Urania in shade

Hard luck Creativity

You have to live as shadows that’s thing of it. That’s what I’m telling you now. Movement at the corner of your vision the wisp of a shape that nothing quite catches the shape of. At our most visible at least for my clan we’re the stop sing, lamp post or mail box that you could swear was a person until you got close enough and see that you were mistaken. My clan specifically normally lives in three kinds of places, with those that play with telescopes, S.E.T.I., or those moments when you look up at the night sky and feel awe from the tops of your skull own through your soul and out your feet… or I suppose when we are desperate and slumming it, field trip days in the planetariums. At least that’s were I specifically will slum it. I made the mistake once of going to a late night Valentines Day. I was feeling low after a bad year stuck in Los Angeles. I was there. For the same reason many end up there. I had fallowed a passionate dreamer who fed me and kept me whole. Unfortunately, like many others in that Angle city three months in they started to see a psychiatrist. Well medicated in their Lab they no longer needed me and I disappeared. 

You can’t see the heavens stars in Los Angeles. The ones on the ground ruled by different clans blot them out with lights. So one evening, bedraggled, starving and with so many torn holes I looked like black lace I dragged myself to the Griffith Observatory’s “Late Night Treat.” Eratos were swarming the place. Making a point of every three minutes sensuously brushing by me. Not a few people there were using drugs too, but not prescribed ones. They people came in with blankets too, which was new. I wonder how many children were conceived there. There must have been t least a hundred individual pairs of orgies. With me there the Eratos seemed to make a point of being extra driving. Their message was clear “This was their territory” and I had crossed boundaries without being called. I hadn’t known. I was just so detected and starved. I blushed darker shades of black with every new joined couple and worked to keep my sight on the ceiling as the Eratos allowed. Of I had been even slightly better off I would have fled after I knew my mistake that night. But I needed it or I would have faded completely away less than poor Echo. Assamed and dirty by the nights end I fled to the Greyhound finding routes that would lead to somewhere with a real sky. It had been a bad year. I waited till a young woman / girl was heading that direction with the right need and joined her. That she took me to “The House”was accidental, at least on my part. But it turned out to be a good if strange thing as it was a place that members from all the clans could mingle. We were all invited.

There was a lack of competition here at least among the clans, cooperation in. Fact being more helpful to everyone. Normally the lines were drawn from specialization; for example hard to be comedic pastoral or erotic about Astronomy, at least consistently. By inviting in one clan another was generally blocked out. There is a need to survive instilled to all of us even shadows. The reason cooperative survival worked here even better than in the old world theaters was do to the oversimplification of two words. Artist and house.

House is the easier mistaken application to see. Tucked into the foothills of Santa Fe “The House” was actually a hacienda shaped apartment complex. Built as if someone long ago had build a stupidly large single story than as their family grew to fill and eventually overflow the space instead of filling in the middle courtyard they built up, again and again until five generations later an adobe and wood looking building emerged looking for all the world like the foothills had grown an out of place, oddly symmetrical mesa. There were though in the complex very few families (not blood related anyways). The second exaggeration was tougher simplify in words even long-term observation left description feeling stretched. The most direct and unkind way to put it is this: The only two things stable about the The House were the structure and the rent. Not even those in residence on prescription stabilisers (and that was well over half) had personal foundations that could be defined as anything other than fluid. In the apartment that actually contained traditional families the dynamics were…interesting. All in all though it seemed to work out well for everyone, even those that it was actively destroying. The artist community was actively engaged in supporting each-other. That that support often entailed feeding habits (creative and other) was still support. It made sense if you didn’t think hard about it; if four walls are collapsing at the same time were they hit they hold each-other up. The handholding of madness was already ingrained in the makeup of the clans. This was just a unique instance where the burning down of a thing is the same thing that kept it fed.

Some in the residence burning too hot egged on by over exuberant clan members, but luckily for those that were about to flare out there was so many in the complex that with just a little guidence the individuals of the clans could wonder and spend nights or weekends with many others. Polyamory of a feasting schedule was as necessary as breathing if you wanted your chosen partner not to burn out or be hospitalised. The balance of course was tricky for everyone, clan and participant. Imagine leaning over an edge just far enough that you feel yourself begin to fall but your still touching earth. Possible, but tricky. Like flying if done right the individual could conceivably never actually come down one way or another. The oldest of the clans (ages) could keep it going for days sometimes even months. A sense that came to us was knowing when our hosts were too close to tumbling forward, than we backed off and let them rest giving them time to let their metaphorical legs recover and stabilise before we tipped them over that edge again, building stability out of the chaos.

The Girl

           The clans were well represented here. Across the courtyard he back lobby had been converted into a studio with rotating events. It was a decent size and the Terpsichores swelled those halls like the smell of popcorn those special days in elementary. Whether they were largely in singular locations like the Terpsichores or wondered the floors and rooms like the other clans their placements, existence and movements made sense. We were friendly with eachother even eager hop in with group dynamics one wouldn’t think would work. This in this strange cohesive commune was the rule it was truth. Truth but for the exceptions of the scattered remnants of one clan. Around the room the girl brought me , hovering just outside the threshold were the wisps of a few Polyhymni’s. Looking more faded and worn then I had at my worst days at the Obervatory I furrowed deepening shadow lines every time I crossed to visit the girl. They didn’t talk. They barely moved, only swelled with remembered breath when the young woman opened the door. You could feel the remnants of hymns sweep out into the hall as the air current leveled then the door would shut and the unspeaking ones would sigh. They really should move on, the other clans mostly felt the same. The small studio was at the top of the fifth floor, an excellent view and thick walls that deadened the sound on three sides. The fourth wall bent in at an odd angle that gave the apartment with its tan walls a triangular appearance. The best place for the bed along that wall tucked into a nook. The problem for everyone who had thought of taking the room was that on the other side of the fourth wall was the stairwell to the roof and at night that stairwell as highly trafficked sounds, thuds and voices traveled through that last wall. Us shadows who are not stubborn Polyhmnia talk when we have commonalities we are working toward. Apparently, ages after the previous tenant (an ancient traditional composer) had died the room had stayed vacant for years. 

           The girl never slept nights. She invited me most evenings up to the roof where she set up her oversized telescope and created charts and sketches. Other than a comet or two I don’t think she found anything new, but after we went to bed she would wake up and paint marvellous starscapes, sometimes a nebula, yellows, greens, blues and reds coloured inexplicably. Despite her late-night observations the roof was never quiet. A dance party, a barbecue, all the courtyard activities moved up closer to the New Mexico sky. Other times Erato’s clan and I would play with others. The girl never minded, she would just smile, talk when spoke to, eat when offered food and dream but never emotionally invest with anyone but me.

Starry Night

           Except for the fairs that kept her enough money to pay the meager rent, food and furniture she kept her genuine socialisation between the two of us. Six months past the the bus trip, with all the activity and the focused attention, I received from my personal special one I was sated. Full and with the egocentric comfort one feels I failed to notice that my grip holding her over the edge was slipping and she was starting to try for actual flight. I thought nothing of our evenings and midafternoons consumed with painting. We were so complete it wasn’t until one morning as she slept and I wondered the downstairs jumping to the shapes cast on the ground from the courtyard plant that I overheard the conversation that gave me pause:

           “You see what is happening to the poor girl don’t you?”

           “Oh Musagetes, you can hardly say that anything unusual is happening.”

           “Dion think. She watches the sky and she paints, she scarcely breathes more than is strictly necessary to stay alive.”

           “She doesn’t participate much does she. Still aside from needing to have a drink or two…socially of course, does that really stand out here all that much?”

           Musagetes breathed in deeply “It’s her focus, she is disappearing a piece at a time and not coming back as the bits and pieces wander off.”

           “Come now your being dramatic. Besides have you seen her paintings? Lately each one…it’s like they are pulling you to the sky. I am at the booth across from her during our weekend markets and I almost bought one. Me, do you think I need anymore paintings? Where would I put them?”

           “That’s what I’m saying! It’s the room.”

           “It’s genius! And we’re watching it happen. That young woman is evolving!”

           “She’s disappearing. Look at what happened in the end to dear Fanny. She hardly slept, only composed.”

           Dion looked dead in the eyes at the lead HOA head. “She was ninety-five and half deaf. She had been here since the place was built. How much longer do you think she had?”

           Musagetes looked thoughtful and unable to meet the other’s eyes. “Granted… but, tell me you can’t see the mania, at least in her paints if nothing else?”

           “Mania is what built this place, its kinda in the air. That’s why we live here… but give me a minute to think… yes… I see your point. I still think she’s fine but we’ll keep an eye on her.”

           “And we’ll pass the message on to the others?”

           “That and artist is painting?”

           “To be aware and to try to draw her out more.”

           “Fine… and I’ll drop a bottle of wine off at her door.”

           “She doesn’t drink.”

           “Thats foolish, she really should. A good bottle mellows everything.”

           “Ah yes, alcohol the cure for mania. Idiot!”

           “Well, it’s the cure for remembering…”

They wondered off and I headed upstairs determined to be observant. Upon reaching the hallway that lead up to the door I could see from the end of the hallway the three Polyhymni. That I could see them so clearly from that distance was concerning. I had spent six month becoming familiar with most the residence and non of them had struck me as following any specific sect. As I reached the door I had to manuver them away as they were unintentionally blocking me from passing through. Turning back as I made it through I saw one step briefly passed the threshold. I turned fully around and glared them down daring them to push it further. They backed off. As I turned around I expected to see her still in bed, but she was out laying her canvas flat on the sunlit floor and painting bent from the waist while perched on her knees. I saw the picture taking shape and for the first time became concerned. Her emotion was coming directly out of her brush and mixing with the paint as the latest skyscape bloomed.

I had seen this before, as I thought of the last time I had let a partner slip over the edge. It had been glorious, it had been dangerous and I had been forced to watch as Vince had spiralled past my ability to let go. I walked up to just behind her.

“Please,” I muttered the unheard word as I stretched out, the shade resting on her arm as if I could physically pull her back. Her movements accelerated becoming jerky, but her lines and shooting spirals stayed precise. I felt the hum run up metro toe to tip and closed my eyes as I felt cords pulled and flicked euphorically. Cords! I pulled myself away the spears and swirls in her painting creating a visual music. I need to talk to the Euterpes. I could feel it so they must have a way in that I was unable to explore. I turned back to the door and saw the three not at all ghost crossing the threshold. They were clear (as clear as shadows got) and they slowly twenty breaths at a time getting closer.

“Move and die!” I sent the empty threat but it froze them. Clans couldn’t kill each other. We could make one another uncomfortable, with enough of us or enough built potential starve another from the source, but shadow striking shadow? That wasn’t how it worked. Still, my directive had weight at this stage and they froze. I only waited a moment holding them then I fled to find those that fed and breathed songs. Of the dozen or so that wondered the building only the oldest was free. That would have been who I picked if I had had a choice.

As we came back through the door together the Polyhymni hadn’t budged, but they were straining, all three closing their eyes and looking skyward. Euterpe glanced my way and gestured. I shrugged.

“They never have left. Until recently they were starving wisps. Now they’re gaining weight.”

Euterpe furrowed shade and turned toward the girl. “Oh my.” They felt it as soon as They tuned in. “A composer of paint, it’s been a while hasn’t it?”

“She’s-“

“Yes.” Wanting to lean forward they held back thinking.

Waves came flowing off the girl cresting and filling the room. I was sure they were escaping the walls as well. There were limited choices here.

The aged Euterpe spoke at last “She’s aflame now and is going to burn. We could hasten its intensity and bring it about sooner.”

I tensed.

“But that is neither the right thing to do, plus you’ve grown attached haven’t you?”

“She brought me out of a bad place.”

“There are many bad places, even here. The trick is to find the truth beyond the flames.”

“Isn’t that your speciality?”

Concerned they still snorted, “Upon occasion. Another choice is to leave and convince all of the other clans to stay away as well.” 

“She’d likely still burn its near self-sustaining.” I looked momentarily backwards.

           Euterpe understood and agreed in silence. “The last choice is to gather the clans and create a guided flame…could be more dangerous and all of us would have to work together, which is-”

           “Tricky enough when its just a few of us.”

           “Do you want to risk it? There can be a cost other than the girl.”

           We watched as her breathe sped every split moment her brush was absent of canvas and paint.

           “Yes, please.”

The Burn

           The shadows were dense in the tiny room. Much of the clans came as they allowed themselves to be bothered from their places. Enough of the clans came that all nine were significantly represented. As they gathered the girl had paused to throw open all the windows and turn on all the lights. I pulled at the Polyhymni to join us making them aware and in the moment for the first time since we’d met. The clans drew close pressing on the girl willing direction jointly. The painting grew as the waves exploded off the mortal. When it was done and the paint had yet to dry the shadows slowly faded back to their places all except the Polyhymni who simply faded and were gone. Looking at the painting and breathing in gasps the woman held her painting enraptured then set it down and looked away.