The Garbage Man – PART II

(Continuing then, with the story of the Garbage Man.)

CONTENTS DELETED.  If you need this section for reference, contact me via email:

shatara@telus.net

A half mile and two rolling hills later Beanna and Edgar sighted the town. It wasn’t terribly fortified, having a combination of a low rock wall with an opening for the road, some part of the outer perimeter protected by a sluggish river and the rest a simple wooden palisade. At the gate stood two watchmen awaiting the arrival of this unknown pair.

I don’t have any healing skills!”

You do now, and you will soon realize how powerful those are at disrupting disease and death.”

{end of part II}

 

25 thoughts on “The Garbage Man – PART II

  1. George F.

    “Much more than sex as you understand it. They want your Allaya energy. Your power to put down conflict and calm chaos; to open the hearts of combatants and make them see each other as lovers. ” Wow! What a package. I want some of that…

    Reply
    1. Sha'Tara Post author

      Wow, that was quick! Thank you George. How about this: I am not creating a pair of heroes, I’m creating templates for us. “WE” can enter into the doom of the Allay, Allaya. We can become what they represent. From fiction to reality. You be Lotharic. The only thing that prevents us is our fear and our lack of trust in ourselves, or as Shakespeare put it, ‘The fault dear Brutus lies not in our stars that we are underlings, but in ourselves.’ You want it? Claim it, not of God or the Universe or whatever, but of yourself. We need to be harder on ourselves, stop the mollycoddling, the begging for power from some other sources. There are no other sources except fake ones. We are it. I am it. Nevertheless the story will continue, as it must.

      Reply
      1. Sha'Tara Post author

        I am? Thank you George. And so are you. I created a folder called Paul’s Story. I just filed your last entry into it, for later reading as I know you delete your posts. I’m trying to read it as a novel to get the full impact of Paul’s mind, and his changes. Fascinating, but I’ll comment about that on your blog.

      1. Woebegone but Hopeful

        Yep! That’s how I read it. Just as Bradbury wrote in this understated, yet building up way. (Now I must seek out some of his books, my originals…long gone).
        Keep up the good narrative.
        Roger

  2. rawgod

    S’T, I been waiting to ask you a question, right from the time you named your lead male “Edgar.” And, as I was reading to the end of Part II, the question was already dancing on my fingertips. Oh, how I wanted to jump ahead, and ask that question. But the story had to come to the question, not the question to the story, so I waited. Only to have my hopes dashed when you said the Allay’s name was not Edgar, but Lotharic. My question crumbled before me, the dust particles falling soundlessly (and voicelessly) to the road wherefrom they came…
    But now a different question arises, for from the battleworthy name of Edgar a change has occurred, and the hero has become borderline villain. So, onward, and off with it: Why Lotharic? The visual sense of Lotharic is 99.999% Lothario. Any somewhat disinterested reader could easily read the misshaped name, and thus set in motion a totally different story. Lothario has such bad connotations…
    Yes, I know this is your story to do with it what you will, but you only control the words and understanding of the reader as long as the reader pays attention to your words. And using such a “loaded structure” as Lotharic almost begs the misreading to Lothario. Or is that your intention?
    “Oh, what tangled webs we weave, when first we practise to deceive…”

    Sea Change

    Nice writing, S’T. Hook everyone with the speed and ease of the fight, refuse to give the origin or meaning of the term “Garbage Man,” give a brief display of the light ball, then wordlessly hide it away, great stuff. But Ray Bradbury? I’ll go you one better: Edgar Pangborn, Loner-By-Trade.

    And I am a ghost

    Reply
    1. Sha'Tara Post author

      Sorry to disappoint, but that’s the name of the tune. All my “fantasy” or “sci-fi” stories basically write themselves. This was going to be a short story, the characters had other plans. I’m now to part IV, and according to Libre Office writer, 55 pp. later and just getting warmed up, it seems. I don’t know, I liked Edgar better myself but I sense that the name “Lotharic” is going to be meaningful, or else it will change again. These are nor your normal Earth humans, but a kind of wizard people who have been on earth for hundreds of thousands of years. Everything about them changes.
      Even a lowly character like myself, I’ve already had to change my name four times. If my nature and character changes, then so must the name that describes that new nature. For those who don’t know, Sha’Tara has many meanings within the Sha – the main ones being “Shalom” and “Shakti” and of course Tara means Earth. Translated, at best, peace on earth through compassion. This forces me to always and ever look within when my name is mentioned, or I read it, or say it: if I am not living at peace within myself and my surroundings I am being false to my claim and I cannot afford that “luxury”. A bit of information on the Shakti energy here:
      https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shakti

      Reply
      1. rawgod

        Yes, Shakti is an exceedingly strong force, but one I as a present male, cannot access in this incarnation, no matter how “in touch” I am with my female aspect. But please (this is just a concerned request) wield that power with compassion at all times. I mean, I know you already do, but something is causing me to caution you, so though I do not know why, I send you that caution to do with as you will.
        But getting down to story writing, I have yet to sit down and write a story from start to end that the characters do not take over the story I think to tell, and tell their own story in place of it.
        Back in about 1995, holed up in an apartment in Vancouver’s East End, I finished my first novel, a very cathartic work that often had me in tears as the words appeared on paper. I needed something totally different, something to take me out of the world I had watched create itself through my fingers, but I had no idea what story could do that for me. So I sat there, staring at a blank word processor screen, readied my typing two fingers (because that was how I taught myself to type as a child) and just let them tap on the keyboard. What appeared on paper shocked me! I love science fiction, could tolerate most fantasy, but never, never did I read or write horror. I’ve never seen “The Exorcist” or “Jaws” or any “Nightmare on Elm Street” Part anything. So as I watched the following words appear on my screen I can only say I was horrified!
        “He was furious! Anything and everything he could grasp to throw flew anywhere and everywhere it could go.”
        As I wrote those words I had absolutely no idea of what was causing such fury, but at the same time I felt that this was exactly what I needed, something so unlike me that I could have no emotional attachment to it. I had never felt such a feeling in my life as fury, or even unbridled anger. My father had unwittingly taught me that letting anger take over a person not only hurt the person feeling the anger, but it hurt everyone around them. I was told anger was an emotion, but I knew that was wrong the very first time I heard that said. Anger is a choice, a response to certain stimuli that allows a being to release all control and wreak havoc on the world around them. It is a choice to forego responsibility, except that the responsibility lies in making that choice. But, few people believe me. They choose to see anger as an uncontrollable emotion, one that takes a person over without giving them a choice, and leaving them non-responsible for what they do with that anger. How many times did my mother say to me, “Oh, he was just angry, dear. He didn’t mean to hurt you. He loves you. He’ll calm down soon, and all will be well again.” What she did not say was,”until the next time he chooses to get angry again, and the next, and the next, and the next.”

        But, all that was contained in the two sentences I wrote, those 18 amazing words. I just sat and stared at them, and wondered what could possibly follow:
        “There was no sense to his rage, no reason to his madness. All he knew was he could smell it, whatever it was, but he couldn’t find it, couldn’t see it, couldn’t touch it. But it was here, he could smell it. So it was here. What was it, what did the smell tell him? It was small, innocuous, hidden right out in the open, like the smell of new-mowed lawn on a desert breeze — it didn’t belong there, but it was there, and could not be ignored. But this smell was not sweet like new-mowed grass, which was sweet, and good to smell. This was its opposite, so putrid he could taste it with his tongue, a taste-smell that was horrible to perceive. He stopped his motion, but could not stop his emotion. It riled him to stand still, but if he was going to find its source, he had to find its source! He would have to take his time, conquer it, not let it conquer him as it had when he first smelled it, followed it to this house, where he had lost control, and allowed himself to go berserk. No, if nothing else, he was human, and human meant master of a thing, master of any thing, master of the thing — master of this thing. There were no air currents in the house, nothing to tell him where he might search that would be better than any other place. It was persuasive, pervasive, evasive. It was all of those things and more. The smell was equally everywhere; the smell was driving him beyond himself, to the animal in himself, to the animal he was. The smell kept itself from him, teasing him, screeching at him, I’m here, but you can’t find me. The smell was dead, but had never lived. The smell was terror!

        Thus opens the second novel I ever wrote, and so far the last one. I never truly recovered from writing it, from giving freedom to feelings pent up inside me from my childhood. I said above that I needed something I would not be emotionally attached to, and despite the relationship to said childhood, I wrote the whole novel in a state of detachment, as if I, rawgod, had absolutely no stake in it (which is of course impossible, but strangely true in this particular instance). I had no characters, no raison d’être, no theme, no plot, no nothing… And yet I wrote a novel from that utterly fantastical beginning. I never tried to get it published, actually never tried to get either novel published. Other people might want to read them, the few who have said they liked them, though they needed some work, but I didn’t need them to be published. I had played the “try to get published” game before, and it was not something I was interested in. (Oh, if I had had an agent to do the business work for me, maybe then I would have let the agent try to find a publisher, but I knew I had no interest in the business process. I was a writer, and that is all; I ever wanted to be.) I published them on the website I was building then (but have since lost control over), but that was as far as I was willing to go. And this is as far as I am willing to go here. If you want to read the rest of that story, you can find it online at http://rawgod.tripod.com/ForestLeaves/id1.htm.

        A teaser for my first novel, “The Cold End of the Bathtub,” can be found at “http://rawgod.tripod.com/id28.htm”
        with the novel itself following at “http://rawgod.tripod.com/theBathtub/index.htm”
        but should you choose to read my work, be prepared. The reading is on you, the choice itself is on you. The stories themselves are on the characters that wrote them. All I did was type the words…

      2. Sha'Tara Post author

        When it comes to pure fiction, fantasy, science fiction, ideally on locations not of this earth, then yes, the stories write themselves. They have to since the writer knows nothing about the places, conditions, characters, so they must reveal themselves to the writer to become words. If the characters lose interest in telling their story, as often happens, then the story aborts. If the writer tries to fill it in, you have the so often pathetic “sequel” story. For stories based on real events, historical or current that require careful research, it’s now the writer who must do the story telling. These types of books take much longer to write. The story I am writing now is fiction and tells itself. However, I reserve the right to insert my own philosopy, gathered over time, places, experiences and reading, into the main events. It’s like being on a bus tour. You have to go along with the crowd for most of the time, but when you are on the street and on your own for those moments, then the tour becomes your own too.

      3. rawgod

        That is the funny part, isn’t it, how most characters created for my books have a bit of my own philosophies in them (or the philosophies I had at the time
        the stories took place)… But my first novel purports itself to be the autobiography of a 60s rock star who never existed, nor did the band and bandmembers he played with. Some of the cover songs they did are real songs, but the Bathtub took liberties with many of them that no real band would ever take with a real song. Except for a very few scenes, this book was purest fiction, but it lay dormant in me for so long (first thought about writing it circa 1969, actually wrote it in about 1999) that my story became unrecognizable, and the character’s stories grew out of my fingers full-blown. I said it had problems, but mainly because I wrote the first few chapters. Once the characters took over, and told me about their lives, the story became believable, and oh so personal (for them). I just read some bits of it again last night after I wrote to you, and I cried my eyes out again for the pains some characters went through. Is that normal for a writer? It is normal for me. And I hope that never changes…

      4. Sha'Tara Post author

        I don’t really know how writers are supposed to feel about their characters (I don’t know how the characters feel about their writer either!), but I do try to stay out of the emotional roller-coaster or the story goes to shit. Somebody in the nut house has to stay cool, calm and collected! If they (the characters) want to do things I would never do, or would no longer consider doing, that’s fine by me, I’ll write it down, but I won’t get involved in judging them and their acts, or agreeing with them. Remember this guys, I’m only the secretary and my payment for all that work is simple: a bit of space on your pages to insert some of my personal philosophy, that’s it. Refuse me the space and you can write your own damn story!!!

      5. rawgod

        Staying out of the story “emotionally” is not that easy, in my experience. Even when the characters literally invent themselves…
        Imagine my surprise when I was writing a scene, and the following words appeared on my processor screen, ” Someone said, “You kids need some help, I see.” And walking up to us was this big, black, well-dressed man who oozed sympathy. “Are you really the same guys who recorded that song?” ” And into my novel walked a character I had never even thought to imagine? Where did he come from? Why was he here? He “literally” told me to wait and see, and my fingers kept tapping the keyboard without a hitch. Big John Harris is my favourite character I never invented. He taught me things about the music business I never knew, and yet, how could I write anything I had no knowledge of? Riddle me that one if you can…

        In my mind I want to know my characters motivations, because if I don’t understand my characters, how can I get the reader to understand them. And to understand them is to get emotionally involved. For me it is just part of the process, only I never understood that about myself till now.
        But it coincides with my life. I see things about people even they cannot see, and I have been accused many times of having friendships and relationships with people who do not necessarily portray the kind of characteristics and personality traits that I find most appealing. The thing is, I can see characteristics and traits where it seems no one else can. And I’ve also lost friends and relationships where I have made people uncomfortable by exposing the things I see inside them, even if those are things that make them better human beings. It seems they don’t want to be better human beings, they’d rather be cold-hearted assholes, and I’ll never understand that. Am I making any sense?
        HHHeeelllpppppp! I’m drowning in my own vision…

      6. Sha'Tara Post author

        Hey rawgod the ghost… of course you make sense; “it” makes sense. We’re talking here about writing fiction so anything goes even if in “my” world there is no such thing as fiction. As I was taught, and taught, over and over, nothing is impossible, that is “nothing” is an impossibility, there is no such “thing” as “nothing”. So our fictions are all real. Our characters are not inventions, they exist and now they’re telling a part of their many stories. We record. Meanwhile our own stories in which we are the characters, are being recorded somewhere else by some other writers who probably believe they are inventing us as they go along. That’s where we can become super heroes, by “lying” to them about the real us! They’ll receive our thoughts and build us up upon that information. Hey I’m the first girl to go through a black hole without using a machine and come out the other side a zillion parsecs away to kick start a whole new civilization! Best seller on Sirius B.
        You should’ve been a psychic counsellor, darn it.
        Oh, and I did pay attention to your warning about the Shakti energy. I got a similar warning about 15(?) years ago. But my ace in the hole here, and why I can live in this energy is that I have declared myself an avatar of compassion. Compassion, as a force, trumps all other energies; they must serve, they cannot command. My Shakti energy is a sword, but it’s my sword of judgement and justice, not of condemnation. I need this because in the exercise of compassion I cannot allow myself to become a victim of social forces (again!). There is another name for Shakti: self empowerment.

      7. rawgod

        Sounds acceptable, but now curious minds would like to know, what happened ,the first time you were a “victim of social forces”? Those words, all 4 together, resonate with me, stirring a ringing bell deep within me. If you prefer to keep things private, use
        jerry@medmarhighlevel.biz
        please.

      8. Sha'Tara Post author

        If you possess strong elements of charisma and empathy, there are social forces, or movements, that will seek you out and push you forward as their mouthpiece, their mascot, their “hero” even, if you can laugh in the face of death threats or risk jail for what you believe. Once you accept, two paths open before you: become a leader, as in a smart hypocrite with a price tag, or become a martyr and a loser. So you refuse the offered corruption of political power; you give yourself to a cause and crowd and it eats you up. You lose everything in the process. I hit bottom at 30, eaten up, drained and hopeless doing this earth-rescue stuff: the politics, the environment, the refugee sponsoring and playing the social conscience for change, all for public causes, without self-empowerment. Now everything is turned right-side up because it’s all about me. When I act, it’s because I choose to act, not because of social pressure. From collectives and causes, to self empowerment and compassion. I accomplish more now than I ever did when I had thousands clapping to a speech or seeing me on the front page of the Globe and Mail, or on prime time CBC news or hearing my voice, (a voice I hated by the way) on special radio broadcasts. They never understood what I was actually talking about. Now, the only one who needs to understand, is me. As one, I feel that “the movement” is bigger and much more meaningful than it ever was in the public realm. Self empowerment contains more energy than entire collectives, including the 7.5 billion Earthian collective. Collectives because of their make-up of lowest common denominator energy always fall victims to the sociopaths that rule them.

      9. rawgod

        Thank you.
        I agree with you about the voice, mine never sounds on tape or television like I think it sounds in my head. It grates on me when I hear it.
        But I cannot say I ever did anything like you did, though I have had more than my share of my 15 minute episodes of fame. Newspapers, radio, television, I have been on them all, including just last year when the RCMP in Hay River raided me for selling legal medical marijuana at the local Fisherman’s Wharf Market. They were sure it was just a front for selling the “real bud” but I fooled them, and was only selling the seed oil, which is completely legal and does not need as much as a prescription to buy it. The asshole who ran the “investigation” is apparently a lifetime bully who was frothing at the mouth, thinking he was going to make some big marijuana bust. Turned out what he did was give us national coverage, and the best advertising campaign that I would have had to pay millions of dollars for, FOR FREE. Thank you, Officer Beck.
        But as for social causes and such, I don’t think I ever got used. As a hippie I took part in a lot of demonstrations, sit-ins and the like, but I was never a leader back then. I was just a shy kid doing what I believed in, and giving the middle finger to Authority anywhere and everywhere I could. When I finally realized somewhere along the line I had become self-empowered almost without knowing it, I still kept a low profile, advancing my causes insidiously, one person at a time. And except for here on WordPress, and reacting to the present state of world affairs (in peoples’ comment sections, not on my own blog), insidious is my key watchword. I have a large sense of social concern, but I know the only person I can control is myself, which is why I say I do not want to be a teacher or leader, but just a role model and example to others of how it is possible to be.
        I could have gone the other way, I could have become a James Jones, or a David Koresh, or even a Charles Manson had I wanted, the opportunities to attract followers were there many times, but I decided early on that was a dangerous road to tread. It was tempting, I have to admit, there is no ego-boost like having people sitting at your feet offering their minds and bodies to you if you impart your wisdom to them, but that would create a situation similar to what you went through. (From the way I reacted to the words “victim of social forces” I can only believe my spirit fell victim to them in an earlier incarnation, and the outcome was not a desirable one!) Whatever, my ego was held in check, and I walked away from those opportunities, thus keeping my inner integrity.
        This is also why I advocate for a person to find their power and understanding within themselves, finding their own empowerment rather than latching themselves onto the coattails of others.
        Wow, I apparently have some very strong feelings about refusing the opportunity to be worshipped. Good for me, lol

      10. Sha'Tara Post author

        Self empowerment is our next step, if we take it, that is. And as I said, you should be a counsellor…

      11. rawgod

        I actually do a bit of unofficial counselling, but I just call it having a conversation. I’ve been doing it all my life, when I had more friends who always sought out my advice. It wasn’t until I realized my own empowerment that I stopped actually giving advice and started role modeling through talking about my experiences. People want answers, but I refuse to give them any now, just more of a how to do it yourself kind of thing. But thank you for the vote of confidence, it means a lot coming from you, S’T.

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