Scarlet Martini

Electricity lights up the sky, a poltergeist levitates the windows.
Sister Evelina runs across the street, straight from the fetal poinsettias.
Some discordant jazz blasts from a megaphone, across the citywide skylights.
Eclipses of candy-coated planets help me spy the night rider from above,
His jacket of fleshy-painted chrome threatening the wind to fly.
Rivers of blood are coursing down the street, where her body lays bleeding;
The hollowness of nitrogen tanks barreling the lanes between the lenses.
All night, all night, the city lights medicate the womb.
There she lays, covered in the stains of scavengers, driven into the sand of rain and ruin, beaten senseless by the vandals of Laredo, left for dead on a rotten highway by the church.
A catechism interrupted; faceless skeletons creeping through the clerestory, raising the
desert with gulleys of wine pouring through every orifice the nun withdrew.

O mother, my temple of flesh, my martyr of the ancient Malinche,
Tell me all the ways you were good to him, all the times you tried to understand.
You were stripped of your dignity, taken from your people,
Forced into motherhood on the shoulders of Eve and the despair of Mary.
When the Earth is finally ruled by reinas, my birth won't be meaningless.
I'll defend them behind churrigueresque walls, silent as apostles in chiaroscuro trenches,
erected from the blasted architecture of comatose Mexicas, who built this land out
of dust and gold.

Red azaleas decorate the courtyard, where she'd paint the night
With the candle wax that had dripped off his button-downed collar.
I recollect Dali painting Venus there, on both sides of his angular cheeks;
Two curving icons of the female form on either side of his masculine face,
Not exactly the most representative of mirages, but elegant nonetheless.
What remains unseen, cast into the shadows of that surreal boutique,
Are his jaws of brimstone chewing off the umbilical residue.
If reading is like dreaming, then take me away from these words;
Baptize my soul with the divinity of sleep.

The Big Screen: The Story of the Movies, David Thomson

David Thomson has written a comprehensive history of cinema, starting with its origins and attempting to touch on every single masterpiece up until the end of the 70s. He does a phenomenal job with it; I can't think of a major film that came about between 1914 and 1979 that he doesn't mention at least once. 

Then, for some inexplicable reason, he stops. For the last hundred pages, he skips over many of the modern greats, like Amadeus, Silence of the Lambs, The Matrix, Gladiator, and Lord of the Rings. Can you guess which film that came out in the last 35 years he chooses to write about the most? Adam Sandler's career wrecker, Jack and Jill. Yes, really. 

Read this for a great overview of classical cinema and some sociological insights into how the evolution of it has changed us. Skip it if you're looking for a book that offers a fair balance between classic greats and modern ones. He's also a bit bashful about mentioning historical dramas, fantasy, and sci-fi, even in classical cinema. So, if those are your favorite genres, be warned. 

The Holy Mountains of Aeria

A frosty green plane that was punctured by the tips of icebergs stood before him.  Beyond them extended a range of the biggest mountains he'd ever seen.  To get through them would take weeks, maybe even months.  They rose from the plane in dark waves of purple, with white caps of snow mounted on their peaks.  All he could hear was the sound of the ocean crashing behind him; a sound he'd grown to like after spending his days resting by the shore.  It was necessary to get through the mountains hastily, but he could see there were no roads leading through them, so he thought he'd have to make his own trail.  There suddenly came over him a feeling that was more than urgency; it was a kind of yearning, making him want to run as far as his legs would carry him.  The mighty round-tops beckoned him forward, challenging the will he knew he would need to defeat them with.  Yes, he wanted to run through the highest mountains in the world, and nothing would stand in his way. 

His first step was proud, as light as a ballet dancer's, as daring as a rabbit's out in open grassland.  In this part of the world, where the tundra stretched for miles and not a human stood in sight, he found it less burdensome to travel by foot.  His only concern was the softness of the land; how it would sometimes sink under his feet if he landed in a tender spot.  For this was a different type of tundra he'd seen than in the lands he'd come from; it had an odd wetness to it that made him feel like he wasn't entirely on solid ground. 

Which turned out to be true.  Across the grasslands, the icebergs he saw had gotten stuck in between floating islands that had collided with each other long ago.  They'd drifted south from the Polar Ocean because of a current that brought them to this great intersection of oceanic drift.  The islands themselves had been shipped up by a seasonal current from the south, which reversed its course every time the planet reached an equinox.  The drifting islands were still securely locked in place because the temperature had never gotten warm enough to melt away the ice that kept them locked together.  If it ever did get warm enough, they'd break apart and float back to the south where they came from. 

Managua couldn't have possibly known he was running on floating islands.  All that kept his interest was the dazzling display of color created by sunlight reflecting off the icebergs, and the steady increase in size of the mountains ahead.  Foot by foot he ran, full steam ahead, towards the roof of the world.  A cliff of rock loomed ahead, parted by a wide gap to its right.  It appeared to be a valley where a river might be emptying into the ocean, so he went in that direction. 

His prediction proved correct.  The high cliffs gave way to an expanse of firm soil and evergreen trees that skirted the delta of an immensely vast river.  A dirt road wound its way along the side of it: the first sign of civilization he'd seen in weeks.  He waited a long time for a vehicle to come, but none would, so he kept on running.  Now that he'd reached the mountains, the land no longer felt like it was about to cave in under his feet.  And the road was much stronger than the frosty tundra near the coast.  That meant he was able to run with more efficiency. 

The valley was so wide that at times he couldn't even see the mountains flanking it beyond the trees.  But soon he came to a clearing, where he was able to gather the full scope of his bearings.  A few miles away on either side of him stood the foothills of a much larger range.  This range was chiseled by many glaciers, which Managua took to be the source of the mighty river.  That idea was unfounded though, for he soon realized that the valley went even farther beyond this range, meandering through mountains that were even higher than the ones he'd seen from the shore. 

Rarely did he stop for rest.  His body was in such good shape that a day of running didn't faze him.  The steady increase in elevation was hardly noticeable.  He was grateful for the chilly temperatures, which allowed him to run fast without his body overheating.  And for the size of the river, which created such smooth, low ground to travel on.  Whenever he got tired, he pitched camp by the water, using it to bathe in and quench his thirst, which unfortunately was an eternal problem due to all his sweating.  Luckily it was salmon season; for food he'd catch fish every morning and evening.  Berries and other fruits grew on bushes that were being supplanted by all the conifers.  His only real concern was staying warm at night; because he had to travel light, all he could afford to keep in his pack was a tent and a thin blanket.  The higher he got, the harder it would be to stay warm.  Eventually he'd have to make a thicker blanket, somehow.  The dreadful prospect of needing to kill a bear for its coat made him less than anxious to move on, but move on he did, farther into the mystique of the wild. 

After two weeks of running he finally came across the blessed sight of another person.  His name was Ozric- an explorer of great learning who'd been sent by his country to draw maps of the region.  When Managua told him his mission, he took much interest in his journey, offering to let him stay at his camp that night.  Managua asked if they had any food that wasn't salmon or berries, to which Ozric smiled and invited him to follow.  At the camp he stuffed himself with some of the rich delicacies of the mountain people.  He met other surveyors, translators, and traders who were scoping out the region.  Ozric made sure to stay by his side, lest one of the others try to steal away his attention. 

Being a runner himself, Ozric found it hard to believe that his new friend had run so far in such a short time.  He requested a demonstration of his abilities the following morning.  Managua was more than content to do it, and even offered to show him his running technique if he promised to teach him about the tribes of Aeria- the vast country located deep in the mountains, of which Ozric was a citizen.  The only challenge for Ozric would be keeping pace with one of the greatest runners in the world, which he came to find even more intriguing than finishing his maps.  Giving up cartography wouldn't be a problem because he'd already mapped the essential places he'd been assigned.  He could always come back to finish them if he needed to, especially after receiving running tips from an endurance athlete. 

"Basically, you want to ease into it; don't force your body into full exertion right away.  Your first mile should be your slowest.  You also want to keep your back strait and don't lean forward.  Some runners say that leaning forward improves your speed.  They may be right, but that is only for short distances.  Leaning puts unnecessary strain on the legs, and over long distances may cause an injury.  You also want to keep your strides short and land flat-footed.  Like the leaning method, long strides can improve speed, but also cause unnecessary strain on the muscles.  They'll wear you down much quicker on a 50-mile run.  Finally, the most important thing is to keep your heart rate low enough to keep a conversation going (not that you need to talk to anyone- just imagine you are).  Heavy breathing indicates rapid oxygen depletion, causing your muscles to use internal energy sources to keep you going." 

Ozric pointed out that having a water source was actually the most important thing, to which Managua shrugged off.  Ozric's problem with distance running had always been staying hydrated.  Being heftier than others, he tended to sweat as if he were in a sauna.  It wouldn't be a problem here, where a river fed by glaciers supplied an ample amount of the substance.  But in a place like Pentas, where the sun dried up the desert with merciless heat, he wouldn't get a thousand feet without it. 

After they started running, the cartographer kept up with him for as long as he could, which only turned out to be about 8 miles.  After going that far Ozric was drained of energy, but Managua didn't appear to be fazed at all 

"By Fibonacci, you're amazing!", he said.  "I'd hate to be a burden by slowing you down.  You should go on without me. 

"But you haven't told me about your people yet." 

"Oh, um, right.  Well, there's not much to know.  It's just an alpine wonderland of tribes separated by their devotion to numbers, that's all." 

“Numbers?" 

"Yes, one for each number up to twelve.   Each tribe represents people from a certain part of the world.  The world that existed before the Cataclysm, that is.  Isn't that why you've come here as well?" 

"Yes, I nearly drowned in the ocean when a storm blew me away.  I don't know how I woke up on the shores of Aeria, but I'm sure glad I did." 

"I see.  What tribe are you descended from, then?" 

"I come from the village of Marduk, in the jungles of Gambria.  I left because a terrible army scorched my land, killed my family, and stole my woman.  I didn't know about the storms until I reached the islands of Tetras." 

"Ah, then you're a Virgo, of House Hexas.  And you didn't even know it?" 

"What are you talking about?" 

"They must not teach you much over there.  Gambria is the land where Hexas migrated after the Collision of Worlds.  You must surely be an offspring of that line." 

"Collision of Worlds?" 

"Ah, you have more to learn than I feared.  I'll tell you what; you let me tag along with you and I'll tell you more about our world each night." 

Managua weighed this option in his mind.  It was true that Ozric would slow him down considerably, and he could have demanded a full explanation since he owed him one anyway.  But the runner was growing to enjoy this strange man's company, and it would be a smart idea to have someone with him in case any dangers came about.  It was never wise to travel alone, especially without someone who didn't know the territory.  Though he was in a hurry, Ozric might prove to be more valuable than he realized. 

The runner touched his new friend’s shoulder and motioned forward. 

 

To be continued...