AQUARIUS: Fantasy Romance Edition
Intentionally esoteric, the water-bearer floats on air
In this issue:
~ Fantasy Romance: “Skywhales”
Short Fiction with creatures of all shapes and sizes defying expectations and gravity.
~ Scenes for the Senses: watching watercolor
A 5-minute video escape into the process of painting the “Skywhales” original art.
~ Poet-Tree: “Confessional School”
Get it off your chest.
“Skywhales”
Fantasy Romance by L.J. Longo
Read time: 8 minutes (Content Warning: profanity)
The skywhales leisurely spouted over the Two Worlds Tower across the bay and it made Grest mildly uncomfortable to see something so huge floating that near to so many people. Hundreds, if not thousands of lives would be lost if a single whale fell. And it would be so easy. Say, an enchanted spear to the eye or…
“Do you think he’ll make it?” Milky asked.
“Huh?” Grest looked down at her.
The tiny woman had cheeks like apples and her eyes were bright with magic, though mostly Grest saw the intricate shapes of her red and gold hair.
“That fellow running.”
Milky climbed a little on the fence between the walkway and the river to make herself taller. He leaned on the fence to make himself shorter.
“I see him.” It was a human with a suit and a briefcase and a cape that looked like starlight flapping behind him. He was ridiculous. In his fifties and running like a scared child, when there wasn’t so much as a baby dragon on his heels. Grest had never worked a job that could make him rush to be on time; maybe the money was worth it.
Milky leaned her head on her arm, fixated on the bloke’s fate. “I’m always invested in people running late. When someone bursts out of a train or takes the stairs two at a time. Not bursts of joyful energy, like children, though that’s lovely too. I mean, the people with that deranged need to be on time. It fascinates me.”
Milky fascinated him. Fearless and tiny. The first time she’d stood on a table to look him in the eye and negotiate down his bodyguard fee, he’d known she was something special.
“So, do you think he’ll make the ferry?”
“Dunno.” Grest looked away from her quickly, hoping she hadn’t noticed him staring. “Boats come every fifteen minutes. There’ll be another.”
“Yes, but he’s trying so hard for that one,” Milky mourned.
The human was nearly at the dock now, knees lifted high, legs looking noodley and detached like he was about to fling himself on his face. Grest was about to remark that he’d never run that fast without something big on his tail, but a terrible squawk next to him clipped the thought. Perched on one of the lamps that was still glowing in the early dawn’s light, over an open trash can, a tiny griffin was trying to mount a winged-dog. The colorful male screeched and yowled, and the dog seemed as patient as she was uninterested in the little beast.
“I wonder if he sees the skywhales?” Milky pondered this more to herself.
Grest looked across the bay again, where the skywhales came down from the clouds and rained on the buildings. He was just able to make out the shapes of the chaps cleaning the glass where the whales had sprayed. “Probably not his first time seeing them clean the Two Worlds. He’s no tourist.”
“Neither are we.” Milky did that thing—that always sent a shiver through him—where she laughed and put her tiny hand on his hand. She was the size of a child and should not look up at him with such a smile. “Do you think he sees them?”
Grest peered across the water and thought about her questions, trying to see for himself what she saw in the skywhales. “No. I don’t think he does.”
“It’s remarkable. Someone who comes here so often he knows which ferry he’s late for, but he doesn’t see the whales in the sky.”
“He’s probably used to it. It’s not so amazing to him anymore.”
“But it is amazing, isn’t it?”
“Sure it is.” Grest probably only noticed the skywhales to dismiss them as a danger. But he could see the way they made the city sparkle with magic as they showered the crystal parapets, the rooftop gardens, the tall observations decks. “That’s why I like walking with you, Milky. You remind me of the amazing.”
She smiled, very self-satisfied.
He gestured over at the ball of black fur being accosted by a flash of feathers. “You see the griffin trying to fuck a dog?”
Milky raised her brow at him. “That’s why I like walking with you, Grest. You remind me of the absurd.”
“You ask me to meet you here to talk about the absurd?”
Usually when Milky asked to meet in public, she needed muscle. Someone big and not too dumb, because Skywhales were not the most dangerous things in these skies.
“No. I just fancied some company, and I like yours.”
Grest looked at the winged-dog posing sedately again while the griffin flailed and flopped failing to get what it wanted.
Milky tugged on the hem of his tunic. “Be a good chap, will you, and lift me up so I can see the ferry entrance?”
Grest obeyed and set Milky on his shoulder. She smelled like gardenia and an expensive laundry powder. He tried not to notice.
She said, “He’s nearly there and they’re loading the last people.”
He said, “Ticket taker won’t wait.”
The human was on the floating dock now. Picking up speed as the terrain got slippery and shaky. Grest didn’t like the man’s chances, who had about as much hope of making that ferry as the griffin had of making that dog… about as much hope as a clod like Grest had—
“Oh divine providence! One of the other passengers has fumbled their ticket.”
“Don’t see how that’s divine,” Grest chuckled.
“You’re right,” Milky said, primly. “T’at fellow is a kindred spirit to me. Someone invested in the running of strangers. He’s done it on purpose.”
The winged-dog knocked the griffin away and growled as it fluttered its scruffy wings. The griffin flustered in the air and gave up.
Milky put her hand on the top of Grest’s head, ruffling his hair as she watched with breathless excitement. “He made it!”
“Wahoo,” Grest said, without any excitement. He was watching the griffin circle back and land again on the lamp, this time beside the winged-dog, who lifted its wing and tucked the littler creature under a feathered embrace like a…
“Say Milky, what do winged-dogs have—pups or chicks?”
She thought about it then said, “Moppets.”
Grest laughed. “Let’s get breakfast, then. Bagels?”
“Sure, but first…” Milky shifted on his shoulder and then shook a tiny bit of powder into her hand. She puffed the powder at the lamp post and the two animals.
In a shimmery cloud of magic, the winged-dog and the griffin wriggled and twisted. The hazes danced, obscuring the one’s bright colors and the other’s shadowy blackness, until they came out the other end as two pastel crows. They floated slowly around each other, wingtips fluttering, toes tangling, cawing in ecstasy.
“Huh,” Grest wondered. “How long will that last?”
“Depends entirely on them and how long they can remain so stupidly infatuated by the most mundane magic. Maybe only a few hours. Maybe a lifetime.”
He tilted his head nearer to her and she leaned deeper into him as they watched the newborn fairy creatures dance and whirl and crash into a building together.
Milky said sourly, “Might be a short life.”
“But it will be a merry one.” Grest laughed and set her back on the ground.
“Let’s see about those bagels.” She started off confidently in the wrong direction. “The place you said serves raw dragon flesh?”
“Yeah, northern water dragon. It’s a very soft and buttery meat. You’ll like it.” Grest corrected her path. “What are you doing wandering around town with a spell like that in your pocket?”
“It’s a cheap powder. I bring it on all my dates with men twice my size.” She said casually. “I’ll taste a bit of yours, but I’m going to stick to potatoes.”
“Suit yourself.” He grinned wildly hoping she couldn’t tell from the ground how stupidly happy she’d made him. “I will say I don’t much care to become smaller.”
“Nonsense, being big is overrated.”
“Dunno, I can see the ferry gate. Reach tall shelves.”
“Bump your head. Break beds.” She grinned at him lasciviously. “Why, if you’re small enough you don’t even need a bed. Certain out of the way chairs work as well.”
“You’ll have to convince me.”
“Maybe I will.”
And they walked beside the river together while the pastel crows began to build their nest and the skywhales sang in the clouds.
~ LJ
Want more?
In the 2022 Aquarius issue of Dharma Direction, LJ wrote “Thy Cup Overfloweth” … a Queer Fantasy Romance about a water-bearing barista whose “official role is to meditate on the system and the ways [to] … dismantle it and unleash the full potential of the human race.” Coffee, anyone?
L.J. Longo is an award-winning Romance author, a queer geek and feminist writing a medley of dark romance (which can be found through Evernight Publishing), magical realism, weird sci-fi/fantasy, and very implausible creative non-fiction. She recently received Third Place recognition for her submission to the Writer’s Digest Annual Short Story Fiction Contest with her entry titled, "To Harvest Lavender." Coming Soon: LJs queer fiction, “The Stranded Sky Castle” will be featured in the Alpha Male anthologies from Evernight Publishing.
Connect to L.J. on Facebook, L.J.'s Twitter page, or L.J. on Instagram.
Scenes for the Senses… audio/visual art
NEW STUFF!
Each month, Read Gallo will treat us to a mesmerizing few minutes in the dreamy world of a free-flowing watercolor brush. Relax and let your mind wander as our artist-in-residence captures a moment from this Aquarius edition’s Fantasy Romance, “Skywhales,” by LJ Longo.
Poet-Tree … rooted in rhymes, sometimes
“If you do not tell the truth about yourself, you cannot tell it about other people.”
Virginia Woolf ~ English writer, poet, and modernist
Aquarius birthday: January 25, 1882
Welcome back, Hattie!
We’re thrilled to welcome back the endearing insight of poet and Substack dweller
as she taps into the water-bearer energy representing gifts—like truth and pure intention—that Aquarians hold so dear. No rhyme schemes in this 'palindrome' poem; here you’ll find a steady flow rolling forward then pulling away like the ocean's tide.Read time: 1 minute
“Confessional School”
I recite the lyrics
penned on my friend’s chest.
The closest I will come to
finding the sound of wind chimes
on paper.
The best compliment I ever received
from a woman I admire
said I am not derivative of
the confessional school.
I failed out of my class
but at least I am unlike
any of my harbingers.
At least I am unlike my class.
I failed out of
the confessional school.
I am not derivative.
A woman I admire,
the best compliment I ever received.
On paper, finding the sound
of wind chimes.
The closest I will come:
pinned on my friend’s chest.
I recite the lyrics.
Hattie Jean Hayes is a writer and comedian, originally from a small town in Missouri, who is now living the dream in NYC. She is Interviews Editor at the word west revue. Her work has appeared in Old Pal Magazine, Janus Literary, The Puritan, and others. Her writing has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Hattie completed a SAFTA residency in September 2022, has a poetry chapbook forthcoming from Bullshit Lit in 2023, and is working on her first novel.
You can read Hattie’s newsletter on her Substack platform that includes weekly lessons about poetry, musings on life, and ill-advised shopping recommendations. You can also connect with @queenhattiejean on Pinterest, Instagram, and Twitter.
Next up: Pisces, the Two Fish
Pisces season: February 20 - March 20
Coming Friday, 2/17… The Angel Edition
No matter what zodiac sign you were born under, you’re bound to benefit from reading the upcoming essay from Debbie Abbott (Dharma Direction’s publisher/editor and hard-core angel believer) about ways we can all invite moments of serendipity into our lives with help from the Angel of Pisces, Barachiel… known as the ‘Angel of Luck and Chance.’
We did it! The 2023 Aquarius issue of Dharma Direction is in the can… and we hope you’re finding your way around the new format.
We’ll take a two week break in between issues, then as the next zodiac season rolls in, we’ll start rolling out the new editions of Dharma Direction: Pisces.
We keep saying (because we want to be sure everyone understands) that FREE CONTENT will always be available on Dharma Direction. We won’t judge anyone for choosing the non-paid subscriber route… especially since that’s the only plan we’re currently offering.
Our primary goal is to give readers consistent, creative, and inclusive content (from a tribe of dedicated writers) that’s worthy of your time, and maybe even worthy of sharing with other like-minded friends who strive for happiness in all things.
As always, the Dharma tribe sends their gratitude to those who support our endeavors through the simple act of reading our words. We love you all.
Until next time… Go with the Flow.
~ Debbie Abbott, publisher/editor
Some of my fondest memories as a kid are of watching Bob Ross paint "happy little trees" while I sat, enthralled yet relaxed, legs crossed like a yogi on the floor in front of the television. Now, I liken that same "mental space" to meditation. Watching the video of Read Gallo's effortless creation of the "Skywhales" watercolor takes me back to that place of soulful pleasure where creativity gives birth to the beautiful serenity of mindful art.