The Nomad of Jerusalem

Satan watches all of us
Smiles- as some do his bidding
Try to escape the grasp of my hand
And your life will no longer exist
Hear our cry, save us from
The hell in which we live
We turn our heads toward the sky
And listen for the steel

Die by the sword…

Slayer, Die By The Sword


CHAPTER 2: Bahuksana


There is a massacre in the Orient. Monk’s bodies are strewn in pools of blood. Only three survive. One is kneeling, meditating and sorrowful for the early departing of his spiritual brothers. A cold steel blade from a sword rests on his neck. Small contingents of warrior assassins in black garb loom around him in formation, awaiting orders. Two monks are hidden inside the walls of the temple protecting relics, scrolls and a certain weapon they have named Bahuksana which stands for “enduring much” in Buddhist.

It is now ten years after the death of The Prince. The Nomad is successful in spreading the trinkets he made to a select group of world leaders, the Kings. Each was given strict orders to protect their weapons at all cost and to reveal the secrets of their particular weapon to only one suitable successor preceding the moment of their death. Other acts of Kings were written in manuscripts to protect the secrets and weapons- some explained maintaining strict physical and mental readiness and abstaining from dangers in order to preserve the Kings from an untimely death. An accidental loss of the weapons and its secrets would be catastrophic. Only the Nomad and his niece Selaya know of the exact names of the Kings and cities in which the weapons were taken.

“Monk, before you die I will give you one more opportunity to spare your life and tell us the location of the weapon,” a lead assassin in a dark uniform leans over and whispers in the Master Monk’s ear.

“You will lose and when you free my spirit I will continue to smile at your defeat,” the Master Monk responds.

“I may or may not be defeated but still to this day I win battles- like this one! Look around you!” the lead warrior shouts at the top of his lungs, “Come out and save your Master!”

“You are a wise snake that will be outwitted by a quick mongoose,” the monk turns to the assassin,”I see defeat in this palace but your departing will come before mine.”

“Monk those are brave words! Brave words indeed for a man who’s head is about to be completely severed!” he motions at the executioner holding the sword to the monk’s head. “Do it! Kill him!” He turns to the rest of the crowd, “Kill him and burn the entire temple down! We will wait, surround the area and see that no one runs out when it burns!”

The assassin lifts the sword over his head. He is swift to slice down on the monk’s neck. In an instant, a young monk descends from the rafters of the palace. A few assassins notice and others do not. Most are busy observing a monk about to get his head cut off. As the young monk descends the young one shape shifts into an elephant in mid air landing on the lead assassin with a loud crash; killing him instantly. A few assassins in the crowd fall back from the repercussion. In a flash the elephant shape shifts into a black panther and pounces at the executioner holding the sword, severing his head with a single slice of its massive claws to the neck. The other assassins heave javelins and arrows at the direction of the panther. The panther then transforms into a small humming bird avoiding all the projectiles. As it flies and avoids the flying projectiles inside the palace it turns into a bull charging the assassins and goring most of them. The rest flee and the few that do stay to fight find themselves defeated again and again by a charging bull and busy humming bird. The instant transformations repeatedly assist the young monk in dodging their projectiles of arrows and spears. The attacks are futile and this combination of shape shifting wipes them all out.

The palace is now empty, with the exception of the young monk and the elder. Another monk appears from behind a hidden door inside the temple. He frees the ties binding the Master Monk. The bull shape shifts into the young monk and approaches the Master Monk. A bow, a smile and a glare are shared.

“Bahuksana, I gave you strict orders not to come out from the palace!” the Master scolds and points at the young one. “You have now put your life in danger and now they know that you posses the weapon!”

“Master-the palace was going to burn and you would have been slain. I could not stand the sight of this for much longer! I refuse to be a witness to a massacre and be burdened like a coward by watching and doing nothing.” The young Monk allows the tears to roll down blush red cheeks, “they killed everyone, everyone-“

“Bahuksana! Gather yourself!” the Master Monk approaches and embraces the young monk near his chest. “You need to find The Nomad of Jerusalem. They have discovered you young one. They must have an idea of who you are. It will not be difficult for them to find you again if you stay near.”

“Come with me let us go together,” Bahuksana pleads, “I will protect the both of you!”

“Bahuksana, Bahuksana- we were not meant to take this journey with you. Our spirits are in danger to be released moments after you leave. If we decide to go with you we will only surmount to the dangers that await you. You have a greater chance of surviving on your own. Beware there is one like you, possessing a weapon, that travels with the assassins. He is approaching soon. Leave now and take your Scroll of the Kings. Your training is now complete. Go now in haste and take the memories of your brothers here with you-something nothing and no one may ever take away.” The other older monk hands Bahuksana a scroll wrapped in a leather case. He also hands Bahuksana a pack with bread, jerky and a small bladder of water. He hugs the young Monk and wipes his tears away.

“I will never forget you-“ Bahuksana kisses the monks on their foreheads, bows, turns and in a leap, he shifts into an eagle.

“Bahuksana! There are no eagles in these parts! Are you forgetting your training? They will see you fly away and follow! Be alert! Use the wisdom and the training we have revealed to you!” the Master Monk admonishes. Bahuksana re-shifts into a stallion and heads for a door way. Before exiting the stallion bows once more to the monks who lift their hands and send their blessings of peace. Bahuksana dashes out into the thickness of the Forrest. In the distance an approaching army of assassins close in on the compound.

“Come old friend,” the Master Monk motions to the other monk. “We will hide in the catacombs for as long as we can. We might get fortunate and when they burn this place down they will count us among the departed. The last thing we need is a giant boa swallowing us in the depths of the catacombs. This next assassin leader is ruthless old friend. He is the one who defeated the King of the lands of Egypt. We will only take the Scrolls of The Age with us. Leave everything else behind.” As the monks disappear into the hidden trap doors, arrows with fire begin to descend on the temple and flames consume the delicate posts, walls and shrines.

From a far distance a monkey atop a high tree with a leather case around its back cries as it watches the temple burn and smoke billows through the thick tree lines into the sky.

The Nomad of Jerusalem

Birth of terror Death of much more, I’m the slave of fear- my captor, Never warnings, Spreading its wings, As I wait for the horror she brings, Loss of interest-question-wonder, Waves of fear they pull me under…
Metallica, Frayed Ends of Sanity


CHAPTER 1: The Curse and a Marvelous Blessing


The nomad pressed on against the elements some of wind and some of rain. He is gaining distance from the upheavals and omen he witnessed in Jerusalem. There are dark clouds of evil in the air. With him he carries trinkets of rings, necklaces and bracelets made of stone and wood , stained by the blood of The Prince, that had been crucified only days before. He understood, in part, the power in the blood of the slain Prince. The nomad’s desire is to present these precious gifts to the Kings of the lands. Like so many before him, he seeks peace and favors these Kings to rule with the same.

The mule he rides pauses in a flurry of rain and sleet. The nomad looks about, scans the terrain and trembles. A few of the trinkets warm his satchel. He opens the satchel and retrieves a glowing necklace. This stone amulet is red and he places it around his neck. In an instant his body is a conduit to the warmth of the stone. His mule feels it too. They continue the journey.
A flash of lightning slices the sky ahead. Moments later thunder cracks and the patter of rain drops are muffled. The mule pauses again. The amulet hovers around his neck and rotates the necklace to the right. He heads the mule in the direction through a small maze of brush and trees, away from the path. A few paces more and the amulet rests itself on his chest and he dismounts. It is a dry and quiet spot.

Suddenly, there is a shadow beside him pacing frantically. Dark and smoke are its raiment. The smell of burnt coals is overwhelming. The shadow paces around the nomad and the mule. Other floating shadows appear all around the area. The nomad squints to get a better view but keeps his distance. It does not approach him. It cannot, there is a barrier and from the paces of the shadow the nomad perceives he is protected within an invisible circle.

“What do you want?” the nomad asks. “I am poor gypsy and have nothing to offer.”

The shadow shrieks and growls and for a moment its language is incoherent. Then it speaks, “The plan failed!” It then whispers, “You sealed your fate when you crafted the power.”

“What power? What plan?” the nomad asks his fear is apparent.

The shadow heckles and continues to pace like a wolf around its prey. “The keys of Hades and Death have been returned to the Most High!” It begins to yell in different voices, repeatedly, each with a distinct tone. It lets out more growls and shrieks and then whispers, “You cast yourself in the war when you crafted those-those weapons,” it stops and a pair of red flame eyes appear staring in the direction of the nomad. “You will lose! Those weapons belong to us!”

“Please, I don’t understand,” the nomad pleads. He is fearful and kneels, “I’ll do anything don’t harm me!”

“Cut your blood and make a line between yourself and us, place the satchel in front of us and we will spare you,” the shadow demands and motions a single line with its dark finger outstretched.

“How can I trust you? I mean no harm, these are gifts for the Kings,” the nomad pleads.”What plan failed? I don’t understand!” he asks.

“The war between darkness and light you fool! The sacrifice of the Prince was unexpected we sealed his eternal reign by killing the innocent Prince! Oh and what a beautiful Prince!”
Other voices begin to clamor the same again and again, “The Prince is dead! No he lives! The prince is dead! No he lives!”

The shadow then speaks, “He is now King and Judge and our time is short! You have weapons that we want and as rulers of this land we cannot allow these to fall into the enemies hands!”

“I am not the enemy! Please spare me!” as the nomad cries the amulet begins to rotate around him, stretching the entire necklace out from his neck and it glows in pulses of red and subtle flashes of white. It brings him to his feet then lifts him off the ground. “What is happening to me?”

“Hurry, do as we say or your allegiance will seal the fate of yourself and your loved ones! Do it now!”

“I can’t! I can’t! I am-I am afraid…” the nomad is terrified.

The dark cloud transforms into a small child resembling the nomad’s niece Selaya, she pleads, “Noni, Noni please draw me some blood and throw me the satchel, please-please draw me some blood and throw me the satchel.” Her eyes glimmer like red rubys.

“No-no, don’t hurt them,” he cries. He tries to move but he frozen and suspended in the air. “They’re innocent, they’ve done nothing! Nothing at all!” he screams.

As the child is begging she shouts a horrid scream and the nomad sees a vision of her head rolling off after the slash of a sword. The shadow reappears with red eyes staring directly at him. “You have sealed your fate,” it bows its head. “We will show no mercy to you. Your bloodline is cursed!”

The necklace emits rays of powerful light striking all the shadows. The shadows vanish as the smoke dissipates into the air . The nomad drifts down to the ground, on his knees again this time he prays in silence; the nomad is drenched in tears and rain. He continues to cry wondering what he must do. In his satchel the trinkets glimmer and shake. The trinkets clatter as he opens the satchel. He notices a ring is glowing brighter than the rest. There is red blood splashed on it and the rest of the trinkets. He places the ring on his finger. It is made of stone. As he looks at the full moon from above, with a glow of white light he shape shifts into a bear.

A large group of assassins appear from the shadows. Some have swords drawn other have spears out. There are also others with bows and arrows. All are aimed at the bear and the mule.
“Where is he?” one of them asks.“The old man said he’d be here.”

“You think the bear ate him?” the assasins stare in wonder.

“He is the bear!” another one of the assassins yells.

As they all start to motion their attack the nomad wills himself to shape shift into a hawk. Some of the spears and arrows miss the bear that stood there a few seconds ago. The arrows and spears penetrate the bushes and some of the men standing across from them. The hawk snatches the satchel and flies away from the area heading North under the light of the moon. As the moon begins to disappear from oncoming cloud cover the nomad shape shifts to himself. He falls down a few yards to the earth with a thud.

“Marvelous!” he whispers to himself as he gazes at the ring. “I need to decipher these trinkets. I have to protect my family and the Kings.” His eyes stare up at the full moon. He is transformed into an eagle and flies away, heading for the home of his sister and his beloved niece Selaya.

Plush

by STP

And I feel that time's a wasted go

So where ya going to tommorrow?

And I see that these are lies to come

So-would you even care?

And I feel it-And I feel it

Where ya going for tommorrow?

Where ya going with that mask I found?

And I feel, and I feel-When the dogs begin to smell her

Will she smell alone?

And I feel, so much depends on the weather

So is it raining in your bedroom?

And I see, that these are the eyes of disarray

Would you even care?

And I feel it-And she feels it

Where ya going to tommorrow?

Where ya going with that mask I found?

And I feel, and I feel-When the dogs begin to smell her

Will she smell alone?

When the dogs do find her

Got time, time, to wait for tomorrow

To find it, to find it, to find it

When the dogs do find her

Got time, time, to wait for tomorrow

To find it, to find it, to find it

Where ya going for tommorrow?

Where ya going with that mask I found?

And I feel, and I feel-When the dogs begin to smell her

Will she smell alone? Ohhh...

When the dogs do find her-Got time, time, to wait for tomorrow

To find it, to find it, to find it

When the dogs do find her-Got time, time, to wait for tomorrow

To find it, to find it, to find it

To find it

To find it

To find it-yeah...

Song by Stone Temple Pilots

Picture "Mask Series 5" by HekateNyx

Who or what is the subject in Velazquez's Las Meninas?

In the painting Las Meninas. The subject in the painting are the King and Queen. As he prepares his brush for the canopy Velazquez takes a glance at the subjects but then he decides to paint the subjects in view of the King and Queen instead--for some reason he decides to paint the action in the room, even the dog. It seems to me he found this more interesting than the royal couple.

“El Teatro de Gaspacho”

“El Teatro de Gaspacho”

By Omar Francisco Medina

A day in the life of Gaspacho Patricio Ventanilla would be soon forgotten but on this 13th Day of March year of our Lord 1637 I will make my mark in history and in the minds of many especially the green eyed princess of Spain Catalina De Los Angeles Magana. The woman who holds my heart and will bear me more children than the Rooster of Madrid. I am sure you have heard tell of the tale. If you have not I will elaborate:

It goes like this, a farmer goes to his neighbor the Rooster breeder and says, “I need a good rooster stud that can cover all my chickens.”

“How many do you have?” asks the neighbor.

“180 Spanish hens all elegant and with robust legs and thighs. An enormous flock of beautiful hens.” The farmer responds.

The breeder grabs a French rooster, removes it from a wood cage. Its crest raised, blue eyes, plumage precious and silky. “Take this, this is Philippe de Cock, he does not fail.”
The farmer arrives at the coop and the rooster leaves running, hunts the first chicken, throws it to the ground to breed. He gets a second wind and another chicken and does his business as he did with the first one. Throws it ground and breeds. A little while after he remains motion less and immobile.

The farmer says, “That piece of shit of rooster you sold me! Two chickens is all that took to almost kill him,” he motions with two fingers out stretched, “ -and he is no longer able to breed!”

The breeder goes to a copper cage he presents an imposing Japanese rooster with the crest in Mohawk, eyes gray like marble. “This is Nico one of the greatest roosters of all Asia. Test his stamina!”

The farmer lets him loose in chicken coop and the rooster leaps in desperation squinting and studying all the hens- he suddenly leaps with a back flip to the first chicken. In an instant he does a roundhouse kick to the second and begins to breed again. He chops in the air and tackles the third hen and instead of breeding with her he begins to do the infamous number 69. The farmer is awed at this spectacle of acrobatics and rare breeding tactics. In an instant the rooster has a heart attack he falls dead in the middle of the coop. The angry farmer grabs the rooster by the leg and carries him to the breeder. “This it is the second rooster that you sell me and FAILS!”

Then the breeder goes to a stainless steel cage and pulls a Spanish rooster. He removes it. The rooster is thin , bald, big ears and two odd front teeth. “This the famous Rooster of Madrid. Alas, I cannot sell this one to you but I will let you borrow my prized rooster. Please take heed this rooster is a true stud do not allow your eyes off him and return him to this steel cage immediately after the breeding.

The farmer looses the exotic bird in the coop, the rooster leaves running and gallantly breeds with all the hens, all 180 chickens. He copulates with each one and with a distinct position. Then- he does a short victory dance and hits a second turn with his harem and is breeding vigorously with them all again. Suddenly he leaves running and forces himself on the farmer’s pig. The farmer grabs its neck as the rooster continues to gyrate and thrust and puts him in a small wooden cage. “What a phenomenal rooster!” he exclaims.

The following day the farmer notices the rooster was loose. He was singing in the early morning and everything that had feathers was ravished by the rooster. He dashes running from animal to animal and is breeding with the goat, to the dog, the cat, the cow and the other fine animals. The farmer is astonished and finally catches him, palms the rooster by the bottom of his bosom and strikes him twice. He puts him in a wire cage. “You crazy rooster! If you rape my farm again I will certainly kill you!”

The following day the farmer finds the cage disarmed and in the poultry coop all the chickens are on their backs with the legs up, the cow and the pig with their bottoms red , the dog with the butt enlarged, the goat is crying and asking for the rooster…the farmer yells “Noooooooooo! He escaped-- the breeder will kill me!” He mounts his horse and leaves in his search for the stud. Following the trail of violated animals left by the Rooster of Madrid he observes goats with bow-legged walk, chipmunk with twitching bottoms and a deer with hemorrhoids. Suddenly-far away he spots to the stud sprawled in the soil, and some huge black crows waiting for him to exhale. While the crows expect a certain death the farmer yells, “ Noooooooo he can’t die this wretched rooster will be the end of me!”

-in the middle of his lament…the farmer swears to this day he heard the rooster speak to him subliminally with one eye open and a his two gleaming gaped teeth he said, “SSSSShhhhh… be quiet you stupid farmer! You are going to frighten the dark exotic ladies!”

The Rooster had many chicks and I plan to do the same with my beloved, she just doesn’t know it yet. I have made up my mind and will set the right things right and the wrong things wrong I will bring them to light like my hero Galileo. Even under insurmountable evidence of rubbish, policy and ignorance I will voice the truth and set the right things right and the wrong things wrong! Mark my words history will vindicate him and me. The buffoons will turn in their graves. We are revolutionary breed with this knowledge: That improvisation is key to victory, even when the odds are stacked against you.

See a few weeks ago a former confidant and friend a certain Miguel Acosta de Luna. Secretly began a plan to steal the dreams and hopes, of this now hopeless romantic, by using every devious trick in the book of thieves and liars and scoundrels. Miguel beguiled me and used my eternal plan to finally get Cata to notice me. He stole my ideas, my charm and my dreams. Now he sits high and mighty in the side of my beloved Cata. Her beautiful eyes and her attention with lips of rose pedals are currently under the spell of the evil wizard Miguel. Little does she know that a devil lives inside that cold heart.

He borrowed my only copy of Don Quixote and wielded his fake charm by reading to her in his borrowed character from me and my the book. That my friend was my ingenious idea. A woman of intelligence and character as in the likes of Cata would, I knew for sure, enjoy the company of a smart gentleman. This fake proved my theory right. He stole my idea. I failed to present my plan for love to Cata because this imposter stole my book and my dreams. I will set the right things right and the wrong things as wrong.

As I stroll the avenida I see another one of my many enemies. A self realized man like myself seems to draw the attention of brute Neanderthals. Somehow I believe they are intimated by a man of such intelligence like me. It is necessary for them to overpower me with brute strength and humiliate me because if we were to battle for wits, chess or topics on politics and books they would definitely loose. As the case may be I am not at all half the physical man that these gorillas are but I am, by far, more read than any one of these idiots.

The dreaded headlock is a guise used once too many times. I usually let them have a little bit of fun and then pretend I am dead, like the Rooster of Madrid before they release me and run away. On this particular day they so happened to rub a finger full smelly bottom jelly in my nose. No worries I will wash at the Spanish Pond and proceed to the theater where my notoriety will begin. The word will get around and my name will be feared. I will set the right things right and the wrong things as wrong.

In the theater is a local event sponsored by our school and our literature teacher Mr. Moses Macareno. He tells me I will achieve great works in literature. I was originally cast by the the wonderful teacher. But alas my plan to kiss Cata in the play failed when she refused to play the character with no one else but Miguel. He had used his fake charm to convince her to change my casting role and to use her father a provincial governor to make Mr. Macareno change the performance in this role to himself. Mr. Macareno was aware of my circumstance and would be helping me get my revenge. We timed the rescue perfectly.

As I wash my face in the pond, the plan is still in place. I give myself enough time to reach the play in time and make my grand entrance and speech. I will vindicate myself in front of the governor his wife and the visiting statesman from the capitol. I will make an impression that knights only dreamed of. I will set the right things right and the wrong things as wrong. I will use the sword of words and eloquence to jab and stab at the heart of my enemy Miguel and win the fabled crown of Cata. I am shadow sparring! In the meantime more brutes arrive. I planned for this by the way, my head is bobbing in and out of the pond at the hands of another Gorilla attack. it seems my sparring attarcted the wrong attention. As water enters my nostrils, eyes and ears I hear the faint sound of gorillas laughing . I am smiling eloquently because soon all this brutality will stop. My name will be feared and respected. After a tussle in the dirt I am left muddy and for dead. I open my eye like the Rooster of Madrid and the ruffians are gone once again.

As I reach the theater there is still a crowd of pipe smokers in the outside. They drink chocolate and sangria. They are dressed in clothes of royalty. I am half wet and full witted. I advance to give my moneda to the doorman. He smirks at me, “You cannot come in that way! All wet and dirty.”

“Listen, I am paying because I know that you cannot let anyone in without payment. The back door is locked and the play will commence in about 2 minutes. Now, you can either let me in and allow me to play the part of the beggar or I will be forced to tell the governor- that Scene two in Act three was a direct failure due to the horse faced doorman that did not let one of the theater participants in. Yes, I am late but I am here. Now move away kind sir!” I motion him to step aside.

With a whisk he lifts the veil and allows me to pass before the rest of the patrons. The hallway smells like fresh roses. I am receiving glances from the elite of our bottom kissing socialites and politicians. The business men stand in the hall way laughing and talking about money this and money that. I never understood these men, how they can accessories and yet there are at least fifteen beggars in the same block that they live in. The ladies move away from me in fear I might smear their pretty dresses with mud on my pants that looks like shit.

As I make my way to the theater the first play is already in place. The play to warm the crowd and make way for the Big Play. This first play is the same play that our class is in. I walk in and remain in the shadows.

Miguel Speaks, he reads from notes attached to a book he is supposed to be holding- because the idiot cannot memorize a single line, “My dearest love and flower…” his voice and delivery are weak to say the least. No match for Cata’s talent and beauty. He faces Cata and kneels, “I have fought countless battles, traveled the wilderness of Africa and the deserts of Lebanon to finally see your gleaming face. I know ask you with all I am and ever was to please marry me…answer me now here in front of this crowd. And if there is anyone that must protest please speak now or forever hold your peace…”

That is my cue. I swallow my heart and stand there dripping wet with mud cakes in my bottoms due to the most recent of gorilla beatings, looking like I shit myself, I call out, with a voice that demands respect! “You Sir are a fake! You sir are a menace and a cunning liar!” I point at the imposter. The crowd turns and does not know what to make of me. Just as planned. Am I part of the grand play or a crazy beggar? No one knows but I am at the center of the entire theater's attention and sometimes being the center of attention is all you need in theater life!

“Pacho?” Miguel let’s out with a kittens roar.

“Yes it is I Gaspacho! I will set the right things right and the wrong things as wrong. The real hero! What book is that you hold in your hands?” Miguel is confused and looks at the book. I give him no time to answer. “That’s right I bet you don’t even know how to read! My fair lady! I have some news for you! This is an imposter!” By his time I have made my way to the stage and the audience is trickling in to see what the fuss is about. She looks to the side curtain of the Spanish Theater and the magnificent teacher sulks his shoulders and signals her to proceed, he whispers…

“Impromptu…”

She truns to me and asks, “What in the world are you talking about? “ her eyes wonder and take in the wet and dirty clothes I am wearing.

“That is exactly what I am here to explain! See I am in love with the fairest of fairest. I had toggled with a plan to gain your favor and catch your eye. The plan was beautiful and only the Lord above could have come up with a better one; but being as things are he cannot force love or wills. I was to read the greatest novel ever written Don Quixote to you my beloved...” The crowd nodded in agreement. “but a certain thief and supposed friend stole my idea.” I turn my evil eye to Miguel who by know is flushing with fear. My dramatization is choice.

Finally, the brilliant and beautiful Catalina got it! She finally grasped the notion I was making. I could see it in her eyes. It is a beutiful sight! In her brilliant mind she proceeded, “and this imposter you speak of did he also steal the plan of the first kiss under the Sunday sun after Church Service with slices of fresh water melon?”

“That is correct my fair lady but a slight variation was made in the last minute because only I can make the succulent salad of cantaloupe, water melon and mint leaves. Giving the receiver of such a kiss a burst of passion fruit with a tiny hint of mint....mmmmm” she smiles.

“Well then my fair man- who is this imposter and let us bring him to light...Assuredly he will have an explanation to this these devastating events”

At that Miguel runs away like a little pig that had just gotten plugged by the Rooster of Madrid. I turn to the fair Catalina and in true artistic form I proceed, “My fair Princess of Espana," I take her hand, "it is I who traveled the far reaches of the earth, fought with brutes and gorillas and witnessed the death and destruction of many young noble intelligent kinsman by imposters and political buffoons. I am a weary warrior reeking with the stench of blood, sweat and tears. Take a look around there are many like us. To the honorable citizens of Spain they are to be fed, housed and be cared for. To the ignorant idiots they appear to be beggars and a nuisance. Does a battle warrior dress in royal garb or mud and filth? For his battles are witnessed in his scars and tethered raiment. So here I stand my lady not old enough to hold an office but old enough to confess my love, my life and to ask you for your hand….with a kiss.” I close my eyes and peek with one open. I can't afford to miss the finally.

She pauses. The audience, at their feet, stretching their necks to hear every word. The canopies open. The hallways are empty and even the horse faced door man is standing in the back with his eyes fixed on the stage. We have them!

Catalina grabbes my hand, she is crying. She witnessed some of the beating and humiliations I bore. She also knew I was talented in the theater but she never knew how bold my heart was and how convinced I was of her beauty. “My good man, I offer not only a kiss. But a lifelong commitment and adoration for being so noble. Noble like a knight and yet sweet like the honey of the bee, in a warm cup of tea.” With that she grabes like a maiden and whisks me in her lap and kisses me as the curtains draw to a close.

There was a standing ovation! The crowd rises and the curtains part she remains kissing me. I am in heaven with mud on my ass.

*first photo by anAuhtor/2008,

As One

As One

By Omar F. Medina



Bright yellow rays of morning light slowly begin to glimmer on your lips

They sneak in through the long curtain slits

I feel your deep breaths on my skin as you sleep peacefully

It is warm inside the covers with you

I am taking it all in studiously

Art in motion

~~~~A deep breath…

~~~~~~~~~~A ruffle...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~I reach...then a kiss

I caress your soft silky skin…you awake willingly-

I savor this moment with you, my number one

The beauty of a woman awakes the instinct in me as I lay next to you and the Sun

We make love-We make love in the morning- We make love all as one

Photo by: Braqur/2008

"In Human Closeness There..." by Anna

In human closeness there is a secret edge,
Nor love nor passion can pass it above,
Let lips with lips be joined in silent rage,
And hearts be burst asunder with the love.

And friendship, too, is powerless plot,
And so years of bliss with noble tends,
When your heart is free and known not,
The slow languor of the earthy sense.

And they who strive to reach this edge are mad,
But they who reached are shocked with anguish hard --
Now you know why beneath your hand
You do not feel the beating of my heart.

by ANNA AKHMATOVA(Born 1889, Died 1966)

Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, October 1995
Edited by Dmitry Karshtedt, August 1996
photo by Aihibed Magaña