Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Possible Revised Opening for the Night Flyer
In a multitude of ways Simon Grace was like any other, a young strapping man with a penchant for simple acts of rebellion. He tried his best to be the ideal grandson he thought his grandmother wanted, but something in him screamed to disobey. If it wasn’t for that wonderful affection he received daily from her, he might have descended into a different type of young adulthood, but as it were his undying love, and respect for her ideals kept him in check, and molded his disposition. He still had the urge to do his own thing, to walk free of the pack, but it wasn’t in any damaging way. He kept to himself, his quest for independence was to allow him the chance to love his isolation, to understand himself, and the world around him. Simon Grace was a strange boy in this regard, while others ached for the companionship of others, and finding comradery in friends, Simon demanded from his rebellion the right to be on his own, and to ponder his thoughts, with himself, on his own. He was not a perfect grandson, he would often tell lies to his sweet trusting guardian, who would it seemed grant him a humorous knowing distance. These lies he told were simplistic, you see Simon didn’t love fishing, but if you asked anyone in Placim what his greatest hobby was, his wonderous passion, they would tell you the opposite. But Simon Grace didn’t fish, he pretended to fish, as an escape. He never really gathered why he thought the lie was sufficient, that he was going out to catch his own breakfast, lunch, dinner, but he did, he felt as Placim was a fishing village that that would be the most understandable distraction a young man could have. No one asked question about a boy in a fishing village who wanted to go catch fish, why would they? They would assume that such a boy was shaping himself for a lifelong career of carving up smelly bass and trout, a lifelong career where one dreamed of catching and parading around the gutted body of a razor shark. He however cared nothing for such dreams, for such life choices. Simon would set off with his fishing line, a bucket, and he would go to the old town worn away by typhoons, and eatin by the blowing dune sands, and sit, dipping his toes in the waters at the end of the oldest, most worn docks in all of Placim. And when he was there he would stare across the great big blue at the Isle of Grimm where in his mind the greatest mystery of all lied, where questions could be answered, and where no one could get to.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Jealous Flowers
There is a butterfly strong and knowing
Intelligent and fanciful
batting its wings upon flowers and grass
Soaring amongst everything
Until the last,
Bit of sunlight disappears from the earth,
She rests in the shade of the shadows of trees
And emerges glorious into the next day
Those human eyes taht are fortunate enough to see her
It fills with joy the days they toil away
All their mundane chores and causes,
Are silence in her prescence and they would lie on the grass
And let her land on their palms
And feel her tickle the skin ever so delicately.
They would let her, the beautiful butterfly dance all day,
And ponder nothing but her wings
but she soon floats away almost carried in the breeze
a delicate flower amongst the hurricane of leaves
And as they go about their day without her,
She is always in their minds,
And when they think on the butterfly there smile is, is ten times then.
The next morning as they awake from their slumber,
Its as though she’s waiting out the window just for them to hold her,
And the meager little people see beauty in their chaos,
and comfort in the storm.
Intelligent and fanciful
batting its wings upon flowers and grass
Soaring amongst everything
Until the last,
Bit of sunlight disappears from the earth,
She rests in the shade of the shadows of trees
And emerges glorious into the next day
Those human eyes taht are fortunate enough to see her
It fills with joy the days they toil away
All their mundane chores and causes,
Are silence in her prescence and they would lie on the grass
And let her land on their palms
And feel her tickle the skin ever so delicately.
They would let her, the beautiful butterfly dance all day,
And ponder nothing but her wings
but she soon floats away almost carried in the breeze
a delicate flower amongst the hurricane of leaves
And as they go about their day without her,
She is always in their minds,
And when they think on the butterfly there smile is, is ten times then.
The next morning as they awake from their slumber,
Its as though she’s waiting out the window just for them to hold her,
And the meager little people see beauty in their chaos,
and comfort in the storm.
Monday, December 5, 2011
The cute boy says here's a blanket to comfort you,
but it has flees
and small pox too
oh and if you sleep with it to close itll make you go blind
You'll become sterile
You'll learn to unlearn your life
The lessons that were taught you
This blanket reeks and will push your family away
This blanket was washed in a septic system
And scrubbed clean and dipped washed in sewage again
You'll learn to love it though
You'll carry on your shoulder,
You'll start to think its a good part of you
and you'll find another old blanket
And tear it in two
And soak it in fire, and pass it off to someone else
Here take this blanket the cute boy says
And the naive girl just stares in his eyes and says
This is exactly what i've always wanted
This makes me happy and whole
I feel safe and secure
She says these her eyes locked onto his
His hands still holding it for her,
And when decides to wrap herself in it,
And takes on all its diseases,
The cute boy disappears,
And she knows he was just a tool to get her to take it,
But she won't admit
Because she said she believed it
She said it was safe and secure and clean
But it smells so foul
And slowly she'll look into it
Discover all its little fibers
and look to dupe someone else into taking it
All because some guy pretended to like you to get you to take the shit stained blanket
That he passed out and charged you 120% for
But she won't admit that
No no she won't.
but it has flees
and small pox too
oh and if you sleep with it to close itll make you go blind
You'll become sterile
You'll learn to unlearn your life
The lessons that were taught you
This blanket reeks and will push your family away
This blanket was washed in a septic system
And scrubbed clean and dipped washed in sewage again
You'll learn to love it though
You'll carry on your shoulder,
You'll start to think its a good part of you
and you'll find another old blanket
And tear it in two
And soak it in fire, and pass it off to someone else
Here take this blanket the cute boy says
And the naive girl just stares in his eyes and says
This is exactly what i've always wanted
This makes me happy and whole
I feel safe and secure
She says these her eyes locked onto his
His hands still holding it for her,
And when decides to wrap herself in it,
And takes on all its diseases,
The cute boy disappears,
And she knows he was just a tool to get her to take it,
But she won't admit
Because she said she believed it
She said it was safe and secure and clean
But it smells so foul
And slowly she'll look into it
Discover all its little fibers
and look to dupe someone else into taking it
All because some guy pretended to like you to get you to take the shit stained blanket
That he passed out and charged you 120% for
But she won't admit that
No no she won't.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Monkay See Monkey Do
The world traveler began to see that the world wasn't everything he wanted to see
He'd wasted his time traversing the plains and finding nothing of value under the grains of sand
No buried treasures, no fossils of old, no nothing, just more dirt, more grains passing through his hand
And in the beginning there was nothing more that he wanted to do than seek out simple truths
To find all that he held dear at the end of a rope bridge, while fragile it was exciting to see what was on the other side
The world traveler was naive back then, he thought all out there, all the truth was here
In the big wide world of nothing, he could find something, some new big blue and green
Eden was gone, but he'd try to seek it out, travel on and find out who needed nothing
There is a world that you need to see that he wants you to see and its right infront of you
do you see the ways the sunlight shines through on this glorious day
So here goes the pace.
He'd wasted his time traversing the plains and finding nothing of value under the grains of sand
No buried treasures, no fossils of old, no nothing, just more dirt, more grains passing through his hand
And in the beginning there was nothing more that he wanted to do than seek out simple truths
To find all that he held dear at the end of a rope bridge, while fragile it was exciting to see what was on the other side
The world traveler was naive back then, he thought all out there, all the truth was here
In the big wide world of nothing, he could find something, some new big blue and green
Eden was gone, but he'd try to seek it out, travel on and find out who needed nothing
There is a world that you need to see that he wants you to see and its right infront of you
do you see the ways the sunlight shines through on this glorious day
So here goes the pace.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Rainbow Room
I witnessed a bunch of asses wash upon the shore
These men were witless and spoiled
Wanting too much but never having enough
They got what they wanted
And begged for what they needed
And they lived in utter excess
This is the world we see through this shattered glass
A place of nastiness
The place to seak out your truth is not with such people
Over on the other side of the wall
There sits the boy who has nothing and only seeks out what he needs
And only a few extras
He wants the moon on his strings
But he won't pull it forth to him less he screw up the tides
Its the world he see's of so many men
Who scrap about for food in the gutter
and he is thankful,
He doesn't need excess
He is happy with what he has
As long as he has life.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
the world faded into black
As the script ended
and here I was on the edge
lighted by cryptic light
reading the epilogue
in monotone
I hear the sounds of worlds
Crying out in grace
and here we are in nothing new
Old and fashionable and understated
And while the ashes may have fallen
I can look back and see the joys of sunshine
In that vast openness of possibility
Life was never to hard
When there were people like you in it
If the feeling is fleeting or if it had lasted lifetimes
It's comforting to know that such dreams
such dream are reality
and on this void
In this flash of my life I see the others like you
the friends and family
the life and joys
and underneath maybe some hidden grief
But overall the world had a spotlight
It had an audience
The drama was real
The comedy was genuine
here is the truthfulness of it all
The sweet spots in a sour world.
Monday, November 21, 2011
very few passion plays are about what this represents
in the span of a few minutes i've seen a white light
at the end of a very dark and gloomy tunnel
My soul a benchmark of depression seemed rotted and remorseful
But in the years that have passed
It has shown signs of reprisal
It has come back to its orginal glories
And joy has become a common part of the tunnels foundation
And that white light seems imminent in its powers of worth
The world is bleak sometimes,
Its passions strange
But in this solitude I have found something great
Except anyone to truly share it with
I feel thankful of my life being whole again
Of being able to smile daily and see peace and love in everything
An understanding a fun loving stamina filled sprint
Across the vastness of everything
When once I was stranded inside that darkened underground path,
Now I am free to leave it, and not discouraged when I think of it
But times go by that I dream of home,
That I want it back the way it was
But its only a matter of time before I get worried about having nothing
That I can't do this all alone
And I hope that life will find a way to help this thing along
This longing to share my high spirits.
in the span of a few minutes i've seen a white light
at the end of a very dark and gloomy tunnel
My soul a benchmark of depression seemed rotted and remorseful
But in the years that have passed
It has shown signs of reprisal
It has come back to its orginal glories
And joy has become a common part of the tunnels foundation
And that white light seems imminent in its powers of worth
The world is bleak sometimes,
Its passions strange
But in this solitude I have found something great
Except anyone to truly share it with
I feel thankful of my life being whole again
Of being able to smile daily and see peace and love in everything
An understanding a fun loving stamina filled sprint
Across the vastness of everything
When once I was stranded inside that darkened underground path,
Now I am free to leave it, and not discouraged when I think of it
But times go by that I dream of home,
That I want it back the way it was
But its only a matter of time before I get worried about having nothing
That I can't do this all alone
And I hope that life will find a way to help this thing along
This longing to share my high spirits.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Visions of a Mist
Keep out the sour right now
He begs
Just let it fester over there in the corner
His spirits are too high to be poisoned by idiots
he is to hopeful to be let down
Perhaps this is bad
he doesn't care
He's ready to leap if the sign is given
But he'll stand still till then
He'll let time bide itself
and see what it comes up with
he is happy again, he was fading from happiness for a moment
But now he returns reinvigorated
And everything seems to be going smoothly
He'll play it well
As well as he can
And what comes will come
Maybe let downs, and a fading good-bye, nothing harsh
Just honesty
Or maybe there'll be embraces and gentle kisses
And everything else that comes in time
he'll keep it steady
His voice will be ready
For whichever way comes,
His soul is strong,
And he'll either keep it strong, or let it melt
Depending on if saddness or happiness tries to gain access
So smile all you people
Because sometimes life makes sense
And your hopes can be met
And if they are not you have the hope that the attempt was not futile
Just in the wrong place at the wrong time
Here goes nothing
he says
Open again to the elements
He'll take what dreams may come.
He begs
Just let it fester over there in the corner
His spirits are too high to be poisoned by idiots
he is to hopeful to be let down
Perhaps this is bad
he doesn't care
He's ready to leap if the sign is given
But he'll stand still till then
He'll let time bide itself
and see what it comes up with
he is happy again, he was fading from happiness for a moment
But now he returns reinvigorated
And everything seems to be going smoothly
He'll play it well
As well as he can
And what comes will come
Maybe let downs, and a fading good-bye, nothing harsh
Just honesty
Or maybe there'll be embraces and gentle kisses
And everything else that comes in time
he'll keep it steady
His voice will be ready
For whichever way comes,
His soul is strong,
And he'll either keep it strong, or let it melt
Depending on if saddness or happiness tries to gain access
So smile all you people
Because sometimes life makes sense
And your hopes can be met
And if they are not you have the hope that the attempt was not futile
Just in the wrong place at the wrong time
Here goes nothing
he says
Open again to the elements
He'll take what dreams may come.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Any Which Way the Madness of Happiness Blows
In the blink of an eye all we wished will wash away in wishy washy serenditipity
Coincidence is golden, randomness is key
A big bang of the small fry seeking out answers to the chaos of his universe
With spectral glasses on, and heavy heart upon his shoulders
He'll have blood on his clothes but courage in his loins
And he'll make it out alive
Coincidence is golden, randomness is key
A big bang of the small fry seeking out answers to the chaos of his universe
With spectral glasses on, and heavy heart upon his shoulders
He'll have blood on his clothes but courage in his loins
And he'll make it out alive
All of their wonderful reflections break upon the shore
A seashell chorus creacking on and forever more
A well to do of how you do's
that no one reply's back to
Only wolf whistles on the back of a carriage of thistles can be interpreted as true
Barnacles hang off the bottom of this ship
And mice care not to give two shits
As icebergs break upon the bow
But back to sanity they yell for us not wanting our minds to wander through the wanderous desert
Seeking out closeted deserts of yogurt ice cream and bumble bee tuna
Christmas tree's with Jack-o-lanters face the raging sea way
As pickled dolphins leap in bounds from jam jars half full of constant regrets
While they brood and they ponder and the elevate the ladders
To reach for the heavens far too high above
The little dwarf man demands a penny for his thought but is given negative change instead
So men who are robbed of dignity
And placed inside the realm of dishonesty
Where the worker bee and ant meet to socialize
drinking and referring to their troubles
These men want more than ever to find that purpose
That plagues the roaches so
But as she blinked her eyes,
and made to cry
Her will power faded into nothing
And the lack of oxygen
made her misunderstood
For want of everything
They gave her nothing
All the while she cried
The world walked by
And demanded she repay her debt
When asked what it was
they laughed while shaking their feet
Brittle bones protect solid hearts
While solid bones protect brittle hearts
and the mermen and merwoman debate on what to do with the king crab who snapped onto their tails
Whisked away upon the sea breeze while waterfalls punctuated the silence with lip syncing of a favorite rock and roll ballad
A minute later the octopus wonders what arm to put his bracelets on
And seeks out places with little traces of any sort of fashion sense.
A million miles south of normal
the oddball plants his trees
He calls them forth to prosper upwards
While holding back a sneeze
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
So There's This Girl...
I think its official,
I actually met someone that I want to get to know more
And then some more after that
But I come out too strong
I talk too much
Say too much
Do too much
This has never been easy for me
I'm constantly paranoid im going to screw things up
And then I screw things up
I have such anxiety, and fear
I always feel inadequate,
While knowing im a good person
not a great person, because who is honestly,
but a good person,
I mean I don't know if it'll all go anywhere,
Its too early,
I'm trying to pace myself and not get caught up in the moment
But its been awhile since I could muster up the guts to even talk to a girl
And here I have again,
And I want so badly to avoid my own traps
I'm just far too excited,
Maybe I should back it off a couple notches
Life is still going to be there,
I still have time.
I actually met someone that I want to get to know more
And then some more after that
But I come out too strong
I talk too much
Say too much
Do too much
This has never been easy for me
I'm constantly paranoid im going to screw things up
And then I screw things up
I have such anxiety, and fear
I always feel inadequate,
While knowing im a good person
not a great person, because who is honestly,
but a good person,
I mean I don't know if it'll all go anywhere,
Its too early,
I'm trying to pace myself and not get caught up in the moment
But its been awhile since I could muster up the guts to even talk to a girl
And here I have again,
And I want so badly to avoid my own traps
I'm just far too excited,
Maybe I should back it off a couple notches
Life is still going to be there,
I still have time.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Its Time to Light the Lights
So i think its high time
That things stayed on the down low
i should stop spewing out every little thing
i should abandon my whim and seek out solitude
I want to find a way to make myself happy
I want to feel something again
I've been godo with life
But nothing is really
Going on
And now I say good bye
Again.
That things stayed on the down low
i should stop spewing out every little thing
i should abandon my whim and seek out solitude
I want to find a way to make myself happy
I want to feel something again
I've been godo with life
But nothing is really
Going on
And now I say good bye
Again.
Shouting!
She wore a checkered flag bandana
On the end of a bananana
And casty her doubts like skipping stones
Into the lone hearth
All the world fell to nothing as she flew away into the sun
A rainbow that just wouldn't stop
And scattered all the way
It isn't happy go lucky time in this dire strained confusion
A vomiting inducing sickness
On the end of a bananana
And casty her doubts like skipping stones
Into the lone hearth
All the world fell to nothing as she flew away into the sun
A rainbow that just wouldn't stop
And scattered all the way
It isn't happy go lucky time in this dire strained confusion
A vomiting inducing sickness
High upon the mountain tops
The princess slowly sobs
Seeking refuge in her tears
and finding only soggy hands
But somehow this place is brand new
And old again
Refreshing but confusing
And the minimalist
Sets her sights on everything
And slowly shaves off the fat
But for what purpose
God only knows
But he doesn't answer
The phone calls of greed
Of gold stacking
of paper machet
Whispering in the night the silly man
Wants to take her hand
And be happy with everything he can be
But he is too afraid to leap
So it might help if she pushes
and send him plummeting down to the rock bed below
Cushioned by seventy seven pillows
Devoid of feathers
on top of fourty four mattresses
Coated in honey combs.
Being a Corporate Pawn
There is minor influence in scaling the walls of a heirachy when you don't believe in it
You work at a location that promotes doing what you can for the client
But only if it doesn't deter from the betting schemes they have in place
But you are still continously reminded to do whatever you can do make sure the clients go home happy
So when you do something nice for one single person, once a day, for maybe once a month
You are caught slapped on the wrist and told not to do it again
Or the men wearing the crowns will get mad and kick you to the curb
And the lower management doesn't care about the cash you save someone but they care about their job
They want you to not get fired because of it
So it's this corporate greed, and this confusing store philosophy that makes you scratch your head.
You work at a location that promotes doing what you can for the client
But only if it doesn't deter from the betting schemes they have in place
But you are still continously reminded to do whatever you can do make sure the clients go home happy
So when you do something nice for one single person, once a day, for maybe once a month
You are caught slapped on the wrist and told not to do it again
Or the men wearing the crowns will get mad and kick you to the curb
And the lower management doesn't care about the cash you save someone but they care about their job
They want you to not get fired because of it
So it's this corporate greed, and this confusing store philosophy that makes you scratch your head.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Life Isn't Over
Do you see the places out there amongst the ash
They still have flowers in bloom
Fruits that sing in the rain,
Amongst all this decay, this shamble of a place
The sunshine still breaks through the smog
And coats the world in a glistening blanket
Protected and warm,
And everlasting smiles worm their way upon the smoke and clouds
This place is so worn and bruised and lost
Still has a spark.
They still have flowers in bloom
Fruits that sing in the rain,
Amongst all this decay, this shamble of a place
The sunshine still breaks through the smog
And coats the world in a glistening blanket
Protected and warm,
And everlasting smiles worm their way upon the smoke and clouds
This place is so worn and bruised and lost
Still has a spark.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
A Confession of the Obvious
sometimes I find it so hard to say anything while I am boiling up with things to say
I am lost for words while words are sitting at the edge of my lips ready to take a plunge
i really want to converse to find something to say to not be the timid guy, but I can't bring myself to do it,
I want so much to be that person, who knows how to say it, and say it right, who knows how to find the course of action in his battle plans
but he can not,
I am reduced to this, but thats only partially an insult
Becuase i love writing on my blog, I love saying random stuff,
I love writing in general,
but somewhere, i want my thoughts to come out somewhere, somehow verbally,
just to say one thing interesting,
To make that leap into confidence,
That i know is there, when im comfortable I can talk a mile a minute and just as lenghthy keep up the pace
Say things interesting,
just jump about and make people life, and being ridiculous,
This of course all comes back to meeting women
to find a way to say what I want to say when I want to say it and not fret about it at all
This isn't suppose to be a confession,
Well all of this stuff is confession,
However cryptic,
But im so timid,
So worried, and flustered when I suddenly develp that school yard word of a crush and i have nothing to say,
When all I want to do is sing, shout, say hey here i am
I hope they understand that its not easy for me to do this,
But that im not always so damned timid,
I want to reach out and find a solution to this issue,
But im so introverted hence the blog,
Hence these writings,
hence my life.
I am lost for words while words are sitting at the edge of my lips ready to take a plunge
i really want to converse to find something to say to not be the timid guy, but I can't bring myself to do it,
I want so much to be that person, who knows how to say it, and say it right, who knows how to find the course of action in his battle plans
but he can not,
I am reduced to this, but thats only partially an insult
Becuase i love writing on my blog, I love saying random stuff,
I love writing in general,
but somewhere, i want my thoughts to come out somewhere, somehow verbally,
just to say one thing interesting,
To make that leap into confidence,
That i know is there, when im comfortable I can talk a mile a minute and just as lenghthy keep up the pace
Say things interesting,
just jump about and make people life, and being ridiculous,
This of course all comes back to meeting women
to find a way to say what I want to say when I want to say it and not fret about it at all
This isn't suppose to be a confession,
Well all of this stuff is confession,
However cryptic,
But im so timid,
So worried, and flustered when I suddenly develp that school yard word of a crush and i have nothing to say,
When all I want to do is sing, shout, say hey here i am
I hope they understand that its not easy for me to do this,
But that im not always so damned timid,
I want to reach out and find a solution to this issue,
But im so introverted hence the blog,
Hence these writings,
hence my life.
Blankity Blank again.
She lived a humdrum life on the verge of extinction only to find her savior at the bottom of a bottle
Her mind warped it all into a little bit of this, and a whole lot of that
She is everything they wanted, but not enough
Contradictions, i'm using far too many contradictions,
Always do, but i never did it on purpose
they roll of the tongue,
Or should I say through the fingertips.
Her mind warped it all into a little bit of this, and a whole lot of that
She is everything they wanted, but not enough
Contradictions, i'm using far too many contradictions,
Always do, but i never did it on purpose
they roll of the tongue,
Or should I say through the fingertips.
The Problem with This
I don't see the way to view the world through a kaleidoscope
Only how to see it through black and white lenses
Like an old fashioned movie
This idealistic view of nothing will one day of course be shattered
Already is,
Already has.
It's a time for nothing to be done and everything in particular to be changed,
The useless information that falls into this
And returns to that only to find it all broken,
This glass unicorn upon the concrete wall.
Don't you see the frustration
The battered condemnation
By men in a thousand nations
Seeking out the useless information.
Here we go again,
In this place that nobody see's
In this place that everybody is watching.
The world will always consist of those who saw it all in water color
and in technicolor
and those who remained, and will always be color blinded.
Their reds are black,
Their greens are gray
There rainbows are distraught in the their blandness.
And in these lush gray beautiful black skies
Where cyclones twirl
Men are thrown around like popsicles
and left upon a smoldering paved way
by those in the sunshine states.
Cataclysm jumps to mind
Catastrophe,
A void darkened and bruised.
this is everything that everything warned you about
and that everyone in every room told everybody else to find
Don't do it,
But please do it again.
Its the same old song and dance,
The same old tune
That replays always and forever
till someone throws that radio out the window
and shatters that glass.
Only how to see it through black and white lenses
Like an old fashioned movie
This idealistic view of nothing will one day of course be shattered
Already is,
Already has.
It's a time for nothing to be done and everything in particular to be changed,
The useless information that falls into this
And returns to that only to find it all broken,
This glass unicorn upon the concrete wall.
Don't you see the frustration
The battered condemnation
By men in a thousand nations
Seeking out the useless information.
Here we go again,
In this place that nobody see's
In this place that everybody is watching.
The world will always consist of those who saw it all in water color
and in technicolor
and those who remained, and will always be color blinded.
Their reds are black,
Their greens are gray
There rainbows are distraught in the their blandness.
And in these lush gray beautiful black skies
Where cyclones twirl
Men are thrown around like popsicles
and left upon a smoldering paved way
by those in the sunshine states.
Cataclysm jumps to mind
Catastrophe,
A void darkened and bruised.
this is everything that everything warned you about
and that everyone in every room told everybody else to find
Don't do it,
But please do it again.
Its the same old song and dance,
The same old tune
That replays always and forever
till someone throws that radio out the window
and shatters that glass.
Serenade of a Frozen Mob
The world falls into a little bit of a dream as the lull of stupidity arrives
And destroys everything was once good, and irritated about it all
In this spectrum of hilarity where everyone is pulling their hair out
The queen bee is angry strange and funky
The end of the earth is nigh but here we are stranded on a desert island of desert sharks
Who eat them forever and ever and our eyes roll back in distraction
Dead gone, until we can be freed from this horror,
Its ridiculous all the ways we will put up with nothing in order to find something on the other side of everything
Upside down this rainbow road of spines.
Under the Big Top
She wears a blacked out version of disrespect
A whited out position on the worst case scenario
And in the waves of ridiculousness he feels altered
In her presence he feels lost and ridiculed
But she goes on her merry little way prancing about like a circus pony
Drawing in the gaze of a thousand spectators
Who wilt away under the firelight of her torch light
And as fireflies dance on the graves of these young old people
They will fade away too
Fade fast into a beautiful oblivion,
Into a far off place off set by an airline that got the destination completely wrong
He was hurt and wounded in her presence but he needed to be there
When all else seemed lost he had to stay and ponder it
He had to dream it,
And ultimately conceive of a better solution to the obsolete verdict that was him
She smiled on though, convinced of her superiority
Convinced in the conviction of a thrown out case that she was one in a billion
When she was only one and the same
Slithering under her spotlight, but still drawing in the sights of the predators
High strung and lethal predators,
And as the flight descended at an alarming rate the whole world flashed by in waves of fogged images
And it was completely lost amongst the stars as to what this place truly was
And finally when they both removed their shoes and threw away their parachutes
They could finally have what they wanted, though they had no time to have it at all
For in their dream scape of their dreamland it was full of existence
Their reality was scattered rubble upon a broken gravel street
In a place that closely resembled hellfire and brimstone.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Writers Block
The quiver of the quiver
in the fingertips of my elder
brain on the verge of decay
of the sore spot left on the left side of the page
a starting word for a beginning sentence
with no place to go
lost in thought
flabbergasted by the influence of the soulless
a battered bridge in need of repair
no time to fret
no time to fix
at the start of the second act
no one has a chance
within their hands are blank pages
contradicted
broken and retracted
a fuel for a fire
a dynamite canyon with no trigger
a wash of Pollock like colors on a white faded canvas
i missed shot
as a missile flies forty miles over head
and that one sentence staring you down
breaking your brain
making you feel like alzheimers has set in
you are lost for words almost forgetting what they are
as sweat pours down your head
as your breain works out the solution
as no other letters appear
the alphabet is now your enemy
defeating you
and blocked inside all the ideas are
lost inside from all the rest of the page
and that first paragraph not even begun but begun with a letter
An A, telling us we are about to read some pages
but nothing is there
nothing comes out
you abandon it, try to sort it out,
but when you return each new night hoping to find out so fashionable solution
there is nothing there you are lost for words
abandoned underneath the fascination of your cataclysms
and you write another word
the pen in your hand, though you'd rather have a sword,
and the words won't come out
you see them clearly in the forefront of your mind,
even sitting on a bench in the back of your mind,
but your mind,
is wiltered, weathered and broken
seeking solutions for a solutions sake,
willing to write anything
even a half hearted confession that you can't write anything
but you just need something to say
and inside your screaming, beating yourself
your ideas, you torture them, you go over them with the a fine toothed comb
and you beg them to speak to come out throug your fingetips
but your ideas are shy, and stupid, they want to remain hidden but letting on just enough
and you die a little inside,
and you type out that first sentence, and you are satisfied but you return
and there it is glaring at you
a million mistakes but others can see only one
but you soldier on, and you try again and you type as fast as you can
half remembering what you wrote a minute ago, but trying to say something at all
and you see it looks kind of so-so, and here you are at the end of it all
chasing this dream
on computer screen or pads of paper
barreling down the monkey chute, into the garbage dumb
spilling it all over a white hooded sweater,
and the bug has bitten, and you are inflicted and you have to continue on
push on through, and what you find is a half truth and a beautiful whole lie
of something that you kind of sort of almost meant to say,
and you smile, and you are okay with this,
its something some sort of progress and you'll continue this chaos day in and day out
knowing that okay, it may be slow
but you will get there some day some how,
and you have discovered that though you have discourse deep inside you
the solution is staring you dead in the eyes
down an ever growing tunnel and you will always be playing catch up
but its oh so important to follow that light
into that dead of night
as your pencil hits the paper
and your sword spllices through it
surgical precision for about one minute or so
and then your stuck and you think and you write and you erase
and you repeat it once or thrice
and here we are running around this circle creating something, and then reducing it to nothing
only to make it grow again
in the fingertips of my elder
brain on the verge of decay
of the sore spot left on the left side of the page
a starting word for a beginning sentence
with no place to go
lost in thought
flabbergasted by the influence of the soulless
a battered bridge in need of repair
no time to fret
no time to fix
at the start of the second act
no one has a chance
within their hands are blank pages
contradicted
broken and retracted
a fuel for a fire
a dynamite canyon with no trigger
a wash of Pollock like colors on a white faded canvas
i missed shot
as a missile flies forty miles over head
and that one sentence staring you down
breaking your brain
making you feel like alzheimers has set in
you are lost for words almost forgetting what they are
as sweat pours down your head
as your breain works out the solution
as no other letters appear
the alphabet is now your enemy
defeating you
and blocked inside all the ideas are
lost inside from all the rest of the page
and that first paragraph not even begun but begun with a letter
An A, telling us we are about to read some pages
but nothing is there
nothing comes out
you abandon it, try to sort it out,
but when you return each new night hoping to find out so fashionable solution
there is nothing there you are lost for words
abandoned underneath the fascination of your cataclysms
and you write another word
the pen in your hand, though you'd rather have a sword,
and the words won't come out
you see them clearly in the forefront of your mind,
even sitting on a bench in the back of your mind,
but your mind,
is wiltered, weathered and broken
seeking solutions for a solutions sake,
willing to write anything
even a half hearted confession that you can't write anything
but you just need something to say
and inside your screaming, beating yourself
your ideas, you torture them, you go over them with the a fine toothed comb
and you beg them to speak to come out throug your fingetips
but your ideas are shy, and stupid, they want to remain hidden but letting on just enough
and you die a little inside,
and you type out that first sentence, and you are satisfied but you return
and there it is glaring at you
a million mistakes but others can see only one
but you soldier on, and you try again and you type as fast as you can
half remembering what you wrote a minute ago, but trying to say something at all
and you see it looks kind of so-so, and here you are at the end of it all
chasing this dream
on computer screen or pads of paper
barreling down the monkey chute, into the garbage dumb
spilling it all over a white hooded sweater,
and the bug has bitten, and you are inflicted and you have to continue on
push on through, and what you find is a half truth and a beautiful whole lie
of something that you kind of sort of almost meant to say,
and you smile, and you are okay with this,
its something some sort of progress and you'll continue this chaos day in and day out
knowing that okay, it may be slow
but you will get there some day some how,
and you have discovered that though you have discourse deep inside you
the solution is staring you dead in the eyes
down an ever growing tunnel and you will always be playing catch up
but its oh so important to follow that light
into that dead of night
as your pencil hits the paper
and your sword spllices through it
surgical precision for about one minute or so
and then your stuck and you think and you write and you erase
and you repeat it once or thrice
and here we are running around this circle creating something, and then reducing it to nothing
only to make it grow again
Blue Ball of Yarn
Hello world
you big ball of blue and green and sore spots
you bruised beach ball
you sphere of matter
you watered down son of a space rock
you giver of life
you destroyer of decay
you swallower of grief
you spinning globe of delectable nutrition
you poisonous gas bag scattered under rock
you once thought flat big planet
you crazy locomotive without any rails
you big cheese with a little cheese out your rear view mirror
you sun tan lover
you skinny dipper
you crazy little yarn full of forests and rivers
you stupid large water balloon waiting for a fight
you old and young space rock floating about stuck where where you are
you longing for outer spaces of your outer space
you home to so many different species
you home to one in particular that doesn't appreciate what you've done here
you old so and so
you big ball of blue and green and sore spots
you bruised beach ball
you sphere of matter
you watered down son of a space rock
you giver of life
you destroyer of decay
you swallower of grief
you spinning globe of delectable nutrition
you poisonous gas bag scattered under rock
you once thought flat big planet
you crazy locomotive without any rails
you big cheese with a little cheese out your rear view mirror
you sun tan lover
you skinny dipper
you crazy little yarn full of forests and rivers
you stupid large water balloon waiting for a fight
you old and young space rock floating about stuck where where you are
you longing for outer spaces of your outer space
you home to so many different species
you home to one in particular that doesn't appreciate what you've done here
you old so and so
I Will Become Happiness
i love to live as any good mannered living organism would say
i pride myself on the fact that I exist at all
i use to complain about my circumstance
but not I make my circumstance complain about me
that i don't give it enough attention
that i litter myself with distraction
that none of this will work out
but i brush it off and sweep it away
under the carpet of the day
under the facade of imprisonement
under the guise of a barrier
but its always there i know it i see it
however i choose not acknowledge it
however i choose to smile than despair
however i do my best to move on
but i can't always its true
i am going to think on it once in awhile
i am going to ponder what its influence is
but I will survive this
i will make it through to the end of the end
i will breathe easy and i will find love
i will find satisfaction in my circumstance
and this optimist will rub off on her
and she too will feel the joys i feel
wherever she is whoever she is we will be happy together
and i will continue to grow this happiness,
I will continue to shape it and smooth it out
and when she's here we can take on the world
take on this course that we both have taken
and strike down the pessimists
for i want feel joy
more joy than I can handle
i want to drown in it
breathe it in
and i will become like a bird on the wind soaring and gliding
with a perfect partner
who is less than perfect like me
i pride myself on the fact that I exist at all
i use to complain about my circumstance
but not I make my circumstance complain about me
that i don't give it enough attention
that i litter myself with distraction
that none of this will work out
but i brush it off and sweep it away
under the carpet of the day
under the facade of imprisonement
under the guise of a barrier
but its always there i know it i see it
however i choose not acknowledge it
however i choose to smile than despair
however i do my best to move on
but i can't always its true
i am going to think on it once in awhile
i am going to ponder what its influence is
but I will survive this
i will make it through to the end of the end
i will breathe easy and i will find love
i will find satisfaction in my circumstance
and this optimist will rub off on her
and she too will feel the joys i feel
wherever she is whoever she is we will be happy together
and i will continue to grow this happiness,
I will continue to shape it and smooth it out
and when she's here we can take on the world
take on this course that we both have taken
and strike down the pessimists
for i want feel joy
more joy than I can handle
i want to drown in it
breathe it in
and i will become like a bird on the wind soaring and gliding
with a perfect partner
who is less than perfect like me
Youth
Magic is a spectacle
Reminscent of a detestable,
Stench.
Cold and calcauated hope bring us closer to the light
But snuffs out the candle when we are close enough to,
See.
I don't remember you,
nor you me,
But we were meant to be in some time or
Space.
Cattle prodded the life force falters,
Shocked by pain and scattered about a field in ashes,
Sold.
Reminscent of a detestable,
Stench.
Cold and calcauated hope bring us closer to the light
But snuffs out the candle when we are close enough to,
See.
I don't remember you,
nor you me,
But we were meant to be in some time or
Space.
Cattle prodded the life force falters,
Shocked by pain and scattered about a field in ashes,
Sold.
the trouble with water
Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum
Couldn't put humpty dumpty together at last
And in their confusion severed the connection
the egg shell to the yolk
And Alice wandered aimlessly
When the cheshire cat was used to make a blanket
Grinning mischievously over a dead man's shoes,
In the middle of the Garden of Eden
the Mad Hatter wished a wishy washy lullaby,
On Cinderellas shoes,
As Adam and Eve made love,
And later bore Cain and Abel,
Who killed the one with a rock to the brain,
Bludgeoned as the Mad Hatter skipped to his lou
And the white rabbit rushed up on the face of big ben
Defying gravity as he sored with Peter Pan,
And entered neverland where time stood still
And he, the white rabbit, became certifiably insane,
On the skipping stone hearth,
Of an old sycamore house,
The Queen of Hearts cried into a saucer of milk,
Her roses were green,
And the seven dwarves had severed their stems
And made a bouquet for little red riding hood and poor little Goldilocks
Reminiscent of nothing the caterpillar puffed on his bong,
And got high off of nothing in particular
But his own personality,
And found it hilarious the absurdity he would have the reader believe,
As Ali baba spoke "open sesame" so was the caterpillar
Curshed up on the wall but the opening door
To the last remaining place that
Noah kept his ark.
Couldn't put humpty dumpty together at last
And in their confusion severed the connection
the egg shell to the yolk
And Alice wandered aimlessly
When the cheshire cat was used to make a blanket
Grinning mischievously over a dead man's shoes,
In the middle of the Garden of Eden
the Mad Hatter wished a wishy washy lullaby,
On Cinderellas shoes,
As Adam and Eve made love,
And later bore Cain and Abel,
Who killed the one with a rock to the brain,
Bludgeoned as the Mad Hatter skipped to his lou
And the white rabbit rushed up on the face of big ben
Defying gravity as he sored with Peter Pan,
And entered neverland where time stood still
And he, the white rabbit, became certifiably insane,
On the skipping stone hearth,
Of an old sycamore house,
The Queen of Hearts cried into a saucer of milk,
Her roses were green,
And the seven dwarves had severed their stems
And made a bouquet for little red riding hood and poor little Goldilocks
Reminiscent of nothing the caterpillar puffed on his bong,
And got high off of nothing in particular
But his own personality,
And found it hilarious the absurdity he would have the reader believe,
As Ali baba spoke "open sesame" so was the caterpillar
Curshed up on the wall but the opening door
To the last remaining place that
Noah kept his ark.
The Recession of Our Lord
In a fitless rage an ark angel throws another from its perch
Like a bird with a broken wing the unfortunate seraphim falls through into the limitless quandries of self conciousness
Where all he thought about is drowning him
Where he could swim had never only flown before
And his talons claw to grip onto space
But there is no space solid enough to hold
And he tumbles and fumbles his way through time
And that rage filled ark angel smiles alone to admire himself in a hall of mirrors
As his brethren falls evermore into everlasting nothingness
Plummeting not to its death but to its everything its not
A reminder at the forefront of its mind of that mindless self indulgent priming
The waxing of its most sensitive areas
The cleansing of its eye sockets and the numbing of its gluteous maximus
Fog passes through it,
Wind rushes passed it
And the oceans waves crash about it like a thin blanket of water vapor
And as mere mortals are caught in the under tow
This unfortunate ark angel will relive it all over and over again
It does not despise itself, but it does despair
Its eternal journey onwards and upwards backwards and downdwards,
Tasting nothing for it moves to fast for its taste buds to sense,
For its skin to reflect,
For its mask to contempt,
Life rushes by it, the souls of a million lives trapped in a hades before it passes by its perch again
To see its raged brother/sister standing tall upon its talons,
Upon its perch,
Upon its glorious perfection,
And look here back at the undertow.
Like a bird with a broken wing the unfortunate seraphim falls through into the limitless quandries of self conciousness
Where all he thought about is drowning him
Where he could swim had never only flown before
And his talons claw to grip onto space
But there is no space solid enough to hold
And he tumbles and fumbles his way through time
And that rage filled ark angel smiles alone to admire himself in a hall of mirrors
As his brethren falls evermore into everlasting nothingness
Plummeting not to its death but to its everything its not
A reminder at the forefront of its mind of that mindless self indulgent priming
The waxing of its most sensitive areas
The cleansing of its eye sockets and the numbing of its gluteous maximus
Fog passes through it,
Wind rushes passed it
And the oceans waves crash about it like a thin blanket of water vapor
And as mere mortals are caught in the under tow
This unfortunate ark angel will relive it all over and over again
It does not despise itself, but it does despair
Its eternal journey onwards and upwards backwards and downdwards,
Tasting nothing for it moves to fast for its taste buds to sense,
For its skin to reflect,
For its mask to contempt,
Life rushes by it, the souls of a million lives trapped in a hades before it passes by its perch again
To see its raged brother/sister standing tall upon its talons,
Upon its perch,
Upon its glorious perfection,
And look here back at the undertow.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Welcome to the Hell of Your Making
The devil gleefully watches as pedestrians disappear like lemmings over the side of a cliff into a limitless abyss
Like a car wreck that cannot be avoided, and that everyone had a hand in
He sits and he ponders and he wonders, and his mind wanders into an endless night
While the sheep go to the slaughter house in single file and never find time to complain
He wonders even morosely as too why these free willed beings go so calmly to their demise
When they could just have easily chosen a safer path full of bright lights and smiles
There's just far too many, his hell is running out of room, and he can't stand this stupidity
No one commits crime for purpose, no one murders for purpose no one can even define purpose
in the end the arrow through his heart is tipped with poisons and he welcomes this
For in this he selfishly feels selfish again, happy in his own bitterness and wretchedness
And in this moment his mind cools and he gleefully can watch again all the little lemming disappear into an abyss where none ever return from
Like a car wreck that cannot be avoided, and that everyone had a hand in
He sits and he ponders and he wonders, and his mind wanders into an endless night
While the sheep go to the slaughter house in single file and never find time to complain
He wonders even morosely as too why these free willed beings go so calmly to their demise
When they could just have easily chosen a safer path full of bright lights and smiles
There's just far too many, his hell is running out of room, and he can't stand this stupidity
No one commits crime for purpose, no one murders for purpose no one can even define purpose
in the end the arrow through his heart is tipped with poisons and he welcomes this
For in this he selfishly feels selfish again, happy in his own bitterness and wretchedness
And in this moment his mind cools and he gleefully can watch again all the little lemming disappear into an abyss where none ever return from
Honestly Stanley
"It's too bad about the world," he said, "so full of liars, and whores, and cheats."
I pondered this for a moment and made to respond
But he stopped me and continued, "So full of horror and anti-depressants, so full of stenches, and belches, and reactions to alcohol and drugs - prescription and recreational - so many avenues of hate, and not enough for love."
I nodded in a sort of half hearted agreement, and made to respond
"Its not enough for most people, and not even half the bare minimum for the rest," he continued on his one sided rant, "she sucks the dicks of a thousand men, in dreams and nearly in reality, she pleads herself a pleasant soul, while thrusts are jabbed against her inner bones."
I made again to say something, for something in this seemed wrong, but I couldn't, and I didn't, because I knew that he would not let me respond
And so he continued without protest,"They will tickle your funny bone, and massage your hot spots, releasing your inner desire, but they won't let you breathe without breathing in the cigarette infested soullessness of their own bullshit. They want to believe that they are the only ones who are not immune to being horrid and gentle all at once, under a certain light."
"Yes, yes I agree," I finally reponded.
The man turned to me confused, "Tell the truth tranquil traveler, who silent situatues some of himself while the world waits wondering what will wait with them on the other side of this thick thrashing avenue of obnoxious oblonged obliguqe obstacle. Tell me what the hell you agree with?"
I was dumbfounded and didn't know what to say.
"That's right little man," he responded to me,"Im waxing poetic, while being an idiot devoid of any sort of satisfaction, go ahead and light up yoru lies you lying son of a bitch."
I pondered this for a moment and made to respond
But he stopped me and continued, "So full of horror and anti-depressants, so full of stenches, and belches, and reactions to alcohol and drugs - prescription and recreational - so many avenues of hate, and not enough for love."
I nodded in a sort of half hearted agreement, and made to respond
"Its not enough for most people, and not even half the bare minimum for the rest," he continued on his one sided rant, "she sucks the dicks of a thousand men, in dreams and nearly in reality, she pleads herself a pleasant soul, while thrusts are jabbed against her inner bones."
I made again to say something, for something in this seemed wrong, but I couldn't, and I didn't, because I knew that he would not let me respond
And so he continued without protest,"They will tickle your funny bone, and massage your hot spots, releasing your inner desire, but they won't let you breathe without breathing in the cigarette infested soullessness of their own bullshit. They want to believe that they are the only ones who are not immune to being horrid and gentle all at once, under a certain light."
"Yes, yes I agree," I finally reponded.
The man turned to me confused, "Tell the truth tranquil traveler, who silent situatues some of himself while the world waits wondering what will wait with them on the other side of this thick thrashing avenue of obnoxious oblonged obliguqe obstacle. Tell me what the hell you agree with?"
I was dumbfounded and didn't know what to say.
"That's right little man," he responded to me,"Im waxing poetic, while being an idiot devoid of any sort of satisfaction, go ahead and light up yoru lies you lying son of a bitch."
An Open Letter to the Lady in Aisle 3
You know how you know but they don't
, you know how they care, but you don't,
you know how the squeeze the pleasantness right out of you with their apparent deciet,
Its not only fun to watch them squirm in the pleasantness of their lie,
It'll also be beautiful to watch the reaction when they discover that the truth is already known,
And that they will be silently judged for the rest of the time they are here,
This isn't a lie in itself, but a bold faced honest reaction,
You think you knew me, but you only knew half as well as you thought you did,
not even that, because even that is generous,
No in all brutal honest, you didn't even know a quarter of what I was,
You didn't understand that facade I put on to please you,
The lie i told, while you watched me squirm, and used what you thought was my truth,
You who smiles, and acts pleasant, and pretends they are good,
I hope when it becomes clear to you that im smarter than you'll ever be,
I hope you will realize that no one, and I mean no one is completely good,
No this is not a wish for pain for you,
This is a wish of satisfaction on my end that justice will be served for the many times you trespassed against me,
And leave God out of the discussion,
God as you pretend to know him, is sickened by his association with your tongue,
He the crutch you use,
Why?
I wish you not a horrible existence, I really hope you are happy,
I just can't wait for you to wake the fuck up,
This person that I am, this nice, kind person with a knife in his side,
This person is not completely good,
In fact I seek out the selfish things to, I lie too, I try too hard of course,
Do you not see me? of course you don't,
Your too busy thinking you have issues,
Lets compare issues for a second, lets compare our histories for a second,
Think about it, you don't get the excuse of having issues when I have probably worse issues but am behaving the way I am,
As a civilized human being, as a gentle nurturing person, no not devoid of agression, or bad habits,
But as a truthfully kind person, not just the hopes that i can be,
Stop lying to yourself,
Or I'll never have any respect for you.
, you know how they care, but you don't,
you know how the squeeze the pleasantness right out of you with their apparent deciet,
Its not only fun to watch them squirm in the pleasantness of their lie,
It'll also be beautiful to watch the reaction when they discover that the truth is already known,
And that they will be silently judged for the rest of the time they are here,
This isn't a lie in itself, but a bold faced honest reaction,
You think you knew me, but you only knew half as well as you thought you did,
not even that, because even that is generous,
No in all brutal honest, you didn't even know a quarter of what I was,
You didn't understand that facade I put on to please you,
The lie i told, while you watched me squirm, and used what you thought was my truth,
You who smiles, and acts pleasant, and pretends they are good,
I hope when it becomes clear to you that im smarter than you'll ever be,
I hope you will realize that no one, and I mean no one is completely good,
No this is not a wish for pain for you,
This is a wish of satisfaction on my end that justice will be served for the many times you trespassed against me,
And leave God out of the discussion,
God as you pretend to know him, is sickened by his association with your tongue,
He the crutch you use,
Why?
I wish you not a horrible existence, I really hope you are happy,
I just can't wait for you to wake the fuck up,
This person that I am, this nice, kind person with a knife in his side,
This person is not completely good,
In fact I seek out the selfish things to, I lie too, I try too hard of course,
Do you not see me? of course you don't,
Your too busy thinking you have issues,
Lets compare issues for a second, lets compare our histories for a second,
Think about it, you don't get the excuse of having issues when I have probably worse issues but am behaving the way I am,
As a civilized human being, as a gentle nurturing person, no not devoid of agression, or bad habits,
But as a truthfully kind person, not just the hopes that i can be,
Stop lying to yourself,
Or I'll never have any respect for you.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
The Ice Queen
there was a moment when she thought she'd have it all but that moment is gone replaced now by a hollow shell that won't let her breathe
She's suffocating and she cannot escape, she's dying but she can't be late for her meetings, whether or not they are important is up in the air,
But in the end she will face it all like a fading facade and she will tumble downwardly against many branches, she will be bruised and darkened,
And when she is so far gone, that her old self is seeping out of the edges of her shell, she will realize only then that she should have been somebody different.
You see her ambitions were heavy her deceptions were vivid and she longed for a life filled with coconut shampoo,
The world is fading, twisting and turning in on her and she won't release her grasp on her idealistic notions that she's a queen bee, when all she is is a queen bitch,
Don't you hear the sounds blasting through the ground, the demons and hell clawing for her while she talks about God, and love and peace and understanding,
She spouts off these lies while she shoves a knife in their backs, not a sharp knife, something dull and rusted, something that'll take hours to cut with, and will leave infections galore,
All the while the sun will rise, and she will hiss at it like a vampiric cat obsessed with her own diseases, because in that shell is isn't as immune as she thought,
We already told you the ending, she'll reach the eldest of ages and she will decrease in stature and fade into a gray nothing,
People will remark around her, but not about her, they will see her peripheral influence but nothing direct, where her hand had a role, they will claim aww's and wonders,
I don't know why she wouldn't just take things in stride, and just grow up with the rest of us, and stop trying to act all high and mighty,
Doesn't she realize that some place in this world there are people who are not meant for that life, no matter how much you want it,
She will slowly slumber, slumber down and down into her faded self, that mutilated dream, and no one will be there that truly wants to catch her,
Only a remnant of a shadow of a man who is seeing outside his windows.
She's suffocating and she cannot escape, she's dying but she can't be late for her meetings, whether or not they are important is up in the air,
But in the end she will face it all like a fading facade and she will tumble downwardly against many branches, she will be bruised and darkened,
And when she is so far gone, that her old self is seeping out of the edges of her shell, she will realize only then that she should have been somebody different.
You see her ambitions were heavy her deceptions were vivid and she longed for a life filled with coconut shampoo,
The world is fading, twisting and turning in on her and she won't release her grasp on her idealistic notions that she's a queen bee, when all she is is a queen bitch,
Don't you hear the sounds blasting through the ground, the demons and hell clawing for her while she talks about God, and love and peace and understanding,
She spouts off these lies while she shoves a knife in their backs, not a sharp knife, something dull and rusted, something that'll take hours to cut with, and will leave infections galore,
All the while the sun will rise, and she will hiss at it like a vampiric cat obsessed with her own diseases, because in that shell is isn't as immune as she thought,
We already told you the ending, she'll reach the eldest of ages and she will decrease in stature and fade into a gray nothing,
People will remark around her, but not about her, they will see her peripheral influence but nothing direct, where her hand had a role, they will claim aww's and wonders,
I don't know why she wouldn't just take things in stride, and just grow up with the rest of us, and stop trying to act all high and mighty,
Doesn't she realize that some place in this world there are people who are not meant for that life, no matter how much you want it,
She will slowly slumber, slumber down and down into her faded self, that mutilated dream, and no one will be there that truly wants to catch her,
Only a remnant of a shadow of a man who is seeing outside his windows.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
DRIVEN INSANITY. a novel. Prologue
Driven Insanity
Prologue:
~of all the shady places~
Marcus Fletcher was a mouse of a man. He stood six feet tall but you’d never know it the way he hunched forward, he wore thin wire framed glasses, and had an exceptionally long neck. His arms dangled down loosely, and like the rest of him overly long and gangly. His face was worn and blotchy, and his eyes always on alert. Marcus was a man of little to no significance; a glorified and overpaid accountant. Right now, Marcus Fletcher was nervous. You could see it on him, and you wouldn’t have to linger there to spot it. In dead silence you could have heard his bones rattling, his teeth chattering, and is intense labored breathing over and over.
The night previous Marcus had spent in a shady motel room on the outskirts of The City. There had slept in his suit, the very same faded gray thing he was wearing tonight. Before he shut his eyes after an hours long struggle to sleep, his overpriced outfit was still pressed, lint, and wrinkle free. Tonight, however it was a mess, ruffled, dirty and smelling of booze and cigarette smoke and this too would have been an accurate description of the man himself. An array of red stubble was forming around his cheeks and down and around his jaw line. It was safe to say Marcus was distracted.
Tonight before Marcus made his way to the run down motel, he decided to get another drink at the neighboring tavern which was the motels twin in shabbiness. A briefcase was clung to his chest, his arms embracing it like a lover he couldn’t live without. The hug he gave his suitcase while he entered a crowded bar was an accurate representation of his internal struggle. It has to be stated that Marcus Fletchers Achilles heel was alcohol. The man would take a bullet for another drink. Inside his body was wracked with nerves, with horrified indecision. He wanted to pass this place and never look back, but he could not. His body told him to get out, to run, but the booze told him to stay and it quieted his screaming nervousness into a nagging whisper.
The bar was a monumental cliché. Cigar and cigarette smoke rising thick and growing thicker. Everyone in that place was reducing their life spans by days, maybe weeks. And the alcohol flowed forth like an endless fountain, an underground spring erupting never ending from the bottom of the earth.
Marcus stepped inside, his steps heavy, his impulses battling his addictions, and his addiction winning, a deliberate B line he made to the bar, a slow but deliberate approach. The fog from the cancer sticks tunneling his vision. An elbow bumping a person here, his shoulder grazing there, and with each new touch a heavier weight sinking into his stomach, an increase of the force he clung to his briefcase. His glasses had slid to the tip of his nose ready to slide off his face, but he relinquished not one bit of his hold to fix them. Finally he arrived at the bar and as though an angel of mercy had descended, there was one empty space. As if a spotlight, a naked bulb dangled over that worn stool, and he bar called to him. With a great satisfaction he took his seat, the briefcase in his lap, his left arm lying on top of it, his free hand fumbled around in his pocket. After a moment a clean crisp new hundred dollar bill rested between his thumb and forefinger, raised, beckoning the sight of the pretty little thing passing out the poison and when her sight landed on him, his demons smiled.
“Scotch on the rocks, and keep ‘em coming.” She smiled her fake tip leeching smile and removed the hundred swiftly and poured Marcus his drink. He twirled the glass upon the bar, studying it, debating it. And with an urge of confidence he swallowed the poison. His demons were now excitable, satisfied, and aroused inside they tickled his ribs, and allowed him a smile on his brittle outside. Sighing with relief he held up the ice filled glass and shook it, the solid water clanking about. No sooner was one poured again that it was gone, in the last few months he had never felt such calm and satisfaction. He even managed to find humor in his situation, such as it was, and for the first time he’d felt he’d gotten away with it.
“You should slow down there guy.” Said a young fascinated voice. Marcus had just gulped down another and laughed shaking his head turning to the voice. “Are you celebrating something?” The young man asked. Marcus could see amusement on his face.
“Something like that,” he replied. He knew he was entering a stupor, but he tried to sound sober and confident. “Here let me get you something.” Marcus invited, he waved to the bartender, “get my friend here a..?” he looked to the twenty-something.
“Gin and tonic, thank-you.”
“As the drink was presented to him he sipped slowly. Marcus studied again his most recently poured glass.
“I notice you do that every one.”
“I do, don’t I.” A nervousness entered into his joke, because it was true, there was a warning sign flashing before him for a few seconds as he watched the ice dance and vanish. His demons however tickled him again and he couldn’t help but let in this faux joy.
“So what is it?” the young man asked.
“What’s what?” He replied taking his time to drink the next one, the scotch burning over his tongue like a gently flowing stream of lava.
“What are you celebrating?”
“Life. Having it. Living it. Just, being alive.” This time the glass came down on the bar still half there. Marcus was having doubts again. The arm on his briefcase was heavy and tired again. He was getting nervous and wary again. The demons were falling asleep.
“To being alive,” the young man said holding up his own glass, Marcus by habit brought up his and knocked it into the other. “To being alive.” He said as though lifeless, as if not believing his own words.
“Are you celebrating anything?” Marcus wanted to turn the conversation away from himself.
“Something like that.” The stranger shuffled in his seat, turning his body to point fully at Marcus, completely ignoring his unfinished drink. “You ever lose something,” he gestured almost theatrically with his hands, “and you look all over, day and night for it, you even try to retrace your steps. It makes you frustrated, because you think it’s gone forever. But then, then, you go back to the start, you feel defeated, and you are emotionally just drained and exhausted, and when you’ve given up looking you see the thing, sitting right, where, you started.”
Happens more often than you think,” Marcus added. “Like my car keys, you’re sure you left them sitting by the phone, but they are not there at first, but you go back and what do ya know, they were just under this, or over just a little bit.”
“Exactly!” he responded slapping Marcus on the shoulder a little too aggressively, “and all that anger just goes away and you laugh at yourself. It is such a fucking relief!” The young man’s voice rose above the roar of the bar, he was obviously ecstatic. “That’s what I’m celebrating. Being relieved.”
“Amen.” Marcus drank the last of his glass and made to get up, “I better go, I have a long day ahead of me.”
The same aggressive slap was now applied to pushing Marcus’ shoulders and him back into his seat. “Mr. Fletcher, you need to wait here.”
Suddenly the demons were no longer sleeping, in that instance the demons fled from within and Marcus found a controlled petrified chaos sober his mind.
“My name is Jeffrey Tallasky.”
Marcus could feel the color leave his face; he could feel the cold overtake his fingertips. Most importantly he felt his hold on the briefcase loosen to the point that wanted to drop it, and let it go. Hearing that name made Marcus value something more. His life.
“It’s almost time for last call.” Jeffrey said, “Go ahead get yourself another before its too late.” Jeffrey took a longer sip from his own drink. “Tell me something Mr. Fletcher why did you leave your wife and children for that whore?”
The only reason Marcus Fletcher was still in The City was because of Michelle Borden, a twenty four year old call girl who whispered she loved him, and everything else was a blur.
“She was a pretty little thing. She loved you I’m told.” Jeffrey laughed, “loved you. Tell me was it your idea or hers?”
“Mine.” Marcus’ hand shook as he brought his drink up. “She had nothing to do with it.”
“Now, I wouldn’t say that. I’d say she had lots to do with it. Motivation. She was motivation.” Jeffrey pointed out correcting Marcus. “Right?”
Marcus nodded forcefully. He knew the name Jeffrey Tallasky and with it he knew stories of horror, and knowing this littered his nerves with unshakeable terror. He had to find a way out of the situation. He ran his free hand through his hair leaning back; he watched the naked bulb burn in his eyes its ugly yellow light. The want to flee did not transfer to ability. He was immobile, crippled, and lost in the fear of this young man, this walking death.
“I need to piss.” Marcus said defiantly, he pushed his excuse through his grinding teeth.
“I wouldn’t doubt it, you haven’t pissed since you’ve been here, but we are going to sit her for another half hour, at least.” Jeffrey took a swig from the melted ice that now composed his gin and tonic. He took a cube in his mouth, “You should know I admire you, Mr. Fletcher.”
Marcus doubted it but Jeffrey continued, “It’s not just anyone who would steal from Dmitri Valkov. I admire the stomach a man would have to have, in order to rip off that son of a bitch. What I don’t admire.”
Marcus’ eyes drifted in other directions, his body cooperating with his mind to embody physically what he was thinking. Jeffrey punched him in the shoulder. Marcus’ attention returned.
“What I don’t admire is you betraying a man who pulled you out of the shit you called your life. And made you royalty,” Jeffry pushed his forefinger into Marcus’ forehead, “you were like a son to him. Did you even realize that?”
Marcus tried to respond, muttering over his words, but he was hushed by Jeffrey’s finger upon his lips. “We are not here to discuss, Mr. Fletcher, we are here to drink, and you are here to listen, I talk, there will be no discussions.” After he removed his finger, he grabbed a napkin from the counter and wiped down his finger in disgust. “I’ve heard all the apologies, all the begging, bargaining. So what kind of man would I be if I let you waste your breath like that? Drink.”
Marcus found that he had begun urinating, a steady stream began running down his right leg and dripping onto his shoe.
Last call went by and the people began to dissipate and thin out. Before long it was Marcus and Jeffrey along under that naked light. The bartender was washing off the counter tops, and she removed Marcus’ still full glass.
“Are you gonna be much longer?” her question was directed at Jeffrey.
“No Peggy. I’ll be wrapping things up.” Jeffrey smiled and winked at her, and she gave no attention to Marcus who must have looked like a ghost. And Marcus realized he wasn’t the first fool to hide here, that this was the regular safe haven, for dead men. Peggy knew what was happening; to her he wasn’t even here anymore.
“She knows you?”
“And I know her.” Jeffrey stood up casually, as though he did this every day. He gave another slap on the back, “and I don’t like to keep her here later than necessary. Let’s go.”
Marcus still held onto the briefcase out of impulse. It had been a safety net, such a security blanket to him. He remembered with a great struggle the promise of a perfect future. A future of sunny open beaches, and passionate sex with Michelle. A promise of ecstasy, and simplicity, of pleasure and calm. “No. I’m not going anywhere.” He said through gritted teeth. He had to be strong and defiant, but then the gun was pressed into his side, and he felt his confidence wither away like a dying flower. His nerves began to fall off, and become brittle.
“Get up Mr. Fletcher, or believe you me, I’ll make this as uncomfortable as possible.” The barrel pressed harder in.
Marcus moved at a turtle pace. Twisting his body, extending one leg and then the other down as he removed himself from the stool. He lifted his eyes to meet his oppressors, hoping to find something human in the eyes. In those eyes however he saw cold, calculated focus and upon the lips of this handsome face he could see an obvious smirk, some sign of joy, and this terrified Marcus to the core. And in that face his hope was leeched, however small it was, it was gone.
He made his way to the back door as if floating in slow motion. This was his death march, heavy his footsteps were, heavy his shoulders, heavy his everything. All of him drifting toward the inevitable, not wanting to but going anyway. He turned the door handle as best he could, his hands rattling the knob.
Outside was a dirty dingy alleyway, the wet pavement reflecting the lights of the towering buildings of The City. There was no one in sight but sitting there was a fancy black car, quietly parked in the shadows.
Jeffrey fumbled around in his pockets and removed a key as he directed Marcus to the car. “Turn around,” He commanded. Marcus did. “Hold out your hand.” Marcus did, and the key was dropped in it.
“Open it.” Jeffrey motioned to the trunk of the car.
Marcus didn’t want to, he felt a darkness coming from within, he knew whatever was there could not be good. He knew whatever happened after he turned the key would be the beginning of the end. Somehow he turned it, there had to be one ounce of hope left and he’d try to figure it out.
And then there she was. She was cold. A stiff remnant of herself. Just by looking at her he could feel her stiff body in his mind. His fear made way to rage. A bitter angry tear began seeping from his duct. “Why did you do this?”
“Me?!” Jeffrey was confused, and offended. He slammed the gun against Marcus’ forehead.
The blow sent Marcus to his knees, and he felt once again his defense fall down again, his acts of defiance fall through again. And his hopelessness grew again.
And Jeffrey continued, “don’t try and push this on me. You’re pathetic attempt to prove something, that’s why this had to happen. You pathetic fuck! Look at yourself, look where you are. Look at you still clinging to that case. It’s the reason she’s dead. And you’re on the ground covered in your own piss.”
“Did you do it?”
“We’ve already established that you did this. But I pulled the trigger, yes.”
Marcus tried to let out an animal urge, he made a swift movement to rise to his feet, but Jeffrey raised the pistol. Despite the fact he could either die defenseless or die defiantly, his hopes chose the former.
“There, there has to be something.” He pleaded.
Jeffrey let out a chuckle.
“I can return the money, pay it back with interest.” The desperation polluted him, he was sweating profusely.
“Get up.” Jeffrey aimed the gun steady and cold at his target, he directed him to the dumpsters next to the bars alleyway door. Marcus complied as he backed up against the cold rough bricks of the building; he could imagine his skin felt the same. “What if I kept the money, and let you go. Would you tell anyone?”
“No.” And he meant it, he would leave this ungodly place abandoned everything. “You know it’s probably more than they pay you to this shit. Take it.” He held out the briefcase with both arms extended in front of him. He didn’t see the holes in his logic; he was ready to accept any alternative solution.
“You know what I couldn’t do that to you. You worked so hard to earn that. Keep it.” And with that Jeffrey fired off two rounds, and two rounds passed through the briefcase, and two rounds passed into Marcus’ chest. He was dead instantly, his body had gone limp and he slid down the bricks his legs sprawled out before him. The briefcase lay in his lap two holes present.
Jeffrey walked to the body and stared for a moment at the nothingness behind the fear in the man’s eyes. He smiled, and spit on him. After removing the clip, he tossed the handgun in the dumpster, and returned to his car. He pulled the woman out, and dragged her to Marcus’ corpse. He sat her up next him, so that her head was lying on his shoulder. But then Jeffrey heard a ruffle of garbage bags. Someone else was here.
On the other side of the dumpster he found a homeless man wrapped in plastic bags sitting on top of an old warn blanket. He was filthy and smelled of shit and cat piss. “Have you eaten today?”
The old man shook his grizzled oily head; he was scared of Jeffrey, as if he’d seen him numerous times before.
Jeffrey returned to the bodies of Marcus Fletcher and Michelle Borden and took the briefcase from them. He gave it to the homeless man, “Go buy yourself some breakfast, but I wouldn’t stay around here with that if I were you.” And with that Jeffrey Tallasky climbed into his car and exited the scene.
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