One bright, ninety-degree summer morning, two brothers played basketball in an apartment division basketball court. Their names were Atlas and Apollo. Their similarities only stretched to appearances; their brown curls tangled together with the antics of boyhood, their dark skin becoming darker with the heat of the sun. On a day such as this, Apollo felt light as a feather, while Atlas felt that he had the world on his shoulders.
DIALOGUE WITH MY HIGHER SELF
It is springtime. I can see a road ahead of me lined with trees that are blooming with flowers, shining when the sun lightly touches upon them. No one is here, except for me. As I walk further down the road, I see someone walking opposite me. He seems to be wearing a series of ever-changing colors and patterns suit with a bright yellow cravat wrapped tightly around his neck. I am guessing he bought it from one of the stores in Limbo. When you stare at him, which I highly don’t advise anyone to do because it is rude, he reminds me of a kaleidoscope. Taking a glimpse at him, my mind starts to wonder.
Celebrating its twentieth anniversary, China Miéville’s award winning Weird/urban fantasy novel, Perdido Street Station (2000, Macmillan), is the opening salvo of his fictional world of Bas-Lag, a strange slurry of magic, steampunk, and post-modern enigmas. The second novel in the trilogy, The Scar, was published in 2002, and the final book, Iron Council (2004), completes the New Crobuzon trilogy.
Ice crystals began to form along the pine trees that surround the gated kingdom. The one with the walls so high, you can’t see in or out. With the towers made of stain glass. They tell a story of the past. A harsh, painful one that brought the kingdom to its glory. One of respect and dignity. In that kingdom lies a prince. Young, full of grace and loyal to his people. He wears a coat of blues and reds. A crown of silver, with rows of ruby’s lining the prestige that resides upon his black locks. It was said for century’s he would be the one to bring the two kingdoms together. Either by force or marriage.
Allie sat at the table with her parents after telling them about her day giving them all of the information she could, they sat patiently listening but she could see the wheels turning in their minds steadily processing what she was telling them. There was a beat of silence before her father sat back and said,
Yes, this is political. I offer you trigger warnings for language and sexual and racist slurs and comments. Future episodes may also contain rape, abuse, and other unpleasant things.
Just by happenstance, I recently picked up a copy of Trevayne, written by Robert Ludlum. In his introduction, he mentioned that he wrote the book after the Nixon Watergate scandal. In part he says of Watergate: "Here was the government, the highest of our elected and appointed officials entrusted with the guardianship of our system, not only lying to the people but collecting millions upon millions of dollars to perpetuate their lies and thus the controls they believed were theirs alone to exercise." He goes on to point out that their meaning was to keep the country theirs. Not yours or mine, or even the neighbors across the street or across town. Only theirs. "The rest of us were somehow neither relevant nor competent. They knew better, therefore the lies had to continue and the coffers of ideological purity kept full so that the impure could be blitzkrieged by money and buried at the starting gates of political contests."