Listen to this Reading:

Kyle Tolle reading ‘Outcast Offshoot’

Walking rings around the outcast
third of all the men.
Tearing strips from their gear to
mark them as lesser ones.
Then we ate the strips out of spite
with just a pinch of irony.
They’ve become a cantankerous splintering of the glorified whole;
a mutinous and strangling growth.
We stood their dreams on their heads
and slit their ghastly necks in two.
A bowl to catch all the fluid to
reduce, reuse, recycle.
Cold compress and a drainage ditch to squeeze
out and away all the treachery
from their decentralized veins.
A horrid, pleasant smell which you have never known
until you have drained those dreams
and watched the remaining men sour.
Can you say you’ve never tasted rotting hope?
Never snipped the clutching tendrils?
Ahh a few men did outlast many others,
but an hour in a frozen lake thawed their resolve.
We see the way you glance and scoff our duties.
I’m only here because I don’t feel what you can.
I’m only here to do the job you are “too good for.”
I’m only here to trim outcast offshoot.

Kyle Tolle Poetry

Listen to this Reading

Kyle Tolle reading ‘The Man and The Land’

A  hot and heavy sun shined down on cracked and curling mud.  A man walked along on this crumbly earth, and he could see nothing except the splits in the ground running all the way to the horizon in each direction.  No wind blew and the only sound made was that of the man’s feet crunching the dried dirt as he tiredly walked along.  He headed due north and he did not waver from that path. Wearily, yet continuously, his feet hit the earth and carried him forward.

For the entire day he continued along. He neither stopped nor sped up. Man simply walked north and north alone. The sun eventually sank and its heat dissipated as the dusk came on.  The night was a bit chill, but still no breeze traversed the land.  Utterly dark and desolate was the night as the sun’s last light finally disappeared and no moon rose. Man continued along for some time in the darkness but he eventually collapsed on the ground in exhaustion and slept.

Shortly after dawn the next morning, man jerked awake and stood up, brushing off the dirt that clung to his clothing.  He pulled a small ration of food from a haversack he wore and started off as he slowly ate it.  Northward still he walked.  Soon though the man saw a discontinuity in the land and he sped up to reach it.  He came upon an edge.  The land suddenly gave away and fell hundreds, or thousands or tens of thousands of feet; he could not very well tell just how long a drop it was.

This edge continued in both directions but the man decided to go east.  He followed the drop-off and soon saw he went along a gentle curve and not a straight line as he first thought.  The sun rose into the sky as the man walked along this periphery, beating down on the already deadened ground.  Some time after midday the man stopped walking.  The arc of the brink had slowly forced his path south.  He could now guess he was stuck on an island of land.  Even if he had quicker feet and many more hours of daylight, he would eventually return to where he started in the north.  He turned for a few minutes and looked out at the expanse of land so far below that ran off for ever and ever.  Aside from the plateau on which he stood, nothing disturbed the flatness of the area before him.

Turning around, man set his steps as best be could toward where he had fallen and slept the night before.  Eventually, he came across the trail he left while walking north earlier that morning and followed it now south.  Suddenly a small tremor shook the ground for a good span of seconds.  The man stopped and waited for the quaking to pass and listened.  A few minutes later a deep rumbling filled the air from all directions and went on for a few minutes.  As the last noises faded, the man continued on.

Reaching the area of scuffled mud, the man lied down on the ground and stared into the air.  Here he stayed the rest of the day; several times feeling the ground quake again and always a few minutes later hearing booming sounds from far off and all around him.  The sun sank beyond the horizon again and for all the darkness he could only make out one star very near the horizon – and very faint it was at that.  Soon he fell to slumbering with his head resting on his haversack.

Morning again came, as did wakefulness for man.  He once more ate a ration from his pack and stood up.  Looking around, the man could see what the rumbles and quakes had been about.  Since yesterday, and especially over the night, the island of land shrunk considerably.  He could see the cliff now from where he stood; maybe a hundred feet away on each side.  Chewing his ration thoughtfully, he left his pack and walked to the northern edge and again peered out.  Still a mighty far drop to an unbroken landscape below; he could see no mess of slump or fallen rock.

Starting toward the east, he walked along the perimeter.  This man spent the rest of the day in this fashion and watched the sun rise, peak and fall.  Each time he felt the earth tremble, the man backed away from the cliff and watched several feet of ground collapse and fall away; making his circle of land smaller and smaller.  The sound from this land slide was terrific, shook the air powerfully and seemed to echo for minutes on end.  The evening saw the man standing over his haversack with perhaps twenty feet of land on any side of him.  Standing he stayed, not looking at anything in particular… simply standing.  Night deepened and the single, faint star fell below the horizon so the darkness was unbroken.  The man lost his struggle with sleep hours later as he collapsed with fatigue.

Dawn broke and man woke with his face hanging over the cliff’s edge.  As he scrambled to his feet, the man found he had only two or three feet of encircling land.  He thought of a ration and frantically looked down but he had knocked his haversack over the edge during the night. Stomach grumbling, he sat back down and wrapped his arms around his knees.  Quaking and rumblings were sparse, which was good considering there was not much land left at all, but they did eventually force him to stand as land broke off and slid down and away.  The sun was cooler than previous days and there might have even been a faint stirring of air.

Then, the man noticed the tremors had disappeared all together but the land still eroded continuously though slowly.  What with the setting of the sun and attrition of the dried mud, man was forced to stand on one leg.  He hopped to his unwearied limb just before light failed completely.  No star even made it above the horizon this night.  Did he have his eyes open? He couldn’t be sure.  There he stood in the deep ink of night, shivering at the chill air and feeling a cramp in his leg; all on the last bits of ground that were not many yards, fathoms or leagues below.

The man awoke and saw first the pre-dawn sky, pink and pillow-y with clouds.  A stiff breeze ruffled his clothes but he did not move for another minute.  Carefully, he sat up and saw he was just a foot away from the small column of land on which he perched the night before.  He reached down and touched something rather cold – it was a sheet of glass.  He ran his hand all around and saw the glass stretched on for as far as he could tell.  Reflections lept from the glass in many far places as the sun finally crept over the horizon.  He turned back to the pillar of earth which ran all those many many feet down to the ground below.  At the very place where he had stood the night before, a small green stalk with a light blue bud now stood.  And with the light from the sun growing stronger, the little bud opened to capture the rays.  The man stood up and gently tested the glass around him with a foot.  He stepped over to the flower, bent down and gently plucked it from the ground.  This man set off toward the north with the little blossom held between his thumb and forefinger.

Kyle Tolle Short Stories land, man, story, tale

All the grounds are dead.

The hills are naught but

markers of a thousand doom-craven men.

Bury their flesh and watch the headstones

rot… and crash… and surge.

The flotsam of decay eating through

the hulls of our ships.

Morose spray flits into my eyes;

sloughing skin peels from my heels.

Wailing, “Load the harpoon gun,”

as the bone-whales breach and beach.

We can ride a carcass ashore

and strip his blubber there.

Growing grains may be failed fodder, but

we’ll fire them all the same.

Those men were always so;

the dead were never living.

Telling myself my fate is different.

Kiss me, then…

Before we’re drug under.

Listen to these Readings

Kyle Tolle reciting ‘The Cost of Capital’

This is the first poem I have written in a long time.  Felt really good to write it.  I enjoy mixing metaphors of land and sea. Please comment below with your feedback!

This is also my first foray into providing mp3 versions of my posts. I like the idea, so will probably continue doing so.

Kyle Tolle Poetry, Writing

Before we begin, let me explain what follows:

This quarter I took Classics H222 – Greek Myth – which was taught by Fritz Graf.  For our essay final, we were given three prompts to chose from. I picked the third prompt, which was to write my own etiological essay. Now that I set it up a bit, here it is!  Please leave comments below to let me know what you think.

The Etiological Myth Concerning the Origins of Black Holes, Humanity and Computers

Truthfully, Graflink, the mightiest Forbearer and God of Gods, has commissioned me to tell this account of Graflink’s creations, Havelmark’s fall, Fiehmel’s insight, and Humanity’s outsourcing of work. I, Kyle Tolle, can neither pass the chance to relate a story of such significance, nor bear to lose the special spot in history given to those few who act in accordance of the wishes of the lordly Graflink.  A specific time cannot be given for the start of these events because they transpired before the beginning age of the Earth, by which we Humans measure the passing of time.  The events I shall relate, though, did happen shortly after Graflink, the fairest Right, broke the siege of His awful Brothers, routed their shocktroops, and sent His Brothers’ splendid corpses and stale souls to the bleak Static, where they are now bound, for truth.

Then, the Githeons, those Gods who had fought on the side of the most honest Truth Graflink, bowed in subservience, faithfully pledged devotion, and raised loud acclaim to Him who justly deserved their attention.  Thereafter, Graflink lamented for many Earth-Ages the treason of His now-lost Brothers.  His grief eventually gave way to a desire to create.  It was then that Graflink, our boundless Instantiator, conceived a spherical mass on which many things could live and thrive, along with many surrounding masses.  And soon did He begin to assemble the masses, as well as create the complex rules which would govern the system.  So intricately did Graflink weave the threads of this scheme that, even with His staggering mind and power, Graflink, the Craftsman of all Order, spent much time performing the mathematical calculations necessary to support this far-reaching infrastructure.  I have heard rumors from the Lesser that Graflink indeed spent many eons calculating these fine details.

The sounds of Graflink’s workings did reach the ears of Havelmark, the God of Having and Hoarding, one of the Apathetic (those Gods who fought neither with Graflink nor the Brothers), and so drew the original Collector’s attention.  Within Havelmark did stir the desire to have Graflink’s creations, and this shift away from Apathy proved significant.  On the outer stretches of the system, Havelmark lurked; watching and observing, thinking and longing.  Not long did he idly crave these awesome things which Graflink produced.  Havelmark, that great Assembler, silently skirted the outlying places – gathering and heaping all he could reach without arousing suspicion from the chief Architect or those loyal to Him.  The more Havelmark took on, the slower he moved and the larger he grew.  It eventually happened that Havelmark took one too many things and, with a blinding flash of light and terrific boom, turned into a gaping Void; Havelmark became the first Black Hole.

Graflink diligently and precisely calculated the formulae and numbers necessary to bring our world to fruition, until His concentration was rent by Havelmark’s transformation. His surprise turned into confusion as He saw nothing where He looked.  So He questioned the Githeons, “What fiendish disruption is this? Who stalls my progress?”  After receiving no response, He turned His question to the Apathetic.  One sluggish god came forward and said, “Havelmark is he. The Having now has but still gathers more.”  Graflink had His answer and went to confront Havelmark at the outskirts. As He approached, Graflink felt Himself pulled strongly toward the black disc which encased Havelmark.  Graflink situated Himself so as to not be pulled toward Havelmark’s mass and looked around.  All manners of matter were moving from the very universe Graflink was creating toward the Black Hole.  As the pieces of matter drew closer, they sped faster and faster, until they disappeared beyond the desolate horizon of Havelmark’s greed.

Graflink asked Havelmark, the fell Hoarder, “What reason for such interruption can you give?” The clearest Wisdom waited for some time, expecting Havelmark’s answer, but no reply did return.  Graflink put forward the question again, and again heard naught but silence. Then the fairest Right rephrased His inquiry, in hopes of resolving the issue by other means than force.  A battle would certainly be lengthy and delay His efforts toward completing His cosmos.  Still no reply was ever made and after substantial postponement, Graflink could no longer bear to see His universe slowly consumed.  Graflink again enlisted the ranks of the Githeons, who number too many to enumerate here, to battle the rogue Havelmark.

Graflink and the Githeons launched a brutal assault on Havelmark’s Void; first with volleys of power, force and dread. These missiles only disappeared beyond the horizon, like the matter the Black Hole ate at an alarming rate, and fed the strength of the yawning Oblivion.  A second attack of fearsome brute strength came shortly thereafter, only to quickly end in disaster.  Any God who attempted to wrestle, grasp or move Havelmark stepped past the horizon, which was not a tangible barrier as first believed, and was never seen again.  Graflink ordered the Githeons fall back, and pondered what next to do.  Despairing, Graflink broke from His worry and created a tool to assist Him with His now-delayed calculations and formulae.  On the face of the half-completed Earth, He placed us Humans and gave us instructions to reckon, gauge, and determine the variables, constants and identities which support the great infrastructure.  A vast number of Humans were created so that, even though our individual contributions are small, a large group might supply some meaningful data.  As Graflink turned His will back to the chasm of Havelmark, our ancestors toiled and wrestled with thought and numbers.  And so the beginnings of science were early laid.

With work on the universe resumed by the early Humans, Graflink felt a brief bit of hope.  He next summoned the craftiest, most devious and trickiest of the Githeons and picked their wily minds for any idea of how to deal with the immovable Havelmark.  None of these proved fruitful; much energy was spent with nothing to show.  Graflink sighed and the Githeons’ morale sank as yet more pieces of the universe disappeared into Ruin.  But then, from seemingly nowhere, the meek, slender-throated Lesser Goddess Fiehmel appeared beside Graflink and said, “You cannot move Havelmark, but can You not move Your system from his reach?”  For all the craft and wisdom of the Githeons and Graflink, this side of the solution had never occurred to them.   Graflink quickly roused the Githeons and tasked them with the relocation of His universe.  Pieces which had already been pulled too close to Havelmark were reluctantly accepted as lost, but the rest they laboriously moved out the Void’s deep gravitational pull.  Without a source to feed the Oblivion’s insatiable hunger, Havelmark consumed what he had gathered up to that point, until it was eventually gone. Left with no choice, Havelmark devoured himself; after which the Black Hole finally shuddered and collapsed – the Having had and lost.

Relieved, though weary, Graflink turned His attention back to His system; something He had not done for many an Earthly eon.  The mightiest Forbearer was surprised to see Humans not calculating as He had originally set our course. Rather, He saw us relaxing or farming or some even sleeping.  Curious about our disregard for His divine appointment, He questioned many of the throngs of Humans.  A single reply was heard: “Computational Engines.”  Our ancestors told the boundless Instantiator of Fiehmel’s visit to earth, before she appeared to Graflink with the Havelmark solution.  Empathetic for the toils of the Humans after watching the labors of her kin, she worked so that an engine might calculate and Humans relax.  How much more appropriate for an inanimate machine to suffer such computational drudgery than the creative minds of our kind.  Graflink argued not with Fiehmel’s insights and so she is the reason why today machines do toil: so that we might enjoy the universe created by the honest Truth Graflink and saved from the hoarding Havelmark and his Black Hole by the slender-throated Fiehmal.

Kyle Tolle School, Writing etiology, Greek myth, Mythology