solar disenchantment 2: episodic discontinuity


(Voice over) Previously on Solar Disenchantment: a hamster or an acquaintance of Deija Thoris has parachuted from a bus and landed on a minigolf course, where he will attend a conference in a normal-size hotel. The unrelated first part is here.

The conference venue was virtual de luxo,
with non-removable coat hangers
and a sparkling mineral spa,
all a-bubble with sulphuretted hydrogen,
widely recommended as a curative
for common floral ailments.

After some negotiation, I chose
my bed sans breakfast in a nearby park,
where the night was redolent with fragrant frangipani.
But as fantasy would have it, I woke
to find they’d taken root inside my chest.


keynote speaker

The mix of every sound, the correlate
of all our hasty thoughts, the everyday impossible
must be believed: truth and beauty,
their unreliable synonymity,

and marvels from the past on pogo sticks
must never be forgotten.

parallel sessions with motor heart people

Apps for breakfast, Leonardos for lunch;
on the clock work coiled spring,
seamless dreamless late by night;
a spiral rib cage drilling to the subterrain,
while squads of quadrupeds
are galloping through the desert
to median castellos, to be greeted
with a frivolous indifference.

posters with Deija, the apologetic martian

Slightly fantasy, slightly arrogance,
a regretful pretense that I am not,
that I don’t devour those who
crave a dream they never dreamt.

today’s special: a coffee and a coffee $3.141

Let me tell you, repetition is the secret
of the century. Did you notice?
I’m wearing a cockatoo-beak hat.
No doubt you’re wondering what’s beneath.

… mainly parrots, lost in a feathery wilderness
of mannequins and mannerisms.
In fleeting relevance, might I quote
the fatuous frangipani?

I’d prefer you place your order, the barista said,
but I mostly coughed up petals.


A carillon peal of bells announced the closing,
and Deija, mistress of the seaside ceremony,
read out the rules:

Humans will debate the inexorable rise of chaos,
all deities must ascend to stand in for the sun,
which is under someone’s pillow,

(she glared in my direction)

and anyone who’s made of mannequins
will be scattered on the ocean:
a tribute to Iemanjá, its sovereign.

I was the unlucky one.

Offerings of flowers for Iemanjá, Brazilian goddess of the waters, are cast onto the sea.

artwork dreamless (part above)


31 thoughts on “solar disenchantment 2: episodic discontinuity

  1. … I woke
    to find they’d taken root inside my chest. …

    I hate it when they do that.

    I suspect you are always the unlucky one, Steve, though you write ridiculously well for a man in your condition.

    Did you mean to include an ‘is’?

    … which under someone’s pillow, …

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Somehow this piece took me to Bali, though it could have been anywhere tropical. Perhaps it’s the first couple of stanzas setting me up. Seems Deija goes around to fascinating realms! Love it, Steve.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks, Sobhana. With the art, as usual, I’m trying something different, perhaps a little darker. Good to know I can trust Iemanjá, although my personal preference is not to be scattered anywhere. 😃


  3. Pingback: solar disenchantment 2: episodic discontinuity — inconstant light | Fantasy Gift Sources: Book Reviews, Article Resources, News

    • Thanks, Randy. Yeah, forty so far. If it goes on I’ll contact WP. It’s a nuisance because moderating comments I’ve found has problems, and I don’t want to have to be continually checking.


  4. The first chuckle was the frangipani taking root in your chest. The 2nd, coughing up petals. The 3rd, the glare in your direction (“borrowing” the sun, were we?). The cockatoo beak hat was right up there, too. I think I saw one at the royal wedding. 🙂 Quite lovely. The piece, not the hat. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    • The frangipani and petal coughing doesn’t sound too bad, but I’m not sure. The sun is an idea from my childhood. When I was very young in a painting class, the teacher told me I didn’t have to put the sun in all my paintings. I remember thinking, “The sun is up in the sky so it should be there.” I was very fond of the sun.😃

      No, I’ve never seen one either, and I don’t particularly want to. I really don’t get those enormous hats, in fact I pretty much don’t get fashion at all. 😃 Thanks, BG.


    • Right on to be fond of the sun. What did that silly teacher know – stifling a child’s creativity – harumph. I thought Camilla’s hat looked like a surfboard landed on her head! 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  5. hahahaha oh my gosh how I enjoyed the opening voice over paragraph.
    And, as usual, the whole thing just kind of oscillates between gold and platinum.
    Coughing up petals was such a funnily poignant moment. You are rather brilliant at that!
    You are, without a doubt, one of my favourite writers, ever.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. As sulphuretted hydrogen is a curative for floral ailments, perhaps it could rid you of the fragrant fragipani inside your chest?
    A little greedy to keep the sun under your pillow, no? 😉

    Liked by 1 person

    • I think it’s possible, you know, if you actually wanted to get rid of the frangipani, but there might be side-effects. I did some work with hydrogen cyanide once. It’s highly toxic, but hydrogen sulphide (rotten egg gas) is almost as deadly. The key difference is just that hydrogen sulphide has a strong smell but hydrogen cyanide is almost odourless (an almond smell).

      With the sun, yes, probably. Maybe a hot water bottle would be okay. 😃

      Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.