the quest for the golden cobra, or over the hills and into the mist

odd numbered chapters by rhoda penmarq
even numbered chapters by nooshin azadi

illustrated by rhoda penmarq

to begin at the beginning, click here

chapter 3: on the horizon ships routinely came to port, sometimes to trade, more often because they had lost their way. the princess, on seeing them on the horizon, always thought them to be bringing news of prince carlo, but on finding otherwise, was invariably gracious and helpful to those actually arriving... jimelda watched the latest ship approach as the rain fell a little harder. gruno produced a large red umbrella and held it over her. gruno himself and geova seemed indifferent to the wind and rain. the ship, by no means the largest the princess had ever seen, came within hailing distance and a boat was lowered and approached the sea wall. a young man in the uniform of a captain of the atlantean empire's navy stood in the front of the boat. a pair of elegantly dressed and coiffed ladies sat behind him, their heads covered by umbrellas held by a pair of sturdy sailors. two other seaman, a bear and a gorilla propelled the boat with perfectly coordinated strokes of the oars. "good morning, sir," the princess shouted into the wind. "do you bring news of prince carlo?" the captain smiled good-naturedly. "i think you have asked me the question before, miss. and since i haven't been here for at least a year i am sorry to hear you have still had no word." the boat reached the wall and the sailors helped the two ladies on to the dock. both nodded politely to jimelda and headed toward the castle with their baggage and retinue. the captain bowed politely to the princess and turned to go, but she held up her hand. "stay a moment, sir. tell me, would it be possible to book passage on this ship, whenever you leave?" geova and gruno exchanged glances. "why of course, if you want to go where we are going. i can not alter my course for you." he smiled. "much as i would like to." "so, you are not returning to the city of atlantis?" jimelda asked uncertainly. "no." the captain glanced up at the sky. "and unfortunately my orders prevent me from telling you or anyone else at this port exactly where i am going." "i see." "so you would have to take your chances on your destination." beside jimelda, geova snickered openly at this. "even so," jimelda told the captain, "i will consider it. tell me, when are you leaving?" "at dawn, two days from now." "and the cost of passage, for myself and my two servants?" the captain glanced at geova and gruno. "it depends - on who you are." "i am the princess jimelda." "in that case, there will be no cost." "thank you, captain - " "johnson. captain johnson at your service, princess." he tipped his hat and headed for the castle. the rain had picked up slightly. geova waited until the captain was out of earshot and laughed openly. "surely you are not serious." "oh, i am very serious. i am afraid this encounter has opened my eyes. a year ago! it is high time we stopped waiting and started searching." gruno scanned the darkening horizon. "perhaps you should wait for a sign." "maybe - if one appears quickly enough," jimelda answered. "look there." geova pointed to the skyline. a lone bird was barely visible. "yes, i see it." "if it's a blue bird we will go. and if it's a gray bird we will stay." the princess smiled. "very well. but stay only until the next ship - and ask it." "and if the bird is neither blue nor gray?" gruno asked. "we will just wait here for another bird." the rain fell a little harder. "yes," said geova. "there are plenty of birds - and plenty of omens."

chapter 4

magic bugs

                                           magic bugs

   magic bugs

           in the undergrowth  make you wonder

   what mechanisms course through their not -very -veins

           below their silver skins below silver skeins

of moon light the way  they

       change,  mouthparts  seeming one  way  , then

                  another  in the tricky light-  quiet

      sounds  of click and whisper  in the night  as

                 they

                       rearrange  the twigs and branches  on the ground

                             and    braid the furze

                                                        to greet the day

                             with a forest  like

                                                 vision on acid -words etched

                            and hidden everywhere  shifting  half-meanings hid

                       in what is still everyday  and growing -and

                                 which bugs are they?  you might catch one

                       in the gloaming , and crush it in your hand

                                   the tiny machines to reveal -but then

                        a thousand lights like fireflies

                                                    might gather  round  you

                           and decorate the forest

                                                       with strands of your hair

                          and  scraps of your scent (the missing

                                  persons hounds to confounde- ) even  - echoes

                           of  your laughter and wonder, as you beheld

                       the truth behind the secrets of the morning

                                                          and went - glad

                            in the  going

                                                with    that     knowledge

                              (even so,  cyber -entomologist  and

                                                                    seeker of secrets - 

                               even so

                                          might you go).

2011.

“A Town Called Disdain”, Episode 59: mojo

Larry Winchester -- that master of circuitous (some say incomprehensible) plotting -- now returns to a character we haven’t seen since way back in Episode Three. Larry may take his time in tying up his plot threads, but he gets to them all in his own good time...

(Click here for our previous chapter; newcomers may go here to return to the beginning of our epic.)

"This is the epic Herman Melville might have written had he: A. been born in the 20th century, B. had access to some really high grade LSD, and, B. not been such a bore-ass." -- Harold Bloom

While all this was going on Lefty Schiessen was pitching the game of his life against the Tucumcari Twins.

The score was tied, nothing-nothing, and he was heading out now to pitch his seventeenth inning of what was so far a perfect game.

Lefty had struck out thirty-five batters so far; he was “in the zone” as he’d never been in the zone before.

(And of course he was tripping his brains out. He’d even dropped a second tab between the ninth and tenth innings.)

He was so much in the zone that he almost wished the Browns wouldn’t score a run just yet. So far that hadn’t been a problem. In sixteen innings and against four different Twins pitchers the Browns had only managed to sprinkle four singles (two of them hit by Lefty) and six walks; they had struck out twenty-nine times and they had never had more than one man on base in an inning.

But the beauty of it all was the Twins were a pretty good club, having already clinched the Triple-A Desert League pennant as well as leading it in team batting average, hits, home runs and runs scored. It was true that a couple of their better players had been called up to Minnesota for the close of the season, but they were still a damn good team, and Lefty was just slicing through them, “Like a hot steak knife through a mound of warm cowshit,” said the Skipper (the Skipper being the pathetic old drunk who managed the Browns).

Lefty’s fastball was just shooting like a lightning bolt out of his hand; these guys were missing his maniac slider by half a foot; and they were spinning around and falling on one knee in the dirt with the ump hollering strike before Lefty’s change-up even loped across the plate.

Lefty was in the zone and that’s all there was to it.

It wasn’t just that the ball was doing whatever Lefty wanted it to do. No, the ball was doing whatever it wanted to do. The ball was alive. It was as alive as Lefty was. Maybe more so. And it had a mind of its own. Maybe even more of a mind than Lefty had. In fact maybe it was the ball that was controlling Lefty.

Standing there on the mound under these strange bright lights at the top of the seventeenth as the first weary batter made his way to the box Lefty took off his glove and put it under his armpit and he rubbed the warm ball in his hands and he knew that all the universe was inside this ball. He could feel it, pulsing. He could feel himself inside the ball. He looked up at the black sky beyond the halo of field-lights and he knew that he was looking up at the inside of the core of the ball, that he was just an atom on a bigger atom that was only a tiny atom in a larger atom that was only a tiny atom in the core of the ball, and that his own enormous Godlike hands were somewhere out there rubbing the ball, and that there was an even larger ball somewhere outside and beyond that ball.

(Continued here.)

success changes you: diary of a heretic part 2 - chapters 4,5 and 6

to begin at the beginning, click here

by kathleen maher

pictures by rhoda penmarq

4) delirium Okay, so not every minute of every meeting is that sublime. Certain gestures and set arguments can dominate. Not to mention the ego rush: For now, I am very hot. Very high on my ordinary body. Who wouldn’t be? Everybody rushes in already stoked. Before they even sit down, they’re half lit with the Ray of Light they need so bad, and that I’m so famous for giving so, so well! I open my mouth and they’re ready to lie down, open up, no holds barred. We’re naming abstractions, “spiritual enlightenment,” “enduring faith.” Hard to know how much is real, how much a mass hysteria. But what if I’m faking it? Even though I am on guard all the time! Watching for tricks of light, layered space, even as I’m getting off. Because everyone else flies into delirium as if never before. “Faking it,” I tell Carlos, “only has to happen once. Then it’s part of the entire texture. The whole thing would be over.” “What are you talking about?” “What scares me. You know, act euphoric and you feel euphoric.” “Malcolm, I’ve waited all my life for this! Don’t get squeamish. Take a pill.” “If I wasn’t a little scared, I don’t think I could do it, Carlos.” “Where’s Maggie?” he asks. “Talk to her. Because right now, I’ve got to work.” “Sure, but what you’re setting up, the big financial picture, et cetera, scares me, too. What’s happening with your projections, Carlos?” “Oh please. I understand every factor here and I am not going to blow it.” “I want some idea, though. I want to meet the accountant.” “The accountant!” Carlos scoffs. “You are defining a sacred, transcendent realm—which four nights a week you share with all kinds of people, and you want to spend your days talking incomes and outlays with Herb Plochman?” “Herb Plochman? That’s a real guy?” And Carlos steps back, holds his chin, grinning with delight. “Do you have any idea how much I love you, Malcolm?” “Huh?” “Filled with grace and as paranoid as ever.” And then Carlos drapes his forearms over my neck. As enthralled as I’ve been, he hasn’t run his hands down my back in weeks. If he was ever going to kiss my lips like he needed them to survive, you’d think he’d do it now. But oh, he does more. He sinks to his knees and slips his head under my gown. Suddenly, Carlos is all mouth and rough tongue. 5) scary young Mad Mike and his bleary, bad-tempered crew are on their eighty-eighth coffee break. They’re all bloated and grizzled, except one, Tyler, who’s young and beautiful. Hauntingly beautiful. Scary-young. Huddled in the corner, the crew smokes hollowed out cigars filled with home-grown. The beautiful Tyler doffs his beret, releasing a cascade of dark curls. He slinks and turns, feigning a movie star’s scowl as his hammer-heavy belt slips down his hips. The other guys spit and scratch. I can’t believe how they act! As if oblivious to him! My beloved shop, meanwhile, is a bombed-out shell of pulverized plaster. Layers of smoke undulate in the air. My eyes burn. My throat hurts. I can’t stay here and I absolutely can not leave. Have I mentioned how much more weight I’m losing? Lately it seems everything of substance makes me gag. I am chronically nauseated and ravenous, both. 6) the crux of the matter Just before he left today, the boy Tyler sauntered over and offered me a hit of home-grown. I said no thanks, and he leaned closer, asking if I minded. The soul of concern, of sweetness, light, peace, joy and hope, he asked: was it okay with me? I shrugged and he rocked back in his shiny rubber boots and gave me a smile that made me start as if I’d scalded my tongue. Burning with alarm, I raced up here and jumped in the shower, which, because of plumbing work was ice cold. But cold water was not enough: I needed noise and distraction. So, I sang old hits at the top of my lungs. An inner voice, however, does not need to shout. It’s got a volume all its own. I twisted and turned, trying to hold it back. But the voice was already broadcasting my every thought, deeper, louder inside my head. So what choice did I have? Name it and tame it. Say it out loud. Here goes: Up close and smiling, this boy Tyler reminds me a little of my long-dead, first-and-only-one-who-counts lover Colin. More than a little. A lot. (“Why all the uproar?” Colin asked once. “It’s so futile.”) “Because they’re wrong and I’m right. Give me a minute and I can prove it.” “No, you can’t,” Colin had said. “And besides, you don’t get a minute, ever. No one does.” Why the fuck isn’t he here? He jumped off a roof as I watched and I need him more now than ever. Young and rash, we basked in more love than anyone else could possibly fathom. I’m not exaggerating. As a spiritual leader, I recognize typical human limits. The way Colin and I worked? We were so far there, you can’t know. Imagine perfect unity and give up. Maybe you can come up with the barest shadow of a shadow of what we felt. Colin and I were beyond the world. Beyond life and death, which is why, so what if he died six years ago? I need him and anything as ultimately mundane and inescapable as death is no excuse! The guy’s abandoned me. At least, apparently. chapters 7 - 9

the quest for the golden cobra , or over the hills and into the mist

even numbered chapters by nooshin azadi
odd numbered chapters by rhoda penmarq

illustrated by rhoda penmarq

to begin at the beginning, click here

chapter 2 : through the window . the faraway mountains were as eager as ever the shore as inviting as a smile the rippling sea was yawning with anticipation the seabirds ripping apart a dreary dream princess atusa was blind to all this the only thing her eagle eyes could see was the peacock movement of a demure figure along the dancing line of the shore: a sister she had never seen in person a princess whose presence was her absence a dark cloud overcasting her entire life a free being whose first cry of fear turned into a prison atop a castle a cell replacing the womb of a mother who never dared to hold her to embrace her to feed her to look into her eyes she turned her back to the dusty window  to face the tall mirror across from it she gazed at the reflection of her feet in the mirror  feet as heavy as the hollow heavens above her dress was long enough to hide the fetters  her eyes traveled deliberately up her    dress  ornamented with her cascading hair hair as dark as her fate a little ball was vibrating in her neck she could see it vividly she always saw it  she always watched it vibrating that was the last thing she could see of herself in the mirror her mirror was not tall enough to show her face no mirror was courageous enough to show the reflection of her face and no eye sighted enough to watch it her face was a fence separating her  from the rest of the world a world she wished to burn down to ashes .

chapter 3

agent stax/agent volt, part 3

story and screenplay by jason gusmann

visuals by rhoda penmarq




to view complete episode, click here

the quest for the golden cobra , or over the hills and into the mist

even numbered chapters by nooshin azadi
odd numbered chapters by rhoda penmarq

chapter 1: a dreary morning

illustrated by rhoda penmarq

once upon a time there was a beautiful young princess. she lived in a faraway castle at the edge of a faraway sea. everybody in the kingdom loved her, because she was so good and beautiful, and they hoped that she would become queen some day. the reigning queen, her aunt, was totally wicked and had cast a cloud over the kingdom for many years. every morning the princess went for a walk along the seawall. she was usually accompanied by her two most faithful servants, a troll and a witch. she walked along the shore every day hoping for news of her twin brother, prince carlo, who had been on a quest to recover the golden cobra, which had been stolen from the royal zoo many years before... the day dawned dark and dreary. princess jimelda awoke. the bird that been at her window every day the past week was not there. she smiled. "it must have gone home to its friends," she said aloud. in the corner of the chamber, by the fire, geova shook her head. "what time is it, geova?" "well i guess it is time to go down to the dock and see if prince carlo has arrived." the princess frowned slightly, then smiled. "you are in a hurry this morning." "if we get the visit to the dock out of the way, we might avoid the rain." the princess sat up in the bed and yawned. "a little rain never hurt anybody. but if you wish, we will go down early." "are you sure you don't want to eat something first?" "we will go down to the kitchen and get something to take with us." the princess threw the covers back and got out of bed. her feet hit the cold floor. "that feels good," she said.

chapter 2