Tuesday, June 19, 2012

A Kinetic Poem

Sample from Ehaema. For more information, please contact the author


The strike was a thing of beauty.  Smaller’s four arms (there were four currently; the daemons’ forms were as fluid as thought) unfolded and reconvened to describe a perfect sphere, spiraling into being from non-equidistant points.  As Larger stared rapt at the moon for which he longed, Smaller fluttered into place behind him like the shadow of a leaf falling from a tree.  And the Lattice moved with him.

His micro-kata generated a current within the tides of information; thoughts and concepts were drawn into a vortex of meaning, flooding into the negative space between his hands.  The Notions that moved were obscured by the patterns that Larger was creating; Smaller deftly took advantage of this blind spot.

It was more than a blow; it was a kinetic poem.  A strike of meaning.  An input in the Command Language. Merely to see it was to have one’s awareness excited, accelerated, so that a motion quicker than a blink looked slow and liquid.  For an infinite instant, Smaller was a dancer striking a pose for the crowd.

When he struck, two arms burst wide and two others thrust forward, magnifying and projecting the invisible sphere simultaneously.  And the Lattice struck with him.




it said.

The rebuttal scattered Larger across the sky.  

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