WITH ONLY THE LIGHT of the full moon to guide her, Jade slowly made her way through the underbrush, as she followed the cry in the dark. She felt certain that if she could find the child, she would also find the key that unlocked the mystery of her past. She sensed she was getting closer, as she haphazardly made her way through the dank muck that skirted the swamp; trying hard to ignore the sounds of the night creatures that surround her.

Even at night, the heat was unbearable, causing her to continually wipe the sweat from her brow; catching the scent of her own blood, as her arms were covered with cuts and scratches, from the tangle of vines and vegetation that she couldn’t seem to find her way out of.

She slowed her pace several times, lost and fearful; of where she would end up and what she would find once she got there. More than once her frustration got the better of her and she toyed with the notion of turning back, but each time she did, the child cried out, beaconing Jade to continue.

She stood for a moment, taking slow deep breaths to try and calm her racing heart and just as she began to walk, not sure if she was going in the right direction, she heard it; the unmistakable laughter of the child coming from behind her. She spun around quickly, making her way toward the sound and in a matter of minutes she emerged from the underbrush, as the moon showed itself once more, illuminating the clearing and casting its light on the prize.

She was a mere baby, no more than 2-years-old, wearing a white dress with torn ruffles, her long dark curls bobbing as she ran. She stopped, looked at Jade and smiled then started running and twirling in circles, giggling as she did. Jade stood unmoving, mesmerized by the child who seemed to delight in holding her attention, as something about her was so familiar.

The child looked over her shoulder to make sure Jade was still watching, as she ran a few more circles then ducked behind a large rock. Jade strained her eyes in the dark as she moved forward, a chill gripping her spine, as she realized they were in an old forgotten cemetery, the rock the little girl was hiding behind, a tombstone.

She was just about to take a step forward, when a shadowy figure caught her eye; moving slowly across the ground in the direction of the child. Fear seized Jade’s racing hear, knowing full well what dangerous creatures lived in the surrounding swamp and only came out at night; to feed.

Jade called out but the little girl didn’t answer. She strained to listen, but the only sounds she heard were those of her own breathing and the pounding of her heart amplified and echoing in her ears. Her adrenaline drove her forward, across the sacred ground toward the headstone. She grabbed hold of the cold stone, as if to anchor herself in place, but when she looked behind it the child was not there.

“Here…here,” she heard the little voice calling. Jade spun around just as she stepped out from behind a large monument several feet away. She looked at Jade with big haunting eyes that Jade was certain she’d seen somewhere before and then pointed to the ground in front of her.

“Look,” she said, as tiny wisps of white mist rose up from the earth, completely covering the ground between them. Jade knelt down and held out her arms. The child smiled and slowly started making her way toward Jade. She stopped suddenly; the look of fear and panic evident on her face, as the white wisps began swirling around her feet and legs.

A wave of dizziness washed over Jade, as she stumbled sideways into the headstone. She tried to steady herself, but a sudden shift in her vision knocked her back down. It was as if she were seeing the entire world through an infrared scope; the illusion of time set on slow motion. She closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead just above her brows, as if to clear her mind and vision.

She focused on the child, but all she saw was the mist; slowly growing in length and density, seemingly taking form, right before her eyes. She thought for certain her imagination was playing tricks, and that it was nothing more than the moon casting eerie shadows, but then the little girl screamed and that’s when Jade saw it; the face in the mist, gazing at her defiantly.

Jade lunged toward the child, but was knocked hard to the ground. She rose up quickly; adrenaline mixed with determination, but could go no further; as if an invisible barrier had been raised between them. Panic struck hard and fast as she realized something unspeakable was about to happen.

“Come on honey,” she cried out, trying to hide the fear and panic in her voice. “It’s okay. Run to me…run to me.” The little girl tried to move but she couldn’t. Her eyes filled with tears and she began to cry. “No baby, don’t cry. It’s alright; just come to me and I’ll make it go away.”

The child looked at Jade with tears staining her face and her little lip quivered. She sniffed and the breath caught in her chest, causing it to tremor. A single sob escaped, as she wiped at her eyes, forced a smile and shook her head; her eyes locked on Jades.

Jade’s eyes lit up with hope and she let out a sigh, believing in her heart that everything was going to be alright. Then she heard it; that familiar, deep, menacing laughter that made her blood run cold. She stood in frozen horror, unable to do anything but watch, as the scene unfolded before her; the mist gathering speed and strength; swirling, churning, forming a giant mass that slowly enveloped the child.

“No…No!” the child screamed; flailing helplessly against her attacker, barely visible inside the apparition. Jade released a scream like that of a Native war cry, as she lunged forward, breaking through the barrier. She ran full force toward them; gasping for breath as she penetrated the mass and the frigid air stung her lungs like a million piercing needles. Her arms encircled the tiny form and she pulled back hard; stumbling backward she landed hard on the ground, her head knocked against the hard earth, her arms empty. She lay on her back stunned and breathless, looking up, unable to move, as the mass rose higher and higher, disappearing into the darkness with the child at its center.

∞∞

Jade gasped for breath as she shot upright in bed; wild-eyed and on full alert, her body soaked with sweat, reverberating with each pounding beat of her heart. True to form, it took several minutes for her to gather her bearings and recover from the dream. As the echoed screams faded from her mind, they were replaced with sounds of the night that wafted through her open window. It wasn’t until she heard the high-pitched scream of Sully’s sax in the distance that she realized she was late for work.

She jumped up out of bed, pulling on the first thing she grabbed from one of the various piles of clothes that littered her floor; luckily she’d chosen from the clean pile, and matching wasn’t a concern, as everything she owned was black or white. There was no grey in Jade’s world; on any level.

Still somewhat out of sorts, she made her way across Jackson Square, twisting her long dark hair around her wrist as she went, tucking it up and inside itself just as the Top Hat came into view. There was a crowd gathered on the street outside the club, which meant they were full up already, and it was going to be a long night.

Jade maneuvered her way through the crowd and took her station behind the bar. She grabbed an apron and tied it on; ignoring the glare Harvey was shooting her from the other end of the bar, until he opened his fat mouth and asked where the hell she’d been.

Without a word, Jade reached under the bar and produced a shot glass and Harvey’s prize bottle of Jamaican Rum, poured herself a full shot, raised her glass in his direction, threw it down and slammed the glass on the bar; her look telling him not to push too far tonight. He knew if he did he’d be up to his ass in it, as all three of his other tenders were either out of town or called in sick, and Jade had demonstrated on more than one occasion that she had no problem walking out without a second thought.

A group of college guys, who hadn’t been able to take their eyes off Jade since her arrival, whooped it up at the bad ass babe behind the bar, prodding her on to take another shot. Jade immediately turned her attention on them and set to work. Harvey just shook his head and chuckled to himself. Damned if he could figure what it was about Jade that drew people to her like bees to honey; but all men loved her and women wanted to be her. All Harvey knew, was that she was a moody unpredictable wench, but she knew how to hustle a drink and his biggest draws came on nights when she was behind his bar.

∞∞
 

A little over an hour away, in the Parish of Thibodeaux, on the grounds of Henna Plantation, Benito Marcellus was preparing himself for what might possibly be, the single most important ceremony he would ever oversee.

He stood before the Venetian mirror that had once graced the hall of a former lover’s French chateau; and while it dwarfed his current boudoir, whose size would be considered grand on anyone’s scale, it barely fit; wedged as it were between the hardwood floors and pressed tin ceiling. Still, it was magnificent; especially when his handsome image reflected from within the gilded frame of intricate scrollwork.

Benito was a narcissist to be sure; not by nature, but by fate. His striking good looks and charismatic charm had afforded him a life of privileged decadence that took him to all corners of the world and back again; to live off the fortunes of others in the grandest fashion; never as a permanent fixture, but merely a guest-star in the lives of the truly privileged. But if all went according to plan, his days of walk-on roles were soon to be over; and for the first time, the life in which he starred would be his own.

He turned from side-to-side, admiring the contrast between the white silk robe and his toned, tanned flesh; looking not only like royalty, but a god, and feeling it as well. His confidence and impatience led to the decision that tonight was the night to pull out all the stops; giving his audience a show that would not only leave them awestruck, but clamoring for their checkbooks as well.

He picked up the mohair brush, raised his arms and ran it through his dark wavy hair that fell precisely to his shoulders. The robe fell open and his eyes were immediately drawn from his face. He continued to brush, though his strokes were slow and unintentional now, as he admired the tone of his form; the swirl pattern of jet black hair, soft as fur that spanned the width of his chest, tapering to a thin line that stopped just below his navel, which fanned slightly then faded away into silken flesh that crowned his prize tool.

It never ceased to amaze, that the mere sight of his self could bring about such arousal. He tossed the brush aside and ran his hand across his Pecs, downward over his abs, then took hold of his protruding member and determinedly, without diverting his eyes or attention from his reflected image in the mirror, brought himself to climax.

As if on cue, the moment he cinched the belt of his robe, there was a soft knock at his door; alerting him that the members had assembled and were awaiting his arrival. He gathered his hair and tied it at the base of his neck then took several deep, cleansing breaths. He wasn’t nervous, he was simply elated at the potential prospects this opportunity afforded him.

It wasn’t just any group he was leading tonight; this was the pièce de résistance; said to be some of the most dedicated followers in all of North America. Membership ranged from native practitioners, who by birthright had never known any other way; to some of the highest ranking citizens – socially, economically and politically; covering the spectrum from one end to the other; but individuals when they gathered at this terreiro.

Individuals with one common goal, yet each seeking answers to questions all their own. Macumba was now their chosen path; the way of receiving clarity; questions asked of the living, answered by the dead.

Benito entered the formal ballroom, already awash in flickering candlelight, reflected in the mirrored walls and polished floor. A single drum rang out softly, reverberating with the low hum of collective energy that filled and flowed through the massive space. There were thirty plus members gathered round the circle; all eyes locked on Benito as he entered and took his place at its center. He wasted no time, as he began his chant; the drum now intent and in tune with his flow, as he closed his eyes and called upon Egun – the Spirit of the Dead.

Unlike the former páis, who spent more time slipping into trance than actually communing with the spirits, Benito’s call appeared effortless. Within minutes a chill descended upon the room and Benito’s chant grew in intensity and purpose. There would be no seductive dance, no swooning and swaying by him or the circle of onlookers. Benito was not here to perform before an audience, for his ego need not be stroked by this lot of people – Benito was here strictly for business and intended to give them what they sought.

He raised his face toward the heavens, arms outstretched at his sides, and cried out in a tongue not one of them had before heard. A sudden gust of wind, moving clockwise at the inside base of the circle, startled several of the congregation; once it increased in speed and the apparition began taking shape before their eyes, most cried out in disbelief, a few in primal fear.

Benito simply opened his eyes and smiled.

Time Passages
short story and poetry collective

Paperback: 360 pages
Publisher: Pandora’s Boox
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0976312204
ISBN-13: 978-0976312208

Click cover to purchase on
Amazon.com

I will fight
To the end
For the right
To feel

The weight of
My words
In my hands

Intoxication that
Ensues
From the scent
Of my pages

Flittering through
Front to back
Back to front

Savoring satisfaction
Of personal goals
Met and exceeded

As each is placed
Upon the shelf
Among all others

Reminding me always
Anything is possible

I have lived
I have survived
I still am alive

To spin my
Yarns
To tell my
Tales

Refusing to be
Pushed
From my place
On this stage

My fate
My destiny
As was meant
To be

Put down and
Purged

The stroke of
Midnight

All Hallows Eve

He always
Believed
Her to be a
Witch

Leaving him damned
And cursed

One thousand and one
Her number on
The list

Nameless
Faceless
Meaningless
Conquests

The exact number
Final word count
At the end of first
Go-round

Everything flowing
Coming with ease
Alignments just right
For slaying the
Dead

Of finest antiquity
Gigantic Persian
Rug

The office loomed
Enormous
Intimidating

At the end of a
Brightly lit
Corridor

Heart pine floors
Substantial
Eloquent

Strong enough to
Support
Even the largest
Of egos

She held up my
Book
As I entered
The room

Smiling from her
Throne
This stuff is
Good

Closing the cover
Setting it aside
Take a seat
What else have
You got

I sat back
And grinned
Let my spiel
Rip

The sky’s the limit
When you dream
In living color

Instead of a dedication for my upcoming release, I chose this quote by John Morley, for it contains the absolute truth of my passion; a truth that one day I hope my readers will come to know and understand.

While the foundation of my work is undoubtedly built on life, my stories, poetry and characters, are not always, but often times, larger than. It’s my prerogative as a writer, to exercise my poetic license at will, as I choose and see fit; and I do so quite often, with great ease, imagination and purposeful intent.

Yet there are those who take my words to heart, believing what they read to be total truth, while others read between every line, trying desperately to glimpse some semblance of, concluding what they will and often times missing the entire point of a story or poem.

I’ve often said, if instead of writing and selling books, I had a mere dollar for every time a friend, family member, acquaintance or stranger, read my posts, assume what they were reading is my absolute truth, contact me shortly thereafter to check on my mental status, or assume from my written word that they know my life inside-out, I would be rich beyond belief!

Needless to say, this can be extremely disheartening; continually being asked to explain myself, for the sole benefit of appeasing the perception of others; when it has always been my belief, as an avid reader and a writer, that it’s best to leave the imagination of the reader to wonder, long after the piece has been ingested.

You’re all familiar with the old saying, “You can’t judge a book by its cover;” well, my take on that would be, “You can’t judge a writer by the book.”

While reviewers have been quoted as saying, my work is often dark and cynical, and not for the faint of heart, I urge you to read with an open mind, don’t try to put a face, namely mine, to every character and scenario I present you with. Just relax, enjoy and allow yourself to be amazed at how many pieces reflect situations you can relate to in your own lives. Then, and only then, take away with you what you will.

Some of you will undoubtedly find snippets of yourselves within my work; fragments of moments we’ve shared together. Thus the title, Fragments from Being.

For those of you unfamiliar with John Morley, the author of the aforementioned quote, here’s a brief history.

John Morley was an English Liberal statesman who was friend and official biographer of W.E. Gladstone; who gained fame as a man of letters, particularly as a biographer. As a long-time member of Parliament (1883–95; 1896–1908), he was chief secretary for Ireland (1886; 1892–95) and secretary of state for India (1905–10), and was raised to the peerage in 1908. Among his published works are Edmund Burke (1867), Voltaire (1872), Rousseau (1873), Diderot and the Encyclopaedists (1878), The Life of Richard Cobden (1881), Ralph Waldo Emerson (1884), Studies in Literature (1891), Oliver Cromwell (1900), Life of Gladstone (1903), Critical Miscellanies (1908), and Recollections (1917).

Even at night, the heat was unbearable, causing her to continually wipe the sweat from her brow; catching the scent of her own blood, as her arms were covered with cuts and scratches, from the tangle of vines and vegetation that she couldn’t seem to find her way out of.

She slowed her pace several times, lost and fearful; of where she would end up and what she would find once she got there. More than once her frustration got the better of her and she toyed with the notion of turning back, but each time she did, the child cried out, beaconing Jade to continue on.

She stood for a moment, taking slow deep breaths to try and calm her racing heart and just as she began to walk, not sure if she was going in the right direction, she heard it; the unmistakable laughter of the child coming from behind her. She spun around quickly, making her way toward the sound and in a matter of minutes she emerged from the underbrush, as the moon showed itself once more, illuminating the clearing and casting its light on the prize.

She was a mere baby, no more than 2-years-old, wearing a white dress with torn ruffles, her long dark curls bobbing as she ran. She stopped, looked at Jade and smiled then started running and twirling in circles, giggling as she did. Jade stood unmoving, mesmerized by the child who seemed to delight in holding her attention, as something about her was so familiar.

The child looked over her shoulder to make sure Jade was still watching, as she ran a few more circles then ducked behind a large rock. Jade strained her eyes in the dark as she moved forward, a chill gripping her spine, as she realized they were in an old forgotten cemetery, the rock the little girl was hiding behind, a tombstone.

She was just about to take a step forward, when a shadowy figure caught her eye; moving slowly across the ground in the direction of the child. Fear seized Jade’s racing hear, knowing full well what dangerous creatures lived in the surrounding swamp and only came out at night; to feed.

Jade called out but the little girl didn’t answer. She strained to listen, but the only sounds she heard were those of her own breathing and the pounding of her heart amplified and echoing in her ears. Her adrenaline drove her forward, across the sacred ground toward the headstone. She grabbed hold of the cold stone, as if to anchor herself in place, but when she looked behind it the child was not there.

“Here…here,” she heard the little voice calling. Jade spun around just as she stepped out from behind a large monument several feet away. She looked at Jade with big haunting eyes that Jade was certain she’d seen somewhere before and then pointed to the ground in front of her.

“Look,” she said, as tiny wisps of white mist rose up from the earth, completely covering the ground between them. Jade knelt down and held out her arms. The child smiled and slowly started making her way toward Jade. She stopped suddenly; the look of fear and panic evident on her face, as the white wisps began swirling around her feet and legs.

A wave of dizziness washed over Jade, as she stumbled sideways into the headstone. She tried to steady herself, but a sudden shift in her vision knocked her back down. It was as if she were seeing the entire world through an infrared scope; the illusion of time set on slow motion. She closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead just above her brows, as if to clear her mind and vision.

She focused on the child, but all she saw was the mist; slowly growing in length and density, seeming to take form, right before her eyes.

She thought for certain her imagination was playing tricks, and that it was nothing more than the moon casting eerie shadows, but then the little girl screamed and that’s when Jade saw it; the face in the mist, gazing at her defiantly.

Jade lunged toward her, but was knocked hard to the ground. She rose up quickly; adrenaline mixed with determination, but could go no further; as if an invisible barrier had been raised between them. Panic struck hard and fast as she realized something unspeakable was about to happen.

“Come on honey,” she cried out, trying to hide the fear and panic in her voice. “It’s okay. Run to me…run to me.”

The little girl tried to move but she couldn’t. Her eyes filled with tears and she began to cry. “No baby, don’t cry. It’s alright; just come to me and I’ll make it go away.”

She looked at Jade with tears staining her face and her little lip quivered. She sniffed and the breath caught in her chest, causing it to tremor. A single sob escaped, as she wiped at her eyes, forced a smile and shook her head; her eyes locked on Jades.

Jade’s eyes lit up with hope and she let out a sigh, believing in her heart that everything was going to be alright. Then she heard it; that familiar, deep, menacing laughter, that made her blood run cold. She stood in frozen horror, unable to do anything but watch, as the scene unfolded before her; the mist gathering speed and strength; swirling, forming a giant mass that slowly enveloped the child.

“No…No!” the child screamed; flailing helplessly against her attacker, barely visible inside the apparition. Jade released a scream like that of a Native war cry, as she lunged forward, breaking through the barrier. She ran full force toward them; gasping for breath as she penetrated the mass and the frigid air stung her lungs like a million piercing needles. Her arms encircled the tiny form and she pulled back hard; only to come out empty handed; laying flat on her back as the mass rose higher and higher, disappearing into the darkness, with the child at its center.

Never been one
For public displays
Even at book signings
The attention I don’t dig

But the air was abuzz
My mind just right
To be quite frank
I had something to say

So I took the stage
Mic in hand
Closed my eyes
Let it rip

The crowd went wild
I tossed a handful of cards
Took my leave
As they begged for more

So, the first order of business to jumpstart my motivation; redesign my book covers, of course; which I couldn’t be more thrilled with! I decided they were worthy of a post all their own; before I lock my self away from the material world and immerse my self in the world of Karmic Retribution and Spirit Evolution…

Ciao!

[click covers for larger view]