The Final Speciation

©The Final Speciation

-A Denouement-

By BR Chitwood

 

All humans, all animals, all still life in the verdant valleys, deserts, unrippled water below, look skyward in awe and wonder of new climactic wonders. New lovers, old lovers, would-be lovers, lovers to be or not to be, and those many beasts of prey, tangled plants of unknown qualities and quantities, they all hear the whispering sound in the air like a soft mesmerizing musical coda of a thousand hypnotic violins and the near-inaudible notes of a misty, magical piano.

In its fast and vast-spreading movement, visible as an image of some spectacular musical composition that floats by and covers all the great expanse of sky, the notes all a golden shade, each note quakes in its own turn  an ordered  totality of its mauve composition. This you will see and hear:

Those who have yearned will know…

The epochal wonders of all the years…

The scenes and signs that have come to you for all these millions of years…

Those who are weary…

Those who cry in the night…

Those who hunger and thirst…

Those who do not wish to be…

Those who seek love but do not know its meaning…

Those of all persuasions, all will be as it is to be…

Listen to the music of ages…

The final Epoch Comes…

*

The tablet of stone was found on a mantle in the home of an aged Ascetic, a man who, from reports of only two people found by  authorities were able to find who knew him, said no words were ever exchanged with the frail and pallid man with a long white beard white hair, deeply-wrinkled skin, and short, thin stature. When two people on a neighborhood walk tried to talk to him, the Ascetic simply walked down a side-yard of his modest house and disappeared. He was never seen again – by anyone…until his death.

The Ascetic’s picture was taken in death, distributed throughout the Metro area of Los Angeles, but given special coverage on local television for the attention of people within a large quadrant of Santa Monica, Pacific Palisades, and Malibu, and would spread eastward and nationally. The home of the Ascetic was in Venice, next door to Santa Monica. Why the ‘spread eastward and nationally?

Shortly after the picture and article about the Ascetic and his death flowed through News wires, his body disappeared. Yes, disappeared…never found…to this day, never found.

Now, more fuel was put to the already very hot story. Suspicions, assertions, all kinds of speculation were to appear in the news. It became a media blitz. The County Coroners were shamefully, mercilessly, and too vigorously investigated, received some nasty innuendos laced with vitriol. The two people who, once, actually saw  the Ascetic  alive were found and doggedly hounded until lawsuits were filed

There was the normal volume of weirdo-replies that jammed up editorial offices in the greater Los Angeles area, both TV and newspapers, but only one cryptic and mysterious reply caught the Media’s and Public’s desire to know more about this Ascetic’s life and death, in fact, a reply with only four words… Bronson Caves – Griffith Park.

That one reply would cause a stampede of sorts. Bronson Caves after all carried an awesome ‘neon-flashing’ alias: Batman’s Cave.

Lest excitement builds in intensity, the Batman’s Cave was not where George Clooney, Val Kilmer, Michael Keating, and Christian Bale ‘Batman’ movies were shot.

The Batman TV Series in the 1960’s starring Adam West and Burt Ward were filmed with footage in Bronson Caves.

With a few deft strokes of a journalist’s pen, magical scenarios begin to appear in many newspaper editions: ‘what if the  Ascetic was somewhere in Batman’s Cave?’

In their ‘What Iffing’, some in the media ranks thought a ‘Jesus-Link’ was needed and created a ‘cave’ to entice readership and cause an alarming ‘nay’ and ‘pro’ rush to conclusions that had no merit.

Sorry, that’s all the time I have today…

*

Okay, interesting story line, but where’s the beef?

Where’s the Ascetic?

Is he, or, HE, in Batman’s Cave?

Was the Ascetic and Jesus just playing around? Wanting our attention?

How does a man, an ‘Ascetic’ live in the crazy community of Venice, California, and nobody knows him, or, HIM?

*

Okay, Okay, I’ve got the message.

Now, I could tell you this little post is part of my next book that will have all the answers you might be craving, but…

The hesitation comes from my having a new Driver’s License and Passport picture taken… Sweet Jesus, tell me that it is not me in those pictures.

The best I can do is explain it this way:

When a ‘Pantser’ writes, the reader must be patient… It will all be explained…

If I’m not around for the explanation, look upward and listen to the music.

BR Chitwood – Feb. 22, 2020

Please preview my books:

https://www.billyraychitwood.com

Please follow my Blog:

https://www.brchitwood.com

Please follow me on Twitter:

https://www.twitter.com/brchitwood

Advertisement

There

-Photo art by: Jakub Dziubak-

There

 

There in that sacred space

Where dreams lay crumbled

From all the yesterdays –

 

There where songs are sung

And stale memories play on

The soft notes of piano keys –

 

There in the unfulfilled dream

Heaps of all tomorrows amid

The rearranged bar stools –

 

There in the Bacchus mist

Among the sad souls of night

Love comes briefly to delight –

 

There in that play parlor for

Lonely souls of poetic pawns

The tortured Romantic sits.

 

Thank you, Romantics of the

World for the beauty of your

Musical notes of such sweet pain.

 

  • BR Chitwood – July 9, 2019 –

 

Please Preview my Books:

 

https://billyraychitwood.com

 

Please Follow my Blog:

 

https://brchitwood.com

 

Please Follow me on Twitter:

 

https://twitter.com/brchitwood

Hey, World!

15241296_10210589180546815_7619236045342556019_n (1)
-Hey, World!-

Hey, World,
Look at my girl…
She’s standing right here
Beside me.
Hey, World,
I’m in a whirl…
I’ve found the girl
For me.

She’s lovely,
And, Wow!
Those Eyes…
She’s Lovely,
She’s Paradise,
She’s Lovely,
Just One of a Kind,
Hands Off, World,
She’s All Mine!
*
She moves with the grace
Of an Angel,
She’s Diff’rent in her own
Special Way.
All that I’ve longed for,
A lady with Style,
Hey, World –
Outta my way!
She’s lovely,
Just One of a Kind…
Hands Off, World!
She’s All Mine…

An Up-Beat Stylish Song by: Billy Ray Chitwood

Please preview my books at:

https://billyraychitwood.com

Please follow my blog at:

https://brchitwood.com

Please follow me on Twitter:

https://twitter.com/brchitwood

River, Keep on Flowing

-River, Keep on Flowing-

I look out over the valley

From atop this tall, tall Pine

And I can see the river flowing

Over this land of mine.

There, on the bank of the river,

Sits a love that I once knew,

Her hair aglow in the sunlight,

Her eyes lost in sky of blue.

River, keep on flowing

River, flow for me

River, ease my heartaches,

And take my misery.

*

Where does she go at twilight?

The love that I once knew…

Does she go in search of tomorrow

In the arms of someone new?

*

River, keep on flowing

Over forgotten ground,

River, keep on flowing

Let my peace be found.

River, keep on flowing

River, flow for me

River, take my heartaches

Relieve my misery.

 

A slow (old-time country) tempo song by:

 Billy Ray Chitwood – April 23, 2019

Please preview my books at:

https://billyraychitwood.com

Please follow my blog at:

https://brchitwood.com

Please follow me on Twitter:

https://twitter.com/brchitwood

The Final Curtain1

The Final Curtain1

        I’ve always been a Frank Sinatra guy and “My Way” has accompanied me on many romantic adventures. “My Way” has been one of those ‘etchings’ to enjoy with someone special at the end of a candlelight and wine dinner, a song that can be parsed and qualified in so many ways…guess that’s my best reason for the blog title.
 
      It isn’t so much that those lines in the song, “The Final Curtain,” need to conjure up morbid thoughts and ‘let’s all be sentimental’ thoughts. In fact,”The Final Curtain” can conjure up joyful thoughts, those that lift the spirit and put an extra swagger in our strides.
 
          I’m pretty much a ‘romantic’ with some life dreams realized and some that still wish to be. Mostly, these days, my writing speaks to me in so many ways, telling me so many truths about myself. Through the characters pecked out on the laptop, in their actions, reactions, interactions, there are glimpses of me, mini-portraits never seen before. Some are scary. Some are strangely uplifting and gratifying. Some glimpses make me sad. Some make me happy. Some make me confident. Some make me doubt myself.
 
         There is this ‘thing’ that always keeps me rooted to some true genetic spot: we can be no more in life than what we are intended to be. So, what’s with all the gibberish about “The Final Curtain1” and the writing and the glimpses? Truth is, I’m aging with a great deal of reluctance, going through the ‘pages’ past, present, and future, still searching for the elusive and the unattainable, trying very hard to make up for some wasted moments in this passage.
        I’m here in the ‘wings’ and the curtain has not closed. I’m wanting to come out ‘center stage’ and ‘sing’ like ‘ole blue eyes’ my thoughts with wide-ranging themes, present the 17 books I’ve written and tell you a bit about them, perhaps share why I feel that in the fictional stories and memoirs I pen, there is that kid who was I somewhere on and between the lines. 
 
         One of my favorite poet/writers is an ex-priest named James Kavanaugh. Among all his work, he has written two beautiful books of poetry: “There Are Men Too Gentle To Walk Among Wolves” and “Will You Be My Friend?” There is so much of his verse with which I identify. His words speak to me with the most marvelous clarity. With my Appalachian bible-belt roots, there is little wonder. James Kavanaugh is gone now, this gentle man who ultimately quit the Priesthood, got in his little yellow volkswagon, drove to California and beyond, took his voice to the people in the streets, in the pubs, in those places where men and women congregate and among themselves seek reasons for their lives.
 
       Sinatra and Kavanaugh are my two favorite ‘etchings’ with some Kahlil Gibran thrown in, each of them fodder for the romantic and soulful parts of me. There is of course nothing wrong with our different tastes in music. There are those who like the brassy groups, the rappers, and the new gents and ladies of song — most of my soul dances favor the ballads. We can’t all like the same music. And, yes, of course, age, time, and place carry our predictable favorites.
 
         Now, ‘will you be my friend?’ Are you a ‘romantic’ – dreamer – pragmatist – young adult – baby boomer – timid – out-going… How do you approach the page on which you are about to spill your guts — or, your character’s guts? How much of you do you leave on the written pages of your books? You tell me, and I’ll tell you.
 
      I’m going off stage now but I’ll be lurking around the ‘curtain’ to see if someone shows up on stage. I’ll keep hoping you will read synopses of my books at the website address, pick one or two to read. You will find me on and between the lines of those books.
     There’s a lot of time before the final curtain.
 
Billy Ray Chitwood

https://brchitwood.comBLOGSITE

https://twitter.com/brchitwoodTWITTER

Moody Monday

Moody Monday

                    (A Song by Billy Ray Chitwood – Envisioned in ‘Soft Jazz’ – ¼ beat & melodious Sax! Repeat 3 times… THINK, Kenny G! Here’s to you! @kennyg)

Moody Monday!

Get out of town!

Moody Monday!

You got me down!

Mayday! Mayday!

Moody Monday!  

You see my frown?

Moody Monday!

You hear my sound?

Moody Monday!

Come on, Leave town!

Moody Monday!

Do it right now!

Moody Monday!

Moody Monday!

(Fade after 3 repetitions.)

A Jazz song by: Billy Ray Chitwood

July 23, 2018

(Okay, so I’m not a Jazz-man, but this is what I’ve been singing all Monday morning! )

 Please see my books at:

https://billyraychitwood.com  

Please follow my blog at:

https://brchitwood.com

Follow me on:

https://twitter.com/brchitwood

 Image:  ©Mike Monahan

 

%d bloggers like this: