Jack
I Listen.

HubPages
Poetry

We will talk about philosophies, religious views, politics, and cultures. Along with ideologies you may already be familiar with, I will be creating some new ideologies, and speculating on how ideologies could improve, or adapt to fit certain situations.

I’ve struggled with how to make this set of articles(Basic Ideology 101) appealing and helpful to the average reader since the start of the series. So, it’s time that we, together, bungled into the mesh-work that is ideology is practice. Here’s to Luck.

Jack
I (might) Listen.

Basic Ideology

Future Imperfect

I lost that passion some time ago. Life kicked me in the ass, and I let myself become consumed in self-loathing and self-pity. I was weak, and lost all focus. My dreams tossed to the wayside. I just want to feel that way again. Simple. Perfect. Loved. My dreams twisted, contorted, converged, because of my lack of, no, my loss of faith. My lack of confidence.

I’m relearning that passion. I’m remembering that spin, and I can taste wine, and dancing, and God, so, so very close. When the dreams are too real, and the spin too fast, and the wine too strong, I know that I am on the right path again.

What path do you walk?

—-

Jack
I Listen.

Basic Ideology 101

Lesson #20
The Battle of Re-Realization

It’s easy to forget that we have perfection in our hands when times are rough. Richard Matheson spent a lifetime writing horror and dark fantasy, to end up his masterwork as one of the greatest love stories ever told. Why did it take so long? Love is so hard to express, even for the most sensitive of us. Passion is so much easier. This is why we are barraged by “love stories” that are nothing more than sex driven fantasies. In the rare instance that passion and love meet, we find something truly great. Something that transcends words. The love story is now even harder to tell, and it can become downright scary.

As writers, when we find this kind of extraordinary relationship, our first instinct is to run. We want to run because for the first time in our lives we have no words to describe what is happening to us. It’s confusing, we stumble, we fall. We falter. You see, in running, we can understand, in words. The only way we really understand anything.

With love comes fear, but hopefully passion and love together can offset our natural fear of loss.

In Matheson’s What Dreams May Come, the main character has to come face to face with not only his greatest fear, but also the greatest fear of the majority of mankind. Is that what makes it so compelling? It is definitely what makes it ring so true in the hearts of so many.

By using this novel, I’ve skirted myself(safely around), for now, the subject of my own feelings and fears. Eventually I’ll face them down, as Matheson, and so many others have, finding the strength in their constant growth.

Jack.
I Listen.

Fragments
#5
What Dreams May Come

Enter Odin, or The Hanging of a Demi-God
—-

Minus woke up a few hours later, hanging upside down from the giant tree. He could see an older man, with unkempt hair and beard. He only had one eye and the ravens were sitting on his shoulders. He was still very large and muscular for his age.

“What is it this time, old man?” said Minus.

“Oh, so you do remember our last talk, youngling? This is indeed a surprise. My brother Othin told me you would be here. Of course, I knew already. What is it you seek, child? What more could I possibly teach you? You are too weak. Your mind too fragile.”

“All-Father, I did not come here for your knowledge. I have come for my own.” Minus spoke with a harshness that his expression could not show, since he was hanging upside down by a rope tied to one ankle.

“Ahh… I see. You are tired. Tired of your delusional life and your ‘doctor’s’ pineal poisons. This is admirable. To hold ones own memories as only the Aesir can. I will take my leave. Should you succeed, you will see me again.”

The old man looked weary as he left. Minus had never seen him look so tired and beaten. He didn’t like what this could mean.

***

Back at Minus’ house, Jane was busy studying with a see-through Victor Mancini. She was alone today. Some days Kotoko would show up, and they’d study together, but Kotoko had a job and she was still in school.

Minus had been gone for three days now. Mancini insisted he would be fine and return unharmed. Jane tried not to worry, and regularly took the tiny little purple pills that Mancini had recommended. Apparently they were something that Minus had made up in his “Apothecary,” as Mancini referred to it.

Sometimes Jane would go upstairs and look out the windows to watch that horrible Mist. She didn’t like the idea of Minus and Kotoko being out in it. Kotoko couldn’t even see it until the night she met Minus.

“And what was so important about Minus?” Jane thought to herself. She loved him, she knew that much. But it seemed like he affected everyone he came into contact with. Without even realizing it, people seemed to find that their lives revolved around Minus and his actions.

Sometimes, when Mancini would be talking, Jane would daydream a little. She would start to get the feeling that there was something important that she could not remember. There was a hazy feeling to her eighteenth year. She started to think a lot about that time period.

After Mancini would leave for the day, she would try to remember things about that year. But everything seemed perfectly normal. That’s what really bothered her. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that her memories had a sense of fabrication to them. It was too normal. She would dream of it at night.

These thoughts began to occupy more of her time as the days passed. On the fifth day, she asked Doctor Mancini about the Akashic Library, and how she could get there.

—-

Jack
I Listen.

The Cost of Magic
Section #20
Enter Odin, or The Hanging of a Demi-God

In Which Minus Dreams A Memory
—-
He runs across the roof tops. This city is dense and the alley ways are small. He jumps, falls short, dangling with a one-handed grip on the bricks. He let’s go.

Rive.

He hits the large, overly stuffed bed hard. Panting and sweating in his full John Constantine regalia. Suit, overcoat, cigarette in mouth, all dripping wet. His mind raced. Had his pursuers seen the rive he had opened? He didn’t know who they were, was uncertain of their abilities. Aside from the fact that they were inhumanly fast.

They shot through alacrity with a focus that matched his own. This was very rare. Understanding alacrity had driven more men mad, than had ever been able to run with it. The problem people have with the magic of speed is that after the first taste, it’s never fast enough again. Always trying for more. You can see perfection in the distance. And anytime you can see true perfection, it’s dangerous.

After a few minutes, Minus knew that they had not traced his rive. He relaxed a bit, then reached for some dry clothes.

***

Back in Jerusalem, the three men dressed in black, stood surveying the rooftops and alley ways. Wet footprints ended and never started again. They were confused, but not worried. He could hide all he wanted, but he could never out run them.

Even so, the Three-Headed Lion would not be happy with his extensively trained alacrity spotters. He had dug their souls from Hell, and trained them for a reason. He needed them in this war. This was not like the last.

—-

Jack
I Listen.

The Cost of Magic
Section #13
In Which Minus Dreams A Memory

Synchronicity Stream
——

Jane finished up her research and contacts within an hour or two, but turned up no real leads. Minus was sitting in the lotus position across the room. This looked pretty odd, because Minus was not a small man, by anyone’s standards. He wasn’t fat, but he was muscular and stood well over six feet. With short, almost buzzed black hair, and mutton chops, he certainly did not look like a metaphysical agent at all. She popped another reality pill, finished off a glass of wine, and sat down next to him. She began to meditate, trying to reach the Synchronicity Stream in hopes of catching Minus there. She had no idea how to enter the Alacrity Motion, so this was her only chance.

She found that she slipped easily into deep mediation and was over looking the synchronicity clock within only a few minutes. She saw the stream moving at great speed below. Minus felt her enter the stream, and moved in her direction. In a few short minutes they were side by side, watching the jet streams of time and the occasional perfect moment go by.

“Apparently the years we spent in the bar were part of the synchronicity subplot of both of our lives. Best I can tell. I cannot see a why, but we should hear from Doctor Mancini soon. Any leads from cyberspace?”

“Nothing concrete. There was tell of others feeling trapped in the same bar, but in ways that were no where close to what we experienced. The bar apparently sits on a metaphysical sink hole of sorts. Many people in our line visit the place regularly,” Jane answered.

“How did you get here? I thought it was hard for you to get into the stream?”

“It usually is,” answered Jane. “But I just sat down next to you and focused, and here I was. Perhaps we should try to learn a little from each other while we wait for that friend of yours to call.”

“Good idea. Wake up.”

—-

Jack
I Listen.

The Cost of Magic
Section #8
Synchronicity Stream

I’m going to steal a line from my good friend, Doctor Steal, to answer this.

“I am often asked what my ‘demographic’ is, to which I answer: Humans.”

That’s it. Perfect. My audience is everyone. My target is anyone who wants to listen, learn, and grow. All I can really do is try to make you think, and encourage open mindedness. And, when it comes down to it, that’s all that really matters.

Jack
I Listen.

Basic Ideology 101

Battle #10
Everyone Deserves This

Hoping that you will surpass me.

—

Drink in the night.
Can you feel this flavor?
The wine is deep red.
The love is crystal clear.
Drink with me.
This cup we share.
We are not this.
We never were.
One moment,
trapped in amber,
perfect,
in its eternal happiness,
is more than we
could ever ask for.
Drink with me.
This cup we share.
Spill the wine.

(poem inspired by the works of Jalal ad-Din Rumi.)

-Jack.
I Listen.
I Travel.