the mira hour

this the intro to a book i am contemplating writing, please tell me what you think!


I was never a brave man, or rather I had enough sense to be a coward. I thought that it whole protect me, and to some extent it did. I never got in trouble, I sat in the back of a class room, and most of all I never, ever talked to Mira three. But in the end it did not matter at all, Mira talked to me.
Lets start with an introduction. I am annoyingly short with brown hair and dull eyes, just an average drone going about his business. I am a well respected man, or was one short hour ago. I had a good, albite monotones job in teach support and a plastic plack on my desk that proudly stated my name as phill R miller. Everyday I drove the two miles to work in my freshly ironed suite. On this particular day however I was running late because of a traffic jam and so was a bit frazzled, hair no longer combed to perfection, but sticking up in strange gravity deifying feats. I had just retrieved a warm cup of english tea from the employees lounge at work, yes tea not coffee, I have a refined palette unlike you caffeine lusting savages! On any account the day started out fine with me typing away at my computer and it continued that way until exactly 2 in afternoon, that was when Mira three arrived…



before time passed in lurching regularity

or colors were taped to there objects,

way back when stars were candles

and death was an optional thing.


i caught the wind.


the sent of blue sky just after lighting still comes to mind

the cats breath breeze ghosting over my skin.

i, a child who thinks he has ensnared an insect,

the wind in my cupped hand ,

peering eagerly to see-

i found it had flown.


and still i look

even now, years later when color is flat and time is rough.

i follow the wind into full  sails and  on top of tall sea cliffs.

i keep my hands open, because someday-

i’ll catch it

-paris blye

every inch a hero


i just read a beautiful post on feminism and so in the spirit of that i decided to shear a very abridge version of the life of one of the most interesting heroins this world has ever known, and my personal hero.

Eleanor of Aquitaine

Eleanor of aquitaine was a young duchess who lost both her parents at a very young age, and soon after married king Lewis the pious. Eleanor was very strong minded and, frankly manipulative. she had lewis raped around her finger so well that he even consented to let her accompany him on a crusade. however after a few years of boredom Eleanor had had enough and divorced him to marry a young noblemen, named henry, with whom she would go on to concur both France and England, before hearing of his affair with Rosamund the fair, and being thrown into prison for allegedly turning there children against him [which admittedly was completely her]. when freed from prison years later she continued to move about the world in a flurry of action until death. Eleanor had 10 children, between her two husbands, all of whom she out lived accept her least favorite child, prince John. she also helped to better the ways in which woman of that time were treated.

mind the way you fall

thinking is hard but i need the thrill

i live in dreams, life bent to will

words are colors this is why i wright

this may seam wrong but i don’t take flight

no, i fall deep, water shutting my eyes

this is thrilling i don’t know why anyone flies

sway a story with your lightest touch

a single word can stand for much

twisted fables to catch a web

weaving a weft to some life thread

rest your eyes, few pages are bare

your sweeping tale will now sleep there

-paris blye