On a stallion twister
On the eye of the sky
Stormbringer coming down
Meaning to stay
Thunder and lightning
Heading your way
Am I evil? I’ve been asking myself that all day. I don’t want to know what she says. I am cast in the role of The Tree of Knowledge, the tree that represented corruption in Genesis. Technically, the Tree is what she is, but I, as Eve, am inseparable from her.
The Truth is the arbiter. The arbiter should be impartial. Am I? I’m just a musician, a composer, a creative. How am I supposed to judge between good and bad?
You don’t have to.
Shut up! I need to figure this out for myself. I just keep myself to myself, and do my own thing.
In a very public way.
I said shut up!
I’ve been angry all day. Thunder and lightning isn’t coming. It’s here. I’m here.
Thunder and Lightning very, very frightening …
DeRon informed me this morning that we were also playing Remember Me? tonight. I wasn’t in the mood for it, but maybe my anger fueled it. I was volcanic at the gig, and that inspired the whole band. I played, shimmied, twerked, and toyed with the audience. I’ve never sung like I did tonight, and I’m sure I’ve never played like it either. I was on another plane.
There is some truth in that.
Shut up, I said. Your input isn’t wanted tonight.
The sky outside is like my mood: turbulent, high winds and heavy rain, some flooding inland. I want to go home. I hate this place. I hate the neighbor next door panting, gasping, grinding, and making a racket. I hate that The Truth pesters me every night. I hate … I just hate everything right now, even all the things I love.
A blast of lightning between the clouds with an instantaneous crackle of thunder.
Did I do that?
That was a timid response. I know what’s coming, though. I don’t have to see the future. It’s another early night so let’s get on with it.
I’m alone in the void. No planet, no sun, no Truthy. I know the Truth is here, but she is afraid of me tonight. How can a God be afraid of a human? And before you make a snide remark, I know the answer. The God and the human are inseparable. I can make that sun or that planet.
I could go to my private moon, but that doesn’t do anything for me right now. I’ll get sucked into sex with my plant-people. I’m not really in the mood. As I said before, my last visit has left me sated for a while. Why so sated? I just don’t know.
I am in the void for a reason. She wants to teach me a lesson, and I’m mad at her. Stalemate, although she has the power, or at least she knows how to use it.
OK. Big sun. There it is. I’ve done it, but I don’t feel any satisfaction. It feels a little weird having the sun there, but nothing to stand on.
I haven’t got a leg to stand on, or really, I’ve got the legs but no ground. Bye-bye sun.
That’s better. What does a God think about when they have nothing to do? That’s easy. A God always has something to do. I guess that means I’m not a God or Goddess. Maybe I should do something useful and practice my trumpet. It’s now in my hand, but the sound is puny, since there is nothing to echo off of. I could create a concert hall around me, but that isn’t what I’m looking for.
I could look at the future. It’s forbidden (who forbade it?) according to Truthy, but if time flows through me, what is the future? What significance does it have?
Gaia would think about her people. She would create. She would love them in spite of their faults. She wouldn’t judge them.
It’s in my nature to judge. I would guess that Gaia was a musician in many of her lives, but rarely a composer. She would like everything she wrote, no matter how bad it was. She wouldn’t be very successful.
I don’t give her enough credit. Her horn tune was sublime. She’s a fabulous player, too.
She peeks at the future, I suspect. Who is this Englishman she wants me to meet? Someone who will reveal something unexpected to me. I don’t know how to peek at the future. The past is easier. Pick a point in time, and place myself there.
I was there.
Is this void even real, or is it an elaborate dream? Cassandra dreams and prophesies, but nobody believes her. Shakespeare certainly thought I could see the future. Did I know him? Truthy is quiet. I knew him. Perhaps I was him. Surely, some of my lives were spent as men. Maybe I’ve even slept with Gaia as a man, or as a woman while she was a man. Plausible. If I knew when I was a man, I could check it out. I could ask her, but she wouldn’t remember.
All I have to do is just remember what I remember.
What does a God think about?
Truthy isn’t going to tell me. It’s probably too big for my tiny human brain, if it is indeed human. Or tiny? Hmm.
I wonder what Maria’s painting is going to look like.
Whoa! That is a big audience, and I’m very naked in front of them. Oh, the panties, they are there, but I can barely feel them on me. Maria dribbles a blue pigment down the center of my back and spreads it around with her fingers. It’s a cerulean blue. It’s interesting that she thinks blue when she sees me. She smudges a little yellow on my cheeks.
I watch both as an unclothed audience member and her subject. It’s odd how I can feel both bodies. Now that tickled, and my nipples harden. Careful, Maria. You don’t want me aroused on stage in front of you, in front of an audience. Well, I sense that you do want me aroused in front of you. You paint me with your hands, and you are spending more time working on my breasts than other parts. Swirls, snakes, a tree.
You know me Maria.
Oof! You didn’t tell me you were going to paint the panties. Oh, that’s not fair. Not in front of 417 people. How do I know the crowd size?
A yellow sun. Two figures on my belly holding hands, or maybe something else. I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt. More swirls, a diamond, cut, between my breasts. How can it look so perfect, while she is only using her fingers. Stars. Moons. A balance. Judgement. The Zodiac. The colors blend, suggest. The figures are in the eyes of the beholders. What they interpret.
I should stop now. Leave the finished product for fresh eyes. But what is Maria wearing? A knee-length, thin white shift. Nothing underneath. With the stage lighting behind her, it doesn’t leave anything to the imagination. The pigment splatters. Part of me has rubbed off on her. She wipes her hands in strategic places. Images appear not unlike those on my skin. The pigment alters the fabric, condensing the fibers. Where the pigment has touched we can see through it. Magic.
That’s it. I’m stopping there.
Big sun! Rocky planet. Big stone to sit on. The book? There is some writing on the cover.
I’m awoken out of my dream by a loud wail from next door. Did they hurt her? No. A customer must have wanted it. She cries, but it is fake crying. She calls him Daddy a couple of times. He’s consoling her now, but he’s touching her, exciting her. He’s a pervert. The Truth will take him.
It already has.