Maritime
Maritime
Now all the maps are gone
I am the sailor who sings a new song
I am pulling up the anchor
I am unfurling the sail
I am the only hand on deck
But I know a wind that will prevail
I have a guiding star to navigate
For a horizon through a sound
For here is my destination
That I have already found
High above me, a new heaven
Way down below, a new hell
The crossing of the two is something I dispel
Streaming clouds scatter crystals in the sun
It means little to me that I am not the only one
My determination and resolve is for all to see
To follow in my wake
To liberate and be free
Karma Intro
It is not the fashion to see the lady in the prologue
Nor for an eye that may profit by my tongue. But you have not yet seen me.
And I am not by the book
Marry this gamester my merry crew
Don your doublet and hose
Let us have an audience for a world or two
You thought you had seen all the fair faces
In the fiery loins of your youth
A fortun’d corner takes your breath away
Waters your eyes and soaks your skin to a cold shiver
Dare you turn your head to look again?
Look how I cut the air spinned behind my limbs
My sword tempered stride burning light from heaven’s eye
Brought down to heel beneath my foot
What bravery must you summon to look at my whole?
What if my stolen look is discovered under the curl of hair that hides my brightest eye?
Might you be blinded
Stone turned into a statue
Crumbled salt in the wind
You’d be burnt up in a flame licked out of Hell’s red pit
But fear not, for I am not your apocalyptic doom
Heard every morning as breaking news
Nor am I the monster that haunts your dreams
I am the light that dances on the edge of what seems
The whisper of the wind and a song on the breeze
The pulse of life that beats beneath your skin
For in this world of masks and mirrors
I am the truth behind everything that lies
The fire that warms you even as it dies
The star that guides you even as it blinds
So take my hand, and let us go back in time
Through the night and into a new dawn sublime
For though the journey may be perilous
The reward is beyond measure
And in the end, we shall stand together
Beneath the open sky, free and unafraid
So fear not the darkness, nor the light
For both are but reflections of the same delight
I have found new ways to shape your view of the world
I am a sculpture born from the hand of the master
I am a crushed fistful of lapis lazuli
I am the heat of mercury and sulphur
I am the sword of light in the darkest recess of the temple
I am Cocteau’s best kept secret
I am Duchamp’s next move
I am the stolen diamond in Genet’s pocket
I am the rush of the opiate’s relief
I am the call of Ramadan from the minaret
I am the bark of a dog in the Kings Valley
I am the assassin’s silence that begs to be broken
I am the babe of the egg
My name is Karma Love Kid.
By me is pervaded all these universes.
Puple Cat’s paw
He stretches out a paw.
Just look at him leap.
Sharpens his claws.
While the world is asleep.
Bounds over rooftops.
Out into the night.
Rips out a space time.
Squeezes in the light.
Here comes the event horizon.
Just look at him and grin.
Winks an eye
Says goodbye. And hops right in.
He saw the sky sink from the earth where you sat.
Turning back word down and round to a most auspicious star.
Crunching number into one in the flight of a falconer.
In the foaming brine he dives as fast as mill wheels strike.
On the curld clouds he rides out into the night.
But you can hear his dreadful thunderclaps as he bounds through space.
Telling matter where to be. Telling time to be a space.
The point of singularity is not something he can miss.
He opens up a universe with just one little hiss.
Manifesto.
I have found new ways to shape your view of the world
I am a sculpture born from the hand of the master
I am a crushed fistful of lapis lazuli
I am the heat of mercury and sulphur
I am the sword of light in the darkest recess of the temple
I am Cocteau’s best kept secret
I am Duchamp’s next move
I am the stolen diamond in Genet’s pocket
I am the rush of the opiate’s relief
I am the call of Ramadan from the minaret
I am the bark of a dog in the Kings Valley
I am the assassin’s silence that begs to be broken
I am the babe of the egg
My name is Karma Love Kid.
By me is pervaded all these universes.
Purple Cat
Purple cat wears a hat
It's made of finest silk and when he creeps through streets at night
It's not in search of milk
He's the kind of cat you've heard of by writers of great fame
But Eliot's Macavity cannot hold a flame
To this great purple feline who is Master of the Game
His crimes are unrecorded
No paw prints can you find
Because what he steals is the most precious thing known to mankind
He's the thief of all your wasted time
Making up his own rhyme
Purple Cat wears a coat
Lined with pockets that bespoke
Many a hidden toy a wizard would enjoy
To deceive with a sleight of hand
For light he can employ
With a claw at his command
To leap through space and time
Landing on his feet on the turn of a dime
Four purple paws from the greatest height
Spinning his body with effortless delight
And when he comes down to pounce on his prey
You’ll soon find out that his victim is not what you would say
Is the obvious target nor a find for a feast
He is the terror of what you have taken care of least
Yes, he is your hit and miss in the same vein
Knowing how to wait for time to explain
that what you look at, is what you think you can see
But he is chasing atomic mice invisibly
Schrodinger's cat is a lie to be trapped in your
Attempt to understand you are not where you’re at
Purple Cat smokes a pipe
With a tingle in his nose
Leaving a trail of infinite rings everywhere he goes
With a whiskers twitch and a baleful eye
No questions beg silly answers nor reasons why
Your wasted time he rips with childlike glee
He will not spare a thought for you on your spending spree
Our slumbering feline wakes up with a yawn
Never shall you play with him as your little pawn
Another thrilling day ahead full of purple jest
Who can count the ways his charms will manifest
He cocks his lovely tail in a question hoop
And hangs every capitalist in one fell swoop
Karma Love Kid and the Adventures of the Katastrophic Quartet by Ruby Drake
I am Karma Love Kid and I couldn’t care less.
I’m going to create a stir. I’m going to make a fine mess.
What I am about to do is what you’ll never guess.
I’m going to jump on you when time slips through every shopping mall
with my Purple Cat who walks by himself.
I’m dangerous in front of mirrors. My light reflects off everything.
On a good day if I feel like it, you can catch a glimpse of me.
A split second white silent eye blinks back at you squinting in the sun.
You’ll turn your head and look twice but you won’t see anything except a flash of light.
Crossing the street can be tricky if you bump into me.
I swivel signposts just for fun.
Traffic lights change for no apparent reason.
Brakes fail and cars crash in my wake as I turn a corner.
Suspension bridges heave and creak under my dancing feet, snapping cables in groans and squeals. Drivers abandon their cars and scratch their heads, bewildered by the fact that a shopping trip will only ever be a list, on a crumpled piece of paper in a back pocket. Fire hydrants pop their valves as I pass and shoot rainbows of water into the air for all the kids to play in.
The pavement beneath my feet erupts into a river of marscapone rippling with each step I take as Purple Cat surfs along side me. Christ the Redeemer in Rio De Janeiro starts to do the Boogaloo. On Mount Rushmore USA. The faces of Presidents, Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln and Roosevelt come alive and bellow out a barbershop version of the chorus from We gotta get out of this place. The Statue of Liberty offers me her torch and breaks out into a shimmy.
Rodin’s thinker in Paris stands up and yells out, I doubt therefore I think I am and stomps off for a glass of absinthe. In Sichuan, China, the Leshan Giant Buddha stands up to reach 10 stories high and marches off to Beijing to give the high up bastards a piece of her mind about what they are doing in Tibet. Purple Cat clicks a claw and the Sphinx rises up in awe shaking off all the dust of thousands of years to stretch and arch its back
I release all of the animals from the Zoo. I quickly teach many of the primates how to unscrew the bolts of their cages and by their own ingenuity close the gates behind them so that no one would immediately notice their foray into the local community and they follow my Purple Cat licking his fur into violet flames that leave trails of sparks in the air.
You’ll meet giraffes headbutting traffic lights. Chimpanzees clamouring over car windscreens hooting and screaming at the occupants. Some of our escapees gain even wider notoriety when I give them a voice of their own on a social platform. Solly and Slippy, the Sulawesi crested macaques become quite a hit with millions of online supporters calling for their right to freedom. Booking restaurant tables for a candlelit romantic vegetarian dinner. Ordering online take aways of a Plantain Bean stew for two.
And as for Lars, Lucy, Loony and Luka the runaway long tailed Lemurs stealing smartphones, tripping up postal workers on their rounds, boarding trams all over the city, on their illicit sightseeing tour to pilfer from the grocery stalls, raid the popcorn machines in cinemas and lock pick mopeds to race to the outdoor terraces to have food fights. What dexterous mischievous creatures. You won’t believe the fun they have with a Fettuccine Alfredo
Naturally we head towards the shopping mall. Cheering on the rhinos causing a terrible ruckus in a carpark jousting with SUVs. Inside mindless shoppers pause mid-stride, their faces frozen in expressions of surprise and confusion as the world around them disintegrates into a pantomime of grotesque proportions. The digital billboards with pouting trout faced models transform into winking hairy baboons on high heels.
The blank faced mannequins come alive smashing the window panes and assemble together to perform sidesplitting disco dance routines under shimmering glitter balls. Any of the security staff who approach them to halt this madness are simply tapped on the shoulder and join in step to the rhythm.
Time itself bends to my will. I am a god who is becoming. I am the becoming of a god. The emergence of my shape is you. You are the emergence of my shape. I am going to give you a voice to sing . Tumble down sceptre and crown. I am a second that can stretch into an eternity, and a minute can vanish in a blink. The clocks in all the shopping malls spin wildly, twisting their hands in a blur as they try to keep up with me and the chaos that I bring. I am a kind of prankster. A pranxtorrist! An impish sprite in the machine of this superficial world that humans have created.
My presence is a glitch. A digital fracture in the fabric of the little ones and zeroed superhighway to nowhere. I am the blip that makes you lag and crash and freeze and smash.
I am your black screen of death. When night falls, the city becomes my little playground. I make streetlights flicker and die as I pass, plunging the world into further darkness as I laugh. The moonlight sings with me and David Bowie dancing tight together.
We can feel the weakening pulse of the city, the heartbeat of its inhabitants fluttering in their troublesome sleep with promises they know they cannot keep.
But there are moments when I am more than a mere trickster. In the quiet hours before dawn, when the world is still and the air is thick with the expectations of my new day. I feel something deep within me. A yearning for something more, something tangible. I reach out my fingers brushing against the edge of dawn and I know a great reckoning is going to come.
For now, I am content to wander, to play my games and weave the web for some fun.
I walk right in through the out door as a waiter drops a tray in disbelief. An elevator comes to a grinding halt. A lost winning lottery ticket falls to my dancing feet.I hang out in airports, train stations, bus terminals, shopping malls, traffic jams and car parks. Anywhere that most deadly flaw in humanity can be found.
Time wasting.
I play with all your clocks and write poems on your subway walls.
The sound that makes the silence makes the sound that makes the silence makes the sound that makes the silence before the sound.
I busk in a U-Bahn in Berlin and jump turnstiles and trams in Antwerp.
I race through Plaza Catalunya in Barcelona and tap time in the metro of Paris.
I’m in New York, San Diego, Bahrain, Dublin, Bangkok, Tokyo, Warsaw, Budapest.
Threading different timelines from my Purple Cat’s tail of light, at the same time.
Squeezing it all into a ball into his clock for later. A time collecting clock.
I run through a tunnel under the Scheldt river singing - Silence is nothing if not listened to!
I freak out stoned teenage tourists in Schiphol goofing off on sweet pastries like fat insects. Wreaking heads and blowing minds.
Whispering a little rhyme.
It's no fun on the Autobahn.
Why travel in time when you can travel in light.
And what is the only thing that is faster than light?
My thoughts. I am building neural pathways in your mind as you read these words.
Title. Karma Love Kid and the Adventures of the Katastrophic Quartet.
Genre. Sci-fi fantasy.
Age range. 18+
Word count 80, 000.
Author name. Ruby Drake.
Why your project is a good fit. Readers are looking for a new kind of super hero.
The hook. The opening scenes are a dynamic mix of outrageous comedy and unlimited promise for the reader to stay engaged.
Synopsis. The main character collects wasted human time in a special clock. Why? To allow her to travel back in time to the origin of our universe to jump start a new universe free of time wasting consumer driven capitalists.
Bio. I have aways been writing for as long as I can remember. I will let the work speak for me. Thank you for your time.
Egg.
Still and quiet.
What a joy it is to know nothing about my own nothingness.
Shelled in my own elaborate cave.
Hermetically sealed in a liquid paradise.
I revel in the nest of my own invention.
Or at least that is what I think it is.
But you’ll forgive my solipsism for you have had it too.
Wrapped up in bed at night when all the tired slaves make their way.
Home at last to set an alarm to start a new day for a spectacular routine
Of disappointments and mundane miracles.
But I’ve always had it here, inside my fragile casing as pockmarked as the
Moon yet smooth and luminous at a distance .
I wonder will I see the light of day and I wonder, do I want to?
Break me, roll me over and crack me with a spoon? No.
I’ll hold still and quiet and not say a word.
Silence is my armour. A shield to wrap my self inside.
And bide my time for this journey I am going to take.
Listen. There is a clock ticking or is it sand trickling through an hourglass?
Is this the sound that makes the silence before the sound?
From top to bottom through a slender neck.
This is where I am, in between time when it is counted.
Just to make sure nothing happens twice or happens once, again and again.
I am a yoke, a joke. But I am not not egging you on.
You wouldn’t believe what a song I have been singing.
And the music of the spheres that I have at my command makes me
Weep as if I heard Bach for the first time.
The dumb sense of infinity ringing in my ears that will create an ever expanding universe. That is my ambition and nothing will hold me back from all the galaxies.
Rushing away from each other trying to be free, from me.
The singularity. The ineffable egg that I am. The same egg that is you.
Rolling towards the edge, the sun creeps up the sky.
Stars retreat to their slumbered beds and forget to ask why.
The midnight candle flickers and burns down to the wick.
The insect clock weaves a web, the spider makes it tick.
The earth makes its final turn and pillows its own head.
To listen to the songs of dawn. No longer filled with dread.
I hold my breath but how can this be?
I have no tongue to say these things nor eyes that can even see.
But a serpent is coiling round my shell.
Waiting to happen. Happy to wait.
Still and quiet, while the roar of the universe rages on.
Karma Love Kid
Victoria Street station. I slink through the underground in the sticky heat of London.
I board flights to Gatwick, Luton and Heathrow. I make a killing in Stansted Airport.
Pointless package holidays to Marbella and Lanzarote! I love these target rich environments loaded with so much wasted time. Here we have the whole catalogue in colour of wasted human time.
It’s hard to believe how much fossil fuel is wasted carrying these airheads around the world on their two week vacation from mind numbing jobs, so they can say to their similar brain dead office colleagues.
Yeah. Ibiza was great man. Didn’t have to leave the hotel once.
So, it’s not difficult for me to find a massive pool of wasted time in a departure lounge where levels reach a critical mass. The endless line of vain middle-classes morons with a grotesque sense of achievement to escape from it all. But the squillionaires do it too on their private rented jets. The richest 1% own almost half of the world’s wealth, while the poorest half of the world, own 0.75%, Staggering numbers. The middle class keep these numbers widening. The rich keep laughing at them for doing so.
As for the super rich. I am coming to get you. I am stoking a particular warm spot in hell for you to fry your botoxed ass that looks the same as your botoxed forehead. Zombeen! Beff Jezos!
Your existence is a tumour of fermenting time. Dead time that I can bring back to life for my own purpose. And how much fun are we going to have when I get my hands on you? As for the middle class. Well, unfortunately you are not even worth my cat’s spit.
Millions of time wasting shopping mall misfits, swelling like a calcified growth of dead cells.
Wasted time. Human time.
What do they do with it?
Purple cat wears a hat
It's made of finest silk and when he creeps through streets at night
It's not in search of milk
He's the kind of cat you've heard of by writers of great fame
But Eliot's Macavity cannot hold a flame
To this great purple feline who is Master of the Game
His crimes are unrecorded
No paw prints can you find
Because what he steals is the most precious thing known to mankind
He's the thief of all your wasted time
Making up his own rhyme
Purple Cat wears a coat
Lined with pockets that bespoke
Many a hidden toy a wizard would enjoy
To deceive with a sleight of hand
For light he can employ
With a claw at his command
To leap through space and time
Landing on his feet on the turn of a dime
Four purple paws from the greatest height
Spinning his body with effortless delight
And when he comes down to pounce on his prey
You’ll soon find out that his victim is not what you would say
Is the obvious target nor a find for a feast
He is the terror of what you have taken care of least
Yes, he is your hit and miss in the same vein
Knowing how to wait for time to explain
that what you look at, is what you think you can see
But he is chasing atomic mice invisibly
Schrodinger's cat is a lie to be trapped in your
Attempt to understand you are not where you’re at
Purple Cat smokes a pipe
With a tingle in his nose
Leaving a trail of infinite rings everywhere he goes
With a whiskers twitch and a baleful eye
No questions beg silly answers nor reasons why
Your wasted time he rips with childlike glee
He will not spare a thought for you on your spending spree
Our slumbering feline wakes up with a yawn
Never shall you play with him as your little pawn
Another thrilling day ahead full of purple jest
Who can count the ways his charms will manifest
He cocks his lovely tail in a question hoop
And hangs every capitalist in one fell swoop
I’m Karma love kid. I am an assault on the word.
The man made word. The word Time.
I am going to crush it into dust and recreate Time in a new kind of clock ticking by my own Light.
Here I come dancing into the city on my Sherman tank. I am formed from the finest ink sucked out of the marrow, with a quiver of arrows setting my sight on the target. I position the first arrow on my Time Reversible Recurve Bow. I raise it and draw my cosmic string in one fluid motion back to the anchor point at my lips.
Looking down the spine of the shaft, I dilate one pupil to pull back light from the edge of the expanding universe to pinpoint a time in the past.
I grip my little finger with my thumb and keep my three remaining fingers together. The tension mounting in my body causes thin vapours of smoke to curl up into the air.
I pout my bottom lip out and wait for a Karmasecond. Gathering a deep resonance with every finger that moves towards a crescendo building up a rhythmic deep bass tone, more felt than heard. The Katastrophic Quartet are in tow following Purple Cat’s lead on his baton.
The pressure on my cosmic string grows taut. The target has been chosen. I finger the feathered fletch like a dial to hit the date, a target in past time.
With this bow, I do define my 3 arrows to shape space and time. I will cut through dimensions, a celestial art, leaving a trail of havoc in its chart. A shot into my new universe where my story will start.
I am the arrow and the bow. I am the target that I know. I am the speed and the light. I am gravity wrapped up tight, to make a universe of my design. Come with me and make it shine. There is no beginning and there is no end. Right here and now, is the present to amend.