Sunday Memories of Water, and, a Poem and Picture of Fire

One of those rare times I'm listening to something other than WitchHouse while writing.  This is a recurring Sunday memory of mine when my father used to play records on the old hi-fi media cabinet, and later, component system.  Serge Gainsbourg and Georges Moustaki.  This is my favourite Moustaki, as it is also one we listened to in Brazilian Portuguese, also a Sunday sound.

Les eaux de Mars
The Waters of March

Les eaux de Mars

Got some of my frustration off my chest airing it to my sister and brother in law about the change from car and work to hoofing it to bus and work while ill and not enough food and so forth.  Steps are being enacted to resolve those things which can be solved or ameliorated.  Feels better giving them voice.

I'm already writing the second book while wrapping up the first, revisiting parts from other characters PoVs and tying up loose ends.  The second book structure is proving fun with three mirrors.

The 4th floor is under construction at work, and it has a lot of spook-appeal.  Open spaces are no cakewalk in exploration and make each blind turn that much more unnerving than the slog of turn after turn.  Big dark empty spaces with eerie little lights can definitely conjure many unsettling thoughts.  Heheh!

The Centre of the World
(C) 2023 Kyrinn S. Eis

Here at the center, the center of the world:
Darkness oppresses, fumes choke and yet
its the pressure, the heat and fire of it all
which really gets one down, here in the center
of the world; I went where they sent me,
where you all can follow for all I care
this river of dirt and fire
at the bottom of the stair
Other centers die in gyre, do not hold
indeed cannot hold, and yet,
behold the dirt and fire
at the center of the world.

Happy Humpday

Untitled Art Piece

 

Autumnal Aperture Art Piece

 

Xazon HaShekhina Art piece

 

Excerpt: Sutter's Mill Shootout

Excerpted from my novel, UNDONE
(C) 2023 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved

Then came the Captain's order, ~$"Select-fire.  Target Neck, on one.  Three-two..."$~

Carthy fired at the Rexsaur's neck as a second fireball not but three yards from him, but on the other side of an embankment, lit-up the creature as well.  Without hesitation, the Swaglod opened fire on their positions and the Dragora disappeared from Carthy's view.  Carthy hugged the top of the rocky ridge that separated him from the Captain and he pulled three additional salvos on the Rexsaur which was now on its knees, clutching its throat.  A laser pulse shattered stone not six Inches from Carthy, and the adrenaline coursed in greater release through his already primed system.  Marcher stood and backpedaled as he fired multiple salvos; once his legs contacted the embankment, he threw himself backwards and displaced buckets-full of water as he landed awkwardly.  Carthy's distraction at that nearly cost him his life as a Swaglod bayonet almost impaled his face.  Batting the blade away with terribly swift determination, Carthy hit his purpose-built panic button on his e-suit rig.  The Swaglod's finned crest rose atop its head, and Carthy saw that it planned on blinding him with its black spit; he rolled to his right, closer to the Captain, and as he did so, drew his threat-snub from his chest holster, and fired point-blank into the Wetlander's fleshy snout.  The magnum cartridge alone would have been lethal at this range, but the defensive ammo tore through the soft tissue of the Swaglod's head as if it were a marsh melon.  The amphibian's body crashed down upon him and Carthy was pinned even as he was heaving from the wretched stink-glands' contents pouring over and nearly drowning him.  Carthy heard more firearms blasts, nearing, and then suddenly, the Swaglod was off of him.  The Captain, bloody and squinting, shouted at him to get up and fight.  Carthy nodded and did his best to stop vomiting even as he hip-fired the carbine.  Swaglod troops fired on the run towards them.  Dragora darted about in zig-zag manouvres that defied the imagination.  Another Rexsaur approached, and this one was priming a rotorcannon.  Carthy looked at Marcher.  The other man's left eye was possibly missing, and he had numerous lacerations and avulsions over his face, neck, and hands.  The Captain shouted something to Carthy,  left hand out and open towards him.  Carthy reached out to shake Marcher's hand goodbye, but the other man instead turned Carthy by the shoulder and stripped a magazine from his belt pouch.

"Fall back!  Fall back for flak's sake, Carthy!"

If you combine these two images and squint...

The Belltower of Blackfell Metafiction and Art Piece

Belltower of Blackfell
(C) 2023 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved

The sorceress Zharozenit turned to Aelvryqh, and as softly as unlit morning dew, caressed his silver skin, brushed aside his paper-white hair, and with both hands, framed his effeminate face and peered into his red eyes.

"Our parting, here, amid this rubbulous ruin, the refuse of worlds discarded; here, I pledge myself, my body to you, Isle Sorcerer, sweet Aelvryqh."

His draconic mind saw her intentional framing of body as prize; knew her mind, much less whatever spirit or soul anything human might have, was well beyond her desire to lend, much less give over to him -- even as much as she cared for him.

"And I pledge my yearning desire and present dotage, Zharozenit, Mistress of Myth and Magics; that we draw strength for our respective weirds from each other's company should be enough, but... it is not.  My damned soul, held in the grip of the Ancient Powers--"  She hushed him with a kiss, and he smiled as he brought her slowly to the ground.  Not but two paces distant, the dismembered foes he had, with his demon sword, Sturmomen, slain and derived necessary strength from their sacrifice; these same dead were the scry focus of the one who had sent them...

Lilitu Rose Shield Knight and Lilitu Wife Art Piece

World of Randev: City of the Tree
(C) 2023 Kyrinn S. Eis  All Rights Reserved