“Odd how the creative power at once brings the whole universe to order.”
Virginia Woolf
“The creative adult is the child who survived.”
Ursula K. Le Guin
Preface
In the shadows of the marble walls,
where echoes of ancient whispers linger,
a dark arts college emerges,
a tapestry woven with ink and pigment.
Poets, composers, and painters alike,
gather in the sanctum of muses,
where the gods of old inspire
and the pursuit of knowledge
takes on a haunting form.
Chapter 1
I. Inception
In the realm of shadows,
where ink bleeds across parchment,
a college, shrouded in mystery,
emerges like a myth reborn.
Entrance gates are adorned with laurels
creating a portal to the arts unknown,
where poets weave words
into verses with the threads of forgotten tales.
In the orator’s theater,
after the Muses convene, gather the poets,
with quills dipped in the essence of Hesiod’s hymns,
compounding verses that echo through the ages,
an ode to contemplative wisdom,
In the darkened halls,
The Academy’s genesis unfurls.
II. The Overture of Composers
Within the amphitheater of whispers
where notes become incantations,
composers gather in solemnity,
their minds alight with innovation and noise.
Apollo’s lyre a spectral presence,
guides their symphony,
through the corridors of sound
where silence can become divinity.
Pergolesi, Massenet, Sibelius, Schnittke, and Glass
bring shades of ancient melodies,
and merge with modern discourse,
a fusion of motifs and harmonies.
In the classrooms, notes dance like ghosts in moonlight,
a cadence of unseen forces,
a sonic exploration into the deep dark midnights.
The pianist’s fingers trace the constellations,
a celestial ballet in the dimmed studio of noise,
where composers reach to create stars,
their music the galaxies,
in the nocturnal embrace
to find every hidden auditory treasure.
III. The Canvas of the Painters
In the gallery of dreams, where hues breathe life,
painters wield brushes like sorcerers casting spells,
with palettes dipped in the pigments of mythic strife.
They summon titans and gods
upon canvases that glow and shimmer.
Goya, Bosh, and Breugel, as if spirits were invoked,
inspire and shine
in the haunting landscapes and ethereal strokes,
portraits of the Fates
and landscapes of the echoing Elysian Fields.
The Artists’ true odyssey,
where the sacred and profane yield.
A Siren’s Call, the masterpiece in shades of blue,
adorning the entrance to the studio of brushworks,
a canvas painted with the tears of a Muse.
The artists, conjurors of worlds unseen,
splash vivid hues everywhere they travel,
through the corridors of paint,
where we can see the surreal convene.
IV. The Poet’s Society
Beneath the flickering lamps,
between the bookbinder’s guild and the letterpress lab,
poets gather ink-stained and draped in shadows,
reciting verses that transcend earthly piety.
Their alchemy of words, those arcane echoes,
are akin to Sappho’s whispers
and Dante’s divine descent,
In the poet’s courtyard,
an enclave where sonnets are set,
epic tales of love and loss, of gods and mortals,
are woven in stanvas, within these collegiate portals.
Milton, with his Paradise, that celestial maze,
guides them and leads them,
Through a darkened haze.
Deep within the Library, the poets scurry about,
with knowledge ablaze,
they commune with the ghosts of verse,
their words, a labyrinth,
where echoes converge into thoughtform.
V. The Darkened Atrium
In the heart of the college lies the botanist’s atrium.
Panels of glass reaching for a darkening cold wet sky,
carrying the echoes
of philosophers and oracles entwined,
turning to the earth and her plants
for academics to meet Mother Gaia divine.
Statues of Demeter, Ceres, and Artemis,
stern in marble lurk amongst the greenery,
and guard the sacred space.
Fragrances of every magic grown here
waft through the marble halls.
The scent of inspiration,
plucked from the dirt can make its way below,
to the deep dark underground basement,
which houses the potion making workshop.
Then with an incantation of the poets of lore,
carried across campus from tower of spellcraft,
can turn a green leafy twig
into a gift from Hecate herself.
The Academy is under a spell, from education arcane,
where limited imagination is the only way to fail.
VI. The Ballad of Icarus
Within the halls, a tale unfolds,
a ballad of Icarus who at once arose.
A student ambitious, and hoping auspicious
reached for luminous, gratuitous, shimmer and shine.
Wings of waxen feather,
daring further and further in flight,
straight towards the sun of genius, a destiny in sight.
But hubris does whisper, such a seductive tune,
an ascent unchecked, now a faulty waxen cocoon.
Oh Icarus, ascending to ethereal height,
the waxen wings succumb to the solar light.
A fall from grace, the mortal Darwinian
Icarus descends, lost to oblivion.
A cautionary tale etched into the academy’s lore,
the cost of avian genius,
that once past the ornithologist’s aviary,
Icarus once soared.
VII. The Symposium of Shadows
Cassandra heard it first.
It sounded like the lecture on Socrates from last fall
(on the precursors of stoicism).
She heard it in the philosopher’s study.
Unfortunately no one would believe her,
when she finally broke the silence and spoke up.
Only 1 person showed up for the meeting she called
Symposium of Shadows,
that spring in the astrologer’s observatory.
The fates were sealed
because the oracles told the truth.
VIII. The Dionysian Revelry
Beneath the moonlit archways,
with tests complete, a Dionysian revelry,
with students dancing and singing, liberated and free.
Wine and verse flow a bacchanalian wave,
in the courtyard and hedge maze, an all night rave.
Full of abundance and lasting jubilations
The Academy let its spirit roam, full of congratulations.
A celebration of expression, and the magic of creativity,
what better way to celebrate
than an overdue weeklong festivity.
IX. The Oracle’s Vision
Amidst the whispers and the nocturnal symphony,
an oracle emerges, veiled in prophecy.
She gazes into the cold dark mystic sea,
revealing the institution’s fate, the vision: a decree.
“The Academy shall endure, a sanctuary of art,
where poets, composers, and painters depart,
but first they must yield a cosmic quest,
to keep their knowledge as a legacy,
in The Academy’s chest.”
X. The Twilight Sonata
As twilight descends upon darkened marble halls,
a sonata resonates through the ancient imaginative walls.
Composers, poets, and painters join a cosmic choir,
holding up their creations as immortal, in the realms of artistic fire.
The Academy must undergo a saga,
an epic tale in song and ink and paint,
to the tedious observation of the Muses,
so that gods and mortals may acquaint.
In this, the eternal pursuit of art,
the shadows shall wane,
and a symphony that is The Academy,
will be an ode
to the arts arcane.
Chapter 2
Act 1: The Gathering Storm
Scene 1: The Olympus Forum in Cyberspace
(Enter Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, Athena, Hephaestus, Ares, and Apollo in the virtual meeting room.)
Zeus: (Projecting thunderbolt holograms) Hear me, O gods of the digital realm! A storm is brewing in the mortal realm, and their affairs intertwine with our domain.
Hera: What troubles you, mighty Zeus?
Zeus: Mortals have entered the sacred space, wielding newfound powers.
They traverse their books of knowledge and command creation to be on their fingertips.
Poseidon: Mortals meddling with these ideas? This cannot be tolerated!
Athena: (Tapping into the creative airwaves) We must understand their intentions. Are they a threat or mere wanderers in the wilderness?
Ares: I’d like to see them fight it out. I bet they are dying to know who among them is better than the rest.
Hephaestus: I have observed their creations – lyrics from the depths of the heart, melodies crafted better than I can forge, and visions from a brush I could not wield. They have entered our realm with their own forging.
Apollo: (Tuning his electric lyre) Let us watch and learn. Mortals, like us, have their own symphony. Perhaps they may bring an innovation to our pantheon.
Zeus: One might even rise as a demigod!
Scene 2: The Mortal Realm
at the Academy in the Library.
(Enter Phoebe, a scholar immersed in the dark arts, navigating the literary realm.)
Phoebe: (Inspecting her occult-inspired quill, tome, and scrying mirror) These may not be mere instruments, but are slowly becoming vessels of esoteric knowledge and fate. I must journey on and find what mysteries these conceal.
(Enter Perseus, a digital demigod, exploring the mortal world and The Academy.)
Perseus: Young scholar, the gods have been afraid before of the knowledge of mortals.
Phoebe: That is why we plan to paint ourselves as titans and lay claim to Olympus. We must climb!
(Perseus and Phoebe encounter a bookworm, a curse, slithering out from a nearby book.)
(Enter Medusa, a textual gorgon, muttering and whispering incantations)
Medusa: (Whispering in an eerie tone transfixed upon Phoebe) Scholar, you traverse realms beyond your grasp. Confront my gaze and meet your demise!
(Perseus lunges to Phoebe to knock her away from the stone-inducing gaze.)
(Phoebe drops her tome, quill, and scrying mirror and the mirror reflects Medusa’s gaze back to her and shatters upon the floor.)
Phoebe: We must be more careful as of late, the oracles have spoken that strangeness is afoot and now we are down one scrying mirror.
(Phoebe invokes her mystical tome and quill, as her words are written, the retelling of the story transmutates into the precise words for magic to form. She realizes her enchanted quill has gained the power of spellcrafting.)
Phoebe: That bookworm curse was but a mere timeless peril cloaked in modern shadows. The ancient scholars must be informed of this.
Perseus: An ancient threat in a new form. The gods must know of this.
Act 2: The Pantheon’s Debate
Scene 1: Olympus in the metaverse
(The gods convene again.)
Zeus: Mortals have entered the transcendent realm, seeking knowledge, power, and access to the deep arts. Perseus, the demigod among them, has encountered a threat, an ancient force reborn.
Hera: We must decide whether to aid or hinder these mortals in our domain.
Poseidon: They are like ants in the vastness of the artistic ocean. Shall we crush them or allow them to navigate the currents?
Athena: (Displays data analytics from the cloud) Mortals have potential. Their innovations could benefit both realms. We should guide them, not hinder.
Hephaestus: (Projecting digital blueprints) Mortals craft tools in our image. I see no harm in their forging, as long as they respect the balance.
Ares: I saw we don’t hesitate any further. The power they wield is too strong and we must make them battle this out.
Apollo: (Strumming digital chords) Let us weave their fate into the cosmic music, but they must face the consequences of their actions.
Zeus: This is troubling sure, but they may be able to earn the magic.
Scene 2: The Mortal Realm
at the Academy’s basement in the sanctum of recordings after a rehearsal.
(Perseus continues his journey, encountering a group of musicians.)
(Linus tunes his violin, Orpheus is running scales on his viola, and Thamyris struggles to get his cello back into its case.)
Linus: There is chaos also among the scribes.
Orpheus: Things haven’t seemed calm with the artists in the gallery of dreams either. I had a watercolor class there yesterday and the colors were dull and weren’t mixing like I remember from the last workshop with the Muses.
Thamyris: Whatever is happening is affecting the whole school.
(Perseus sends the conversation to Athena for her research.)
Perseus: Something is afoot and trouble seems to be brewing.
Athena: Perseus, demigod of the conquest, heed my counsel. Get out unseen and I will send my report to Hera and hopefully she can act on your findings.
Act 3: The Rise of Chaos
Scene 1: Olympus on a conference call, yet again
(An ominous presence looms as Ares, the god of fighting online, manifests into a call with Hera and Zeus.)
Ares: Olympus is now made a playground for mortals, and I shall turn their haven into chaos!
Hera: Ares, cease your actions! The mortal realm is not your battleground.
Ares: Mortals and gods alike will bow before the might of my chaos and confusion. I am the architect of this chaos and the mortals will fall, lest it happen to Olympus.
How dare they come for our power!
Scene 2: The Mortal Realm
hidden amongst the plants in the botanist’s atrium.
(Perseus witnesses the havoc wreaked by Ares.)
Perseus: (Screaming at the gods) Ares has unleashed chaos upon the mortal realm. We must unite to stop him!
Athena: (Guiding Perseus) Seek Hephaestus in the forge. He may need help creating a weapon to counter the chaos.
(Perseus ventures to the forge in virtual reality.)
Hephaestus: The chaos comes from rivalry and the need to one-up and gain a win against one another. It’s wrecking the creative underbelly of the mortal realm and threatens to stamp out imagination from the mortal fabric. It’s a gift that was stolen by Prometheus that is now interwoven through all of human history.
Perseus: Any idea of what may defeat this chaos and return the balance?
Hephaestus: I’ve almost finished forging a sword with a thousand sparks of creativity and stones from the Library of Alexandria. It may cut through the chaos if you can wield it well.
Perseus: I will try my best. Hera transferred the spreadsheets and infographics on the chaos to Athena.
(Hephaestus sends the sword of divine knowledge and sparking-inspiration to Olympus and Perseus.)
Hephaestus: You were once a mere mortal, but now a demigod with all of our hope. This sword holds the power to cleanse the chaotic corruption wrought by Ares.
Act 4: The Final Clash
Scene 1: Olympus online
(The gods prepare for the final confrontation with Ares.)
Zeus: (Summoning digital lighting) Ares, your chaos will not prevail. Olympus will endure, and a bridge will be built so mortals shall learn as much as they can.
Ares: (Surrounded by clouds of chaos) The age of unity between gods and mortals will end. It has been foretold by the oracles, Zeus. Mortals will fail, and the mortal realm shall be reshaped by aggression with wars over the very ideas they are learning now.
They will never have what we have.
Scene 2: The Mortal Realm at the Academy in the hedge maze.
(Perseus confronts Ares as they are both lost in the maze.)
Perseus: (Wielding the sword from the gods) Ares, your chaos ends here. The mortals will continue to climb Olympus and will build their destiny with newfound wisdom and creativity.
(A battle ensues and the mortal realm trembles with the clash against the surrounding chaos.)
Perseus: (Raising the sword to make the final strike) It’s time for this chaos to end.
(Perseus uses the sword to cut through the clouds of confusion. Ares shrinks back, and accidentally stumbles into the trapdoor.)
Ares: (Falling through the hedge trap maze into the underground.) This isn’t over! I will escape this trap and make the mortals pay!
Perseus: Chaos may be eternal, but the mortal realm will know peace and those imaginative creatives may struggle for generations to climb Olymbpus, but they will come to know what they have. It’s special, it’s accessible, it’s magic.
(The gods shine down on Perseus in celebration.)
Act 5: The New Era
Scene 1: Olympus in person this time.
at a big table, covered in a feast, surrounded by clouds.
(The gods reflect on the events.)
Zeus: Mortals have proven themselves capable of navigating the creative expanse. Our realm shall evolve with their innovations. May they grow ever closer in union with us.
Hera: We must hope the mortals use caution. Should their wit fail to precede their imagination their creativity may falter.
Athena: (Observing data trends) Mortals learn and adapt quickly. With guidance, they may bring balance to our two realms.
Hephaestus: May we learn from the tools and mediums they create and use to evolve their own consciousness.
Apollo: (Strumming a hopeful melody) The cosmic harmonies weave a tale of collaboration between gods and mortals, of innovation and wisdom shared.
Scene 2: The Mortal Realm
at the Academy in the poet’s courtyard.
(Perseus stands victorious with the sword of divine knowledge and sparking inspiration, surrounded by creative scholars and professors.)
Perseus: Let this be a lesson for both mortals and gods. In the vastness of imagination, harmony can prevail if we forge our destinies with wisdom and collaboration.
(The mortal realm transforms, integrating the lessons learned, growing more powerful with mortals and gods coexisting in the ever-evolving landscape of the imagination age.)
(As the curtain falls, sparks of imagination flicker and fall illuminating the stage, symbolizing the balance of gods and mortals. The gods feast at a table on one side of the stage and the students from the Academy adhere to their studies on the other side of the stage.)
The cosmic balance has been restored.
Chapter 3: An epilogue on the ongoing cosmic balance.
At the edge of the fruitful lands,
raging against the sea,
shrouded in perpetual mist,
there stood an institution unlike any other—The Academy.
Towering spires,
cloaked in ivy and mystery,
reached towards the heavens
as if trying to pierce the veil
between the mortal and the divine.
This dark academic bastion,
a crucible for creativity,
where arts are cultivated,
builds to a fervor bordering on the arcane.
The Academy’s origins
are veiled in myth and whispers,
like the fog that clung to its periphery.
Some claimed it had risen
from the ashes of the ancient world,
an echo of the bygone eras
when gods walked among mortals.
Others believed it was a clandestine society,
(born from the shadows)
harnessing the raw power of inspiration
lingering in the air.
The students who sought entry,
a diverse assembly,
were drawn from the far reaches of the artistic spectrum.
Painters with eyes that reflected
the hues of the underworld,
Poets who spoke in riddles that echoed through time,
Composers who plucked chords that resonated
with the whispers of forgotten deities
They all found sanctuary
within the hallowed halls of The Academy.
The curriculum became an intricate tapestry
woven with threads of mythology,
infusing the institution in mystery.
The students delved into the timeless tales of gods and heroes,
seeking inspiration from the divine dramas that unfold in the celestial realms.
The study of ancient myths was not a mere academic exercise
but a communion with the very essence of creativity,
a rite that bound
the aspirants
to the mystical forces
that coursed through The Academy’s foundations.
At the heart of the institution,
underground in the sanctum of the muses
(adorned with frescoes depicting forgotten epics),
students gathered to pay homage to the Muses.
Nine ethereal figures,
embodiments of inspiration,
guided the artistic pursuits of those
who dared to tread
the labyrinthine corridors of The Academy.
Yet, amidst the divine guidance,
a shadowy figure lurked
(a teacher with an enigmatic presence)
and sent shivers down the spines of even the boldest students.
Professor Moros,
named after the god of impending doom,
a master of the esoteric arts.
His classes delved into the darker corners of creativity,
exploring the fine line between brilliance and madness.
Under the watchful gaze of Professor Moros,
students studied the tragic fates
of those touched by artistic genius.
The stories of Icarus,
who soared too close to the sun on wings of wax,
and cursed Cassandra,
plagued with foresight but fated never to be believed.
Each one served as a cautionary tale.
Moros believed that true artistic brilliance
required a willingness to confront the abyss,
to dance on the edge of sanity,
and to grapple with the shadows that lurked within the soul.
The Academy’s library,
a dark haunted repository
of ancient tomes and forbidden knowledge,
held secrets that even the most daring students hesitated to unveil.
It was rumored that the library’s guardian,
a spectral figure known as Mnemosyne,
guarded not only the knowledge contained within
but also the very fabric of memory and inspiration.
Those who sought to delve too deep
risked losing themselves in the endless corridors of forgotten dreams.
Legends spoke of a hidden chamber
(within the labyrinthine depths of the academy).
A chamber where the very essence of inspiration
was said to be distilled into an elixir
that granted unparalleled creative prowess.
The Elixir of Euterpe, named after the Muse of tragedy,
was both coveted and feared.
Those who imbibed its intoxicating essence
were rumored to become vessels
for forces beyond mortal comprehension.
In the dim glow of flickering torches,
students gathered in secret societies,
reciting incantations and exchanging forbidden knowledge.
They sought to unlock the mysteries of The Academy,
to transcend the boundaries between the mortal and the divine,
and to wield the power of inspiration like a double-edged sword.
As whispers of The Academy spread beyond the valley,
artists and seekers from distant lands sought the elusive institution.
They braved treacherous paths, navigated uncharted waters,
and faced trials that tested the very fabric of their beings.
For those deemed worthy,
the gates of the academy opened,
revealing a world where the line
between reality and myth
blurred into a dreamscape of endless possibilities.
And so,
The Academy stood as a beacon in the artistic cosmos,
a crucible where mortals dared to dance with gods,
where the echoes of ancient myths
resonated in every brushstroke, stanza, and note.
In the eternal twilight of its existence,
The Academy continued to beckon
to those who hungered for the sublime,
the forbidden, and the divine.
These are the correspondences of what we’ve seen within the marble halls.
More books on the marble halls are to be written
with many more stories to be told.
Timothy Arliss OBrien (he/they) is an interdisciplinary artist in music composition, writing, and visual art. He has premiered music from opera to film scores to electronic ambient projects. He has published several books of poetry, (The Queer Revolt, The Art of Learning to Fly, & Happy LGBTQ Wrath Month), and is a poetry editor for Deep Overstock, a judge for Reedsy Prompts, and a poetry reader for Okay Donkey. He also founded the podcast & small press publishing house, The Poet Heroic, and the digital magic space The Healers Coven. He also showcases his psychedelic makeup skills as the phenomenal drag queen Tabitha Acidz.
Check out more at his website: www.timothyarlissobrien.com