NationStates Improviser: Spring 2015

The NationStates

Improviser

Spring 2015

“When we got to the part where we had to improvise an argument in a poetic language, I got cold feet. "I can't do this," I said. "I don't know what to say."! !

"Say anything," he said. "You can't make a mistake when you improvise."! !

"What if I mess it up? What if I screw up the rhythm?"! !

"You can't," he said. "It's like drumming. If you miss a beat, you create another."! !

In this simple exchange, Sam taught me the secret of improvisation, one that I have accessed my whole life.” ! " " " " " "– Patti Smith!

Editors The New World Oceania!

Editor-in-Chief!

Aquitayne!

"Prose Editor Aelarus!

"Visual Arts Editor Elemental North!

"Copyeditor Zunkwentania!

"Poetry Editor!

Finalists

To Massacre the Drunks – Fiction!

Nerotysia!

Paradelle for a Bat – Poetry!

"Respubliko de Liberco Forest Fire – Visual Art! "Nazi Flower Power !

Gold Key Distinctions!

Charlotte Ryberg

The NationStates Improviser Winter 2014 // Contents

" " " " " " " " " " "Fiction !

Murder on Canterbury Drive – 6 Nude East Ireland !

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To Massacre the Drunks – 15 Nerotysia !

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Embassy – 11 The New World Oceania !

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Rencontrer – 37 Conserative Morality!

" " " " " " " " " " "Poetry !

West Past Western – 14 Havl !

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A Brief History of Hate – 39!

One – 43 Bezombia!

" " " " " " " " " " "Poetry!

Winter – 20!

Nature – 40 Schiltzberg !

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Paradelle for a Bat – 13 "Respubliko de Liberco!

" " " " " " " " " "Visual Art !

Forest Fire– Cover Soggy Sewer – 10 Aryan Bridge – 41 Nazi Flower Power !

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There Is No Spoon – 42 Guy Fawkes Mask – 12 Forever Fields !

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Refugee – 5 Dread Lady Nathicana !

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January 21st – 52 The New World Oceania

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Gold Key Photography Distinctions – 21 Charlotte Ryberg

“Refugee” (2010) Dread Lady Nathicana Graphite on Paper

Fiction

Murder on Canterbury Drive Nude East Ireland

From the file of Ethelbert A. Fuller !

The sky was a darker shade of blue, and the clouds were nowhere to be seen – the night was ripe with the pickings for a deranged murderer. An ungentlemanly heathen, hell-bent on destruction and anarchy. I myself have a bias for the female kind – men like this, with no courage or morals, do "not. Yet I realize that this is not an account of my beliefs, but an account instead of my investigation. As of tonight, it was one day ago.!

! !

"Not willing to resist, I headed down to station after morning tea, and asked to the officer, H, whom I had been acquainted with during my first caseone which I regard with perfect success to this very day. ! !

Upon meeting H., I was informed of the situation at hand. ! !

!

"“A murder has occurred late last night. We were notified, and have ! opened investigation,” I was told. “We "“Mr. Fuller, a letter for you,” the require your assistance, for we are maid had stated in early morning, short several officers. The pay will be around 8 o'clock. I had been drinking 5,000 dollars of United States my morning tea when I took the letter currency, should you succeed.” I and sent her downstairs. The letter smiled, thanked the officer, and asked was white, tinted yellow and wrinkled, him to where I should be off to in though it seemed to have been pressed order to examine the evidence. He told down by hands. ! me 17 Canterbury Drive. And off I ! headed, hailing a cab and arriving Mr. Fuller of Pleasant St, several minutes later.!

Your attention is directed henceforth to the ! recent developments on a new case – "The building – an antique shop – of your fancy, perhaps? was sealed off, guarded by two officers

wielding batons. I approached them, Report to the station at 108 Kessler stating my name and business, and Avenue posthaste, for further information. they allowed me entrance. !

-H. !

!

!

"I continued my search by going to the Canterbury Barber Shop, run by Ayal Samson. His accent, appearance, and name alerted me to his Jewish ancestry, as if the presence of a Star of David necklace had not been enough.

He was polite, yet nervous. I did not, however, tell him of my case. I introduced myself as “Richard Juste” an inspector of tools and supplies. He led me to his tools that were out in his shop- the usual razors and straightedged tools, as well as scissors and ! other supplies. I asked him to take me "“Greetings,” I said, introducing into the storage room next. Everything myself. He likewise introduced himself checked out, but I asked if I could take as Fredrick, and had examined the home any supplies. He agreed, and body. The blood, he said, was from a had a box ready for me in several clean slice at the neck. He theorized a minutes. ! razor or some other shaving tool. I told ! him I would examine it myself, and I "I arrived home, and told the maid did so, finding his theories quite that I wished not to be disturbed. I accurate. I thanked him, and decided headed upstairs, and spent the most of to continue my investigation by the afternoon creating several clay accessing the store's logs. ! structures, smooth and delicate. I then ! grabbed one razor, and slashed at one "I checked for what I believe to be mold. I slashed at another, with a new one hour and twenty-five minutes. razor. I continued, with a new razor for Nothing stolen or missing from the each mold, until I had used up all of store- simply a random murder; at my supplies. By this time, it was 10 least what one might want it to look o'clock. Tired, and with nothing to go like. I went to Fredrick, and asked him over, I went fast asleep in my chair.! to make a mold of the slash, which he ! said would be ready by the morrow. !

"The next morning, I awoke and left! !

!

"Inside, it was a quite friendly store, with antique jewelry, decorations, clothing, and several weapons from the last century, including French Revolution-era muskets and several paintings of Benedict Arnold, who is revered as the protector of the city against the British armies during the American Revolution. But standing out amongst it all was the front desk, behind which lie the victim in a pool of blood. An officer stood over her, his face grim. !

!

! moustache had swung with a pipe, ! nearly knocking me out. I regained my footing, however, and counter with a swift kick to the knee, and a punch to the chest. Another punch, this time to ! the wrist, caused him to drop his "Comparing the molds took little weapon, which I swiftly kicked across time; soon I had discovered that one of the floor. He regained his footing, but I the straight edges had been used to had already drawn my gun and taken slash the neck of the store owner. But aim. ! why? I wondered. I had little time to ! waste, simply grabbing my coat, hat, "Samson then tried to run. With and revolver and leaving for the shop little option, I shot him in the leg, and with my evidence. In the street, I was he fell. I questioned the mustached stopped, and handed a letter. ! man, who spoke only in Italian. “Non ! avete idea. Quando fate i furbi con uno di Mr. Juste, noi, fare casini con la folla intera.”

Stop your investigation. Go home and ! forget.

"Luckily, I knew Italian fluently, and -U.B. questioned him further. “What mob? !

Whose?” I asked. !

"I pondered this, but kept on, ! though I kept wary of what would "He was stunned, but when I aimed come next. It was in minutes that I towards his face, he chose to answer. arrived at the shop, confronting Ayal “Bruno,” he said. I knew what he meant Samson. I explained to him the state – Ugo Bruno, the Italian mob boss on of affairs, revealing myself to be the run from Federal authorities. Was involved with the police, but not my he in Fort Oranje? Perhaps.! real name. He was scared, I could tell, ! and I asked why he murdered the poor "Little did I know, Samson was gone. woman.!

I found only too late that he had ! alerted that I had been the murderer, "It was at that point when I was ! falsely of course. I made my escape ambushed. A burly man with a curled! through the back door, and through! !

!

immediately for the police station, asking for the officer Fredrick and his mold. I was taken to the station's morgue, and given a cast of the wound, and left for my home. !

! the alley until I reached the abandoned theatre. ! !

"Now, here in the small director's office, I sit typing what I see as my last and perhaps greatest case. If I live through this, I will expose Ugo Bruno's involvement in the murder, and have him convicted. Perhaps I will assist authorities in finding him. I am aware that a manhunt is on for me now. I will need to use cunning to escape. ! !

"Noises, I fear, are gathering outside the office door. My gun is close at hand, though I know not if I will use it.!

--------------------------------------------------! !

The rest of the file has not been found.

Mr. Fuller’s whereabouts are unknown.!

“Soggy Sewer” (2010) Nazi Flower Power Watercolor on Cold-Pressed

Fiction

Embassy The New World Oceania

A pen from the ambassador’s desk rolls across the wooden surface. It strikes a lone bookend. A Rolex ticks audibly in the hollow air of the room, a low murmur starts to sound from the outside window.! !

The crowd brings down the fence (but they have already jumped over it) and the students flow into the compound.

Deface the American seal on the wall and tie the ambassador to the unstable ground. This just has to last for fourhundred days and I won’t kill them but I’ll gun down their words and by God I can not wait.!

“Guy Fawkes Mask” (2011) Forever Fields Oil on Canvas

Poetry

Paradelle for a Bat Respubliko de Liberco

With wings of grace his beauty rides.!

With wings of grace his beauty rides -! and sings he to the velvet night?!

And sings he to the velvet night.!

He rides to grace the night, and sings! of beauty with his velvet wings.! !

His motions cross the heavens calm.!

His motions cross the heavens calm.!

He swiftly dips and trips and glides.!

He swiftly dips and trips and glides.!

His motions calm, he glides and dips,! and cross the heavens swiftly trips.! !

How great, this dance by chance to see!!

How great, this dance by chance to see!!

And look: now rise the lively stars.!

And look: now rise the lively stars.!

Now stars look by - how great the chance! to rise and see this lively dance!! !

The velvet heavens of the night! look by, to chance his rise and dips,! and grace to motions swiftly sings,! and calm and great this dance he trips.!

Now cross the stars his beauty rides,! with lively wings - see how he glides!!

West Past Western Havl I know how it must feel to walk west past Western! on Chicago’s Division street! where Wicker Park becomes Humboldt Park!

Starbucks becomes the supermercado! banks become currency exchanges! fixies become taco carts! salons become barbershops! faces become brown! and the grave silence of irony acquiesces to! the pulse of bachata from passing cars! !

Maybe it’s when you pass the last art gallery! or natural bakery!

Italian trattoria! or that stretch flanked by the hospital and school! the Waterloo of gentrification! the Little Bighorn of sprawl!

I know how it must feel to walk west past Western! into a known unknown! an astronaut of White Flight! to feel outside outside!

Fiction

To Massacre the Drunks Nerotysia

The man will disappear with a flurry of his mud-brown coat.!

Was it really worth it?!

disobedience. And besides, beyond the words of the Oversight, there were the man’s actions. His raucous rabblerousing in city bars, breaking at least three noses per week in drunken rages.

He would burp and blare his insolence at the world. He would vomit acid and beer into the river, which now settled in accordance with the gentler winds.

So yes, the man probably deserved his ruination. He was, after all, a nuisance.!

!

!

He will ask himself relentlessly, as insistent as the pounding rain, as his boots clop across cobbled roads, traveling alongside the river. The howling winds of the storm will begin to kick up sprays of river water, flinging clinging droplets into the air with such gusto one would think God was angry at this river. The man will walk quicker and quicker in time with his pulse, as the nagging question pulls and twists his mind, his breath coming in faster icy gasps.!

The man would breathe easier still, until his exhalations no longer even misted in the blazingly cold air. Order was of utmost importance. The drunks did nothing to help this city, what with their guttural voices and beer-laden tongues which would spout utter nonsense. This man was surely nothing more than a nuisance.!

!

He will turn from the ruined man, the man he had ruined, and stride quickly into the drenching rain away from the softly flowing river, and he will stuff his hands in his pockets and crush the thoughts in his mind.! !

!

!

What the man won’t consider is the boy, the son of the drunk, who just after the ruination will be pitter! pattering his way through the Yes it was. Calm yourself, fool.! drenched cobbling of the city, ! searching for his father. He often had The man’s breathing will ease slightly to do this searching, and he had as he remembers his options had been become expert at rousing his father limited. His orders had been to ruin from his drooling hangovers by the the man. The Oversight would have no ! riverside. They would then trudge!

!

! home, father and son, so that the father could work and the son could work and the mother could work, but all in different ways. The father would make hungover attempts at bonding, softly spewing some supposed wisdom or softly speaking of his younger years.

He always spoke softly in these walks home, as embarrassment had now taken the place of alcohol in his mind.

The boy saw these halfhearted attempts for what they were, but still appreciated them. He would give his father little smiles, little comforting understanding smiles, and listen with ears perked.!

So, you did it? I thought you were having qualms, Daniel.! !

The man will walk slightly faster in an attempt to outrun the woman’s coaxing voice, the kind of voice a practiced prostitute uses to lure drunks into her groin. However the woman will keep up, the knife-like heels of her shoes tip-tapping on the slippery cobbling.! !

!

I thought you were having qualms. I thought you were even considering opposition. Murdering for the crime of being drunk, hadn’t you said it was ridiculous?!

However tonight would be different, of course, as the pitter-pattering boy will discover when he nearly pitter-patters right over his father’s blood-crusted body. The boy will glance down, notice the jade glint of his father’s signature wedding ring, and fall to his scab-stained knees. His tears will fall salty and stagnant into his mouth which is kept open with silent screams which startle even God.!

!

The man will spit his defiance into the river, draw the brim of his dripping hat downwards, and walk even faster. The winds will pick up again, rolling into the man’s face and body from the front like a great wave of water. The river will begin kicking again, like a babe at its mother’s womb.! !

!

You changed your mind, did you?

Seems awfully – !

!

Meanwhile a woman will have begun walking alongside the man, the man with the mud-brown trench coat which is fluttering in the gentle winds.

The nub of a cigar will flare up at the edge of the woman’s tongue.!

!

Stop!! !

Finally the man will have responded, a bitten response slipping just between his clenched teeth. He could feel the!

!

! doubt unspooling itself back into him, and he mustn’t allow it back in. He stopped walking along with his Stop!

And the woman will skid at the unexpected halt, kicking up moisture that was clinging to the glistening cobble. She will gaze bemusedly at the back of the man’s head, where his curly night-black hair will fall from his hat. Her mouth will be stretched into a lazy sort of smile, the kind of smile one reserves for arrogant children.!

the cracked and cracking wood. And the boy will finish his lonely trek home. ! !

!

For seven weeks and seven months the boy will stew in wrenching tears and smoldering temper. His eyes will be drooping with dark baggage, and slowly his face will curl in on itself, pulling the mouth into tight lips. And he will stew and steam and he will purchase a stubby black pistol, gleaming with garnish, the metal straight and taut in the shop’s light. He will hide the pistol and his three polished gleaming bullets under his pillow at night, like teeth for the tooth fairy, and he will continue to stew and steam. And gradually he will fixate a single face in his mind, the face of the Supreme Overseer, which looks sternly down at the patchwork peasantry from propaganda posters plastered all over the town. !

I will have no talk of it.! !

And then the man will continue walking, leaving the woman standing there, blowing circles of smoke into the shadowed air.! !

!

Throughout all this the boy will trudge back home all alone, without his father, and he will let his tears drip into the cobbling and mix with the rainwater and sink into the ground, forgotten. And on the way home the boy will be knocked into a merchant’s cart by a passerby, and the merchant will curse and scream at the boy and his newly acquired cabbage stains.

The boy will lie in the cart for a little bit, feeling his eyes burn with newlyarrived tears, wanting to just dissolve into the kiss of sleep. But the merchant will roughly yank him up and out of ! !

During this time the man, Daniel, will become the most effective drunk ripper of them all, and many men will see the flapping of his mud-brown coat as he strides away from their blood-crusted bodies. And after seven weeks and seven months, the man will attend an award ceremony in Oversight Square, where he will receive the Supreme Oversight Award

!

! for Oversight. He will stand fidgeting in the sun’s stark rays, just in front of the sputtering fountain at the heart of the Square, and he will glance nervously around at the ranks of black-clothed soldiers assembled to witness the ceremony. !

will sound as though the man responsible for the clap must have a great talent for clapping, for the clap will be so incisive it will split the thunderous applause down the middle like a bolt of lightning. It will echo into the ears of canaries perched on curling black streetlamps, and they will scatter like they were trying to escape a collapsing mine.!

!

Then the Overseer himself will appear, the same robed face which stares down at the peasantry from propaganda, and he will walk laboriously up to the man. In his powdered gloves the Overseer will hold the gleaming medal, shining under the onslaught of the sun while the Overseer himself sweats under the same onslaught. The sun will simmer the very air around the Square, and the pungent odor of sweat will permeate the proceedings. And the Overseer will finally reach the man, wheezing and shaking with the exertion, and he will carefully pin the shining medal onto the man’s breast, and the man will stand with the medal over his heart as the assembled soldiers clap. The man will try to let the thunderous applause drown out the woman’s voice in his mind, which has grown louder and louder with each dead drunk.! !

!

Suddenly a single clap, louder than the rest, will ring out in the Square. It !

!

And as all the soldiers wonder at this extraordinary clap, something even more extraordinary will happen. The Overseer will drop dead to the ground, blood spurting from his lapels as if they were hoses. And then the thunder will roll again into the Square, and in the frenzy the boy will be crushed under the clomp of soldierly boots as they search for the assassin. The boy will be crushed and the smoking gun will roll from his fragile fingers and clatter onto the ground, shattering the frenzy. And the soldiers will converge on the gun, ignoring the crumpled body of the boy like it was a piece of paper thrown to the wind.! !

And the Commander of the soldiers, once he examines the gun, will decide that the assassin must have been a foreign spy. And so a great search commenced, soldiers cracking the

!

! cobblestone streets under the intensity of their marching. They search high and low, but mostly low, and they find nothing. Meanwhile the man, Daniel, will break into where the assassin’s gun is stored and shoot himself in the brains. And all his thoughts and ideas and the nagging woman’s voice will be splattered onto the pristine swirly marble of the Oversight Palace.!

replace the Oversight.!

!

!

The woman herself will still be blowing sparks into the air with her cigar, pinching it between two redpainted fingernails and then blowing whorls of smokiness into the air. And she will find the body of the man, and the bemused smile will not have left her face, and she will blow more smoke whorls at the body. Later she will lose all her money and fall into destitution, but never will she forget the dead man.!

!

!

!

In the end, the soldiers will find nothing but fuming peasantry and fuming nobility in their search. The crusade against drunks will cease, for now the soldiers and the disciples of the dead Overseer will need to crusade against revolutionaries, who will crawl from every corner like termites in a great chewed out log.

And thus the assassin will have sparked the revolution which will !

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The revolutionaries will also fail, however. They, too, will massacre the drunks amidst storms of wind and rain. It will be hilariously ironic.!

Poetry

Winter Schiltzberg

The snow is an unbroken blanket!

As far as the eye can see.!

The cold hurts my eyes and burns my ears,!

It is thirty degrees below.! !

The naked trees scattered about!

With thin snow on the tops of their branches.!

The evergreens still keep their color,!

But with patches of snow all over.! !

The mountains rise and fall to the north!

With rocky slopes and boulders.!

Shards of ice might slip and fall!

To shape a natural slope.!

Charlotte

Photography

Euston Square Station Charlotte Ryberg

Ryberg

Portfolio

A NationStates Improviser

Gold Key Distinctions

Visual Arts Recipient

Find more of Charlotte Ryberg’s Portfolio

at Κύριαsity on Flickr

Rencontrer

Fiction

Conserative Morality "Stupid, stupid, stupid...! !

an old friend here to see you!" "He's just in the other room, do make yourself at home.!

"I raised my hand to the door and knocked. ! !

!

"There's a point in every man's life when he wants nothing more than to throw everything away. His life. His hopes, his dreams, his future. I knocked again.!

"I turned the corner and nearly ran into him. "Oh." He said "Hey." He looked like a rabbit come face-to-face with a hound.! !

!

""Hey." I said "The broad... guessing she your wife?�!

"The handgun was heavy in my waistband, pressed against the small of my back, like the touch of a lover.

Hidden under my suit jacket, like poison in a honeyed tongue.!

!

!

""Seven now. I thought I'd drop by." I knocked on the counter. Nice, stone.

Very posh. "You seem to be doing well."!

""Uh, yeah." He muttered "G-God, yyou just come out of nowhere after six years..."!

"The door cracked open to reveal a very pretty and very perturbed feminine face. "This is..." I looked at the card in my hand again. "this is Georgios Leonard's house?" She nodded stiy. "Tembrin Stafalos. I'm an old friend of his. From university."!

!

!

!

""Yeah," He said "Yeah. Hah. You haven't done too bad either; I've seen you, uh, big-name journalist now.

Camera, uh, catching the first shot of every battle." He sat down on the couch, rubbing his hands nervously.!

"Immediately, she relaxed. "Oh, come on in." She smiled and opened the door enough so that I could enter.

"I'm sorry, we just get so many solicitors in this part of town." I nodded as if I understood what that was like. "Georg!" She called "There's !

"I shrugged. "Waste of a good education." He motioned for me to sit down across from him. There was a quaint glass table between us, covered!

with the usual minutiae that seem mandatory for coffee tables – old papers, half-filled cups, knickknacks and tchotchkes. "Politics suit you." I said. They always did. "The coalition is looking to sweep the House, isn't it?"!

worth."! !

"The phone rang. "Just a minute, I need to go-"! !

!

""Take your time," I said "I just... dropped in."!

""If everything goes according to plan, yeah." He scratched at his neck beneath his suit collar. "We've, uh, got a bill going through to... stop... political violence-"!

!

!

"He wasn't long. Hardly more than minute of hushed speech passed before it ended. "Yeah. Yeah, of course." He put the phone down. "It's... been a long while. But... I've got a meeting with the Prime Minister in..."

He took a superfluous glance at his watch. "ten, and I-I can't really-"!

"I raised my hand to stop him.

"Not really my area."! ! ""Yeah. Yeah, of course." He stared down into his coffee. Remembering.

Afraid that I remembered. Afraid that he knew I remembered. How could I forget?!

!

!

!

""I understand."! !

"How could I forget him?!

""We'll, uh, we'll have to get together sometime. Catch up."! ""We'll have to." I smiled.! !

"He let a nervous little smile flit across his face. "Too busy trading gunfire all across the continent for politics." I gave a throaty little halflaugh. "Tembrin Stafalos, man of action at last. The army lost a good one." His smile was fuller now, but stretched. Expectant.!

"He stood up, extended his hand across the table. I followed suit, took his hand, shook it firmly.!

!

!

!

"It was nice, in a disappointing way.

There was so little of either of us that was.... recognizable. He was nice, and I was nice, and everything was just... nice.!

"I smiled back at him. "Believe it ! or not, still haven't fired a shot. I don't "I couldn't wait to end it.! even carry a gun. More trouble than its

Poetry

A Brief History of Hate Bezombia

all around! people make eye contact! but nobody really sees each other!

Nature Schiltzberg A wall of rock blockades the sea.!

White foam crashes against it.!

The water is wild and raging blue! while the sky is peacefully calm.! !

In a crevice in the rock,! one might find some green algae.!

Clams are scattered all around! but most are under the wet sand.! !

One rock, stray from the wall,! triumphantly rises from the water.!

A lone tree grows on top! and long vines swing below.! !

Seagulls circle overhead,! cawing out to each other.!

Suddenly, one swoops down! and snatches a fish from the water.! !

The clouds are few, and thin, and high.!

The sun beats down so warm,! a summer smell which fills the air,! and waves are cold and loud.!

“Aryan Bridge” (2010) Nazi Flower Power Acrylic on Canvas

“There Is No Spoon” (2012) Forever Fields Oil on Canvas

Poetry

One (An Eight Part Suite) Bezombia

I !

On that fateful day!

In the middle of December!

The rockets exploded in the air!

We all pretended not to care! !

But as the night stretched on!

The hours wore down on our skin!

And we realized that we hadn't won!

The games were about to begin! !

Flash forward for as long as you please!

Time is mostly irrelevant now!

An entire society's wants and needs!

Mean nothing to you or me anyhow!

II !

Seventeen years on the road to endless glory!

We waited nights alive for peace!

Skipping stones on an empty river!

Falling apart piece by piece ! !

Soon after midnight the hours disappeared!

Can't tell what's real and what's fake!

The picture frame describes my life without words!

Painless existence defined by give and take! !

And as the sky starts to fall!

I reap the harvest I waited so long for!

And as I shout your name into the heavens above!

!

Would you be so kind to confirm my deepest fears! !

But I'm seeing with new eyes now!

And I'm finally understanding how!

I let you slip out of my mind!

I guess it just my time! !

Alone with my doubts and pain!

Speaking out of a picture frame!

I need to know if you're still real!

Please breathe on me, please let me feel‌! !

III !

An inch beyond my fingers!

Salvation lies in waiting!

I try to reach out and grab it!

But I just can't touch it! !

The world starts swirl in magnificent reverence!

Of a time built on happiness and fear!

Sixteen years spent in life-long regret!

Saves me from living too honestly! !

Asked politely to decline!

All that was once mine!

I know I'm running out of time! !

Burning up under the sun!

I just can't seem to outrun!

My own demise has unquestionably begun! !

I'm waiting for my world!

Alone without a word!

Salvation served on a silver fucking platter!

!

Riding into the night!

Trying to avoid fight!

Against all that I built myself in spite! !

Is this really how I'll be!

When you won't even speak to me!

Throw me an hour, set me free! !

IV !

Cracking out of the serrated window!

The sound could kill a weaker man!

But when I'm begging on the streets of Ubar!

Hoping for yesterday to equal tomorrow! !

I think back to the last time I heard your voice!

You're not with me now, but I had no choice!

It couldn't have ended any other way of course!

But I'm still filled with remorse! !

I try to stifle back back the pain!

It's a terrible day for rain!

But oceans apart and miles high climbing!

Cannot stop the feelings from dying! !

I took your eyes within my soul!

Because I believed what I'd been told!

About the promises of wealth and knowledge!

But now I'm swimming in oceans of garbage alone! !

!

I still clearly remember the last time that saw you!

Didn't think much of the door you were walking through!

But now I'm much older and I can see how I! was dumb!

Because now all I hear is the heartbeat of the funeral drum!

!

V

So here I rest at the bottom of the sea!

Fantasizing about images of you and me!

One eyelid rises as it's all that I know now!

Left to contemplate the who and why and how! !

My desperate pleas go answered forevermore!

And the pain full truths I will continue to ignore!

I can see behind my time perfectly clearly!

But I still hold your memory so very dearly! !

Surrounded by the fruits of labor yet unspent!

What did do, should I apologize or repent?!

Is modern life just a series of distractions!

Or one great challenge to overcome inaction?! !

Night after night I try to understand!

Just how I arrived at this loveless and desolate land!

Day after day I'm chasing echoes of your eyes!

Surrounded by the comfort of my painful lies! !

Hour after hour and year after year!

I'm running desperately from that infinite fear!

Minute after minute my life is counting down!

And as the seconds pass my smile becomes a frown! !

An eye for an eye and some dirt for loose change!

Is how I convince myself that I'm not deranged!

But through darkness your fleeting soul is my guide!

It's quite a shame that's all that's left of my mind! !

VI !

I'm waiting and waiting!

!

On every waking hour!

For you to come crashing through my door!

But don't think I can take it anymore! !

In the beginning!

There was no one but me!

And then just like that there was you!

And it was right then that I knew! !

In the middle!

Of time immemorial!

We danced around the fire!

The light burned in your eyes! !

But your eyes!

No longer do they exist!

Is this what I was waiting for!

When I stood behind the door?! !

In the late game!

Staring past your face!

I could not admit it then!

The distance in my eyes!

The darkness in my eyes! !

In the end!

I watched you walk out the door!

I started to plea for more, to whom I do not know!

But the end was just the a transition for you!

But not for me! !

It's day zero!

I'm rising beyond my soul!

But I'm still searching for you!

Or someone with your eyes!

!

Those eyes could kill a man!

But I'm no man, I'm monster!

A monster that should be yours! !

On the next day!

I waited by my mailbox expecting you!

But you did not arrive!

Where were on that day?!

Were waiting for me anyway?! !

A year later!

I still stand in the same place as before!

I still shout your name in my dreams!

Waiting for answer from the stars! !

It's day one!

I'm sinking below the sands!

Hoping to find your hair!

Buried underneath the air!

Because I can't breathe!

Without your scent in my nose!

And who knows!

Maybe one day we'll meet again!

Be meat again!

You and me! !

Thirty years later!

I'm counting my sins!

Hoping to cash them in for wins!

How much would it cost!

To bring you back to me! !

A lifetime later!

I haven't forgotten your face!

And I don't know if you're even still alive!

!

But I strive every day!

To remain in your possession!

And I haven't changed position! !

I've lost track of time!

Counting o the seconds since I last saw you!

And I don't know if you even wanted me before!

But I would sell the soul that I don't even have!

Just to spent one more hour in your arms! !

It's nighttime!

I'm lying underneath the stars!

Hoping one will look like you!

Because I think you want me too!

And I'd like to believe!

That I didn't make you leave!

And that maybe one day!

I'll be able to say!

Hello! !

Hello!

Hello!

Goodbye! !

VII

Overhead the stars shine bright!

But I'm not looking now!

Because deep beneath the diamond ground!

I think I thought I heard a sound! !

!

Your voice resonates inside my mind!

My thoughts begin to transpire!

Your face is with me every day!

As I sit silently by the fire!

!

From deep within my dying soul!

A call for help concepts!

And echoes across the distant land!

In hopes that you'll accept! !

But no one holds my leash today!

And no one's going to make you stay!

I hope one day that you'll be mine!

But I'm confined to this cracked and broken mind! !

Oh the places we will go!

In search of some derision!

We oer each other a violent peace!

To stop the cold indecision! !

I spend each night perfectly alone!

Because nobody could replace you!

I'd spend a hundred years painfully alone!

Then settle for someone else on your throne! !

But no one drives us from behind!

And no one walks us down their path!

And so I dedicate my my mind!

To chasing you, my estranged psychopath! ! !

The sun shines in upon my face!

I know what I must do!

And doubtlessly I'll place my thoughts!

To fading memories of you! !

!

But I can see where this road ends!

I know what happens when I'm done!

And although I'll write poems about you!

In the end I'm only..one!

!

VIII! !

I wonder if you read these!

I'll never get the chance to know!

I'd utter your name out loud!

But my inner feelings I'll never show! !

You occupy my thoughts !

Every waking and sleeping hour!

Your memory is as beautiful as you!

But more fleeting than a flower! !

The strong but dying light!

Pushes back the eternal night!

And although I call myself just one!

I still don't believe that I won! !

A million miles and million days!

Separate me from you!

But for this all hell I'd raise!

To make my dreams come true! !

The light is strong, yes, but slowly dying!

My greatest fear is that I won't die crying!

I wouldn't be alive if you didn't force me to try!

But for now, and possibly forevermore, I must say!

Goodbye!

“January 21st” (2015) The New World Oceania Acrylic on Wood

We thank you for reading this Spring 2014 edition of the NationStates Improviser!

About the NS Improviser

The NationStates Improviser is an NS–wide literary magazine and a publication of artists in the Arts and Fiction board on the NS Forums. Created in 2013, The NS Improviser is fueled by a passion for the written word and artistic expression.

The NS Improviser is the strongest example of our forum's mission to study and disseminate the crafts of creative writing and visual arts. A staff of scholarly, aspiring, and professional artists compile original work submitted by writers and artists from across the site. We publish four online editions per year, in February, May, August, and November, exhibiting the best art NationStates has to offer.

The NationStates Improviser literary magazine accepts original fiction, poetry, creative nonfiction, screen writing, plays and visual art from all NS users.

We aim to produce four online editions per year, and one full compilation each October/November. We seek original, innovative, creative and nuanced work from around the world.

In addition to writing, we accept digital files of visual art including photography, drawing, painting, ceramics, sculpture, mixed media, and printmaking. As long as you can provide a high quality (200 dpi or higher)digital representation of your work, we are open to considering it.

The NS Improviser staff selects pieces for publication using the National Council for Teachers of English (NCTE) standards. Simultaneous submissions must be noted and will be accepted at the discretion of the staff.

Users may submit up to four pieces.

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