betweenthetimeandsound

[betweenthetimeandsound]

I don't understand this trend...

what is HAPPENING

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在明城墙上 -- 李笠

四个光头--尼姑，在蓝天下蹲着 --光头 (guang1tou2): shaved head --尼姑 (ni2gu1): Buddhist nun 凑成一朵莲花，纯净的符号 --凑成 (cou4cheng2): to put together, 圆润的线条给城墙注入梦幻。 --圆润 (yuan2run4): mellow and full, suave 它的背景--玄武湖，被汽艇割出艳丽的伤口 --汽艇 (qi4ting2): motor boat) --艳丽 (yan4li4): gorgeous, garish and beautiful

我端起相机。莲花顿时碎成匕首 “把照片删了!”“把照片删了!” 我捂住相机--摊贩遇到了城管 莲花，不，匕首，慢慢飘向远方。像云

翻译/Translation:

Above the Ming's City Walls:

Four shaved heads--nuns kneeling under the blue sky, they make up a lotus, a pure symbol. Suave lines give the city walls a dream to pour into; its background--Black Tortoise Lake, a gorgeous wound cut by a motorboat.

I carry my camera. The lotuses suddenly break into daggers. "Delete the photos! Delete the photos!" I cover the camera, a peddler meets a government official, the lotus flowers, no, daggers, slowly drift faraway. Like clouds.

Translation by Elda Mengisto/孟乐达

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--prompt from @flashfictionfridayofficial

The two women stared at each other, the desert wind only providing enough gust to swirl the dust around them, not enough to provide the calm. Magdalena brushed a lock of her stringy hair away from her forehead, even the smallest of curtains would blind her to what happened next. And after the night which seen her open more doors than she could imagine, not getting hit by a truck made her erect her chin up.

For Maryam, she didn't look at her new friend; instead, she let the dust sprinkle all around her. Her stomach rumbled, and it made her body vibrate in bits and waves. She tried to immerse in colors beyond the azures and oranges and turquoise and purple, but the slivers of pink fluttered away like butterflies trying to escape from her cocoon. Waving her hand, she tried to get a friend's attention, to no avail.

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--prompt from @versesbyaaliyah "poem for a monster"

Behold--the queen of despair, immersed in all of her glory! Curly hair, stormy eyes, and a crown of twine and mourning roses. A murder of crows find a nest where not even the mother of dragons could claim such sweet loyalty with these hallowed walls, filled to the brink with vipers.

Despite her wine-dark smile, she shines a light, blinding the maiden to her and deviating her path into the glorious night. Crows know her as a friend, but are not loyal to her; they only want willing flesh to take and consume, until nothing remains but tiny bones to build crumpled birdhouses.

Virginity is null, silence lies in the ravine, she gives just enough hope to crush them once again.

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Do you want to be mine?

--prompt from @two-bees-poetry "on the mouth" (10 August)

You want me. But do you need me?

Do you need me so much that you would step over shards of stained glass to find me, even if salvation would be the price?

Do you need me to the point of an addiction, where your lungs would collapse if you couldn't breathe the same clean air before I polluted it? Do you want me, merely for your own decoration? Or do you need me, for your own survival?

You want me. But do you need me?

Would you lose your mind, piece by piece like a Ming Dynasty vase shot with an arrow, if you could never touch me again?

Would even the thought of never having me leave you in the fetal position, your face against the marble floor, hoping your mother would appear to wipe your face of dirt and tears?

You want me. But do you need me?

Do you need my lips, stained with two different lip products and garlic aioli smashed against yours, while I smuggle a secret wrapped in a peppermint?

Do you need to consume me like a fine champagne, or to drive your nails into my entrails, to assuage your ravenous nightmares before the full moon?

You want me, but would you sacrifice for me?

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Beautiful!

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--prompt from @flashfictionfridayofficial

See these scars? They somehow meet together, like a heart of light and flame.

As soon as you touch it, it feels like grabbing the stray sparks in order to create fire. Something which builds up and you can only stare in awe. Except each of these wounds burden me more, like an oak penetrated my spine.

Lightning doesn't always strike twice. But when it does, somehow I'm the conductor to this moment, unwitting but vulnerable to the charge.

I take everything on, like with the wind and flame. Every time a storm approaches my town, I want to whip open all the windows with a slight of hand. When I see the leaves dance in the wild rain, I envy them freedom and naivete, and figured I might dance with it.

Except my flesh is meant for the rain. Not for the light.

I walked into the night, not expecting I would see morning again.

Because the night scares me, but also brings me into its womb. Sometimes, I would look at the stars and wish for something else. Like what you're doing right now with your cigarettes and sweet wine.

It's so bitter.

I didn't taste the lightning, but I did get a hint of the ashes. They tasted of tea over-brewed, chocolate without sugar, and death without life springing out of the seed. I felt like I was falling out of the sky, without wings to guide me nor the clouds.

And yet it marks me. Always.

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Small Hours

--prompt from @picklemafia

Skin scent, powdered nose, dusty starlight. Smoke filters through the windowsill,

turning the moon into a tangerine tainted with a sliver of sugar.

But there's nothing sweet in the small hours; anything which blesses me dissolves like snow;

anything bitter imbues into my roots like monsoons drenching an orchid until its violets dissolve into marigold.

In the indigo midnight; crystals convey my tired eyes; I'm singing a song from somebody who only walks on brambles

with ghostly feet. Morning will come, and I will cry, for the moonlight has not caressed me enough

for me to sleep in a gentle palm.

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to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die

from John Keats’s love letter to Fanny Brawne Tristan and Isolt (Death), Rogelio de Egusquiza The Reconciliation of the Montagues and Capulets over the Dead Bodies of Romeo and Juliet, Frederick Leighton Death of Francesca de Rimini and Paolo Malatesta, Alexandre Cabanel

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--prompt from @flashfictionfridayofficial

The air caught onto Jessica's nostrils; she responded by taking a strong inhale, so much that she almost floated away in the azure sky. Deep as the foreign ocean which passed her by, yet with a tinge of sweetness not found in another world, Jessica consumed every bit of its essence, while she stepped over the rocks with a jovial skip.

Despite how slippery they appeared thanks to the Moonabyss River, thanks to Jessica's movements, she glided over the rushes with her nimble toes, only giving herself a moment to recover between each one. Holding out her palm, she closed her eyes to summon a few more rocks, only to find herself jostle.

The earth shook; she swung her right leg up in desperation, but the otherwise halcyon fantasy mutated her into collapsing into the rushing river. The current threatened to sweep her west with its torrential force, but she clung onto the banks with the little strength she willed into her fingertips, before adjusting her her feet.

Only then did she find herself looking at the sky again; while the color remained a stately turquoise, Jessica gritted her teeth at what could become of her.

***

"Natalia, is that you?" Jessica asked a woman spinning some wool, albeit one touched with the dancing flame in front of her. Lifting her head, matted with brambles and gold due to the water, she took a cursory glance at her surroundings. Is this like a fairytale? She asked herself, eavesdropping on the talismans and the wooden walls. Where am I fitting here?

No response.

Moving her shoulders, Jessica advanced, trying to take even the slightest glimpses of her face. From a distance, the curly hair mimicked her own, albeit with a lighter hue. At some ends, the gold mutated into a muddied maroon, something which brough Jessica to keel.

"Are you from here?" She asked again. "Parlez-vous francais?"

And then she bit her tongue. Her accent in French exposed her, and she distanced herself from this domestic scene. The door formed a hypotenuse from her position; a few more steps and she would be on her way.

But where do I go home? Jessica thought. And then the woman turned at her.

"Next time, let me lead the way in your adventures," she muttered under her breath, before retreating back into her work. Jessica stayed for longer, crawling onto the floor. The squeaking only gave her ease; if she could navigate this place, then she could make her way through her new home.

And the earth quaked again.

[betweenthetimeandsound]

Swallow

--prompt from @two-bees-poetry (1 August)

A swallow glides over the Vitava River, but the light almost consumes it. Violinists tune their instruments as I pass by; an indifference lingers despite their song.

A swan sings out for its death; I sing out of love for my life. But my hands tremble inside my pockets; could it be that I yearn more from this life?

The snow crunches against my boots; I try to imagine daffodils, but I also fear the sun will go down on me too soon, and the waves would beckon me to oblivion, not back home.

And home is not a perfectly-preserved medieval city, with a king's feast prepared for me. I pay a king's ransom to indulge a little more of youth, found underneath a wine glass under platinum blonde lights.

I yearn for her, though I guard my heart against the anchor of commitment; to capitulate is to risk capsizing against christened bricks, all while a tank watches for those who betray their intent for beauty.

A swallow glides over the Vitava River; the sun dances around its wings. I start shuffling before I run, as a woman snaps her neck towards me, ebony curls twirling like ribbons.

[betweenthetimeandsound]

Having interfaith friendships between Muslims and Jews is actually really easy if you're normal about it

[betweenthetimeandsound]

--prompt from @flashfictionfridayofficial

Meihui stared at the frozen body of her friend, only covered with her heavy coat and an askew beret. She paced around in the snow, only starting to melt underneath her feet, and glanced at the graphite-colored sky. Home couldn't be any further; the river from which she stepped into the realm might as well be a hallucination which could tempt her into slipping up.

Kneeling down out of despair, she grazed at Hjordis' palm, tracing all the little lines which made up an ambiguous design. The quivering had long since stopped quivering, but the gravity of her sacrifice weighed on Meihui as she shuffled for the Gem, the one which could save her from this torment.

Why did we have to choose on whom to live and whom to die? She thought when pulled the moonstone from her cotton sleeve. Despite the dampened hems and the frostbitten night, the gem glistened back at her, assuring her of its power.

And then Re'letsi'Te appeared, with her cool visage and her hands glowing with the color of the snow. Meihui retreated, while tightening her grip on the Gem of the Elements, trying to take any of its power as her own.

"I can't say sorry enough?" She shouted, though when she scanned the otherworldly goddess again, she curled her tongue inside her mouth. The image of her grandmother snapping at her kept her at keel, and she pondered if Re'letsi'Te was related to anything she knew. Could she be worshipped in my world?

Re'letsi'Te frowned, the corners of her mouth protruding in her cheeks. "You could answer an important call, and you didn't. You could've desired more from you life, and then you sacrificed your friend. What more could you defy, other than with the gem?"

Meihui cupped it in its palms, and her knees quivered. Should I prostrate, so that she may know I'm sincere? She thought, as her dark, wispy hair stuck onto her forehead. The gem burned inside her palm, but it didn't move her any further than where she stood. Hjordis and Re'letsi'Te remained, and Meihui closed her eyes.

"You need a worthy end, but yo will not make it happen!"

"Would you let me go home then?"

The goddess shook her head, an inkling of pity handed to the girl.

[betweenthetimeandsound]

Unpretty

--prompt from @versesbyaaliyah

Decaying dahlias stretching from my ribs, scarlet blood coloring them while stripping its life, I know of life, but death has its desires:

pungent prayers to take me home, devoted to decadences melting onto bones, where all is burnt except a name. Beads unfurling into the dirt, incense inserted into the ground, unaware that the cycle goes on, without the will to sever life from death.

My face is filled with scars; the stars burned my cheeks, even though I embraced their light. Flames advance towards me, even though I wished to conjure them, as a child punching and kicking the air with ease, and feathers are floating across the gentle sky.

I stare at the scarlet sun; the smoke makes it pretty, despite the ugliness it exposes--

a girl who possesses dying fireflies, taking in their light, in exchange for a few more moments to know true beauty...

[betweenthetimeandsound]

from silk reeling to fine suzhou embroidery by 许潇潇

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“If he’s a terrorist then he’s the worst terrorist imaginable; he’s a bullshit terrorist. He’s very bad at his job then,” says Rev. Elizabeth Diop, who until recently worked as a fellow chaplain at Cincinnati Children’s. “Every word that you’ve read about him from people who know him is a true word. He would do anything for you. Even in fucking detention, he’s counseling people who are locked up right now. He’s providing spiritual care; he’s the chaplain of his unit right now. He needs to be alive. He’s got work to do here, he’s got work to do to help heal the world.”

Probably the most interesting part of this is that Chaplain Soliman would still work as a prison chaplain if he got to stay in Ohio. It's quite telling of his character based on the anecdotes. And yet...

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"We could live for a thousand years, but if I hurt you, I'll make wine from your tears..."

All hail the #1 Australian song ever, as voted on by millions on Triple J!