Artemis Sere Slay the Diplomat
Friend or foe
You never truly know
Trust is earned
Patience is sold
Color of skin
Cost of sin
Switch your coat
With a Cheshire grin
Extend your hoof
To shake as hands
Bow your horns
As custom demands
Build your bridges
Across the chasms
Tend to the stitches
When hopes spasm
Evangelist by trade
Optimist by façade
Bringing light to the dark
With one Janus god
Tithe to the towers
Stained glass and ornate plates
Delivering the answer
Of coming fate
Welcome his coming
Before it's too late
Prostate as servant
Renounce your state
Resist the madness
As the heralds swap hats
Avenge assimilation
And slay the diplomat
Artemis Sere Slay the Diplomat

Xoterica 20: The Ripple

Artemis Sere Xoterica The Ripple

“Empty your mind; be formless, shapeless – like water. Now you put water into a cup, it becomes the cup, you put water into a bottle, it becomes the bottle, you put it in a teapot, it becomes the teapot. Now water can flow or it can crash. Be water, my friend.”

Small fish in a big pond again. Waters unfamiliar. Temperatures unfavorable. I splashed through the tough tides to a new stillness, but not without consequences. Every turn seems to have dangerous destinations these days.

All previous identities have been stripped by the swim to the new world. The past is relatively irrelevant now, all awards and accomplishments and accoutrements are great stories in other schools and pools, but mostly useless when you're starting over altogether.

I am legend in my own mind, a legacy before its time.

Arrogance and ego led me to leave the confines of a safe, comfortable and familiar shore for a spark in the deep. A hunt for the sunken embers of passions lost. A curious dive into the abyss called


I've reached the peaks of what's possible, and from that height I dove without a secure chute. Wingless. Cableless. Clueless.

But confident.
Cautious and careful not to take this turn for granted. I sit drawing a religious institution in two-point perspective during the middle of the weekday under aqua skies, in the chambers of Art, as opposed to the confines of a Power Point.
This is a place and person that I've never been before, and I remind myself to breathe and be patient.
With respect to success, they say you should visualize your destination. Sometimes, it's not sight that ensures your survival, but bliss and blindness. No seer can see everything, even if our myths and superheroes have omniscient characters. Nobody knows (see Leonard Cohen). Not really. Not Horoscope, fortune cookie, nor prophet.
Certainly not Paula White.
We all play the odds of the lies, tied to rise and fall of our life source. Today, my inner sun is dim as I plunge further below the known depths. I hold my breath, and woe the ripples that I've caused by my descent.
Previous projects now off course, communicated targets no longer in sight, comfort off kilter. A life in the throes of a different kind of chaos, a submersion in self so complete that oxygen is scarce.
The light is different at the base of yourself. Obscurious. Xenoviolet. Prismed by the echoes of older times and trials, alien rays refracting back through the jagged plane above.
A return to the surface would signal acquiescence to the reality that I left. The endless, concentric waves of change repeating from the epicenter of my choice ensure an unfamiliar return to surface. The dry world above is different now, dissimilar to this spelunker.
Every fish is faced with need to sink or swim regularly, regardless of size, 401k, market stability or temperature of the water during their daze of drowning. In the depths of the abyss, the spark calls to me. This descent is different than the rest, its flow is growing on me.
Time to learn to swim, again. There's no sink left in these gills.
#metalmorphosis #xoterica
Artemis Sere Xoterica The Ripple

Xoterica 19: The Phoenix

“As you think, so shall you become.” (Lee)

I am Sai-fon, risen many times from the ashes of my past lives. My previous selves crashed and burned in spectacular fashion. I don't doubt this feathered fool will fall soon to ash too. I built my own pyre, and consumed myself in the immolation.

The furnace of the Universe swallows each of us - feathers, fortune and all. Eventually.

It's common to assign myths to reality. It helps us make sense of our lives, gives context for survival and an avatar to aspire toward. Phoenix. Bennu. Fenghuang. Lazarus with wings. Jesus.

The faces change, yet the roles remain the same: provide a model for evolution, hope for human renewal through the process of recycling. Flesh and feathers and memory fall away, limbs atrophy and hair turns gray.

From the moment of rebirth, the disease of decay begins, like a clock we continue to tinker with using dull tools throughout our life. Every day, the Universe culls millions, and births chirpy new birds in its place. Our horizons are spanned with their glorious wings, and our clouds are the evaporated remnants of the cycled.

We fly through our lives of ash and vapor in a whisper until


Gone faster than a sparkling star, life dimmed to an acquiscent ember.

But not for long. The super power of the human creature is evolution, and the human Phoenix revises, refuels and renews with every rise.

Screaming with life and passion, we take form. We take flight. We soar. We crash. We master the mechanics of aerodynamics with every new adventure.

We shift our shape through jetstreams and skyfallen dreams. We stay hopeful, keep our beaks streaking upward. Keep reaching, keep striving, keep surviving.

Until our next dance with gravity.

I will rise again from the ashes of this fallen human, as I have so many times before. The new version of me will be a bit different than the last. I know what it feels like to fly at great heights, and who I have to be to climb there. I know the feeling of wind in my face and fire streaming from my feathers.

A Phoenix always rises, but never as the same bird twice.


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