Wednesday, April 8, 2015
Merlin "Indigo, the Color of Magic John Pirillo a mystical tale of magic and fantasy
Merlin
"Indigo, the Color of Magic
John Pirillo
"It is often said that the greatest and most powerful
magic is that which comes from the heart."
-- Merlin --
His first memory of the other world was one of a great
droning kind of sound. It was enticing like a magnet draws iron filings to its
core. He was drifting in a cosmos of speckling light, dazzled by its beauty and
lulled by the harmonics of its gentleness. He had no reason to be anywhere, to
do anything. He only had the need to exist. To flow wherever the great River of
Life took him. Not a straggler in the currents, tossed against the hard rock's
of humanity, but an eagle soaring high above the weights and uncertainties of
life as we know it.
So it's no wonder that his first thought when awakened from
that vast, soothing current of peacefulness was...
"I am Merlin Indigo of Ambrosia. I am the high flying
Eagle, firm of purpose, powerful and wondrous to behold." He stated,
mimicking the tall tree that bent over him and chided him for speaking like a
child. He was a child. A very small one. Not so small, but small enough to
qualify him as a genuine squirt of a human. Though some might say Elf, because
his ears strayed a bit too far from the sides of his head, and were a bit too
pointy for their satisfaction. But no one every spoke their complaints out
loud. No, he had to hear them in his mind. Always over and over, the same
things.
"What manner of
creature is this that can talk to trees, flowers and skies?"
"How can he
possibly know it's going to rain right now, and then it does?"
"He's too small
to even grasp a magical staff, and yet he can weave spells like a threader with
a loom. He's impossible."
"Impossible."
"Just a
child."
"He can't be of
magic yet. Or at all. He's just a human. Or maybe mostly."
Yes, it was the same drivel over and over until his poor
tiny mind, or big mind if you could measure such as his, was tinkling with
noises and prattles, complaints and overtures until his cherubim little body
wanted to sprout real wings and fly away like his pet eagles did.
And that was another thing. How could a mere child. And a
boy at that manage to tame a full grown eagle, let alone a baby? Those were the
endless squirts of information and gripes he had to endure day after day, hour
after hour, and yet even through all of that grueling mind work, he managed to
exhibit an exemplary temperament, or perhaps it was in spite of it. He didn't
know anymore.
He was growing up now. He was almost ten years old, or was
it nine, or eight. He couldn't remember because no one would dare to tell him.
Mother Tree had forbidden them to age him in any way, saying it would ruin his
wonderful mind.
"Ha!" He spit out at the frog gathered on its
webbed feet before him.
"Ribbit!" The frog replied eagerly, sensing he
might be in for another handout.
Whenever Merlin was aggrieved or angry with someone, which
was usually himself, he would wander down to the Lilly Pond or Frog Pond as Mother
Tree called it and feed the frogs crumbs from his breakfast or dinner. He never
ate it all, which might explain as he grew older why he lost his cherubim form
and became more like a beanstalk, lean and wiry, muscular and dense, as opposed
to rolly poly and fat like Gnome Brown was, who lived under Mother Tree's home
in his tiny apartment made from sea shells and mouse glue.
Today he was mad mostly because Papa Tree had been scolding
him for being human, saying he wasted too much time playing with the buds and
the sprouts, and not enough time on his education. If he was going to grow up
to be a proper tree and stay in his place, he would need to reach out in more
directions, stretch himself. Which in this instance meant standing in all kinds
of preposterous positions with his legs and arms spread out like a wildly
growing Thumble Brush.
He never complained. His father just didn't understand why
he couldn't grow leaves and branches like all his other children who came back
to visit his forest from time to time. Nanever Forest was in the Realm of
Fairie, to the Southern Southern portions, where the Great Melts met the Frozen
Wastes. And fragile, so fragile because of its precarious balance between
extreme cold and the ever budding spring of the Great Melts, which kept all
life perpetually growing.
It was rumored, by his father and mother he remembered that anyone
who drank of the Great Melts would never die, but live forever. But like all
rumors that floated through Nanever, he gave it little thought. But in those
days he didn't give much of anything a lot of thought. He might have had a
great mind, but his heart tended to overrule it most of the time and ride his
emotions into one spread of experience into another, like a river seeping into
the sea endlessly, endlessly.
"Father." He asked Father Tree one morning as he
stood on his right foot alone, both his arms at opposite angles, and fingers
trying to do the same, but not so successfully. "Is it true what some of
the Gnomes say?"
"What would that be child of thunder?"
It was his favorite name for him. Child of thunder, because
they had found him in a thunder storm, wailing so loud that even the thunder
couldn't drown him out. Though his mother had been more specific and claimed he
had come down from heaven on a thunderbolt of light that split the forest in
two.
He didn't know who to believe when he was told that yarn,
and chose to just ignore it as was his nature with rumors and fantasies. Like
the idea that there were humans out there somewhere warring with each other
over food and drink. He couldn't begin to imagine such a thing, so he set it
aside for a day of pondering, which he seldom got to.
It wasn't that he wasn't a wise child. For most children are
wise to the extent that they are quite malleable and accepting, he just wasn't
a very patient one when it came to the truth. Truth had to be spooned to him on
a platter of hard rock stone, with it nailed down by green sprouts or he didn't
believe it.
Father Tree had taught him that way of truth. And he clung
to it. He would never forget the teachings of his parents, Father and Mother
Tree. He had learned as he got older that both had been alive before the Great
Movement that had separated Fairie from mankind, separating the dross, but
heavy lands of humanity from the Light and heavenly lands of Fairie. The mortal
from the immortal.
It was rumored. Those dratted rumors he swore beneath his
breath. It was rumored that all of life had once been immortal but ten men and
ten beings of earth, rock, stone, wood and petal had rebelled against the
Creation, the One Light and caused a battle for dominance of the elements and
the world itself.
It had divided in time the spirits of man from their very
own bodies, sending many of them into an animal like state, before the more
loving brethren of Fairie had taken pity on them and helped them to find their
spirits once more. It had been a long and arduous process, and he had heard
that at one time the entire world had been conjoined as one land mass, but the
battle had severed the land mass into giant masses moated by huge seas of
water. He didn't know if that was true, for he had seen no more water than he
could find in Nanever, which was usually more than enough for his needs...a
drink, a bath, a swim, splashing water into the petals of his friends, and the
sprouts of his other friends.
Even the Tree Children played in the abundance of water that
was readily available. It was there one day as he was holding a frog in the
palm of his hands, studying it, as it sunned itself there, that he learned that
in the world of man water was not always readily available and man strove
against man to secure it from the other. Killing each other.
When they said the word "killing" the entire
forest became as quiet as the first whisper of spring and toadstools hid
beneath their tops, Gnomes closed their tiny trapdoors and spouts drooped
beneath the earth to hide their ears.
But today he was just sitting on his usual perch above Frog
Pond, counting how many leaps it would take his favorite frog friend to cross
the lilies in the water. Herkie. He had
named him after a large Brownie that lived in the huge Sunflower beside the
pond. Herkie had taken but two hops.
The other froggies had taken a minimum of four to five.
He had applauded when Herkie reached the other side, causing
the rest of the frogs to start croaking in alarm, until he spoke to them calmly
and told them they were all quite good at being frogs and had no reason to be
frightened or alarmed.
Immediately, they had settled down on their favorite lily's
waiting for tasty bugs to waft their way for lunch.
He stood up on his perch and admired his form in the
rippling waters of the pond. He now stood about five feet tall, which he was
told was small for a tree, but he ignored it knowing full well that known he
had known so far exceeded his height by more than ten feet. Surely he would
catch up all in one spring, as had so many of his other Tree friends.
So ignoring his slim, short body he began practicing his
stretches to make himself strong enough to become a full grown tree. Little did
he know at that time that he would never become a tree, nor reach fifty feet
tall, but would instead top off at a meager six and a half feet or so.
Such is the fate of a Merlin.
PInk Frosting 3D Fractal
I call this the Pink Frosting. It looks good enough to eat in a bizarro kind of way, maybe like Bizarro himself from the Superman DC Comic series wouldn't have relished.
I played with this texture, fractal substance quite a while to finally mold it into this composition.
The fun is in the experimenting for me.
The final product means time for the next one.
Enjoy.
John
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
The Fairy Lights...a wonderful illustrated fairy tale.
As most of you know and are probably still going through our economy was tanked by a bunch of greedy Wall Street banks and types and most money went away, as well as jobs, peoples homes, credit, and so on.
Well, my funds for making the movie dried up, but I never stopped loving the characters and still love them very, very much.
The Fairy Lights is an attempt on my part to at least get part of the movie out to the public. It is focused as a picture book, and loaded with very high quality CGI images...computer generated images...that I designed over the course of years of research and invention.
The story is simple, but great for adults and children. Children will love all the beautiful images and the cute characters.Adults will love the truth of the message and the warmth of it.
The focus of the story is on friendship and what matters the most. Trusting one another and loving one another despite our differences.
It's still on sale at Amazon for a very reasonable price of $2.99.
Purchase The Fairy Lights at Amazon.
The Progressio of a 3D landscape using fractals, extreme textures and extrusions combined with realistic elements.
Thought you might enjoy seeing some of the thinking and experimenting that goes behind
some ideas.
Enjoy
John
P.S.
Each image is actually much larger.
Double click on them to see actual sizes. All images are one after the other as they were created.
Wheels within Wheels fractal design.
Pause "A Samuel Light Story." John Pirillo
Pause
"A Samuel Light Story."
John Pirillo
Pause.
Time stands still.
Faces hurl along a stream of time.
Abutting a great cliff of nothingness is a hand.
An arm raises a bridge.
A long line of people, their heads downturned, walk slowly
along a clockwork path, that ticks slowly round and round until it starts all
over again.
Images of children with bleeding eyes.
A soul that flies not with wings, but with streams of blood
squirting from its feet.
Pause.
Samuel woke up, shook his mop of hair to clear his mind. He
rubbed his eyes, and then slid from his bed to look at himself in his dresser
mirror. Twenty something years had worn hard on him he thought at that moment.
And what had he accomplished. Nothing. Death. More death and an occasional ray
of hope and healing.
He shook his head again, then frowned when Al showed up,
seated on his dresser, blowing a harmonica furiously, blowing "My Life
Sucks Blues."
"Funny."
Al stopped and his harmonica vanished.
M stepped into the room, whirling round and round in her
beautiful Hollywood red gown. Her lips were painted raspberry red and her
eyeliner as well. She threw herself on my bed beside me and put her head on my
shoulder and crooned a beautiful lullaby. There I was with one of the sexiest
woman who had ever lived, and instead of getting excited and aroused; I was
becoming calm and peaceful, centered and clear.
She stopped and gave me a light kiss on the middle of my
forehead.
Explosion.
Searing light.
Pause.
A touch on my right shoulder.
I look.
No one there.
A touch on my left shoulder.
I look.
No one there.
A blazing white road appears before my feet, which I cannot
see, and stretches into infinity. Along the road is a long caravan of beautiful
angels, all dressed in pure white clothing that glistens like the dewdrops of a
morning rain on a crystal yellow daisy's lips. Ahead of them was a gigantic orb
of light that they were all stepping into and vanishing.
How I yearned to follow them. To become one with that Light.
Pause.
My eyes opened outwards again and I saw Al and M both seated
on my dresser.
"Hi." I said, yawning.
Al grinned. M waved timidly at me, and then blew a long,
luscious kiss that blew all that timidity out the window.
"I'm feeling sorry for myself, aren't I?" I asked
Al.
He didn't reply. He didn't need to. He looked at M and she
gave him a slight nudge with her shoulder, as if saying....say something nice.
So he did. "Pause."
I gave him a look. I had been hearing that over and over in
the visions and dreams of last night and now this morning. It was morning,
wasn't it?
I stood up, threw open the drapes across my bedroom balcony
window and the lush, brilliant Las Vegas sun poured in, illuminating the room
in slivers of gold and silver. Particles of dust danced and spun together,
playing out the cosmic movements that all particles of God did. I watched
entranced for several long moments, then turned to look back at my invisible
friends.
Al and M are not alive anymore. Not to our world. To their
world they are totally alive, vibrant and conscious in every way. It's their
right. It's our right, if we're smart enough to accept it. Many don't. They
hang onto the illusion that Earth is all there is and it can't get any better.
They're wrong. Dead wrong. Earth is just a shopping center for a better soul, a
way to pick up what you've learned over lifetimes and make you into something
worth selling to God. Not that you have to sell yourself. He already owns you
lock, stock and barrel, but He likes His children to want him to want them,
just as he wants all of them to love him unconditionally, as he does them.
I sighed. Preaching to the choir. Myself.
I slid on my jeans, threw on my slippers, then went into my
kitchen and hammered out some eggs and toast for breakfast, grabbing a small
carton of Sunkist orange juice to wash it down. I ate slowly and methodically,
pondering what I had done the last week or so. I didn't get to ponder long
though.
Ring. My doorbell. Sounded like the doom alarm. Open me up
so I can suck you into another enterprise of human danger and frailty.
I opened my door up and was swept up into the arms of my
giant friend, Jimbo. A Texan giant in his mind, and of course, in reality, even
though we were almost the same height. He was broader, and built sturdier. He
could even have given Hercules a run for the money.
"Sammie, its god-awful good to see you again. Hope you
got more of that..." He sniffed the air a moment in silence. "Eggs
and toast. No bacon?"
I shook my head.
He grinned. "That's okay."
He swept past me and helped me clean up the rest of my eggs
and toast. I had, for some reason I couldn't explain, felt compelled to make
enough for three, and good thing I did, because he ate enough for two. That was
Jimbo.
He finished the last of the toast by dipping it into a huge
mug of coffee, and then with juices slipping down his lips onto the plate,
looked up at me.
"Heard the news?"
"What news?"
I should never have asked.
"They found a haunted mine in Henderson."
"Figures. Everything else is haunted here." I
muttered in a sarcastic voice.
He gave me a long look. "You feeling sorry for yourself
again? Because if you are, I'm going to have to knock you on the side of the
head to get some senses back in that body of yours."
"Jimbo, think about it. We've been at this spiritual
detective thing now for how long...?"
"Haven't counted. Long time."
"And what has it gotten us?"
He thought about it a moment, took a look guzzle of the rest
of my orange juice, and then burped. "Beat up, chased out of countries by
armed thugs, sucked up into flying saucers, chased by ghosts, and whipped by
crazy religionists."
"Besides that."
Jimbo gave me a strange look and I burst into laughter.
He grinned. "I shoulda known what you were up to."
"But really, what have we really got out of it?"
The doom chime rang again.
I groaned. It couldn't be good news. Someone had to be
wanting us to risk our necks again, go out on a limb they didn't dare to, but
our limbs were okay to do so. I opened the door.
A delivery man stood there with a huge basket of fruit and
beside him were two large bouquets of flowers. "Sign this." He said,
offering an invoice.
"You must have the wrong place. No one sends flowers
here."
He looked at the invoice. "You Samuel Light?"
"That's him." Jimbo said, leaning over my
shoulder. "Sign it, that fruit looks great."
"Don't you ever get enough to eat?" I groused.
He grinned. "Nope. Sign it."
I signed it, and the deliveryman handed the flowers towards
me, but before I could take them, Jimbo had them out of his hands and carried
them to the kitchenette where he deposited them on the table and began sorting
out the fruit for eating.
I brought the flowers inside.
Jimbo was scarfing up several apples. One in each fist. One
was yellow. One was green. "Read the card, Sammie."
I set the flowers down and took a card from the basket.
"Read it out loud."
I read it out loud.
Pause.
I and Jimbo were throwing ourselves between two sand dunes
to avoid the raiders chasing us. We had two children between us. We had taken
on a job of rescuing them from a cult that worshipped Djinni, a devilish spirit
that demanded the blood of children.
I concentrated on the sand ahead of us and it began to
twirl. Slowly at first, then faster and faster. At that moment the horde of
cultists burst between the dunes and I released the sand devil on them. They
screamed in terror as it whipped them around, tossing them back and forth.
Jimbo and I took the children while the cultists were
struggling to deal with their fate, and made it to our SUV four wheel and
hauled out of there.
We reached the parents of the two kids at the airport, where
they had booked a special flight to America to take their children away from
the reach of the horrible people who had abducted them.
As we watched the children run to their parents, both Jimbo
and I, both thoroughly exhausted, bruised and bleeding in a dozen places from
our narrow escape, broke into tears.
Pause.
Jimbo stopped eating and looked at me.
"You got that look again, Sammie."
"What look?" I asked, though I knew and was just
faking it to gain some recovery time.
"The look of a man who has seen the bird of paradise,
and discovered it's only a duck."
I laughed.
He laughed. He didn't need to know the duck I had just seen.
We had both lived it together, and at that moment I knew what I was being
shown.
I looked up and Al and M were standing at my balcony window
smiling.
"Thanks!" I said.
Jimbo said. "You're welcome, partner."
I laughed.
Pause.
I laughed again.
Funny how the down moments can sometimes be the calm before
the storm of happiness.
Monday, April 6, 2015
The Baker Street Universe dares you to enter its world!
Don't forget to check out my Baker Street Universe. It's collecting lots of cool articles and stories. All about Sherlock Holmes and a myriad of other fantasy and science fiction heroes and authors.
I update the blog once a week with new factual as well as fictional material. Take a leap into the world of Arthur Conan Doyle, the author and the hero. Tremble in fear of Doctor Jekyll's Hyde, written by Robert Louis Stephenson, but be afraid, very afraid of the Baker Street Universe Hyde, a creature of pure evil and energy that sucks the life from its victims.
I update the blog once a week with new factual as well as fictional material. Take a leap into the world of Arthur Conan Doyle, the author and the hero. Tremble in fear of Doctor Jekyll's Hyde, written by Robert Louis Stephenson, but be afraid, very afraid of the Baker Street Universe Hyde, a creature of pure evil and energy that sucks the life from its victims.
Rocketman Two Trailer for my Rocketman adventure series.
Rocketman was written with the idea of showing what could happen if someone like Hitler had won the World War Two, and what he might have done to the citizens of the world had they remained apathetic and let him continue to run over them.
Evil men, sometimes not so much evil as ambitious, will do anything to win, and sometimes what they do turns out to be evil.
What manner of evil would flourish in a world where the United States and Britain had been vanquished by nuclear weapons during World War Two, instead of them stopping the Nazis for their quest for power and world domination.
World War Two was lost in 1945 to the 3rd Reich. A select few had fled underground to bases hidden in Switzerland to keep on fighting the tyranny and horror of Hitler and his minions.
Rocketman: Betwen Two Worlds depicts some of that fight and how the courageous few keep the war against the Nazis alive, even in the face of overwhelming odds.
Purchase it now at Amazon. Rocketman: Between Two Worlds!
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