ACT I. — OPENING SCENE, PART I.
the
void
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on empty
avenue
And so, it is here that it seems to begin.
Here, he would first awaken to his purpose
and be given his names of destiny.
The story of Lord Rasquiat Almighty,
reborn and dubbed Sweet Prince of The Ghetto by his father’s family,
and Prodigal Prince of The Almighty by his mother’s.
And throughout both the Land of the Unknown and Tides of the Risen, he is simply known as 3SKY.
All of these identities…
He wonders, Who the f— am I, really? And where do I belong?
He roams, in search of a home.
In search of understanding.
The elders warned that awakenings weren’t pretty,
but he could’ve never prepared for this…
this loss,
of everything.
So much in a name, so much more in you.
ACT I. — OPENING SCENE, PART II.
the
fields
of heart
space
His love is kept alive through The Fields of which she comes from…
It’s there
that he lurks from time to time, unseen and unheard,
trying to truly understand what she ran from,
what made her
what gave her the ability to see him, hear him, know him
— all of him.
yet not run away…from him.
What was it that made him more home to her than home?
He knew why he roamed, but why did she?
And what made it possible for her to find him when she did? I guess, he figured that if he found the answer to these questions, he might find her again… He imagined he might turn the same corners that she used to as a kid and find her waiting patiently in the destituteness of his grief, as if it’d only been a game of hide-and-seek they used to play amongst the trees. But he used to really sense her steady heartbeat behind the leaves, and now, he just feels that he’s maybe gone crazy.
What a love to lose.
Yet, what more could an artist ask for? he solemnly thinks, as he paints another portrait of the late Lady Solána Omni.
ACT I. — OPENING SCENE, PART III.
Ash
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Marrying
Mud
Neither here, nor there.
Neither the void of ash,
nor the fields of mud.
Neither the tides to rise, nor the meadows to love.
Not one land to know,
not one soul to trust.
Neither me, nor you.
No, everything died with us.
And yet . . . nothing ceased to breathe. In such end-of-time debris, submerged in the sun drenching the night sky, I saw chests fall from lungs lifted high, and up again, then down it lie. I saw the scorched houses with such hope left to die. O, if birds could sing as much as clouds have cried… I saw her body with no body but an aura of white—and I felt my skin burn blue with a purplish light. We looked into the distance with vision—same direction, but different eyes. Mines were filling with tears, while hers were glaring with insight. I asked, “What is it you see, She-who-sees? What do you see, so that I might?
Is there home there on the other side? Is there a home at last for you and I? Is there another life? Is there another truth? Is there more to our story? Anything I can do? Have I angered the Fates? Is there not one thing that you can say?
O, how I wish that we had fought the dark away for final brighter days.”
And yet, we wed . . .