by

Northbound Train

NORTHBOUND TRAIN

A highway runs

near a quiet park.

The night is cool.

The sky is dark.

The swings cast shadows

on the grass,

that creep across

a lake of glass.

Coming across the field fast –

In the blink of an eye,

it’s already passed.

Merely a trick, of the light

but I knew in my heart

that couldn’t be right.

What I had seen,

was a northbound train,

where the old north tracks

went to rust in the rain.

I wondered then

if it would fly

across the fallen trestle.

Like a haunted clipper ship;

some wraith’s unearthly vessel.

Can it be that such things,

have ghosts at their helms,

or is time a mere wall,

a space between realms.

by

RUST – Dark Caves

Here is another look into my Rust novel. If you want to know what happens next you can find out in chapter seventeen of the novel, it is all in one post just scroll down to find it.

https://rastelly.com/2011/06/rust-by-rebecca-a-stelly-c-2011/

The scene is colored pencil, but the cave mouth is black acrylic. It has been given an orange filter by way of a photo editing program. I’ll be interested to know your views on the subject of dark caves – ones you have drawn or ones you might have visited. They are so full of wonderful and terrifying possibilities.

  

 Boats resembling tarnished, cybernetic swans were strewn about, perhaps, by a past flood. One of them rested well above the water line and within Amelia’s reach.

She tried out the old peddle powered tub. Surprisingly it was functional, if not a bit squeaky. She shoved it over an embankment and into the brown murk. “Safe enough for a quick crossing, I guess.”

They drifted out, into a drone of frogs and cicadas, gently colliding with a another swan, up to it’s neck in the creek. A reflector eye glared up at them. “Must not be very deep then.” She concluded when it’s hull scraped a sandy bottom. “Still wouldn’t swim in it though.”

Over the croak of the frogs and squeak of the pedals she heard the sunken swan scrape bottom again. She looked and saw it drifting out toward the center of the stream. Had she bumped it a second time? Suddenly she felt the urge to peddle faster.

Amelia wasn’t looking forward to meeting the kind of people who would play these kinds of games, or being graded on her awkward tactics afterward, but when the boat she was desperately peddling turned on it’s own and headed for a dark cave she would have been happy to see any fellow human.

Amelia hadn’t noticed if there was machinery attached her swan. She stopped peddling. The boat still moved against the current. She turned the wheel but to no avail. Shiner joined the fight by barking at the water.

It was all he could do as a condemned concrete cavern drew them in.

 

by

Bohemians At Large; Robert Rauschenberg’s “White” paintings.

Robert Rauschenberg’s classic triptych still has critics drawing a blank.

Not long ago I visited the art museum in Huston, Texas and was surprised to find that someone had hung three blank canvases on a wall. “Hey.” I almost screamed at a passing guard, “you forgot to paint these!” Instead I just wrote it off as some invisible bowls of fruit and called it a day.

On my way out I passed a prominent painter carrying three identical canvases. Curious, I followed him, thinking that maybe I’d get some kind of explanation. “Sir what are you doing?” “A reproduction of Rauschenberg’s White paintings.” He set up shop near the panels. I cleared my throat. “You are already finished.” He looked up from his easel. “Indeed I am. That was easy.”

The experience set me to wondering about this Rauschenberg fellow, and the unbelievable amount of guts it must have taken to unveil this paradox. Did he have something against the museum, or did someone remove his masterpiece from the studio far too early? I did some research and found this was only one of a series.

Born in the city of Port Arthur, in the state of Texas in 1925 to uptight, religious parents, this kid seemed destined to do something unorthodox.

After attending art school in Kansas, then France, he found himself in North Carolina’s Black Mountain College, where he was taught by the famous Josef Arbers. Josef had a philosophy – “When you’re in school, you’re not an artist, you’re a student.” – In other words – “shut up you punks and pay homage to the square!”

Josef Arbers – Homage To The Square. I kid you not.

Josef discouraged what he called “Uninfluenced Experimentation” Rauschenberg of course, would have none of that. Claiming he was inspired to do “exactly the reverse” what he was taught.

Rauschenberg made a name for himself in the 1950’s, completing thousands of often nameless paintings. Some were blank, others were adorned with random junk he happened upon while out walking. He died one the most prolific artists on the American scene.

The White Paintings, while not my favorite among Rauschenberg’s works, are still hard paintings to ignore.

My favorites are ‘Monogram’ (AKA – the one with the goat)

That’s alright, I don’t get it either.

 

and ‘Canyon’ (AKA the one with the bird)

What is the significance of the pillow?

The white paintings are shocking even to those who claim to understand modern art. Yet some have apparently drawn inspiration from them.

The Beatles famous “White” Album.

　

　

by

Visions of RUST

 Here is a creature from the Rust Novel I’ve posted.

https://rastelly.com/2011/06/rust-by-rebecca-a-stelly-c-2011/

 An image along with a corresponding piece from the story. This is basically just one of the many beguiling beasties currently residing in my brain. Captured here for your amusement. (c. 2011) If your bored enough to read a few chapters of my novel, I do welcome suggestions. Tell me what you think might make the eerie hike more inviting, and I’ll incorporate your changes where possible. If not, enjoy the picture.     

  

 

Amelia pushed through a stand of bamboo and came upon a soothing scene.

Benches surrounded a bird bath in which a large number of bright orange butterflies rested.

Her dog ambled over to it. He stood on his hind legs and flicked out his long tongue in attempt to reach the still liquid hovering just over his head. Amelia called to her pet. Shiner gave the bird bath one last shove for its insolence and it toppled over.

Amelia whipped around with the intention of scolding him but was struck dumb by the sight of the butterflies.

All those bright orange wings belonged to the same creature.

Please do not use this without my permission, leave a comment explaining yourself if it is your intention to borrow any of my work, and we will discuss it. 🙂

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Bohemians At Large; Pink Yarn Monster Shot Down Over Italy.

I love this thing – but – don’t completely understand why.

The dangers of the recent knitting fad have been discussed in my previous article –

https://rastelly.com/20ll/08/13/bohemians-at-large/

There, I expressed my concern about the Auntie Alliance and their plans to make tacky sweater wearing mandatory. I dismissed their colorful critters as a harmless by-product of an otherwise sinister scheme but clearly I was unaware of an incident that transpired back in 2005.

It seems the beast was conjured by an Austrian group called Gelitin, but fortunately, was taken out by military aircraft as it slowly descended from the night sky. We can only hope that this is the fierce, ancient deity responsible for the current craze, and not one of it’s smaller minions.

My modest estimate places it’s length at some two hundred feet long and our friends at Google Earth have discovered that it’s visible from space.

Purported to have been “knitted by dozens of grannies out of pink wool” (I suspect Missus Flutterbe and her coven of quilters was involved) The sculpture, entitled “Hase” Is German for “Hare.” and rest assured it is completely bio-degradable.

The carcass will be left to rot for the next twenty years presumably as a warning to all extraterrestrial demons seeking to follow in its fuzzy, pink footsteps. Those wishing to pay homage to their fallen master may make a pilgrimage to the great hill Colletto Fava in the Piedmont region of northern Italy.

The art group Gelitin – ponder more of their delicious insanity here –

http://www.gelitin.net/mambo/index.php

had this to say about their colossal achievement – I suppose, in response to cries of WHAT THE &@#* were you thinking.

“The things one finds wandering in a landscape: familiar things and utterly unknown, like a flower one has never seen before, or, as Columbus discovered, an inexplicable continent;
and then, behind a hill, as if knitted by giant grandmothers, lies this vast rabbit, to make you feel as small as a daisy.
The toilet-paper-pink creature lies on its back: a rabbit-mountain like Gulliver in Lilliput.

Happy you feel as you climb up along its ears, almost falling into its cavernous mouth, to the belly-summit and look out over the pink woolen landscape of the rabbit’s body, a country dropped from the sky;

ears and limbs sneaking into the distance; from its side flowing heart, liver and intestines.

Happily in love you step down the decaying corpse, through the wound, now small like a maggot, over woolen kidney and bowel.
Happy you leave like the larva that gets its wings from an innocent carcass at the roadside.
Such is the happiness which made this rabbit.
I love the rabbit the rabbit loves me.”

by

Red House Part 2

I carefully wrote this story so that it would be easy to understand without it’s earlier part. If you want to read part one, it’s under short stories. Thanks for reading and do tell me if there is something I can do to improve it.

         Lisa took a big bite of her Italian vegetable sandwich and patted the white, metal body of her Bobcat E32 Excavator. She’d never done demolition before and was looking forward to it.

        The ancient, brick mansion was mostly the work of much larger machines but daddy had promised there would be some left for her.

       “Hey you!” said one of the guys handling the beehive under the eave. “Who me?” “Yeah you, stop stuffing your face and knock that door in.” She swallowed. The sandwich was delicious. Ordinarily it peeved her to be distracted at lunch but today was special. There was building on the menu and she’d just been ordered to take the first bite.

       Her fellow workers scattered to an unnecessary distance as she eased the unit into position. They yelled things like – “Clear off! There’s a woman in this one!” She swore back at them as was expected. Lisa was willing to bet she had twice the experience of all of them. Such shouting matches were the required social niceties in this crowd.

      She studied the door in question. It appeared to have been beautifully decorated at one time. Now it was covered in the scratched names of children who had knocked at midnight to prove their courage. There were other scratches too; the usual occult symbols meant to keep bad stuff in or perhaps sick it on your enemies. Old houses just did that. People thought they were magic.

      She raised the arm of her machine and dragged it across the weathered wood, leaving the largest scratch of them all. This would be nothing. She placed the tines of the shovel near the top. She would either tear the door off its hinges or peel out a hole big enough for the bee wranglers to step through. She wondered if the floor would hold, and for a brief instant was thankful she wasen’t the one going in.

She eased the arm ever so slightly forward . . .

           The crew dropped their coffees as a loud crash shook the earth under their feet. A long column of opaque, white smoke billowed sideways from the south face of the old mansion. Quickly, they rushed to the aid of their friend.

        Her excavator looked to be covered with a coat of thick, gray paint.

       A rag was rubbed across the window. The glass was cracked but not broken.

       The woman inside was sitting up straight, eyes wide.

      She stumbled out when they opened the door. “What the hell!” She cried. Lisa turned to the door she’d been told to knock down, the frame was gone also, along with a significant portion of the wall around it.

        The bees were in a panic. The humans sought the safety of their vehicles. The swarm was not of that murderous breed and calmed down after only a short while. Lisa then made for the bee keeper’s truck, intending to make one thing clear. “That wasn’t me.” “We Know.” said a guy in a dark blue business suit. They told her his name was Dale Winter, THE Dale Winter. He raised a bullhorn to his mouth. “Everyone go home! That’s enough for today!”

           As soon as Lisa left, a man in a bee suit came forward. “We’ll have to call in a bomb squad. Something exploded in there.” “Don’t remind me.” Said Dale, curling his lip at the house. It had been an eyesore on the block and a thorn in his side since taking office.

   He did not consider himself to be the superstitious sort but upon pursuing what little records existed on the place he had noticed a pattern. It seemed that the Red House attracted trouble. More so the longer it remained in it’s owners possession. As a former lawyer Dale knew a liability when he saw one, and as a current mayor he knew it was his duty to take it down.

　

by

Mad Science with Mother Nature.

With a new year just beginning and prophecies of doom in the air, geneticists have decided –

“What the heck, let’s make some monsters. After all, it’s twenty twelve and the people will be disappointed if nothing crazy happens. Sure, the world could end, but if it doesn’t, we’ll have a literal Jackass to keep you up at night.”

It’s simply what happens when you compine donkey DNA with jackrabbit DNA. If you prefer you may call it a haronkey. (Hare+Donkey)

Unfortunately that wily lass, Mother Nature has beat us to it, having been turning out Haronkeys for ages.

Meet the Patagonian Mara or Cavie.

Elusive in the wild and monogamous – (They mate for life.) this eleven pound critter is a taxonomist confuser. It is all rodent – the world’s fourth largest, and grows up in herds tended by only a few adults.

If danger threatens on their watch they stuff the kids down a hole and run. Which seems like a good idea until someone calls child protective services. Mara’s raised in captivity are said be social with humans, and are occasionally kept as pets. Which would explain all the stories of small children having to be fished out of wells.

　

Too cute for ya?

　

　

Meet the Gastropede – (Gastropod + Centipede) Centislug or more officially, the velvet worm.

This one is truly mind blowing. It lives in tropical regions in the southern hemisphere and looks like a cross between two of the earth’s more disgusting creepy crawlies. However it still manages to be ever-so-slightly cute.

It’s behavior is something us mammals will find familiar – females bear live young who then stick around in tight-knit and isolated family groups.

Clans fight fiercely to defend the rotting logs they live in from murderous outsiders, and when prey is spotted all participate in the hunt – lassoing dinner with spectacular slime cannons mounted on their heads.

Size does matter. Females are the biggest and the alpha eats first. She reminds her underlings of who is boss by climbing on top of them. Kids often ride the adults but no one cares. After all, they are just kids. When two meet they seem to compare their respective sizes before choosing a course of action. This is all made possible by one of the most complex brains a small invertebrate can be blessed with.

Lets us try something a little more insane.

Why? Because we CAN!

Crossing an elephant and a baboon spider yields something that is horrifying but still disappointingly small. It may not be able to devour whole villages but most will agree it is plenty big enough.

The – arachniderm. (Arachnid + Pachyderm) is another invention nature has beaten us to.

Rather then joining two very distant relatives in unholy matrimony, she has merely taken the common hermit crab, and super-sized it.

The Coconut crab is native to the Philippines, and as the name implies it enjoys eating coconuts, climbing trees and cutting down fruit with it’s powerful claws.

Little is known of the life and habits of this otherworldly, and by some accounts tasty, arthropod, but rumor has it they sneak into peoples houses at night and – steal their pots and pans.

Weather these giant hermits are merely in search of a portable home in a world that lacks giant seashells, or simply protecting themselves by hampering our ability to cook them is uncertain. Either way, Lovecraft needs to tell these arcane horrors that they are doing it wrong.

Not crazy enough?

Why not combine the world cutest endangered poster child with a germ. After all, panda’s are endangered, germs are here to stay weather we like them or not. If one must acquire a deadly disease wouldn’t it be a comfort to know that the critters crawling about in your veins look adorable under a microscope? Guess what, such a critter already exists. Gee, thanks nature.

Look! It’s waving at you!

Fortunately the Ameba Panda – affectionately named, Amanda, feeds solely on moss and algae and is in no way harmful to humans. This is especially fortunate because it lives on every single inch of the earth’s surface – and apparently – can’t be killed.

Meet the water bear, moss piglet or specifically – the Tardigrade. Capable of withstanding 1,000 times the radiation needed to kill just about everything else, and able to survive in the vacuum of outer space. One wonders if that isn’t where it came from.

Welcome to Earth, little guy.

　Images and info courtasy of who else? -Wikipedia. Thanks for the free stuff. Someone send them money because I’m broke.

by

It’s a Major Award!!!

Because “It’s a damn poor mind that can’t think of more then one way to spell a word.” – Andrew Jackson.

 I’d like to thank the academy . . . AKA – Catcher of Stars.

http://versenotprose.wordpress.com/

You literally made my day this morning, as you see, I had a lot of time on my hands.

I’m not exactly sure what I am supposed to do with this –

Paperweight?

My guess was that I merely print-screen the image and paste it on this post right here, where everyone can see it.

Note – If this thing turns out to be copyrighted by Disney –

Ha, Ha, very funny.

This is the first award I’ve received and I am deeply honored and presumably obligated to state ten things you may not know about me. Forgive me if they make me sound like a crazy hermit. I am crazy, but unfortunately I am still only an aspiring hermit.

　

1. I’ve been to England, once.

2. I think clowns are scary. (Mimes are okay though.)

3. I farm bugs as a hobby.

4. I make fuzzy owl figurines.

5. I’ve been told that I am a mad scientist in the kitchen.

6. I share a house with four reptiles, three mammals and a small blue demon that disguises itself as a cat.

7. I talk to gargoyles.

8. I drink more virgin bloody maries then anyone else I’ve ever heard of.

9. Lately I’ve sworn off the more popular books, as finding treasure is better when you have to dig for it.

10. I believe that the answer, is 42.

This also qualifies me to nominate at least six other bloggers.

I know this is starting to sound Like a chain letter but bear with me.

I will be holding none of you to the terms this agreement.

So don’t send a guy to punch me for giving you all extra homework.

http://yobynos.wordpress.com/explore the Philippines with Sony, and help him identify the mystery plant.

 http://suedreamwalker.wordpress.com/ a colorful, mystical, experience, with a colorful mystic.

 http://sharmishthabasu.wordpress.com/  beauty in simplicity, illustrated haikus to brighten your day.

 http://vampireweather.wordpress.com/  I. Am. Mystery. Awesome poet and – mysterious person.

 http://roboticrhetoric.wordpress.com/  Click here and read about the Romantic Escapades of a Delirious Englishman.

Who is this composer, and what is she doing in the garden? Ask her at

http://composerinthegarden.wordpress.com/

 http://thegirlinthehat.wordpress.com/

Here’s to my first subscriber and valued adviser on RUST. If it doesn’t completely suck, thank her, preferably by reading about the hot Celebes and hipster screen writers in – What Would Water Do?

 http://sparksinshadow.wordpress.com/

Thank you for noticeing the improvement and informing me. Your time was not wasted.

Read – A Light In Disguise, Santa tells Lucas that if he can not give the boy what he wants he can take something away instead, and that Lucas will be happy. Can loosing something be a good thing? Read, and find out.

 http://arjun1097.wordpress.com/

Some of your stories are just really good. REALLY good. Especially “Mrs. Jones.” When ya gonna continue it?

If some some of this text is smaller then the rest – it is because I was having trouble with the links. I do not love you less.

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Burlap Cat – Part 2

Since some people have expressed their intention to read more of this, I present to you, Burlap Cat – Part Two. SPOILER ALERT! – scroll down for part one. (You can also find it under short stories.) Please read part one first. As I am very proud of it. Oh, and Merry Christmas.

Burlap Cat – Part Two

Slanting rain drops beat the south side of the house. Wet leaves stuck to the windows. One episode of Unsolved Mysteries after another played on the living room television. Soon the disk menu reappeared but Joanne did not replace it. A tray of holiday goodies was left untouched on the couch.

Joanne sat with her eyes keenly focused. She tossed another peanut at the thing on the coffee table.

It had arrived in the mail only two hours ago. After she had only looked at it on a seedy, occult website three days before. Save for the strange manner in which it had come, the thing was nothing more then it appeared to be, that is, a burlap cat.

Joanne wasn’t sure if it was curiosity that prompted her to actually bring the thing into the house or her irrational fear that it would harm her in some way if she didn’t.

Her telephone hummed in her pocket.

“David!” she said, holding it to her ear.

“Hey Joanne, I was wondering if you have any of my games. Red Dead Redemption has gone AWOL.”

Joanne saw the title among the DVDs on the bookshelf and was quick to slip it out of it’s case. “I do indeed have it. I’ll be right there.”

She hung up before he could talk her out of biking over in the rain. David had been present the night she first caught site of the cat. He was the one who had shown her the website. It had been on his computer.

She unpacked her crinkly blue poncho and pulled it over her head, snapping it across her arms. She dropped the game into her back pack, hesitated, then stuffed the cat in there as well.

A soaking wet wind struck her as she opened the back door. She wrestled her bike out of the shed and struggled to build momentum.

Cars rushed by on the slick streets, spraying water and throwing mud. “What the heck am I doing.” She wondered. Joanne was afraid, but this was no time to admit it.

David’s house was by the *overpass. Joanne often teased him about living under a bridge, but his family was far from poor. Restoring their large Dutch Colonial had been her father’s crowning achievement.

She turned down a flagstone path into a garden darkened by the shadow of the highway, and the walls built to control the noise. David claimed he couldn’t sleep without it. Joanne was not so inclined. She flinched as an eighteen-wheeler blew its horn.

A light came on, revealing a sinister, if not familiar face. “You will have to pay the toll! Sayeth the troll!” “This is why you can’t get girlfriends.” She snapped. Driving the plastic bag containing David’s borrowed game into his chest. “Red Dead!” He laughed manically. “The lady hath good taste, she does.” He stroked it lovingly. “My preecioussssss . . .”

She ignored him, and made a bee-line for the house. David followed, his smile turning to a frown. “Joe what’s going on.” “Nothing. I’m cold and I’m wet, and I do believe you owe me.” “Owe you? I never said you had to return it right this instant, is something wrong?”

“I think your over-reacting.” said David twenty minutes later as they sipped cider and stared at the cat.

“Just tell me the truth.” Joanne insisted. “Are you, or are you not fooling with me.”

“Look Joe, you saw an ad.”

“On a website selling cursed knick-knacks.” She reminded him.

David sighed. “On a website selling haunted nick-knacks, supposedly haunted knick-knacks. Those things were far too cheap to be authentic. You clicked on a blank space and found an ad with a picture but no price, no name, and no contact, then it went to an error message. They were experiencing technical difficulties. Not surprising, considering most of them couldn’t spell. Someone probably thought you were trying to order when the site crashed.”

Joanne crossed her arms. “They would have thought you were trying to order, it was your account.”

David shrugged. “Perhaps you signed in out of force of habit.”

“I would have still needed a credit card number, or at least an address, then there’s the fact it came in an unmarked, open box.”

“A crappy website, a crappy delivery service. All you need to worry about is someone trying to charge you for it.”

“but what are the odds, that I would run into a problem like this on a website like that?”

“Because people who run websites like that still think the world is flat and are consequently, bad with technology, but hey, there’s no reason why we can’t make the best of it.”

He removed a small black box from his pocket and pointed it at the ancient stuffed animal. “I wouldn‘t do that.” said Joanne. David pressed his lips together. “Why?” “You could provoke it or something.” “You’ve explored haunted buildings with me before.” “When I was certain they weren‘t actually haunted.” “You read way too many ghost stories Joanne.” “I’m not the one with the EMF detector.”

David put away the Device. “Look, if it makes you feel better I’ll send an E-mail to the owners of the sight, asking them what happened. If you want, you can leave Marvin here with me.”

Joanne glared at the little brown face, the remaining button eye dripping hardened yellow glue, the black thread mouth seeming to smirk. “Marvin?” David picked up the cat and made it dance on his knee. “It just seems like a Marvin.”

The rain beat Joanne as she sped home. David had wanted her to wait it out, but she told him her family was eating at Sylvan’s tonight and that Sylvan’s was her favorite. It wasn’t a lie, but it would have taken more then great food to push her out into this. David’s casual treatment of the cat was making her nervous. He could do as he pleased with it, by himself. After all, it wasn’t like she didn’t warn him.

She passed the neighborhood mail box and decided she might as well. She parked her bike near one of the yellow concrete posts that sheltered it from the road. The box was covered by a tin awning, but the slant of the rain made it useless. She held an umbrella in one hand while she fished for the key to her family’s compartment.

The Christmas cards, bills and random junk, fell in an avalanche at her feet.

As there was no way to tell them apart she would have to collect all of it. She dropped her phone. There was a text from David.

“Hey, I thought you were going to leave Marvin with me.”

Joanne saw something out of the corner of her eye and snapped to attention.

Balanced atop the yellow post where she’d parked her bike was

– the burlap cat.

Forgetting everything else she screamed, and ran.

A loud squeal of tires was followed by a crash.

She turned to look, and saw a damaged pickup truck backing away from the crushed mailbox, swerving back on to the road and, speeding away. Her bike had been folded around the post, yanked free, and left with the front wheel bent skyward and spinning.

The cat lay at the base of the post, face down in the mud.

Joanne didn’t want to think about what almost happened. What would have happened, if the cat had decided to remain at David’s house like a good little inanimate object.

Joanne tucked it under her poncho, and began the long walk home.

*(Note – to my friends across the pond, an overpass is a flyover.)*

by

Yule Storm

I’ll be willing to bet Santa has one of these on the door of his dojo.

YULE STORM

A storm hath risen . . .

blowing ghosts from their prison

like sand through a sieve.

They shall all dance together

as the bells ring forever

here on all hollows eve.

The wild hunt commeth

with a black horse’s whinny.

Howl the hounds in the hills,

sound great the horn of plenty.

These are the days of friends, foe’s, and feasts,

when pilgrims and braves,

witches and naves,

all dine till the sun shows her face in the East.

The Halls, shall be decked to the uppermost gables,

Fools on their pedestals.

Kings in their stables.

Larders or swelling

From Gaia’s dark dwelling

Come all far and near

See the wheels that are spinning

tis the end

the beginning

tis the close of the year.