Go go Bananafish Features
{Suffering, lament, backlash, spite, insincerity. The vices of our times. Things we scream out to the night that of which we wish to banish back to the depths of Heck... Yet they persist. Persist they shall! Why? Is it inate in the blood of humans? If it were so, we could trace them to a common origin without error. Of course, they're not genetic for we can't prove the gene that holds these social products; they must be products of basic functions! Even so, the anthropological history of humankind, dating around after the birth of Homo Sapiens, has shown more mutual-aide with friendly competition amongst the peoples than pure competition. Especially true of many animal species that shows and disproves "the survival of the fittest" ideology Social Darwinists still parrot today. So what gives? Suffering found in the oppressed and exploited who are given piecemeal. Laments from those who cannot fill their stomachs while piled with debts. Backlash and spite from those who's leaders we're killed - meaning their violence is divine! And insincerity only from those who benefit not from these activities... Today's post is for the @bananafish god as per weekly allotments. Of course one for the 39th iteration of Finish The Story and the 12th week of Mizu No Oto Haiku Contest... Today's music-aides: "Lament of the Sleeping Philosophers" [1.] and "PowerlessAnamnesis" [2.] (Entropy: Zero 2/Antarctica OST and Cheshyre, YT+NewGrounds).}
Banners by @f3nix
[Image by @marcoriccardi.]
Perched bird above:
"... Welcome to Da Vinci's, what-"
Click, chirp, clammer, cluck
My sketchy sketch based upon this week's prompts
- Endemic -
- Prompt by @f3nix -
From the Little Ararat’s peak, Vartan "tiger's eye" observed his hometown, Yerevan. In the ample pocket of his tunic, well sheltered from the harsh wind, his squat fingers played with two graceful jade discs, while his steed, foaming with fatigue, seemed suddenly reinvigorated at the sight of home after months of traveling. If it had not been an animal, it would seem that he was moved. In Vartan's eyes, the only veil was that of travel fatigue.
Armenian merchant of precious stones, merchant son of merchants, he did not care how dangerous the journey was, nor how many moons had rotated above the long caravan: his mind was a precision balance that incessantly weighed and estimated without respite Indian emeralds, Burmese rubies, Pakistani aquamarines. This was Vartan's life since the cradle: he made a profit, and he did it surprisingly well.
A brisk early March night, something unexpected happened to him: he had a dream. Being an unusual experience for him, he awoke to throw in a far corner of the room the brocaded bedspread, upset and wet with sweat despite dawn’s breeze. In his family no one used to dream, there was no space for these frivolities. If he reflected well, maybe a couple of times he had dreamed of carving a gem or making a good deal, but he never came across those surreal dreams like a sand mirage in the ocean. After that episode, dreams began to visit him more and more frequently, as the unstoppable progression of pot-bellied drops in an August downpour. Frankly, it was a very unfortunate situation for Vartan, who was soon forced to invent every kind of wild night escapade to justify the increasingly evident dark circles under his eyes.
Then one day, while he was dreaming, the unthinkable happened: he suddenly perceived that he was in the dream. That first experience of dreamlike lucidity did not last long, nothing but an imperceptible beating of wings of awareness before the rules of the dream came back to swallow him and to dictate the story, relegating him to a mere spectator. Night after night, he began to acknowledge the laws that governed that world and how to bend them to his creative power. Thin and rarefied realms could become dense with colors, shapes, and perfumes. The Escheresque geometries of dancing fractals disobeyed space and time. Gradually, Vartan learned to attribute a new meaning and content to the term comprehension. For every new dream he was immersed in, the breath of those universes and his soul were united in one single essence longer and longer. In those dreams, Vartan traveled in the folds of reality, learned the language of angels and played dodges with them in the heart of perennial storms of unknown planets.
Soon, what was happening in Vartan's soul could not remain hidden to the eyes of the family, his friends, and the entire city of Yerevan.
However, the final trek wasn't to be. Nie. Those bones screamed, flesh self-immolating for the labors induced and the eyes opting to being weights for Vartan’s eye-sockets. So weary arms plopped lightly his knapsack, unpacking contents to then construct his makeshift bed. His arms threw the blanket over himself and so soon his papakha became one with the pillows. Eyelids twitching, they soon relaxed and fully closed with ease.
With the body numbing, he soon awoke; awoke to no hilltops but drab-coloured islands and a pitch-black vacuum in-between. With moving, he flapped instead. And flapped again he did, yet his wings sang no rhythm and flew he not. Learning the new rules, he practiced and soon his scurry, black feet felt not the ground. A joy his heart sang out, so he danced about the island to immediately perch on the cold-stinging edge.
His body leaned, yet recoiled towards the ground. The figure puffed to his island, each body-part stretching on its own cadence and some chunks, severed from body, floated before the chunks were sowed back on. Vartan's wings scurried, inching backwards on a ground that stole more heat every second he laid on it. Then, the figure about-faced and gazed on him – seeing only a small bat scurrying away.
A white cross emerged from its night-coloured head. Vartan's body, resisting, began sinking unto the ground; the figure took gentle steps. A foot then landed on his stomach, the cross radiated and Vartan felt his body cooking. But Vartan's lungs breathed freely once more; cocking his head, he saw a blue kestrel wriggling the figure's head off. Failing, Vartan flapped his wings and used his feet to yank the head from Its bill.
The kestrel flew and Vartan tagged-along; looking back to the island, it crumbled into pieces. Uncocking his head, he swerved away; seeing once more the pursuer’s bodies twitching sporadically. Flapping harder, the kestrel soon found another head lodged into Its bill; he saw the decapitated body crashed into a mountain spire. The kestrel only quickened the pace and Vartan's lungs pleaded for a break.
A portal appeared and both squeezed in before a hand could have at it with them. Soon jolting awake, the bed was in disarray and his hand clutched. Rubbing his black-spotted eyes, he heard a chirp and his body tensed. Twisting to the source, he saw It smiling while dawning a governmental suit; yet It raised his arms and Vartan saw a withered arm.
His stomach revolted and puke raced out, but his head was caught and his breathing steadied. Seeing the mess, he lips twitched; yet Vartan heart calmed seeing It’s eyes. With calmness, It clasped that withered arm and Vartan found a black shard was resting on his palms. Vartan gulped it and saw the withering reversed; trying to give thanks, he saw only the empty plateau.
But with renewed energy and a pulsing sun, he made the final trek. It only smiled from a distance as It sparked away to places unknown.
First order of biz, the small remarks before the end blurb. So, what's in it for this week? Well I am glad to announce that I am going to have a break within a few weeks, woohoo!~ Also that I am having my work-load lessened for a time being, so more free time for me. Lastly, that I am involved in [expunged] with the @bananafish tribe and that next week's #finishthestory will be hosted by [expunged] so then we can the week after leave breathing space for [expunged]. Yay!~
Now, let's get on with the end blurb. Now I understand this much, not revealing shit; so I won't do it for their sake (nota bene, that I am purposefully abstracting the gender to their). So how does one talk about this topic?... Let's start by telling what happened: me and a few acquaintances walk down a ladderwell to see a conflict scene between two other acquaintances. Both used to be lovers before, well in a surprisingly quiet manner, break-off; yet the tensions between the two were always high thereafter. We all approach the scene, but one of my acquaintances tries to shoe us all off; bad move to make in this instance since the tension wasn't post-breakup arguments but a character scream-off. The aggressor, unsurprisingly a male (that I shall reveal without fear, unfunny that he was white too), began yammering off with his ex. While they (again I abstracted the gender here) listed pretty much character faults in him, he immediately bounced them off and tried to project that into them while saying he didn't have any faults.
In a classical and childish routine, he ends off the rant in a metaphorical middle-finger-esque moment and kicks the door so he can walk away. The shoeing person went with him, and in the hallway stood my acquaintance weeping. They soon went to the bathroom in tears, my other acquaintances were whispering on he basically dunked her but I barked at them to show some respect to them. The group stared at me, but a great half soon felt regret and, within that group, they began staring back at those staring at me.
Not seeking a fight, the ticked off acquaintances left but they (the non-aggressor/weeping person) came back in tears again. Seeing their heart broken, I stepped in to comfort them and a few others helped me in this moment. While I would like to share the colourful dialogue, however I will only share the less tense ones. Even then, I do worn colourful language and swear words are going to be present, so skip this paragraph after you read "SAYING" if you don't have a stomach for it. Anyways, it's best to only write that one of my acquaintances assured them that we didn't believe any of his rotten words; while I did most of the physical comforting and SAYING "it wasn't your fault / you're not a wh*re / ..." It was one pecking kak night fo' sho' - that I cannot stress enough. Let's say what I barely even listed and what you can extrapolate may as well have happened even before I arrived on the scene; all coming from his rotten mouth that hypocritical dolt that bekkaken on mój towarzysz (my comrade) all because his fragile pride (and phallus) was humiliated and he couldn't stand to being shown for what he was. So he had, knowing full pecking well he would, hurt them emotionally and projected their words unto them. And ye chops may ask: how did it start?
It started because they (the non-aggressor/weeper/hurt-person) wanted to heal back broken relationship and just be friends; he wasn't going to take none of that and wanted to continue this toxic post-breakup relationship. That blerrie individual, for all I can do, is allowed to go away scott free and society rewards him because he has a phallus while they don't. He's seen as the good retort artist, they a mere screeching individual. He a rational agent, they an emotional leech. Tell me: does a good retort artist that's equally rational jumps and parrots back at every word that dares to even critique, truthfully, an aspect of his character? If so, then I don't want to participate in this "five minutes of fame" culture and, in equal parts, a total "scream-fest" where all the "rational" people lack any sort of emotional awareness, pretty irrational if you ask me, willingly hurt others to "win" arguments. I, again, rather be that street bum like Cynic Diogenes of Sinope then any billionaire that "knows it all" apparently. This end blurb was dedicated to them, even if they will never be able to find this nor travel unto this site. If you ever do find this, let it be just a bad memory to chuckle on as you find/found better individuals in your life.
Vartan's dream is dense with elusive symbolism which I cannot fully grab. I liked the blue kestrel presence, a sort of totemic animal. Overall, a cryptic reading not for the faint of heart, in the purest Felixian tradition.
UwU ~ Thanks for reading and thanks for the compliments! Well now you know how I felt when I read your “taste of chicken” prompt - get dunked on!... otherwise, sometimes taking things literally before making the metaphorical trip is a useful tool. For things stick out more in literalness where in metaphors they can hide or (metonym-like fashion) displace something for another thing.
Otherwise, in retrospect, I think I dedicated this entire post to them (the emotionally abused person referenced in the end blurb). In another regard, a teasing of your prompt’s elusiveness and non-dialogue usage that I wanted to reflect back. In another, a chance to use It as a character without ever going crazy with what It was thinking at the moment. And finally, a sorry and help I couldn’t ever give even when I helped my (emotionally abused) friend back to emotional stability.
{If you get not my references to my (emotionally abused) friend, then give the end blurb a swing. Don’t worry, I won’t bite if you ask me in DMs on specifics. But just know that I gave all the pertinent information and I won’t give out more, even in DMs; I will only clear up what was already spoken.}
First off - I'm shaking my fist at you for your title putting the Power Rangers theme song into my head! 😉
Secondly - The addition of your sketch is a bonus to your postings on two levels. For this way we get to see another part of your creative side, a peek beneath the cap as well as a piece that ties in to illustrate what is in your mind for the story.
Your story started off light, the exhausted Vartan transforming in the dream to have wings and a joyful flight to an island. Then came the dark figure, dripping pieces of itself all over the place to pin the poor little bat down. Thankfully, the blue kestrel (instead of wearing a suit) came to the rescue. Attempting to behead the vile figure and save Vartan so the two could escape. (Your ending words have me wondering if Vartan's lungs begging for a break were not just from the frantic flying but in reality from crying, shouting or both.) The appearance of It, the giving of the black shard and it renewing Vartan's strength - I'll admit I'm a bit unclear as to why the withering reversed. But from your writing of what was in your mind and events that led to this story, I took it as It giving a piece of itself to Vartan, strengthening him and leaving, wanting not gratitude but to know that he'll carry on.
And to your personal story regarding your friend, I can say that while sometimes a person may feel as though they've not done enough to help a friend, to them, the fact that you were there at all, that you stayed, and that you truly cared, that makes a completely messed up situation bearable.
--Bris
UwU ~ Thanks for reading and thanks for the compliments! I was trying to first and foremost trying to get yah to think about "Go BANANAS, GO GO BANANAS!" But "POWER-POWER RANGERS!" will work to I guess. Funny I played a SNES game of them as a kid and never saw anything of them ever since.
Love doing these sketches, as always. Now if I was only an artist, I would be able to draw things way more chaotically but a semblance of orderliness will pervade around each drawing. In one word: details. So, if I continue to sketch, I'll be able to draw what I perceive from my membrane alright!
Anyways, good eyes on all that - and I'll purposefully leave you in the dark and let you psychoanalyze that detail of his lungs burning/collapsing. Anyways, I too shall leave the connection between It and the black shard's power to reverse withering in the dark as well (I have a reference to this in Cap'n Wither as well and a future post on that thread when I'll get to it). And to remark on the personal story / end blurb as I had with this entire response as I did with @f3nix, they are connected but to what degree I haven't a clue. But we always do reflect what we see all throughout the World no matter what we do. I at least thank you for at least directly acknowledging the end blurb.
Enjoyed the haiku and the dream of Vartan. Almost funny how tired he was and glad he got some sleep only what's going on in his dreams must make him even more tired.
Like the last line, "as It sparked away to places unknown."
UwU ~ Thanks for reading and thanks for the compliments! And well, that black shard was given for a reason, drugs are fun! Anyways, It is a blerrie busy figure. Gotta give it to It that It can do what It does.
What immediately catches my eye is that both in haiku and in history there is a strong symbolism connected to the figure of birds.
I can not quite understand what does the bird mean to you (among other things, some flying animals are also present in the drawing), but I learned to take your flights of fantasy as they are, since I can not penetrate the hidden meaning.
I can say, however, that so many times I have dreamed so iridescent and apparently chaotic. The subconscious becomes free and produces interesting images in dreams, you also have the rare ability to transfer them into your stories.
UwU ~ Thanks for reading and thanks for the compliments! That bird’s eye view from the Mizu No Oto photo did definitely contribute to my extensive usage of flight (if the recent #finishthestory prompt did it in for me). I must say, like I had to @bananafish and @f3nix, take the story literally and you’ll find more metaphors and metonyms that would’ve been hidden (and them making more sense) if you did a figurative/symbolic analysis first. (Otherwise it does pay to note the usage of colours as well.) If dost talk about The Kestrel in the story, refer to every usage of It as I had used in a #finishthestory contest since Pretzel’s apocalypse (or even Shu’ulathoi) - the bird is interconnected with It as well. (And to make a side-point, you wouldn’t look at a symptom in isolation but also other cases with a similar version, the other symptoms that plague a body and how the symptom manifested itself in the body. In this Dialectical manner, I treat every object as something connected and permeable (interpenetrable) with another object-subject.) Anywho, the attempt was meant also as literal story to what could be a potential Surrealistic painting (as they have often dealt with Dreams and the bouts of Chaos and Order strung about them).
Congratulations @theironfelix! You have completed the following achievement on the Steem blockchain and have been rewarded with new badge(s) :
Click here to view your Board of Honor
If you no longer want to receive notifications, reply to this comment with the word
STOPThe dream sequence was fun and the explanation of it helps me better understand how I might approach injecting real life situations into fiction.
Your haiku was fun as well. Love the bird watching going on.
UwU ~ Thanks for reading and thanks for the compliments! The haiku was fun to craft, just the pure fun of having that ærial view and seeing a restaurant; couldn't resist such a good temptation into poking fun at it! Anyways, if I may purposefully (and yes with a biased mind as all minds are biased) interject right here, it would behoove you to respect the real life situation in the manner it respected you back. I only say this as it'll make transcribing one plane of reality to another plain of reality, fiction, easier and it can better checked than if you were to take any other angle with injecting real life situations into fiction.
You just planted 0.06 tree(s)!
Thanks to @theironfelix
We have planted already
4269.64 trees
out of 1,000,000
Let's save and restore Abongphen Highland Forest
in Cameroonian village Kedjom-Keku!
Plant trees with @treeplanter and get paid for it!
My Steem Power = 32910.63
Thanks a lot!
@martin.mikes coordinator of @kedjom-keku