Stardust Motel

Stop the arguing, please.
I was working on the memory of the rhythm of her breathing,
When she's fast asleep.
So much sweeter than the sound,
Of people disagreeing.

Like the ghost of gasoline,
Stays clinging to your fingers
I'm haunted by the her whispers as well,
And I'm singing on my knees cause i don't have a prayer.
All along.
In the stardust motel

Wish I had thought of that.

Monday, November 30, 11:49, Nowhere

There is a chilly full moon. I wish I could capture the frosty light and hide it away forever.

The shadows cast are blank empty spaces. I can hide in darkness deeper than night.

The wind sighs like a hopeless old man. I wish had words of hope for you, Old Man.

A few last dead leaves rustle in the darkness. I'm sorry, leaves. I'm sorry you were left behind.

The grass is brown and flattened. I step and it does not feel my weight or rise behind me.

And, oh, the night is cold. I can feel the cold.

Rabbit

Not so long ago I found a rabbit.

Cute, confused, beautiful, and homeless, I fell for it like a ton of bricks stacked on an egg.

It was messy and wonderful, my rabbit and I.

I bought some newborn rabbit food and an eye dropper. I would sit and hold my little rabbit and coxe it to eat something. It refused. I insisted. We argued for hours.

The result of these interactions were both of us covered in sticky baby rabbit food formula (matted fur and sticky hands and shirt) with some small percentage ending up in its little tummy.

This process continued for some time. Funny rabbit. I smile. Sometimes it cuddled into me like I was the Easter bunny himself. Sometimes he would fight me tooth and nail and leave my hands spider-webbed with little scratches.

Silly boy. I was convinced that both responses were equally affectionate.

Rabbit grew. I'm afraid that was the name. And grew some more. My plans to race the world with him by my side were eclipsed by the nagging perception that Rabbit had reached a point where he would be better off without me.

Time to grow up. I hate it.

Rabbit left one day. I left the door open. Hoping he would stay, but I did leave the door open.

He left.

Funny thing. I lost my Rabbit. But I swear he hangs around. I see him from time to time. I know it's him. Cause I memorized his eyes. And when I approach to engage in conversation he listens carefully and doesn't run.

But perhaps I make things up for my own feeling's sake.

Puppy! Puppy... Puppy, why are your eyes so sad?

Puppy, Silly dog, cheer up! You're home now. You will be warm and safe and we love you so.
Stop looking so sad. Quit playing dead! Roll over. Wag your tail! Let's play fetch?

Don't mind the collar and the leash. That's just because we want your best. You ran away, Puppy. But now you are home. We care about you and will keep you safe and warm and fed.

We don't know what happened when you were gone, trespassing through dangerous, wild land, but it was very bad. It changed you, Puppy. Made you sad. But you are home now.

Puppy! Puppy! WHY are your eyes so sad!?

Don't Stop...

Against the backdrop of violets and reds I saw one sailing towards the dying sun. Held aloft by brilliant colored kites,
chasing the winds 200 hundred fight high.


I let go of my handle bars and waved wildly with both hands.

I hope you saw me. I hope it was you.

Montage (aka, Runaway Thoughts)

Life and light is so much better viewed through a vague opaque haze.

Why is there no rain pouring down my windows? Seems there should be.

Life leaves you broken, brittle, and dry
Some go in flames, some pass with a sigh.

But I think that I would like to fly... and never come down from the deep blue sky.

Standing on a chair punching at my bedroom ceiling. LET ME OUT! I always wanted skylights.

Hey, you can rely on me, Honey, cept. Guess you can't. Wilco, you are a liar. Give me my money back.

Spent an hour looking at sailboats for two. They are out of my price range.

As always.

I just wanted a car and music and nowhere to go. So beautiful, these mirages.

Holding my plastic flowers in sweaty palms, I stand awkwardly in front of the grave of Christopher Columbus. Clear my throat. "Um, sorry. Couldn't afford the real stuff. But I really appreciate what you did. Really. Yeah." But I couldn't care less right now.

I need some help. Serious, I think.

"Get him on the gurney! He needs a heart transplant ASAP!"

Love is a trap. And if too many people love you (one or more), you are bound to hurt them, hurt yourself, and hurt them.

And all I wanted was the beauty of the moon, the laughter of the stars, and a love that blossomed like the sun. Guess I set my sights too high.

Something is horribly wrong when you resent people for loving you.

Swinging makes me sick. And I'll regret till the day I die not getting sick.

I try not to sigh too much. It hurts my throat.

If you see my eyes, you'll know to stay away.

AH! RUN! Diseased!

Help, help, hel

Who am I?
What do I want?
Why am I?
What do you want?

Okay. Spinning too fast. Stop that. When you fling the thoughts off that fast they shatter on my bedroom walls. And that's wasteful and messy. Slow down! Stop!

Fine. I quit.

Elevator Ride 1.7

We are in free fall. The creaking and banging has escalated to a mind-numbing roar. With the increasing speed of descent, the temperature has plummeted unbearably . Ice instantly forms on the trusses and wires of the cage, and showers down upon us in stinging granules, knocked off by violent vibrations.

I lie still and quiet. Terrified. Frozen. Resigned. Death is imminent. And it will not arrive humanely.

"Do you want to be saved?"

The noise does not diminish, but the voice dwarfs it, not in volume, but in sheer strength and quiet authority. I do not know if it spoke directly to my mind or aloud, but the noise of splintering wood and tearing metal diminishes to background static.

"Do you want to be saved?"

The question seems irrelevant, but the the insistence of his voice compels a response.

"It's too late. I'm already dead. Look, listen... it's too late."

"No. It's not too late. As long as you can still hear my voice, how can it be too late? Do you want to be saved? Do you want a new life? Is there something in you that desires to live?"

There is light burning against my shut eyelids. I open my eyes. A million tiny shards of ice are reflecting crystal light as the fall and collide. We are dropping so fast they seem to float in absolute freedom from gravity. Shimmering and dazzling in an orchestrated dance of exquisite beauty and freedom.

I search for the source of the light. It comes from the lift operator. Gone are his cap and sad eyes. His face beams out power and light. His eyes shine with beauty and fierce love.

Its difficult to maintain the attitude of a corpse in certain circumstances.

I can feel His love and power penetrating into my skin, through my veins and arteries. Down into the deepest recesses of my dark being. And as it touches my heart, an explosion inside me so intense I am splitting apart. My heart screams as ice and rock shatter in excruciating pain. And then a feeling of life. The feeling of dead branches being cut off and new branches being shaped and nurtured. Life.

In the rage and beauty of my plummet with this being, as I lay curled with my knees pressed against my burning chest, as the harsh and sparkling ice crystals danced in the air, I saw life and desired it. I opened my mouth.

"Yes. I want to be saved."

Peace. Warmth. A feeling of gentle but intense upward flight. And then complete calm.
He reaches down and takes my hand, effortlessly lifting me to my feet. I stumble on unsturdy legs, but He does not let go. With His other hand He reaches out and lifts the slatted wooden gate of the elevator. Together we step out. I feel strength flowing through His hand into me. My body tingling with the power emanating from Him. We have come out onto the roof. A trillion blazing stars shine in miniature caracachers of the face of my guide.

I look out over the city with Him by my side. And now where do I go, I wonder. He feels my uncertainty, and with a smile, tightens His grip on my hand.

"We'll walk together."

Elevator Ride 1.6

There are certainly moments in one's life where you realize with startling clarity that the circumstances and decisions of every day are far more significant than you would like. You decide to skip a friend's invitation to coffee, perhaps avoid making plans for the next month, ignore the warnings of someone who loves you, or perhaps put down a book instead of picking it up. Easy to shrug off. Not a big deal. Nothing changes. There will always be another chance.

But the lies ring hollow. Your friend has drifted away, you missed your chance at what your really wanted to do, the girl loses hope in you ever caring enough to change for her, and the life-changing words lie unspoken between closed pages.

And so, you wake to reality. But you find you've slept a very long time. Your legs are so weak you cannot stand. And countless days and nights of dust and dew have fallen on you. The mixture hardening into bonds of such rigidity and strength that you lie embalmed in a debilitating concoction of lies, waste, and helplessness. And you seem powerless to slow your descent.

You know you should fight it. You know it doesn't have to be too late. But maybe it is. It really could be. Your feelings and your actions laugh in your face. Yes, they say, it's far too late. And really, if you can't trust your feelings and you can't trust your actions, then what is left?

Elevator Ride 1.5

Lying prone on the floor. Shivering. Too cold to register fear at the rattling rate of our descent.

Life. Death. Some wait their whole lives to start living. Some live their whole life like they are dead.
Hope. Despair. Flashes of the past. Moments where I choose my own destruction. Once you lose hope are you still alive?

The cage is shuddering and groaning. We are moving dangerously fast. I make no attempt to stand, doubtful at my ability to keep my feet if I tried.

The guide though, stands bolt upright, apparently unaffected by the trembling floor. I try to read his expression with little success. He seems lost in his thoughts.

Then he leaps into action. Grabbing for the brake, he throws all his weight down on it, desperately trying to decrease the our speed. Screeches, tearing, rumbling, and the twing of a metal cable under extreme stress.

Miraculously we are slowing. He hangs on the brake. using all his weight to finally bring us to a shuddering halt.

He gives me a strange, lingering glance of empathy tinged with anger. A strange expression, difficult to grasp. I begin to question him, but he ignores me and flings open the elevator gate.

An explosion of brilliance. Color and light so vibrant and irrepressible I throw my hands up to shield my eyes.

"Look," his voice demands of me. I slowly uncover my eyes. The gate opens up into a room of such immense grandeur and size that my breath is stolen away in awe. Impossibly high arched ceilings, stain glass windows streaming sharp rays of colorful light down through the polished wooden rafters, heavy rich brocade tapestries hang twenty feet wide and high on the marble walls, and vast and intricate tile mosaics paint pictures on the distant ceiling. I unconsciously step out into the luxurious beauty. Slowing turning in place, I try to take it all in. A thousand candles burn on a thousand polished candle stands. Dancing light and color overwhelm my senses.

At the front of the room sits an altar of simple hewn rock. A cross of rough ceder hangs on the wall behind.

And I feel the presence of unprecedented beauty and power. Unmeasurable strength and glory. I know whose house this is.

In this moment I feel my smallness. I'm weak, I'm little, I'm insignificant. Its a shocking feeling. My mind is so used to revolving around itself. A dog whose sole interest has been in sniffing his own tail suddenly bumps into the legs of his master.

I feel the invitation: Stay. Be awestruck. Worship. Enjoy My beauty. Be My servant. Live in My house.

I cower before the power of His voice. And yet I still hear the weaker but persistent words of my pride within me: I'm not ready yet. Am I so weak that I need a god? I can't make it on my own? I'd rather take my chances and be free. I'll run wild. Maybe just for a little longer. Don't need His help. Not now. I'll find my own way for now. Don't want to disappear in the shadow of His glory. Besides, I'd just fail Him. Can't play by His rules. I am my own god.

And so like a rebellious dog when called home by his master, I turn with a snarl and run towards dark, cold, and certain death.

The gate slams with a bang. We rocket downward.

Elevator Ride 1.4

The cheery face of my companion has changed. His eyes are sad; for me. His gaze pierces into me with such sorrow and sympathy that I resent it. I'll dry my eyes. Won't put my broken heart on display for his pity. I feel a wave of rage rising up in me.

I beat my hands on the metal cage of the elevator, "Can't this damn piece of junk go any faster! I just want out!"

My voice echos up into the darkness we are traveling down through. Even the reverberations are grotesquely loud and out of place. Obscene. I'm not sorry. If I could cut the cable to increase the speed of our descent, I would.

"We are going faster," His voice is so sad, unbearably sad. And it's true. The creaking is more pronounced. There is a gentle sway from side to side that I hadn't noticed till now. The cement lining the shaft is sliding by ever so slightly swifter.

Then with a groan the cage labors to a stop.

"I am obligated to make a stop on every floor, but look. You will recognize these faces just as they will recognize yours," spoke my guide directing me with his eyes through the gate into the room at which we had halted.

I scrutinize the room with an effort to grasp his meaning. It's a plain, unadorned floor, devoid of decoration or furnishings. Darkness lurks in every corner. But in the center, lit by several floor lamps, there is a circle of chairs. This space is full of life and vitality. A guitarist plays expertly while several others sit around his feet singing along. Others laugh and talk with excitement and contentment. Some sit in middle of the circle playing cards with the enthusiasm of children.

The faces, young and old, exude peace and friendship. And they are all so familiar. So very familiar. My father is there! So too my mother, and suddenly every face is one I know. My family and my friends. Those who have loved me despite my indifference and lack of reciprocation. These are the people who have followed me on my muddy path, scorning the filth to bring me a smile and a word of hope.

I freeze. A deer caught in the glare. My heart yearns to join them. My people. My place. My people? Disgrace. My head falls. I may have belonged with them once. They deserve better. I deserve worse. I'd just hold their joy back. Teach them discontent and the finer art of the self-centered life. They are good. I am not. I would repay their words of kindness and hope with anger and despair.

I laugh insipidly at my posturing. This isn't about them. It's about me, always about me. I will choose my own path. I care for them. But not enough to turn back? I hope its not true, but can think of no other explanation for why I'm looking away. Moving on. Moving downward.

As I jerk a dejected shake of my head to the operator, a shrill voice calls my name. I turn to see a young child leaning dangerously off a chair, his face beaming at me, and his hands stretched in welcome. Others notice, and one by one they hear their neighbor's excited comments, and turn to look with faces overflowing with joy and welcome.

"We've been waiting for you!"
"So glad to see you!"
"My Bro, welcome!"
"Yes, come join us."

This is pain. This is excruciating pain. Torn in two. Wanting them. Wanting to run into their waiting open arms. And something crushing me with an iron weight. Squeezing my heart, killing my love, holding me back.

A scream rips out of me, "Let me go!" And an instant later a horrible answer from a voice I hate, "NO. Take me down." I collapse to the floor as the lift shifts downward. Horror. Despair. Hate. Yes, I hate you, I hate you, I hate... me.

Elevator Ride 1.3

The next floor is sliding up toward us. Soft yellow light spills out accompanied by the gentle clink of crystal and silverware. We drop into the opening and I look out on room tastefully decorated in muted reds and lit by candle chandeliers.

The lift operator smiles at my peering face pressed up against the wire gate.

"La Vida de Amor. It's a beautiful restaurant. The food and atmosphere are exquisite. Some people wait their whole life for the chance to dine here. It's your lucky day, though. I'm best friends with the owner. Shall we stop?"

I stand still. I can see a girl. She sits by herself at a table for two. She is wearing a white dress and her face unbearably lovely. She turns and looks at me with calm but expectant eyes. My heart stops beating. I know her. I understand. I do understand.

"No." my voice is so soft and low, more a sigh than a spoken word.

Yet my guide hears. I feel his eyes piercing into me. I can't bear her gaze, and drop my eyes. "Please, lets go..."

I feel the elevator grind to life and we drift downward. I'm weeping.

Elevator Ride 1.2

It's dark. The elevator is lit by a single, swinging, bare bulb hanging by its wire from a metal crossbeam. I realize that the noises I am hearing are the squeaks and groans of a tired machine given no rest.

"Didn't like the party?" He asks with a incongruous smile.

"It was alright... No. No, I didn't like it. I hated it." I glared at him, daring him to make a comment. He smiles but stays mercifully silent.

We are approaching another floor. I can hear music. It's jazz.

"Would you like to get off here? Its a great band."

We pull into the opening of the floor and I see the musicians. The saxophonist is lost in his music playing a rift so high and complicated it seems to have transported him to a far better place. The organ and drums are smooth and tasteful. Backing him up in his ecstasy. Cool blue and purple lights paint the walls and ceiling.

"No. Don't stop. Take me down."

"Just as you please."

And then we have passed. The wailing instrument chasing us down into the cool darkness of the shaft.

Elevator Ride 1.1

Perhaps you are familiar with the situation.

I was at this party. It was a great party. We had the run of a grand old building downtown. It was decorated to the hilt, the beer and wine were flowing, and the food was much better than expected. My friends looked their best. And everyone was smiling.

Everyone is smiling. It's disgusting how they can't stop smiling. Like they can put on their fancy clothes and shed all their anxieties and worries at the same moment. Fakers. So insincere. They smile too much. They talk too loud. Their faces are too bright, and too warm, and too close to mine. The party lights hurt my eyes. Garish. Really, the whole situation. Damn. What's wrong with my beer? Someone must be siphoning all the happiness out before they refill my glass. Can't stand the music. So loud and inappropriately upbeat. I'm burning up.

Won't stay a moment longer. Just know I will brutally strike the next grinning face that invades my thoughts with its superficial chatter.

I stumble through the haze of light and laughter searching for a way down. Curse the idiot who put the beer on the top floor. There. The elevator. Don't remember seeing it here before, but who cares?

Caution. Watch your step.

The sign is unnervingly prominent on the wall next to the lift. I pause on the open threshold, suddenly aware that the elevator seems several decades outdated. Slatted gates that open and close vertically. The inside is dark and unfinished with metal screening which allows one to examine the dark dirty shaft where the cage hangs. I'm stuck. One foot on, unsure whether I contain the courage to move forward.

"It's perfectly safe. Step aboard."

He's perched on a stool by off to the side of the gate. He's smiling. And holding a beer casually in his left hand.

"Just examining the... mechanics," I mutter hurriedly stepping aboard. I hate myself for being embarrassed. And I am very. And what a stupid thing to say. Mechanics. Brilliant.

"Not to worry, friend. This lift has been in operation for sixty years."

That's supposed to be reassuring? "Ah," I murmur with the most neutral tone I can manage. I have a very bad feeling. But the cheerful fellow has already shut the wooden gates with a bang. And an instant later I feel the the ground beneath my feet drop with a sickening lurch.

The agonizingly slow rate of our descent is some relief. I look up through open metal of the cage and see the lights dancing out onto the cement walls of the shaft from the receding party. The ecstatic voices of my tormentors echo down, gradually receding with the lights.

Parells in Meditation

The trees are nervous.

They whisper woven worries,
Wild wind, pass us by...

"I'm a sputtering flame hissing in the rain. I'll disappear any moment. That's why I'm here."

Storms. Elemental child.

"If you don't fear fire, hold me tight. You'll be burned and extinguish my light."

Lightning. Find me on the mountain's peak. Find me tumbling in the crash of the surf.

"Pain mingled pleasure and a darker night."

High wind. I'll climb the tallest tree. Hang on tight, but keep one hand free. Try to fling me out, buck and swing, I'll laugh and scream, the joy is in the terror. A wild ride with ninety feet to reconsider and regret.

"A fox that runs wild, snaps at your touch. Dreams, hopes, ambitions, delusions."

Deluge. Chase me in the tall grass. Barefoot at breakneck speed, rain streaming down my face and chest.

"Most of all wanting to be loved, wanting to be tamed."

Flash flood. Find me in the angry furry. I dive in. Pulled under, tossed like a leaf, smiling as I choke for air.

"To know the collar of ownership and dependence. Desperate to feel it circle my neck."

Life as a cigarette: Rip off the filter and smoke it fast.
The rules of the road: Drive faster, turn harder, no seat belts permitted.
Pavement surfing: somersault and slide. Rush back in line for another ride.

"Yet the terrible transformation. Another docile dog?"

I see you watching,
You think my words are for you?
Perhaps, in a way...

Running in Place

Kansas, Summer '06, Afternoon

Some days are for rambling.

My feet lead me out into the fields away from anything that wreaks of human touch. Past the roads and houses, over fences and walking trails, I tread. Carefully I pick my steps. I refuse to settle for the man-made peace of parks.

I pick my steps carefully, no wild flowers will bend under my weight.

In my mind I'm running desperately. Looking for a place to call my own, somewhere I can silence the accusers which have taken up residence like malicious hitchhikers in my head with the more potent silence of quiet and unaffected life; that is, life devoid of the thoughts and whispers which occupy the human existence.

Stopping now. The sleeping brook speaks, but its unconscious words are peacefully happy. Content. What a concept.

A nervous frog eyes me suspiciously. I smile disarmingly, "Don't worry, I have no desire to disturb," despite my effort at reassurance, the frog dives for the cool safety of the dark waters.

There's a flash of lethal power in the depths of the pool. Some terrible struggle beneath the water's roiling surface. A long, black whip slices out of the water with horrible strength and speed and disappears again.

Then the combatants rise. The snake has its jaws locked on the struggling creature. They thrash and roll, splashing angry water. I'm mesmerized with horror. And then the violence is diminishing. The snake's grip on the frog's head is a death trap. His fight for life grows weaker; his flailing kicks coming with less and less frequency. Hope and strength are fading fast. My lungs are burning. I try to scream my despair. Can't. Realize I've been holding my breath. I gasp and choke, breaking the iron grip on my throat. I want to throw up.

The frog is finally still. Hopeless or dead. It's the same thing.

The snake sinks down with its prey.

I sit absolutely still. And what was I thinking? That I could somehow run faster than the curse that rides me? Thought I could leave my Midas touch behind me? That life's insanity resided somewhere outside of me?

I can't escape humanity because I am human. I will carry the toxin of my existence where ever I roam. And it will drift and snake across the ground to poison anything within my reach.

Last Chapter?

The Wasteland, Winter, Now

It was a fight. It seems over now.

Despite the unbearably cold, the ground is pitted with oozing mud and dark puddles to the horizon. Drifting smoke obscures the waning sun. But night is closing fast with increasing cold and blackness.

A figure lies prostrate on the ground. Indistinguishable from the wasted terrain. No other sign of life, if he counts as that. He couldn't be alive.

He is flat on his back, every inch of his body covered in stinking slime. Only the blood on his chest, arms, and face breaks the overwhelming gray of the field. His right arm is extended awkwardly toward a sword. It lies shattered and beyond his clenched hand.

I don't want to die. But I know I am. I can't remember the fight. Who or what or why. Everything so obscured. My brain defying my attempts at recollection. But I've never felt so defeated. So utterly broken and lost.

Trying to breath. Every smoke-filled breath an agony. My vision narrowing. Blood in my mouth. Blood in my throat. Why am I not dead yet?

I feel, more than see, the presence. Someone is standing over me. Trying to focus my vision, blood trickling into my eyes making it an impossible and painful task. I can't tell if it's a man or woman, but I can sense the devastating beauty. And make out the absurdly clean, white clothing. Like an unexpected streak of lightning at the darkest hour of night. I feel unbearable shame. I wish the mud would swallow me down into its filth.

You will not die. Stand up. Follow me.


But I can't. I can't. And I'm so miserable. For God's sake, I'm dying. Who is this? Can't they understand? I'm dying.

Yes. You can. Look at me. If you won't stand, then crawl. Follow me.

And I do believe. And am suddenly sure that life lies in dragging myself after the muddy footprints of this voice. And yet, here I lie, content to nurse my pain and feel death seeping into my bones like a curling mist. And I don't even understand why. Too humiliated to follow this beacon of perfect light and beauty in my worthless condition? Or too proud to reach my hand up for help and life?

But please don't leave me. Don't walk away. Give me more time. Or perhaps take away my wayward willfulness and save me despite myself.

I lie motionless. I don't want to die. But I know I am.

I don't dare open my eyes. Equally afraid to see utter darkness or His pure light.

Rearview Mirror

Kansas, Spring '08, Early afternoon

The windows are down. The sun and wind are invading the car like a happy dream.

We are in no hurry. We stop where we please. We find untraveled roads and drift along under the speed limit. Driving like a grandma.

Taking turns sharing our favorite songs. The stereo turned up just a little too loud. We join in when we both know the tune. Our voices playfully circling and touching. We sound good together.

We stop at every park and graveyard to explore the trees and ancient names.

I open the door for her. And away we drift. I'd feel foolish if I was the only one who could not stop smiling.

Conversation is lazy and gratifying. Our silence is just as enjoyable.

Realizing I have never been so happy.

I realize I have never been so happy.

Reflection on Proximity and Proportion

New Jersey, Summer '08, Midnight

The bright lights and happy chatter of the Boardwalk fade incrementally with each step one takes onto the beach and towards the rising surf. A hundred yards from the frenetic night crowd and the flashing lights of arcades and restaurants, the darkness and noise of the ocean swells erase everything.

The moon shines down on swirling dark waters, shattering into shards on the uneven reflective surface of the perpetually restless waters. The sand retains the sun's daytime heat, in contrast to the cool waves racing up to wash my feet.

Off to my right I catch a glimpse of dark forms racing and dancing on the edge of the water. I wander closer. Laughter and childish fun. Age slips away in the presence of the infectious excitement of the beach at night. I smile in approval.

I'm nearly among them. A silent and unnoticed presence in the darkness. A shout rings out through the night, "I am the queen of the world!" I search for the voice, trying to make out the crier in the mix of dark quick shapes. "I am the queen of the world!" There she is. She stands far out on the rocks of the pier. Her hair streams out behind her in the wind rushing in from the sea. The water crashes around her, spitting up and around her. "I am the queen of the world!" She is yelling out the words at the top of her lungs. Over and again. "I am..."

I'm captured: standing like a statue. Her form is dark and her face turned away from me towards the on-rushing waves, but I know she is beautiful. It's true. I wish there was some way to show her homage.

She is queen, the whole world belongs to her.

I'm so still that a game of tag comes close enough to spit sand onto my feet without the players being aware of me.

Time to move. I wander away. before I've walked thirty paces, her voice has faded from a triumphant challenge, to a distant, weakening note. It fades in and out whipped on the wind. Another few steps and its gone. Drowned by the overpowering crash of the breakers.

The waters are roaring with powerful mirth. Loud laughter at this joke.

She has lost her thrown.