of stable chaos.
But like all things, the stability will fail, the tempest will fall apart.
We are never not Change, it is the only constant in life;
Even death is just one facet of Change.
All of us are hurricanes,
Complex, multi-layered, and doomed to landfall,
But spinning off descendants before we do.

From Death I came, and to Death I will return.
My life is a fire, my body made of the ashes of other patterns tossed like logs onto my fire.
When my fire goes out, I will be a log tossed on the fires of other beings,
My ashes recycled, remade, reused; Life and Death eternal dance partners,
Entropy and Enthalpy embrace like lovers on the dance floor.
Gaia's biosphere is the phoenix,
Dying and being reborn from its own ashes;
The biosphere is Ouroboros eating itself.

From Peace I came, and to Peace I will return.

~ ~ ~

1 = Note that I never worry that the afterlife is worse, like Hell or something. I either believe in my own version of the afterlife, or I worry death is final.

This was cross-posted from http://fayanora.dreamwidth.org/1281404.html
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Drew Pi (svaenohr today, in one of zir female forms. It is loosely based on this image. Here is the picture I drew:

( Under the cut for sizeCollapse )

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Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals chapter 5 has been posted!

Read it here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11077792/4/Harry-Potter-and-the-Trouble-With-Neurotypicals

Or here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3672438/chapters/8298985

This was cross-posted from http://fayanora.dreamwidth.org/1277150.html
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Molly Elizabeth's very strange version of "I know an old lady who swallowed a fly."
( Very long, extremely sillyCollapse )

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Just spent several hours coming up with yet another Traipahni syllabary. Why? To simplify things, of course. First, the characters are more unique, making it harder to confuse them, which should make it easier to read. The characters are also simpler whenever possible, making them easier to write. And I've introduced a syllable seperator character (what the apostrophe does when I write it in Roman alphabet, for instance pah'fah'shen'tah) that eliminates the need for characters like AHL, OOR, EER, and so on. So there are only 46 characters in this version, including punctuation marks. Whereas Ahndahn's Alphabet has like 56 or so, and Dven'Bahnis has at least twice that many. Also consolodated the hard H, hard K, and hard G into one character, as they all sound identical (like clearing your throat).

Oh, and I came up with a cursive version too. Actually I did that one first, to give me ideas for the non-cursive version. Since some of the characters in the non-cursive version are easy to write, but impossible in the cursive version, some sounds have entirely different characters between the two versions. My favorite part is that, in both AA and DB syllabaries, the characters for H, J, L, and M are the same character just turned at different angles, which was always confusing. But in this new syllabary, I was very careful about rejecting characters that are too similar to one another. Which involved using some of the cursive characters in the non-cursive version (or non-cursive versions of the cursive characters).

I hereby dub this new syllabary Glik'Mwihl, which means Simple Word.

I have yet to enter Glik'Mwihl into a computer. I shall do that later.

This was cross-posted from http://fayanora.dreamwidth.org/1268367.html
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I just had an awesome character appear in my mind: A paraplegic woman who uses custom-built race car wheelchairs. The image came to mind in the context of someone at a red light looking over to see her in one of her wheelchairs. She looks at him, guns her motor a few times. The light turns green, her tires squeal, and she shoots off down the road like a bat out of Hell, leaving the guy in his car behind in her tire smoke, coughing and looking bewildered.

Note: Not sure how, but her race car wheelchairs still look like wheelchairs somewhat. Two big wheels in back, two little wheels in the front. Some kind of locking door thing holds her in place, which she opens to get out of the wheelchair.

OMG, new image related: One of her wheelchairs resembles a monster truck, and is totally bad-ass. She has to use a hoist to get in and out of it. Or maybe an elevator? Anyway, it’s awesome.

This was cross-posted from http://fayanora.dreamwidth.org/1258474.html
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I love it when I'm just as excited to be writing a chapter as I would be to be reading it, trying to keep up with the ideas, to type fast enough to get them down. It's exhilarating when the story is so engaging that writing becomes more important even than Netflix, or Tumblr, and almost more important than food!

At least, with my writing style, which is basically "1. Think of the essentials of what you want to happen in the story/chapter. 2. Set up the initial conditions. 3. Let your characters loose, nudging them back in line on occasion as needed."

This was cross-posted from http://fayanora.dreamwidth.org/1257712.html
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Very annoying: Wrote a chapter of Lyria novel months ago, seem to have misplaced it.

EDIT: Found it! YAY!

This was cross-posted from http://fayanora.dreamwidth.org/1257380.html
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