James Price and the LNS-Vancouver

[Violette]

***Wondering...familiar....***

The wind crashing against his face, papers fading in and out like littly swirls like tiny planets-orbiting around the street, and a lone tear, bitter, red, and purple eyes of light.
And it is often in the middle that he finds himself at the beginning, the beginning of a story, here is his beginning.....

***Possession...organic...comply***

He can only describe it like waking up in the middle of a party, realizing you have "arrived", you are exactly where you want to be in life, your peers remember your writing and your name, and you randomly hallucinate that the love song blaring across the guitars was written for you and the singer along....an unmistakeable unrequited love, secretly announced in public and only understood by you.

***They...will...pay***

And to this my friend, to this epiphany of having arrived you smile and then wait and wonder, what happens next? Who else has arrived? And then perhaps dread sets in or the singer leaves and suddenly with all your arriving you realize that you already knew this would happen-you just didn't know when, and you sure can't remember what happens next-although you're hoping it has a happy ending.

***Possession...neural...infest***

How can you know these things? Gut intuition, no my friend, crazy Nomad-magic psychic intuition, and you sit there, savant like, as if snow will suddenly flurry from the ceiling and you will be whisked away to yet another beginning, what do I do about those parts of me I left behind.

***Awareness...of...lie...truths...***

Perhaps you chalk up what was once to an "experience", a memory, a heartbroken loss, but in the end maybe it is more, maybe it is the song you loved and laughed out too aloud, maybe it was remembering when the process, the journey, was filled with wonder, or maybe it was that screenplay you wanted to write about getting drunk and filming metrobus interactions all night long-because once you have arrived, there is always some point you may have to leave.

***Time...Tells***

And leaving, no matter how notorious, victorious, or grand always requires the sacrifice, the uncertainty, and the fear of never knowing when they'll play your song again, or find that quiet day with leaves of orange, or asking yourself, just what would I do for a cloud of Cardimine?

***Try...organic...neural...functions***

Because as the paper cranes of your heart are carried off in the silent wandering of a man leaving, and your childhood heros are slowly replaced by lies, and you find yourself confused among the organic and natural food rations, something got lost.....the middle, the you that stood up, disco style, and said, He has dreamed more, He wants more, He is more, and then proceeded to laugh amid a display of crashing lemons that perhaps even if there is no point, you had a point to make, no matter how mundane and trivial, and then in some weird sequence of events we all just got lost in the middle of-arriving and leaving

***Sleep....ends...awake....begins***

And lost what it was to truly "be" and "begin".

***Awaken...Live...Prosper***

And in the end you just keep doing the same thing because you'll never know how long it takes you to arrive again.

***Awaken...Serve...Conquer***

Blades!
Blades of fury!
Raining down!
Your race stole Sirius from the true babies of the playpen!
You
Will
Pay!

Cries of death and destruction within his head, no escape from the Revenge of the spirits.

James screamed and shot up on his bunk, he panicked for a second, clutching his chest and looking around the room for Maggie.
His heart slowed, and then dropped as he found himself alone in a pitch black cell. He recognised the itchy feel of the prisoner clothes he was wearing, even though he could not see them on his body.
He was not dead, but imprisoned.
Where?
He was not sure, he heard footsteps from somewhere, distant and muffled. The sound of metal against metal...

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