Imported Poems

The seance is tomorrow - will you join me? Just kidding.

Not really. I resurrect him in the book I'm writing.

My car broke down - $2500.00 for a new transmission - so I wrote my bike to work and home last night. Midnight riding by a full moon on a lonely highway is a ephemeral experience, let me tell you. It's like you've entered the vampire's world, but they're tolerating you.

FWIW - here's the first chapter of the book. The first section is really a letter, which will be "written" later on in the book, but it provides necessary back story, I think.

Gotta run to work now. More later...C

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DATE: 100100

My name is Prince Dorian Aeolus of the (former) planet Noctura in the Corvus 9 system. If this letter has fallen into human hands, then it means I am dead, having been assassinated by my long-time nemesis, Emperor Xander, and the human race is in imminent danger of enslavement or, worse yet, annihilation by The Sang.
I realize you must have many questions regarding the alien forces that have sprung up and now walk among you, virtually undetectable by the human eye, and these questions must be answered if humanity is to have any hope in the future. To that end,
I have attempted to delineate herein the lugubrious circumstances that have led to the endangerment of my race, and to the extinction of dozens of others in the Corvus 9 universe. What follows is a synopsis of our plight, and how we have come to establish earth as our potential new home.
In short, our universe imploded due to the death of our sun. We had known for some time Solaris (sun) was growing dim, for unlike your universe, ours is sentient, and able to communicate changes to the environment. However, in our cosmos each species is also born from and interdependent on their mother world, so Solaris’ end meant ineluctable extinction. Although in light of such knowledge all races had tested their limits of separation, none survived deep space deployment with the exception of two: The Sang, and The Noctii.
Having successfully made the leap between galaxies and with a positive prognosis for life, The Sang and The Noctii established a temporary cease-fire agreement in order to secure the perpetuation of their people in the next galaxy. The most viable of these systems contained your Earth. Though comparatively antique in form and crude in substance, humanity proved most promising when compared to the physical adaptation required by our species as well as to the cultural requirements to successfully integrate in society. Our goal - and indeed The Sang’s goal, for their strategy was the same - was to blend in to the new environment, remaining underground until our survival was secured.
That is how we came to live among you.
Regarding The Sang, they are a fiercely militant and rapacious race, and extremely devoted to their iconoclast Xander, for whom assimilation means domination over weaker beings. Their predatory advantage lies in their superior intellectual and physical prowess, and their regenerative ability (there is no central location for heart and brain functioning; these mechanisms are spread throughout the body in tiny cells along a vein network.) To kill them you must sever the head or cause total destruction to the entire body. While these qualities make them a formidable opponent, they do have one, stark weakness: light. Their home planet Sang was characterized by a thick, dense atmosphere of dust and debris, which served to filter out light rays. As a result, Earth’s sun is too bright for their eyes, effectively blinding them, and too harsh for their skin, which will burn up under extensive exposure.
Hunt them during day, while they sleep, and you may win the battle - but don’t stay too long, or stray out too late , for as the moon rises in the sky, so do they rise, and they will be upon you in a blink of an eye.
May the God you serve save you from this plague,
Dorian

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The kaleidoscopic tomb whirled around him before the bottom of the worm-hole dropped out, and Dorian plunged into the depths of the stygian sea. He had expected a shock, but had not anticipated the turbulent current which violently seized him and began dragging him down towards the ocean floor. Thinking quickly, he flexed his back and extended his wings, beating them slowly as he propelled himself towards the surface. As he broke through the ocean’s churlish veneer, he turned to gaze up at the sky.
It was night. A raging vortex roared overhead, rising up from the place where it had deposited him until it disappeared into the heavens. From every direction, the whitish palms slapped and pummeled his body, jerking him side to side before rolling him beneath the next 45 foot wave . For all his power, Dorian felt strangely infinitesimal and weak as he struggled to remain afloat in the giant tempestuous sea. In both form and expanse, Poseidon’s domain far surpassed his impressive figure.
Against the black horizon a silhouette fought the sea fists with fury; Dorian recognized it was a cruise ship, and there were two passengers on deck.
“Strange night,” the woman commented, flicking her cigarette ashes into the tempest. Her long, blonde coiffed hair and slim figure placed her at 25 years of age, but her face appeared much older.
“Strange indeed,” her older male companion replied. “The captain says the weather has been extremely volatile in past weeks. It’s very disconcerting, considering the rumors circulating about this place.“
The woman shot him a cynical look. “Ah fudge. Some people have overactive imaginations. I never took you for a conspiracy theorist.”
“I’m not,” he countered, shifting uneasily. “But I do believe there are some things man cannot explain.”
A bolt of lightning catapulted across the sky , followed by a loud crack and boom as peals of rain descended downward. Dorian watched as the couple disappeared inside the vessel. As soon as he was alone, he flew up out of the water to land discretely on the ship stern. Everywhere, bright electric forks stabbed the sea, and the heavens exploded in growls and rumbles.
Contracting his muscles, Dorian retracted his wings, tucking them neatly inside his dorsal aperture before staggering over to the pool‘s glass door. As flashes of lightning burst from behind the clouds, he gazed at himself in the makeshift mirror.
He was tall - Dorian estimated approximately 6’2. A thick, sericeous Arabian mane streamed down his neck to his broad, round shoulders, which complemented his sinewy arms and also agreeably framed an equally muscular but slightly hairy chest. Below his long torso, two brawny, powerful legs supported his narrow but sturdy hips. His back was likewise normal, with thick traps and wide lats which narrowed to his toned waist, and more importantly, which showed no signs of the wings that lay hidden beneath the surface. To his astonishment, he appeared in every way, shape and form a man, yet, he was not a man. He was, instead, a hybrid of human and Noctii, and within him coursed a foreign blood through alien systems; within him flowed memories from another universe, within him the entire history of an endangered species held sway…
…wiping the rain from his face, Dorian turned around, and strode in the passenger door. It was only then he realized he was naked.
The dull, taupe hall was lined on both sides with equally dull, if not slightly darker taupe doors. Dorian went to the first of these and listened carefully. No noise emanated from the room. Grasping the handle, he scrutinized the door until he felt the power leave him and heard the lock release.
Inside a woman’s emerald evening gown and a man’s tuxedo jacket lay strewn across the bed. Ignoring these, Dorian rummaged through the suitcase on the floor until he found a pair of black slacks and t-shirt, and finally dressed. It was only as he was leaving that he caught sight of himself in the bureau mirror.
The strange reflection that stared back at him stopped him in his tracks. Running his hand along his right cheekbone, he thought contemplatively. He was 30 - no - 28. He was 28 years old. His name was Dorian Aeolus and he lived in the city. He was a man - a handsome man by women‘s standards - with flashing brown eyes, and winsome smile. And his high forehead, sharp nose and angular bone structure were aristocratic, features which traditionally commanded the respect of men. He would be liked by both sexes, but what was it to be sexed, he wondered? What was it to be a man or a woman, or even yet, a human being? Was it to feel? Noctii felt too. Was it to think? Noctii also thought. In fact, Noctii felt and thought far more than humans did, so what was it, he pondered, that made humans so - human?
A door slammed down the hall, jarring Dorian from his thoughts, and he listened closely for further sign of disturbance. His ears met only with silence, and only then did Dorian comprehend the answer which had previously eluded him. On Noctura, he had enjoyed a communal fellowship, a collective consciousness which existed apart from his own individual consciousness and from which he had drawn strength, comfort and wisdom, but within his new mortal coil, he found only his own deafening thoughts, or worse yet, nothing at all. ‘To be human‘, he whispered as he stared at himself in the mirror, ‘is to be alone.’ Soon his eyes began watering, though not for himself.
Storming out the room, Dorian navigated his way back out into the night, where the chaotic typhoon and saturnine sea seemed co-sympathizers to his plight. Grabbing hold of the side rails, he stared down at the raging ocean. “Tears,” he bellowed into the blackness, “are a sign of weakness in men, and I am not weak!”
Unmoved by his appeal, the gulf lobed another wave at the ship. “I am not weak!” he yelled again, this time shaking the rails, but still the storm raged. Dorian sighed, frustrated and despondent. Noctura had been a loving mother to him, but this earth was dead, and this nature as cold as the city morgue.
Just then, out of the corner of his eye Dorian caught sight of something out on the water. It was another ship, but this one appeared to be burning - or so he thought. Upon closer inspection he discovered not only was the ship on fire, but also the passengers. Scarlet orange flames licked their searing flesh, sending billows of smoke wafting up into their faces and obscuring them from sight; nevertheless, Dorian recognized them for what they were: Sang, albeit deformed ones. The aberrations had not mutated properly during their trip through the wormhole and now darted about, half nascent, half abyss, screaming and trying to eat but unable to do so. Dorian knew their death was near, and as he watched, one by one each fell to the deck, or tumbled forward into the ocean. Soon the ship was strewn with their bodies, alongside the bodies of the fallen humans upon whom they had so desperately tried to feed. As the ship began to sink, Dorian turned away from the shouts and shrieks of the remaining passengers. Most had been infected, he argued to himself, and would have died anyway, so he was grateful when the cries ended and the vessel was finally swallowed up by the chaotic sea.
Returning inside, Dorian quickly located the kitchen, procuring a large butcher knife from it before returning outside to a reasonably sheltered location under the stairs. He would remain there, carefully concealed from human eyes, until the craft was within flying range. Only then would he depart for Los Angeles.