Raw Earth Ink
Spit mixed with dirt – Muddy words flow
Gone Fishin’
I’m around… sort of. Summer in Alaska. Busy. I’ve been the last few days doing a type of subsistence fishing called set-net. It’s moderately labor intensive but worth it to teach others the “old ways”. So here are a few pics, should my view interest you.
Book Review – The Stories In Between by River Dixon
I read this book via both my e-reader and in paperback. This is a unsolicited review.
What I Loved:
River Dixon is easily one of my favorite writers. He creates both poetry as well as flash fiction and short stories (which in my humble opinion are his shining stars). Reading him is like revisiting one of my old favorites, Philip K Dick. Only…. I like River’s voice better. So I guess I’m saying I believe he’s better than PKD. Yep. I said it. River’s style is dark, twisted, humorous and unexpected…. just what I want to read in a short story. His characters may be “the bad guy” yet somehow you find yourself rooting for them, seeing them through their own slanted view. Other times they may be the simple guy on the sidelines at the wrong place (and often confused with their plight).
This collection is everything I hoped for in reading his work. Dark and twisted. Someone (almost) always dies. Often strangely or violently (but not explicitly graphically). The good guy is often the bad guy and he doesn’t always win… though you want him to. This is thirteen stories written by a master manipulator of the word and mind. The first and last stories are tied together (I won’t say how!) and what’s sandwiched in between is… well, I won’t say heaven… but something quite wonderful.
There’s the little voice inside that won’t ever shut up. The little girl who loves her father more than any other and carefully follows his gruesome footsteps. The nagging mother who’ll never let her middle-aged son grow up, even from the grave. The man who meets his author and creator. Dead hookers, old-time gangsters who suddenly gain a conscience mid-hustle, a book curator who’ll stop at nothing to find that children’s book, a seller of dreams, and an alternate dimension that collides with ours so that a man sees his alternate increasingly are found in these pages. And more…
The other thing I love about River’s writing is how much he allows for your imagination. He points you down the dark shadowy trail in the woods and allows you to find your way out again. It’s masterfully done and so enjoyable.
I didn’t find a single grammatical error or misspelling and that made me very happy. Also, the paperback quality was very good. A nice size in your hand and the front cover art was appealing.
What I Didn’t:
If I had to complain about anything it’s that I wish it was twice as long.
I will add in this section, if you’re squeamish about language or dark themes (such as murder or scratching beneath the floorboard that won’t allow you to finish watching that musical on Netflix…) then this might not be a good match for you. This contains all that. (Though mostly by reference and not by adding the grisly details.)
My Favorite Bits:
Little Voice – “Everyone has that little voice inside their head; that’s normal. But this voice, coming from my abdomen was starting to concern me.” And then… “My reflection in the window looked good; hair neatly cropped and tie crisp….. His eyes glazed over at the sight of my tattered and stained pajama pants and blood-soaked t-shirt. The clip-on necktie hung slightly crooked under my cleanly shaven face.” ohmygod the first time I read that I literally laughed out loud
Case of the Missing Pillow –
“It’s right there; you dumb shit.”
“That’s not my pillow.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it’s not, can’t be. My pillow is blue.” The husband shook his head.
“Oh, my, God, seriously? The pillowcase was blue. This—”, she held up the pillow and shook it in the air, “is a different pillowcase. I changed it.”
But the real question is: WHY did she change it?! (You’ll have to read the book…)
The Diner – “A man is sitting at the counter, hunched over a notebook, frantically writing…. The man at the counter with the notebook took a sip of coffee, and like a flash, turned and looked directly at me, with a fire in his eyes. He slammed his hands against the counter, scooped up his notebook, and stormed out the front door.”
And so it goes, again and again, this mystery writer who seems as if he can’t stand the main character… but I think they made peace in the end.
My Overall Score:
5/5 stars
The Review:
Mr. Dixon is easily one of my favorite authors. I’ve been following his writing on his blog for a couple years now and have read all three of his books to date. He brings us dark twisted and humorous in this collection of thirteen short stories.
True to his style, Mr. Dixon gives us just enough of a glimpse into these strange tales as to be completely swept off into them, immediately permeating the brain within just a few short opening lines but without telling every ghastly detail. Storytelling at its finest.
I’ll mention the three I would say are (probably?) my favorites.
The Diner – a man meets the author and creator of his own existence
Fracture – an OCD-driven man becomes increasingly aware of the presence of a messy doppelgänger who shows up in his house
Last Wednesday at Sue’s Place – dark and moody, it doesn’t end the way you’d think it would (and I loved it)
Highly recommended for those who enjoy dark humor short stories.
Read more book reviews by following the Book Reviews Category.
be a good writer: read.
~tara caribou
“Fallen Star Rising” poetry by tara caribou
This 240-page book of poetry tells an overall story. It’s a tragic love story that doesn’t end with two people riding off into the sunset together, though it’s not all bad. She does learn and experience some beautiful things.
From the cold inky depths of deep space to the heart of burning stars. From the orbit of silent moons and empty satellites to the evolution of new interplanetary life. Experience loneliness, love, passion and loss above the horizon of a fallen star now rising through the touching story of one woman’s fiery love affair and break-up in this collection of love poetry.
In paperback at: lulu or directly from tara
Leave a review on Goodreads.
©️2019-23 | tara caribou
Versatile Blogger Award
[Hi Mike! Thanks for nominating me.]
Rules: I never obey the rules so I hesitate to list them. But you’re supposed to say seven things about yourself and also nominate some other bloggers to maybe participate. In the several times I’ve done this… I think two people “participated back”? So, we’ll see how much I accomplish here.
Pardon me if I’ve mentioned these things before….
1) I’m a crunchy barefoot neo-hippie.
2) I moved out of my parent’s house when I was sixteen.
3) I have only been tattooed thirty-six times (so far). It’s a great source of happiness for me.
4) I eat lemon rinds.
5) I hate my feet being touched… by anything. Socks, shoes, water… gross. Dirt I don’t mind as much.
6) I think mathematics and science and intelligence are sexy.
7) My driver’s license says that I am 5’7″ with blue eyes and brown hair. And the card that I carry with it says I have A- blood and a blood clotting disorder called Factor V Leiden.
There. Anything else you’re dying to know???
~tara
Book Review – Echoes In Space by Mark Ryan
I read this book via my e-reader. This is a unsolicited review.
What I Loved:
oh goodness… Mark Ryan is one of my absolute favorite poets. Top five easily. So reading a book of his that tells a story…. uhhh much like my own book… which, by the way, his came first. And honestly, if I knew THIS book existed, I would not have put mine together. It’s embarrassing really. But it’s too late. I already finished mine (which closely resembles his by pure coincidence really!!) and I don’t want to scrap the whole project. So… what did I love? Ummm how about everything?? I love his style, I love the subject, I love outer space and nature themes, yessss, I’m gushing with love for this book. Buy it. You need it. I can see it in your eye.
What I Didn’t:
There were a few typos and misspellings which are a pet-peeve of mine BUT the poetry is so good I am able to forgive it.
My Favorite Bits:
Trying to pick favorites is basically impossible. I chose 13 must-reads… out of 66, people! Clearly I have a poetry crush. Okay. Hold on to your… hats or whatever else you hold on to when bracing yourself, here are some favorite lines from some outstanding works:
Kisses That Scar – uummm deliciously gorgeous imagery centered around passionate love “Paint the walls of my mouth with your honey, let your tongue find a place to rest.”
Photosynthesis in Retrograde – incredible imagery like “I curl back into tomorrow.”
Heaven in Reverse – “These seas are evaporating, leaving sand in my ear. As I hold the shell of you close to me.”
Dangerous – starting with “Whiskey breathe and Ritalin eyes.” You know this is gonna be a wickedly good poem.
Raging Storm – “No eye to your needle of chaos.”
Skeletons in the Sky – this is one where every time I read it, I see a different twist; it’s like a decadent tiramisu poem (that’s a thing, I’m sure it is) “Cracking my skull like an egg. Dipping their fingers inside.” Damn, right??
Golden Gravity’s Pull – “Reach inside, run your knuckles up my spine….. Tasting dinosaur blood and DNA.”
Slipping in Stars – I cried so hard when I read this, like ugly sobbing crying, I felt the emotions so strongly. “Choking on solar flares, breathing in a new tomorrow…. But I wipe this away and breathe in the galactic air. Allowing cosmosis to take me deep within you, and all your little galaxies.”
Stellar Sight – let me share the one line that made me utterly delight in this poem: “deep filled gooey splatter of time” (you feel the urge to read the poem in entirety now, don’t you??)
Winged Limitation – ohmygod the last line killed me “Can birds fly in space?” thing is, you’re going to have to read the rest of it to feel why that line is so kick-ass.
Cor(e) – I literally don’t know what line to share, the entire thing is so intertwined and the imagery so vicious. “You punch me in the chest and feel my heartbeat. Cool hands on this fiery organ. The skin peels away.”
Down Within – cold seeping into your heart and bones as love is lost “He lay on the cold bank. Shedding his tears into deeper pools.”
Odyssey – “After all, I’m not where I want to be. If I’m honest, I’m ashamed. Stuck in mortality, delicious sweet vitality.”
My Overall Score:
4.5/5 stars
(1/4 for quantity of typos, 1/4 for length (could have been twice as long for me…. which hardly seems fair to lose a score based on LACK of length but it’s my grading system)
The Review:
A collection of 66 poems by Mark Ryan. Now Mr. Ryan fits in easily as one of my top five all-time favorite poets. So that perhaps makes me slightly biased.
Choosing only a handful of favorites from this group of poems was nearly impossible because I literally liked every single poem. There was a space theme to the overall poetry contained in this book, but not exclusively so. All my favorite elements: incredible visuals, deep emotions, layers of personality, outer space and nature (it’s kinda my thing), love and loss, memories and reality checks. I can read Mr. Ryan every single day quite happily. So my initial list of must-reads was thirteen, which I realize is too long for a review… I’ve shortened it to six (and believe me, it wasn’t easy) but you can see the full list and review over on my blog if you want more… or just buy his book and see for yourself (that’s my recommendation).
Kisses That Scar – oh my goodness absolutely gorgeous imagery of burning love
Heaven In Reverse – And I quote: “Holding onto this honey in my hands. Trapping it forever in amber.”
Skeletons In The Sky – layers upon layers of intensely vivid imagery
Golden Gravity’s Pull – if you only read one of Mr. Ryan’s poems, this is a great example of his style and reach
Slipping In Stars – actually moved me to uncontrollable tears to the point I had to put the book down for a day and come back to it
Cor(e) – this is another of those “if you only read one” poems… this is not to say they are the best of the best but more that they are shining examples of his voice
I can not recommend this author or this book of poetry highly enough. Gorgeous read cover to cover.
Read more book reviews by following the Book Reviews Category.
be a good writer: read.
~tara caribou
Phoenix Rising – Chapter 6
Looking up into her young lovely face, I was reminded again of the frailty of life. The brevity of it. Chances missed. Opportunities forsaken. I was transported back in time, when I was a headstrong youthful man, full of life and dreams. Born into royalty, my father a duke with a sprawling estate and a houseful of servants and fields full of folk loyal to our name. My father was a just man, harsh in his judgments but a fair overlord. He showed little physical affections either for his wife, nor his heirs, but his love was shown in his intimate attention to our lives and upbringing. There were times when he went out to fight with his men to support them in the protection of our lands and livelihood. He was a fierce protector and a worthy caregiver.
Upon his demise, while my mother the duchess lived on, his position and title fell to me as the only son. His many daughters would be, and indeed some already had been, married off to strengthen relationships with neighboring families as well as several having been shipped off to further lands as bargaining chips and one for actual real love. Their lives traded and bartered as mere property than the kin they truly were. Such is the way of the world.
I, for my part, attempted to live a life as half the man my father was. Filling such heavy shoes was not an easy fit for me, but I did the best I could. My subjects were as loyal to me as they had been to the late duke and I was constantly compared favorably to him.
I was wed to a witch of a woman when I was but a young man, a matter of diplomacy and certainly not attraction nor love. I can say in a positive voice that she at least bore me a son in the earliest days of our marriage so that I did not have to continue relations with her, instead letting her rule over her wing of the mansion. She was a miserable woman, bitter in all her ways and icy cold in her deductions and reasoning. Many a time I took her to task for mistreatment of the servants as it was brought to my attention through my personal attendant. I lived with the woman in my home for a dark eleven years before she succumbed to an illness which was swift and vile. As much as I disliked the foul woman, she at least bore me an heir whom I loved above others and I felt her death was too violent even for one such as her.
Throughout my following years, I lived much as a monk, rarely taking a mistress, as they never seemed to fill the void I felt in my soul. My mother had always said I had a poet’s heart, believing as I did that True Love was in existence and sometimes mere mortals found theirs. I couldn’t fully disagree with her and many a night I sat before my hearth staring into the glowing embers longing for another to walk through this life with. The years dragged on, one year coming and going much like the ones previous. The politics of my station in life, the day to day monotony, the occasional border squabble, the judging of the common folk, the running of the house…they all weighed on my shoulders daily. I wasn’t miserable so much as lonely.
I poured everything I had into my son, who seemed to have inherited my gentle spirit and poet’s heart. I was incredibly filled with joy when he came to me one evening to inform me of his intent to officially court the light in his eyes. She was a homely girl from a family several estates over, though I considered her kind and I approved of my son’s choice. Within two years of that night, they were in fact wed in our own main hall, which had been decorated splendidly for the auspicious occasion. Secretly, I had in fact hoped to pass on my title before too many days had passed as I grew weary with the constant politics and sought a retired life of perhaps beekeeping or some other such hobby to occupy my mind and body. My mother, who lay day by day in her own bed by this time in her life, was strongly against the idea and fought me on it daily. My son had eyes only for his beloved but I knew he would obey my wishes, should I actually enforce them at some point.
It was as I was nearing the age of sixty when the sickness came upon me. It was slow and manipulative to the point where in the early days I sometimes wondered if it was merely in my mind, the slow creeping in of various maladies. The herbalist did the best she could but within two years time even she was at a loss of hope for a full healing and called for a live-in caregiver to watch over my failing body. My mind remained mostly clear but as the disease took over, I found myself sleeping longer hours and restless when I was awake. I became primarily bed-ridden although there were sunny warm afternoons when a special chair was brought in and I was able to be wheeled down to the gardens for fresh air and sunlight.
The young maid who was brought in was the most beautiful woman I had ever lay eyes on and she quickly stole my heart with her easy smile and quiet, kind spirit. She lived in the room immediately adjacent to mine; so as to be near at hand should I need her, no matter the day or hour. Her full duty was as my primary caregiver, providing for my every need. Some days she read to me from the Holy Word and other times she told fanciful tales in which to occupy my mind. Always she had a gentle touch and eyes that seemed to look right through my age and failing body to my very heart and soul. She tended to me with more care than any lover. I felt my spirit come to life when she was in my presence and I seemed less of man when she was gone.
On cold, dreary nights, she lay with me on my bed, her youth and vitality keeping me warm beneath the quilts and furs spread across the mattress. I would look over and see her gazing upon me with nothing but love in her glittering blue eyes. She would gently stroke my face and beard, across my brows and run her fingers through my hair. It was all I could do but let my lids drift closed and off I would be carried to dreams of youth and a certain fair-haired beauty. Her ministrations brought light and life to my heart and mind. Softly she spoke into my ear, describing the world outside, the halls of my own home, the affairs my son did not mention, the events of the day, the flora and fauna seen from the balcony window and so much more. It was through her I was able to live again. She brought in entertainment, such as a local bee-keeper who was more than happy to spend an evening talking with love of his craft.
It was nigh on five years spent under her tender care that I knew my days were coming to an end. I could see it in her worried eyes, in the extra care she took in providing for my comfort, in the whispered conversations between her and the herbalist. There became a fervency to her support which belied the otherwise calm demeanor she displayed toward me. I knew I had to tell her my true thoughts and feelings for her, if only to clear an old man’s conscious. It was on a dark and rainy evening that I called her to my bed and asked to lie beside me for a while.
Without a moment’s hesitation, she pulled the quilts over us and laid her light hand upon my breast. Her other hand held my own. I felt her soft breath upon my cheek. I turned slightly toward her as I wanted her to see the truth in my eyes as I spoke. “My Love,” I began quietly, “you have been the light in my eyes these past many months. But these eyes begin to dim and my dreams claim more of my days than my realities. I feel you need know my true heart in these my last days upon this green earth. You are the One True Love I have always searched and hoped for. My heart is bound to yours. Oh, my Love, you fill my heart with so much joy. How did I ever deserve you? You are everything I want. You are beautiful and kind and you are my friend and lover. I say lover because we have made love in the heart. You have claimed my spirit for yourself and I claim yours. Each day is more. I feel changes in me, I laugh where once I was sad; I smile when I used to scowl. I love you more each day. You complete my heart.”
And with that, the deepest outpouring of my heart, with tears running down her beautiful cheeks, I felt a overwhelming peace come over my mind, body and soul. It was if my entire life culminated in this one moment, here in her arms, as if every minute had led purposefully up to this: that I only had to free her by acknowledging my love for her. I had lived my life but to show her True Love. As the peace enveloped my mind, I began to fade away, colors in the room fading. I heard from a distance her voice call out to me and then whisper right next to my ear: “I will always be yours. I will find you again, my Love.” And then all was silent as my final breath passed through my pale lips.
tara caribou | ©️2019
This is part of my book Phoenix Rising. Someday I will actually edit and publish it. Each chapter can be read as a stand-alone story, working within the bigger overall story.
Hlad (Explorations)
Journal Entry:
I lived an entire lifetime walking the world of Hlad. I had felt a beckoning, a calling within my breast to turn my face toward this hereto previously unknown planet. I was drawn to it for reasons I was not initially aware of yet I could not ignore its request. Stepping foot for the first time upon its rich soil was like coming home. And in fact, the people who live there had expected me to arrive and were therefore waiting for me, as if my arrival was foretold in prophecy.
The world itself is as varying and diverse as our own home world of Terra. Much of the terrain and flora are so similar as to appear as like a close sibling to our ancient world. The animal life is similar, though not quite as much so. It is the people of Hlad that I immediately found intriguing and delightful. My initial journal entries shed some light on my thoughts through the years. I will share just a few here.
Journal Entry:
Within a dozen steps of my new world, I am greeted by a handsome race that I would describe as appearing like cousins to the long extinct Elvish race of ancient Terra. They are tall and thin and pleasant to behold. Their skin a bluish-silver tone and long straight hair almost exclusively in the blue-black color, though I did catch some dark browns as well. They stand on average in the two-and-a-quarter meter height. They have the humanoid form very closely except they have gills along their necks which allow them to breathe both above and below water. They have a second set of eyelids which are used while underwater. Their fingers are webbed and their feet do not have toes. They communicate through easily recognizable gestures interspersed with a gentle flowing tongue.
Journal Entry:
I have lived among the Haavron (as they call themselves, a name meaning water-walkers) for nearly a year. Their language was surprisingly easy to learn, even for one such as I. The people use voice as well as hand-gestures as a means of communication, leaning more toward the physical side than the vocal. They immediately accepted me as one of their own, in a manner of speaking, and I am quite fond of them. They are gentle, industrious, and not without humor. I have so much more to learn from them and have no desires as of yet to move on in my travels.
Journal Entry:
Today marks five years living with the Haavron. I have never felt at peace not walking about and yet here I am completely content. There are days that I believe I will never set foot on any other planet. And I am comfortable with that. I am a part of the people and have learned their ways, though I always strive to learn more. They accept me, despite my handicaps, such as my lack of gills and small stature.
I have spent the better part of four years traveling around from continent to continent with a small group of like-minded people. The planet is beautiful and much of it raw. There are villages dotted along everywhere we go as the Haavron live simply and responsibly, choosing to live in communities no greater than five hundred souls rather than like the sprawling cities of Terra. They genuinely care about the world they live on and work organically with it rather than infecting or raping. The people look to their future just as much as their past. I am constantly in awe of their forethought into how they live their lives in relationship with the world around them.
Journal Entry:
Though we are different species, I still feel as much Haavron as I do Human. Today is the day I am joining myself to another as a life partner. Though we cannot partake in all manner of life, as we are of course different species, we both are united in mind and soul and spirit. We both believe that we complete one another and we have the blessing of our community’s elders for this union.
I have never met another soul like she’erhrak. We are as one. I am happier today than any other day in all my years wandering. This is my purpose now, to be with she’erhrak, complete and whole, yet both.
Journal Entry:
Last night, I laid to rest my heart, my reason, the one who called to me across the heavens, my joy and one love, she’erhrak. I honestly don’t know what one does when their lungs are shredded and their heart is buried and the light fades from their eyes. I am a dried up husk. I will try to remember the good days for the sake of my grandchild and my community. But I am empty now.
Journal Entry:
I am an old man. I have lived on Hlad for nigh on sixty years, breathed, grown, watched friends die, enjoyed adventure, adopted a child, raised them and saw them joined and sat a grandchild on my knee. I have invented a breathing apparatus to allow me to walk the waters with my lover and friends. I have judged my neighbors justly and worked alongside them. I have lived, truly lived, a good and long life.
I am more blessed than I could ever hope. But the fact is, these last months without my beloved she’erhrak, lover and fulfiller of my heart, I feel myself fading from this world. My eyesight is failing. My lungs weaken. I don’t want to leave and yet again, I don’t want to rest my bones here. I have felt the call to walk the worlds once more and I have decided to go. Tomorrow, I say good-bye to Hlad, which means beloved in our language. I want other Travelers to know about this world. I would be selfish to keep it to myself.
Journal Entry:
This entry I am writing from a different world, just days after stepping off Hlad. The most extraordinary event occurred when my body shifted from that world to this one. Time, they say, is relative. And so it is. I stepped off that world over 90 years old. I had ailments and even I wondered how I could even think to attempt another walk.
And yet, I underwent a transformation. The years fell away and when I contacted again the Universal Time, I found only weeks had passed not years. Hlad, it seems, is in some sort of a time tunnel. I won’t pretend to understand what happened or how. I can understand time operating under different laws in different places. What I do not understand is how my body underwent the change, though my mind and memories did not.
How is this possible? What science explains this? Will we ever really know?
I will leave you with this parting thought: I chose, for the sake of this summary, to not include my lifetime of journal entries, the whole story of Hlad. For that is, in and of itself, its own story in its own right. Someday, perhaps, I will share it as well. she’erhrak deserves that much, rather than as just a footnote in a Traveler’s log. I could truly fill books with all I learned and saw and experienced on the lovely, raw world of Hlad.
Hlad shhhlie hran toa naa
Taenay kahta
Taenay pho
Taenay houmpah shra tokay
Hlad zhine toa nata
Zhroke tony fa tloo’k
(Beloved you filled all the deepest parts of me
I will ever be grateful
I will ever be true
I will forever hold you in my heart and mind
Beloved you emptied yourself for me
There will never be another for me but you)
tara caribou | ©️2019
This is part of my ongoing collection of Explorations of the galaxy.
Raw Earth Ink 