How Do U Get Rid Of Center Mark Dim Style Tales of Poseidona: [Part IV: Atlantis, the Watery Grave]

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Tales of Poseidona: [Part IV: Atlantis, the Watery Grave]

Port of Poseidonia: Diekplous

[The Oarsman’s and Ais]

Let us not all believe Atlantis did not have its secrets, and dark powers, for it surely did. And this sketch will bring forth, one of them. (Part lV)


Atlantis, the watery Grave

The old king, King Phrygian of Atlantis, now settled into his watery Archkingdom of what was left of Port Poseidonia, the heart of Atlantis. He got thinking of the arduous and long years in Hell’s watery gulf, where his ship was his home, like Atlantis was before, before that is, before he ended up in this everlasting, encircling watery grave of graves. Yes, an Atlantis warship (small in figure) was his home for a thousand years, how undignified for a king, a king that ruled the world to end–from end to end, to end up in such a mundane life style, a nightmare one might add; and now again it had become his home, Atlantis, how odd he pondered, sunken into the crust of the earth like a snake caught in a sinkhole, but his home nonetheless. He had named the ship “Diekplous,” [The Maneuver]: because he could–and had learned–carefully learned, how to maneuver the belly of the ship with agility, all practice, plying for a thousand years made his skill as its pilot, masterful: hence, he could run and escape its enemies, which were many from the Docks of Hell: yes many, there were many after him, for the King of Demons, Belphegor, had put out what one might call a warrant for his capture, a guarantee that was attached to a reward, that implied: to whom ever brought him back–Phrygian–a reward of high rank would be given, and in the underworld, it was precious, a valued commodity not to take lightly, if not downright priceless.


The Midget Triremes

I could estimate the dimensions of the vessel, the Greek looking warship if you wish:

at first glance one would mistake it for a Greek Triremes, at first glance that is, but a closer look would transform that into reality, and thus it would be much downsized, let’s say 70% so; whereas it would still remain a good size vessel, powered by oars or sail; it was close to forty-feet long, six feet wide, and three feet high (above water). It could fit, if need be sixty-people, as compared to its giant (or normal size) of 180-people.

The prow [end of the ship] was tipped with a ram, and a cutting blade which extended about three feet off the stern [rear part of a ship]. The king had played helmsman [pilot] over a thousand years–who worked a double rudder, in the stern. He was if anything, a master of his trade. At night he could lower the anchor within minutes and draw it back to the winch on the main deck in seconds. It was though, the shell of the vessel getting weak form the endless unrest of the waters hitting its side, and surely would not last another thousand years.

If there was one of those giant oarsman’s, unarmed and in the hot, airless gulf of hell (normally with only a loin cloth was necessary to wear, if that), the king could maneuver his two deck boat quite well, sometimes even command the boat to ram and strike the unarmed other vessels, if boredom got to him. He had not lost his lust for revenge, intrigue or malice, not even in the pits of hell, and under the umbrella of domination. This was mostly tired when he noticed–from a distance–the oarsman was not an experienced one; thus, accordingly, he would follow his spirit’s will, his evil side.

This particular ship was quite heavy and seldom did it need an oar to roll, for the winds seemed to do his bidding, by and by. Yet, there were those days when king and queen (Ais) would have to do both, stroke the waters with the oars. Sometimes the king would hum so he and Ais could mark time in rowing, counting with the beat. All the while Ais would look at him with high regard, something she did not seem to lose, especially now when life had put a ruthless dilemma onto her shoulders.


Ais’ sin

What is sin to a queen might not be sin to a king, it is hard to tell, but for women change of mind often comes because of guilt, or can be, and living in a watery grave as they had enveloped themselves into, unwillingly one may have second thoughts to what was done in the past, thus the will, the pushing of the will, makes the spirit of the person, makes her make concessions, and one finds themselves telling little truths that at onetime were thought better left alone.

Tons of reminiscent time, think time was on their hands, to write poetry in the back of one’s mind, on the ebony-wood of the ship–carve ones thoughts into it, if need be; also on the stones in the graveyard of Atlantis, this is what she did, little by little, and so in a days work, one day, she wrote it all out on stone all the previous thoughts, the ones carved in stone and wood, all these past thoughts, guilt-fibers that were turning into shame; carved it into stone, like petroglyphs, one day in the broken halls of Atlantis.

–The day of the Hippokamp (Aon) had come back to her mind, not sure why, but it did, possibly it had come back a number of times, it was–for better or worse–her first encounter with love and sex, sex and lust, lust and desire, that had turned into guilt and now shame, or was it more than shame [?]

She remembered the occasion, she was on her way to meet the king from her island home, she was young and gullible back then, and the Hippokamp, noted for his sway and prowess in the art of love lulled her like a skillful sculpture. The journey was several days and they got to know each other quite well, Aon and Ais, Ais and Aon, each day one or the other would spot the other and connect, connect with sight and voice and neither one would turn about and run, run to hide from the other, to escape their desires–for she was to be the kings bride. Oh, it was a long time ago she told herself, she had pushed it aside, maybe mistakenly pushed it aside, for now she was thinking of it, about it: but how can one forget hours of love making love at its height; it was never reproduced by the king in such a way as that: with all his glory and heart, and love, never duplicated in such an erotic way. He seduced her little by little, more each day, a little more–just a little more, with his mysticism, enveloping her to his dim magical powers of lust, slowly dancing into her eyes, yes like white flashes of strange potions of star dust–crimson stardust, mixed with desire until they both melted together–melted like fog raising a halo up, and around a mountain until it passed into the heavens, and the only thing left is the naked mountain. When he left, he left a warm feeing in her, inside of her, warm and wanting; it had never passed into oblivion, it evidently unsinkable. It was still dancing in her stomach, in her throat the silence of desire; yet, with the guilt, or so she thought it was guilt: ‘what else could it be,’ she asked herself as she carved her sin into stone so her husband could see it and, and deal with it, torture her for it. Possibly leave her for it, or is that what she wanted, a way out, who can tell. What would she do then she asked herself, or did she know.

And so it was this day, during this time she wrote her poem of pity into stone, she left the poem exposed on the rock for her husband to see, and when he did, he simply scratched it out, as if it was of no value. What more could he do, he was not fool.



Khsha-yar-shan [Ruler of Heroes/the Kings Throne]

Over nine-thousand years had passed, and Anases was still looking for his missing scrolls, when a man by the name of Ephialtes was found wondering about in an unoccupied diving boat (a small boat), vacant except for him of course. He had said he escaped the venturous claws of Belphegor, he had told this to his salvation, whom he called Anases, for he was the one who found him adrift, and brought him down into the underground passages that lead to this once ancient Mecca, the ancient city of Atlantis, now but a tomb, half underwater, the other half above within the center of the underground mountain. Ephialtes accompanied the scribe Anases. Here Ephialtes would be Anases’ assistant looking for the missing scrolls; as he would make friendships with Ais and Phrygian.

It was not known to the three, that Ephialtes was the great betrayer of the Greek nation; the one who would, or had altered the fate and course of world history. Perhaps he planned to do the same in Hell.

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