Dimitri Spanoa/Moth Character trademarked property of Trinity Being Multimedia Copyright 2012 All rights reserved.
Ah, if you have stumbled in here by accident...this
is my personal library of writings.
These are all the stories and tales outside the main trilogy...
Well, I can't say all, because there is much more to write
and more to post...THE BLACKLIGHT CHRONICLES"inner stories"Two Beige Spiders
there are two biege colored spiders
that rest upon my keyboard at night
and the only thing that they eat
is a feast of letters in random combinations
each letter laid out in a sort of a logical combination
and listen to this...
these letters sit on top of these well designed mounds
all neatly stacked in rows like the order of a honeycomb
all of these black mounds have nestled in their concave tops
large white letters positioned slightly to the upper left and all laid
out, like i mentioned before, in logical order.
The most peculiar thing happens when a small amount of pressure is
applied...the letter mound that has been pushed by a leg of one of the
spiders travels through the endless microscopic maze which is the mouth
of it's nest to a large panel. Each time a mound is pressed it instantly
appears on this white panel that is placed in a verticle position before the
And mind you there are two intelligent spiders lurking and working
simultaneously along side one another and what they feast on are the
constant stream of thoughts that flow through their legs...
some times they do fast dances across these mounds...coordinating their
moves and executing their tasks. Sometimes slow and thoughtful
as one that treads on dangerously thin ice.
When they move they work meticulous tumbling over one another in such
a way to avoid any rude behavior...well- because they have spent many
years training with each other...and in essence you could consider them
one. It is quite a feat to develop mirror images of each other... and it
pleases the master of the spiders when they successfully execute their
There is one thing that i might ad...
these spiders only come out when they see the soft glow of the
violet lights cascading out around them...reaching into their holes
They hear the crisp click of the switch
the impulse for work.
and their love of intuition.
they feel the thoughts
swelling from pools of shallow conscience
to deeper membranes...feeling the thoughts, emotions
and pains of the one that send them their information.
out of the holes they come...cautiously then speedily
take their positions...
it is also in this magical light that all the shadows of flying things
emerge out of the darkness making complex shadows
under the glowing stars...
there is quite powerful will-power at work
and a willingness to execute their right judgement.
and you can see their beedy little black eyes reflecting
the web of letters they create-pondering,thinking,muttering,
cutting and pasting their silky thoughts.
MOTHThe East Wing
The night is damp and soiled with a stale fragrance.
and the smell of old books perks my inspiration
and my imagination. It is that joyful glee that comes
when some thing has not been discovered in a thousand
years...the type of information that would set historys coarse
in another direction. And here filled from the top to the bottom
are all these books ready for consumption...well there it is
take them if you want them. Im just on my way through the East Wing
down the corridor where i normally write each night.
For me they just collect dust and no i did not discover them or write them
they are just there. As the same, there are many such librarys of antiquity
that are yet to be found in some form or matter in there destined time.
I love it down here for there is so much creative energy wrapped up here
sitting so dormant which is really a community for the populations of
silverfish and yes can i say moths...Well look up and you can see the tiniest
of crevices...that's where they come from....they fall down here and find
this- they and the communties of silverfish are not worried about
preservation- and places like this are usually only discovered by small boys
poking thier heads into crags in the rocks or taking a hike and wondering
off the trail and falling in...ah but yes there they are for you if you want
The room at the end of the corridor is left always the same a few small pieces of furniture a chair and a table that is slanted and a candle that is slumped over to one side for the many days of use.
"Hello little white candle!"
The room is a rounded stone formation with some pale light cascading down from above. The sillouettes of a small pen and a drab of ink.
and much paper...
Do you remember the time when one discovered a famous mathmaticians
journal...and that it had been recycled for another use...how sad is that...
even if it was a prayer book...you must not write over the pages of history...even if you have your own history to jot down...then it becomes an unintelligable mass of confusion. What will be left for the people of tomorrow and how much will they be misled?
So much paper...and each piece must be used wisely.
In desks all over the world and the trash cans beside them are the
beginnings and endings of dead ends. In computers all over the world are
the thoughts and ideas of many stored so temporarily that digital insects
could come in and feast on it...Perhaps it's just looking for a place to nest.
"Ah the wooden match is just where i have left it."
So many campfires that i have enjoyed by the strike of just one match.
A flicker and a sparkle
it sends the room in a flare
the shadow is cast off the walls
and every object dances and darts
for just a brief moment
oh the smell of that burning smoke
lifting off like a wolf after a meal
its both the guide to my candle
and what will alight and stay upon
It hovers there and waves around
once it is settled
as i pick up my pen
it casts a long skinny shadow
down the slant of the table and off onto the floor
i look like a giant grey form hunched on the wall
my movement to look animates it
it's always connected no matter what i do
pen reaches to paper
The initiation is its cause
the system is not left or right
only staying alight upon my sight
we are called to it
and we sit by it
and it illuminates our senses
and learns our every move
we are seldom in its graspses
and we find meaning in its clues
im one to waste it
and send it breaking
to its doom
I look up and there in the corridor is a form looking at me
standing and cloaked.
"Well i did not know that i was alone"
it steps back into the blackness
and i hear the foosteps echo down the hall
fading into nothing.
alone in my thoughts and my imagination
nothing down here is for certian
it is like this every night and i feel like this could
be my prision
and i stroll these halls for the sake of being confined here
all this paper could be falling from up there somewhere
and i am an experiment in a cave for someones use.
but not so i am free
and have written myself into a small stone room
and the feeling of clostrophobhia is consuming me.
and that person that i saw is none other than...
my paper crumples and joins the sea of others.
THE PERPETUAL CANDLE
looking so slumped over there-there has got to be a way to
reuse what i have lost!
I look over and there i am in a smelt and a burning
mass of workers prepared for the days work ahead
they are crafting little metal men that will be set up to carry
pots of wax to a holding place to reform a candle in another location.
and so this cycle will be repeated for the life of the candle...
and they will never tire for their thoughts will constantly be
at the task at hand.
like arms of a clock and
the cogs that turn them
it is art
and functional at the same time
and will be well suited while i am here
for this short brief time.
as the last pots of wax have been poured a timing mechanism
has been moving along so slowly to light the newly positioned
wick and there after a few minutes the men are there holding the pots
of liquid wax...The workers smile and nod in approval with thier big work
a big sign illuminates out of the dark
"THIS WORK IS OVER"
and they all slowly trudge off into the warm darkness too their homes.
molten little metal men cool and await their positioning in the morning.
MOTHThe Winged Man And His Over Sized Bird
from a birds eye view
and high up in the sky...the wind is howling
-and sunlight slips past the dark blue and white feathers...
on the underside they are more dark...
and the flickers and blades of the morning sun
pierce the small openings between them- of the winged man.
"ah this dreaded sunlight!" Synopsis lifts this arm-feathers to
shield this invasion of eye view...
"why are we flung out here so in the morning hour...Gimchi?"
"i dunno..." a muffled response came from the other of the pair.
"You should keep up we...have things to do today...you know... you could use to loose some wieght."
"I can't help it Syn...he created me like this..."
What?...what do you mean he...? replied Synopsis.
"him...moth...be created me like this...I had been minding my own
buisness when he snatched me and started changing my color and all...
I use to look like a normal bird...but he...resized me..."
a little whimper came from the oversized bird...
"How odd..." the man exclaimed.
gim continued..." yes he threw us on that big...well you know...the white...uh...well syn...i don't know how he does it...he just does it...
"I think i know what you mean..." Synopsis tried to sound interested.
"Come now we have many things to do today in the Forest of Noth...
and you mus'nt wake the sleeping mushrooms...they worked all night you
"Ok." replied Gimchi..." i musn't alight upon one of them..."
the two slid down between the folds of the dark forest of leporda...
tucked in along the path...to the Forest of Noth...allowing the blacklights
to guide their way...