Friday, April 29, 2011

Secrets in the Dark

It was the noise that broke through first............a loud humming,coupled with some violent jerks and bumps which knocked me around............as i opened my eyes,i could see nothing beyond the black that reached all around............like a dark ocean i was drowning in.i felt slow............discombobulated............


My head hurts............


A particularly violent bump,and i was floating in mid air............the world slowed down............i was floating in this dark sea of madness,and i am Sanity............i am Coherence............i am Madness.


Until i crashed back onto the floor of the trunk.pain ripped through my body,but i welcomed it,it was a familiar friend,an old friend,and it helped me to focus.


As consciousness took its place back in the drivers seat,i came to a very simple and obvious conclusion.i was trapped in the trunk of a car.no points for guessing the obvious.


My head really hurts.


I have no idea how i got here.hell i dont even know who i am.


I stretched out as far as I could,trying to get a feel of my surroundings,and winced.My right hand hurt like(a broken mirror,a million images,none clear) hell,a few small cuts on his knuckles and fingers.Probably nothing,but someone had gone to town on my head. blood trickled down my neck,my hair, matted with blood.


In my pant pockets i find a wallet,feel through it,but im blind here,so i move on.

I look through my jacket pockets and find a lighter and a pack of death sticks.i flick open the lighter,and while lying down on my side on the floor of a trunk,i go through my wallet by the flickering yellow light.some money,credit cards and a Police Identification Card.


Detective Jack (jacky boy) Dreyfus.


A piece of my life falls into place.i was a Narc,and i was good.i had been a Detective for only a few months but i already had 2 major busts under my belt.was this some form of retribution?a rough bump,and the lighter fails me,and i am plunged back into the darkness.


The headache takes over again and i close my eyes,wishing it away.


As it passes ,i resume my search, but stop as my hands brush over a leather strap.i follow it to feel what seems to be an empty holster(i can almost feel the cold of the gun,the power that accompanies it,the reassuring recoil when i fire...and i know i am Death).


Alright Jack,you need to think yourself out of this,so lets start by how you got in here the first place.


Memories.some should be cherished,some should locked up in a dark place where it can either die off or fester into something sinister.


(He remembered...his first toy gun that his dad had bought him for his third birthday.jacky boy could still see him standing at the door,wearing his suit,straight out of a day at court,while his mom was still teaching at college.he told jacky boy that it would be their little secret,and jacky boy loved secrets.)


No,thats not what i was looking for.it was hopelessly dark,but i groped around,looking for some clue.


(He remembered...his partner Dan,his wife Maureen and their daughter sweet Debra.He had gone to their house for dinner.He was standing at their front door and sweet Debra had opened the door.He was taken aback.She was exquisite.Her skinned glowed with innocence ,her eyes were grey with flecks of green,like a distant storm.she was the peace before the storm.they sat down to dinner,and were soon swept up by Dans wonderful stories and infectious laughter.Later Dan had pulled Dreyfus away from the others and asked him if everything...was...alright...?)


The image faded away...


Something was wrong,something was missing.as i lied on my stomach,now accustomed to the gentle rocking(highway?),i racked my brain for an answer...


(He remembered...talking to Dan outside a warehouse they were about to raid that belonged to the Mob.Dan told him that there were some very rich people willing to share their wealth a little bit.Dreyfus was tempted,but he didn fold.Dan was pissed.words were exchanged.honest cops dont earn much,and their kids go to community college,but Dan wanted more.he wanted a better life for his family.he wanted to send sweet Debra to a good college.she had the grades,he did not have the money.when they cooled down,Dan had invited him home,no hard feelings,still buddies.)


Had Dan traded my life for 30 pieces of silver?was it worth the risk to aid in the murder of a Police Detective?the heat would come down hard on him and his Mob buddies.surely,no one could be that stupid...


But then again,from what i remember,i live alone,no relatives and i ran away from home(SECRETS IN THE DARK) long ago...


The realisation set me off in a frenzy of movement.I started groping around,looking for a weapon of some sort. in my desperation,I started slamming my shoulder against the lid,again and again.


Calm down jack,you dont even know where you are.you could be halfway across the city(the gentle rocking?) by now.


I tried to focus,groping around the darkness for the lighter.i was hoping to use it to find something to defend myself,but then my head exploded in white hot pain,like a firecracker,burning out of my eyes...and the darkness gave way as the doors of my mind opened up.


(He remembered...his parents were dead,plane crash.He had cried when he heard,but not since.he was now living with his aunt and uncle.they were different.his aunt was indifferent to him but his uncle loved jacky boy...his uncle took jacky boy fishing,taught him to hunt deer,took him to his cabins in the wood and introduced him to a world of cigarettes,whisky,weed,pornography...and secrets in the dark jacky boy...)


The light faded,and soon it was just me in the dark of the trunk.I was opening doors i had tried to close years ago,but it was a part of me.that cabin was a playhouse of horrors,and i was taken there repeatedly.my uncle threatened to kill me if i ever spoke out about it,so i suffered through until i couldnt any more.when i turned 13,i ran away from home and found my way to a relatives house,far from the horrors that had plagued my childhood.but my secrets followed me everywhere.


After some cajoling,I managed to pull out the wheel nut wrench and the jack(y boy).I laughed out loud,I laughed like a maniac.(hardy har har,jokes on me.gods a fucking comedian.)but i laughed into a darkness that was neither threatened nor amused by my insanity.The dam had broken and memories flooded through...



(He remembered...his college girlfriend,she dumped,they fought,she stabbed him in the leg with a kitchen fork...

Her smile as he screamed...

Jacky boy raped her on their dorm room floor,with her hands pinned to the floor and sock in her mouth...in his ecstasy he slit her throat,and as the blood spurted out all over him,he felt cleansed of his sins...

More importantly...he felt power.

She was not the last.there were more,hookers and homeless women mostly,women of the night.women who would not be missed.as he worked his way through college and the Force,he ended many lives at the edge of his blade.They always begged...jacky boy always smiled before he killed them...because he knew the shame they were living through...and he wished his uncle had done the same to him years ago...but he was not his uncle...he was Merciful...

A close call,he was nearly caught once,a year ago.he had stayed low since then...but the Secrets had resurfaced tonight...

Sweet Debra...

He had entered her bedroom as she was getting ready for bed...innocent,glowing...she saw the hunger in his eyes and ran to the bathroom...he reached there before she could close the door...Dreyfus caught her by the hair and slammed her head against the bathroom mirror and a part of his hand got caught between her head and the shattered mirror...

He threw her down and stole her innocence..a mirror shard,one jagged stroke across the neck and he felt the ecstasy and power racing through him...

Dan burst in...the tears,the anger in his eyes...a struggle...

darkness)


Friday, April 22, 2011

The Sound of her Wings

Winds rise and fall, unbiased to its victims,

The empires rise and fall, indifferent as I walk through its ruins.

She was there, when I first held a child, when I first gave life back to the forgotten,

She was there, when I last saw the living, when I watched the final sins.


This hand grows sore, my cane splintered.

The days meld into one,

A timeless interplay of light and dark,

This mind grows weak, my soul severed.

I have walked for long,


So let her come, and I will greet her gladly.


This world grows red, its darkest alcoves plunged into light,

The twilight brings sanity to its brink,

A peaking burst of reason through the chaos of time,

This skin grows parched, my flesh rotten,

I have seen the death of gods,


So let her come, and I will greet her gladly.


This forsaken journey, devoid of reason or rhyme,

This ancient mind, full of bitterness and torment,

What has the world come to, that knowledge means agony.


So let it come, and he will greet it gladly.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Drown

I blink through the dark grey haze,
Staring at the blurry shapes that watch me,
My silent lips begging for mercy,
As they whisper consolations incoherently.

Does it affect them because they care or do they care because it affects them?

I blink through the sinking sands,
Staring at the selfish reflections that are frowning,
They spare me a pitiful glance,
I pity their flawed minds that writhe around in the filth of their lives

Are they alone or am i of their kin?

I feel the tremors of the collapsing towers,
I smell the putrid smoke fill the sky above
I hear the wailing of my dying dream,
And i see the shape of this fucked up humanity,
Grow clear as a finger is dipped into the water,
An innocent taunt by an innocent child,
Before i drown completely.


Monday, April 18, 2011

The Tree of Liberty

Give me your young,and I will water the tree.
The blood of patriots will nourish the soil.

And from this will dreams be born.

Shall ambition take shape,and cries fill the night.
Not for help,but for glory.
Not in pain,but for freedom.

Bells shall sound in the streets
Liberty!men will shout as they take up arms,
proud, Now!serve your Nation!
Equality!mothers cry,as they bid adieu.
They leave boys,to return as Heroes!
Fraternity!sisters sing,for they will not be left behind!

Blood flows like a River of War,
the streets share the pain.
For now the tyrants are dead,gone,
and all that remains are the scars.
But this is not the Nation we dreamed of.
Women and children lay cold,never to move again.
The laughter,once so free,is now gone.
It was all for naught.


Loot!Plunder!Pillage!
This is now the cry they take,
for the smoke has cleared,
and the tyrant is you.

The Tree of Liberty,deep has it fallen.
Felled by the hands that sowed its seeds.
For this is the true story of Revolution.

Kings and Parliaments,Presidents and Ministers,
can all change.

But Man,
Man will stay the same.


Now,give me your wise,and the honest,so few.
And I will Build.


The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots & tyrants-Thomas Jefferson

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Monster

I ran after him.My feet pounding on the soft ground as I tried to catch up with him.He looked back,his eyes red as the depths of Hell.My arms were swinging hard,trying to create more momentum,trying to catch up.


I could hear the wind whistling in my ears as I inched closer ,till i could almost reach out and grab him.

The Demon was fast,but i could sense its fear.I could always sense their fear,it was something almost primal and yet so human.


It turned quickly,dodging trees and rocks,trying to lose me in the underbrush,but I wasnt going to let it go.I had been watching this one for a while,tracing its movements,following it around,tracking it,waiting for the opportune moment to strike it down.


I am Gods Left Hand.


I knew what he was,though he might seem completely normal to you.I could see beyond his flesh to the Demon within.He was a monster and I will banish him from this Realm like every other one of them.They walk amongst us,flithy beasts,trying to corrupt us and destroy us,but their ilk will not survive for long.I will not let them.


He was running for the streets,to civilization where he would be safe.He was fast,and i was going to lose him.My bag was slowing me down,so I let it slip off my shoulders,and sprinted forward.I saw the wall up ahead.If it scaled the wall,there would be nothing I could do.I would lose it,and it would go on to maim some innocent life,filthy beast.


I am the Hunter.


I felt a surge of energy as I tried to close the gap,i felt the His touch,urging me forward,to do his will.I was nearing it,but would I be fast enough?


It reached the wall and leapt for the ledge.I was but a few steps behind it and now i caught it by the scruff of the collar and jerked it back.


I am His Vengance.


I dragged it back to the woods,I couldnt take it far.It was kicking and screaming but they always do.I didn have much time, we were at the edge of a park, and there was a good chance someone would hear us.I punched it in the face a few times to shut it up and then ran to get my bag.


My time was running out,i didn have long.I had to make this quick,and I usually love to take my time.i pulled out the Silver Cross.Bright in the dark,it glowed with a holy light.Bought from an antique store, it was as long as my forearm,heavy and covered in intricate design.I had used it several times before,and it had never failed me.


I am a Saviour


He was coming out of his daze now,so I had to end it soon,I had no time for the usual prayers and Holy Water rituals.I was sure now someone had heard us and the authorities would be here too soon for comfort.


I walked upto it and looked deep into its red eyes.I brought the cross in front of it but it barely flinched,filthy beast(was it Fear i saw?No only ANGER,HATRED).i brought the heavy cross down on his head with as much force as i could muster.i brought it down with great frenzy,hitting it again and again.It wailed into the night,but had no time to even defend itself.its screams were so primal but almost human.


Almost...


Its blood tainted my clothes and cleansed my spirits as i bludgeoned it to death.It was almost done.I bathed in the white light that surrounded me,the Lords will has been done.


As the screaming sirens approached,I watched as the red from his eyes faded away,revealing the light brown underneath.



I am a Monster.


PARK KILLER CAUGHT RED HANDED

Local police late Tuesday captured a murder suspect wanted in the recent National Park slayings after a 911 call reporting screaming led them to them to the latest murder site.

Patrol units found Samuael James, 45, at 10:15 p.m. Tuesday, kneeling over the body,holding a cross, Canyon Police Chief Dale Davis said in a statement issued just before midnight.

Investigators have been searching for the Park Killer for over a year now.He has been known to use a heavy metal object to beat his victims to death.The latest murder of the unidentified victime would be number 6 in this string of gruesome murders.


James was arrested without incident and was taken to the Randall County jail, where he remains today. Further details about the arrest were unavailable early today,but sources say that the authorities expect a full confession for the murders of Ryan Lopez,19,Virginia Jackson,37,Allison Banner,26,Jack Mcgee,46 and an unidentified male,33.


"We serial killers are your sons, we are your husbands, we are everywhere. And there will be more of your children dead tomorrow"-Ted Bundy

Warsong

The transience of everything in the known universe can sometimes stop you in your tracks. Time has an uncanny ability to twist and contort every element in one’s life into something different, something unfamiliar, something, corrupted by the predictable characteristics of humanity. The same beings that claim sentience and define laws of wrong and right onto the environment live their lives, expressing their lack thereof.

----------

He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the massacre around him. But it was not to be. The destruction and agony that his homeland had suffered could not just be ignored by blocking ones sight. He could hear, smell, feel, the cries, blood and tremors that ran through the valley. Even the sky seemed to know of the horror that had taken place. The clouds blocked out the sun, throwing the lands into a pale red light. He willed his feet to move, placing one shaky foot after the other, hobbling across the carnage. His hands shaking uncontrollably.

The glowing white sands that once blanketed the valley was now stained deep crimson with the blood of his brethren. The tree barks were replaced by the protruding wooden splinters. The tranquility of life and vitality that the kingdom once had was replaced by the chaos of the motionless. Bodies of his comrades lay strewn on the battlefield like paper dolls, carelessly thrown onto the ground by a child.

He managed to stumble for a few feet more before he could go no further. He knelt to the damp earth and cried for the once silent lands because they were now screaming in an agony that reverberated through his own soul.
But as he let his fingers sink into the red soil, he watched as the wind blew over the ground, carrying a new layer of dirt. The white soil sifted silently across the cracked and tormented land, masking the blemishes with a light layer of earth. He got up to his feet, blinking away tears and nodded silently to himself. Time changes everything.

In the Time of Need

The clamoring sounds of the hasty footsteps echoed along the long dark corridor. A loud banging. A deep growl. The whole castle was awake now.

A flickering light emerged at one end of the corridor, footsteps growing louder.
A balding man, walking as fast as his faded robes would allow him,

emerged, holding a faded candlestick. The hot wax streamed down his fingers, dripping onto the faded tiles. But he seemed unaware.

Up two hundred faded steps. Past three faded doors. He finally reached the only hope.

The locker seemed as old as it was supposed to. The wood, as faded as the rest. He frantically shoved the rusted keys into the rusted hole,

hoping it was the right one. The key was right. But would the spell be?

Groping for his dusty spectacles he placed the book on the dusty table.
As he delicately sifted through the ancient tome, his exigency overcome by awe, he heard another pair of footsteps retracing his own, another candlelight reinforcing his own.

A young man, burst into the room. Gasping for breath, holding onto the door frame.

"The beast has almost got through the doors! The Holy water of the spring is powerless! What can we do, father?!"

"Leave our prayers to the elders. And hope they have not left us to the hands of this nightmare." Eyes did not leave the parched paper. Hands did not leave the dusty surfaces. Expression did not betray any fear. The young one seemed to tremble with every loud thud that echoed around the castle.

The old one could not allow his hands to tremble.

Finally a crash and a scream. An unearthly roar shook the foundations of the castle . His hands moved with more urgency, his calm now unsettled.

The pages seemed to speak about faith, and good. What about the dark?

The pages mentioned strength and discipline. What about the source?

There seemed to be none. But there was a spell.

Ahh.....the spell! To ask the elders to lend their strength. He had it.

He gazed up confidently at the quivering youth."I have it."

They hurried back down the stairs, and into the corridor, trying to ignore the screams. The roaring grew louder. Was he getting frightened as well? What could he do, when even the flames trembled around their wicks, when even the solid walls shook with disbelief. But, the spell….the Elders do not fear. He won’t either.

They reached the entrance hall. The sparkling grand door had been shattered. The sacred marble fountain had been blackened. The holy flames threw sinuous shadows across the bloody golden rugs. The roaring had stopped. It was replaced by the steady sound of the demon breathing, like the bellows of a forge, the dark breath of hell sucking life out of the fires.

The two turned to the glossy spiral staircase, that led to the second floor. There, perched on top of the rail, was the demon. Dark, almost black with horns twisting malevolently outward, claws dripping with blood of the holy and wings spread, throwing everything around into darkness.


The old man hesitated, spectacles slipping quietly off his finger. The youth stiffened, quietly reaching out to a shard of the marble fountain, ready to fend for himself. The old man held out a quivering hand, the sacred thread dangling dangerously.


"Don't be a fool." He reached into his robes, pulling out a faded locket, shaped like the staff of the elders. A circle, a line, a semi circle. The symbol of power.

With the same quivering hand he reached out to the demon, looking into its burning eyes.

The demon growled quietly, unsure of what the misinformed old fool had deluded himself to believe.

The old man, whispered, sure that the elders will grant him the strength.

Amron, Belurith athovaer ce brogardia et puritier mur voce.

The demon stood, snarling. Annoyed with the mindless faith with which the old man raised the meaningless symbol, uttered his meaningless incantations.

Amron, Belurith athovaer ce brogardia et puritier mur voce!

The demon leaped off the rail, gliding across to the blackened fountain. With a final desperate flourish the old man screamed again..


AMRON BELURITH, ATHOVAER CE BROGARDIA ET PURITI-

But the last words were cut off by the demons blazing claws. He was struck down into the ground, the holy symbol of eternal power clattering feebly onto the blood splattered floor. His faded robes fluttered slightly before they too turned motionless. His faded spectacles lay cracked, near his faded talisman. His faded book lay ripped open next to the faded candlestick. And the youth fell along with them all.

Friday, April 15, 2011

The Intricate Mind Part 1

The Lies of Man,
The Truth in God.
The Con of Man,
The Lie is God.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Insomnia

You never know how important sleep is.you think you know,but you really don't.I'm sure your thinking 'pfft that's not true,i love to sleep and i know its important' but I'm not implying that you don't know if its important or not...

Its the degree of importance.


Think you know better than me?try not sleeping for three days and then hit me back.


The air is stale,with the stench of sweat mixed with general lack of human hygiene,forming a humid odour so foul,its a battle to keep the vomit down.


I hate trains.


Its not the rocking,the crowd,the dirt,the noise,etc.that i hate.its the mixture of it all.like a bad dish made by an indifferent hand and left to rot.


I cant sleep.


I close my eyes,praying for a miracle.I'm beyond the point where i hope sleep will come.at this point I'll take a derailing or a stabbing.anything to bring the darkness.everything around me seems to be in constant motion,like an eternal merry go round.I'm trapped in the playground,but that's not too bad.


Probably because you are too.


I play music on my headphones,my quite expensive headphones,trying to find my peace,but nothing seems right.try as i might,i cant find that perfect song,the one that's right.you know like a hot bath after hard work, a cold glass of water on a hot day.


The lips of a love,missed.


The train seems to be groaning,maybe its realised its own pathetic life.going from point A to B its whole life,no room for ambition.but now I'm rambling.who cares about the train and its ambitions.what am i talking about,trains cant have ambitions.why cant they have ambitions?maybe cause they're fuckin inanimate,you dumb piece of shit.


I need to sleep.


My eyes are burning,i can feel the strain on them.deprive yourself of enough sleep and its almost like you're a little stoned.nothing matters,no one matters.push it too far and you can go a little crazy.take me for instance.i want to kill the man sleeping on the lower most bunk.


I feel the bile rising to the back of my throat.


I fight it down,but I've only won the battle.the stench is so strong,i can almost taste it,i die with each breath.the train must be full,filled with villagers returning to the city for work,poor and hungry,probably supporting a host of people and families back home.


Fuck 'em.


I cant stand him.his every breath seems to be amplified and directed at me.i think ill punch him to death or throw him out at an incoming train.


I must try and not enjoy that.


On the bunk opposite to me,there is a girl.its hard to say but shes one of the ugliest women iv seen in my life,and I've seen my fair share.every move she makes sets off an alarm of bangles and a million tiny bells on her skirt.why couldn't she just wear a neon sign that said 'kill me,I'm a virgin',it would hurt me a lot less,and incidentally,her as well.


I cant sleep.


I think the man in the lower most bunker is a likely candidate for the first execution.if you cant stop snoring,get it fixed.there must be a breaking point to a persons resistance to bullshit.a line that shows the point of no return.where the rabbit hole begins...


I cant take it anymore.the stench,the noise,the motion all together is too much for me.i dive headfirst into the rabbit hole.i climb down from my bunk,and wrap my fist with my belt,making sure the buckle is facing out.


I try not to enjoy it.


Finally,a measure of peace.A lot of blood though.my right hand is covered in it,and my shirt is drenched,but my eyes aren't burning anymore.everything recedes as i return to my bunk.


I welcome the darkness.


I wake up to the sudden stop of the brake.everybody is bustling about,after all it is the last stop.bangle girl gets down,sounding like the Angelus bell of a million churches going off together.maybe i should've killed her,i think to myself.that's when i realised the lack of commotion.i want you to understand that i never forgot about the man in the lowermost bunk,i owe my sleep to him.i could never forget him!but the least people can do is care.i mean there's a dead man in your cabin.i look down and i see this chap gathering his belongings nonchalantly.so i guess it was all a dream after all.probably dozed off early last night,and 3 days sleep caught up on me.truth be said,i still feel really tired.


i look down at myself and see my hand covered in blood.my shirt,my neck, my face...all of it.and yet no one notices.i get off the train and onto the platform and still not even a second glance.i must be dreaming.i must still be asleep.this cant be reality.this cant be real.have i lost my mind?i doubt my sanity now,my ability to think rationally.i need to come back to the real word.I'm trapped in this...this dream...this nightmare.



i cant wake up.

Monday, April 11, 2011

Alive

A part of him wanted to die in the operation theatre.

Drugged up,unconcious...

Painless.

A part of him hoped,as the OR nurse told him to count back from 10 with the mask over his mouth,to never wake up,to never come back to reality.

But he survived.

The procedure was simple,and his condition would have been life threatening about 200 years ago,but he still kinda hoped all the same. Instead he came back to a bleak hospital room overflowing with excessively worried people,fussing and preening over him.

He walked out of the hospital doors with these thoughts running through his head,and was hit by the cold wind,like an icy splash of water that jerked him out of his reverie. He wrapped his scarf around his mouth and pulled his jacket a little closer around him,trying to keep as warm as possible.

He did not consider himself some suicidal maniac nor was his life so depressing that he felt he could not solve his problems other than by death. He just wanted to escape.

And its not like im gonna throw myself in front of the next bus,he thought to himself.

The streets were crowded with people making their way to work,carrying on with their lives. Crowds bustled about like they did everyday,every week and every year. He looked around for a cab,but found none. As he trudged forward,he pulled his scarf tighter around his face,finding little mercy from the wind.

When he woke up after the surgery,he was more surprised than scared. Nurses bustled about,poking and proding at him every now and then,but for the most part he was left to his own dark thoughts.

And so he pondered his existence...

Now as he walked amongst the living once more,he felt distant. He felt like the normal world,with its obsession with fashion and technology could not grasp his grim view on life.

What do they know of pain and suffering? Or so he thought.

As he neared the corner of the street,his eyes fell on a vagabond leaning against the wall. The man was in his late thirties and wore his scruffy clothes with particular indifference.his hair was matted and dirty,and there were pieces of food stuck in his beard and he had in his hand,the obligatory tin can. Most striking was the cardboard sign he wore around his neck. The sign was like most,hand drawn without much care but it was the question itself that called attention. Like most signs of similar nature,this one too asked a question that was witty and thought provoking at the same time.As he neared the hobo and smirked as he read the sign,he thought to himself,

Now heres a guy who knows what it feels like to be me!

He stopped for a second and pulled out a roll of 100 dollar bills from his jacket pocket and started flipping through it,before stopping himself.

Lets not get carried away,he thought to himself.

He replaced the roll,and the fumbled through all his pockets,untill he came upon a crumpled 20 dollar bill,the smallest denomination he had. He dropped the bill in the cup and said," You take care,man."

The homeless man smiled his wide,slightly toothless smile and replied,"Thanks bro!"

He flinched a little as a wave of cheap booze,dried vomit and general oral degeneration washed over him,and fought his gag reflex.Quickly though,he regained himself,flashed a smile and turned to cross the road.

As he turned and stepped on the road,he was jerked back by the scruff of his jacket. The bus blazed past him,out of control,moving so fast his scarf and jacket whipped around him in a fury.

He should have died.

As he staggered back,the homeless man,with his unmistakable stench,and hand still on the collar of the jacket asked him,

"You okay,bro?"

Still caught in a daze,these words barely cut through to him as he looked around at the crowd forming around him,till his eyes fell on that eloquent cardboard sign.

Yes,it felt good to be alive.

Sun On Her Strings


"Beautiful."
These are the only words that ever come to my mind whenever I look at my guitar.
It's the time of day when the sun's almost about to set, and for as long as I live, I shall never fail to be amazed at just how mysterious this normally mundane world can become, when darkness and light are but concepts to be ignored, and the reality is a wondrous intertwining of the two.

Twilight. It's my favorite time of the day, and though I'm sure the word has been demonized in the minds of millions of scornful men around the world by the overly hormonal writings of oneStephenie Meyer, I stand by it.

So, to the story.
---------------------------------------------------------------------

The world all around me seems afire with shadow, cold and warmth conveyed in equal measures. The sun shining through the window with light as red as blood. I idly strum away at her and am rewarded by an unappealing minor chord. I frown and curse under my breath. Today had been uninspired to say the least.

I abandon my pick, and set my fingers upon her strings. Cold to the touch, but warm as only metal or the skin of a lover could ever hope to be. As I hunch over her, I'm immersed in shadow. The only light on any part of me, shines on the guitar in my hands, a limb as vital as any other I possess. I try to bring to mind the compositions made in days gone by, but fail as it seems is my particular curse to do.
I sit in silence, occasionally making a beginning, but always falling short of cohesion. Try as I might, there didn't seem anything I could compose, that wouldn't seem clich├ęd or was good enough to pass muster. I fell back against the couch, and in let my guitar fall flat across my knees.

I stewed in the silence, dejected. It was pretty much a first for my mind to fail me so entirely at this.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Authors Note: I picked up my metaphorical pen after two months at this point. So you'll understand if the story lacks a little umm... oomph.
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My eyes wandered, trying to escape from the failure at hand. And when that failed as well, I let my eyes fall back down.
And my heart skipped a beat.
Let me be clear. My guitar, though she isn't the fanciest one around, is something I love too much to able to describe in words. To say she was a part of me would be an understatement. My need to breathe dulls in comparison to my need for her.
Even so, it was in that moment, when I looked down at her, that I truly grasped just how beautiful she was. My Willow. My singing tree. The twilight sun, caressed her lush curves ever so softly, the darkness accentuating what the light could not. Caught between two worlds, there stood my Willow.
To say that inspiration exploded in my mind would be a fallacy. It wasn't an 'Eureka' moment.
It was so much more.
I picked her up, reverently, and placed my fingers on the strings. And I began to play.
The music flowed from her, and from me by extension. I no longer existed. I fell into her so completely as to lose myself in the warmth of her touch. And the music flowed. An eternal river flowing from infinity to infinity. Or so it felt to me, lost in the storm, searching for the eye.
And so it went. When I finally re-emerged, I could do nothing for a long time after but stare in wonder at her. My Willow. I love her so.
As the sun fell over the horizon, the last of it's rays touched on her strings. To my eyes, she was bathed in light. And so I see her, and so I shall, till the end of my days.

Fin

P.S. - As odd as it may seem to attach so much meaning to a piece of wood strung with metal, almost every guitarist you'll ever meet will feel the same. Or maybe they won't. But I've always felt that unless you hold true love for the instrument you carry, you aren't a real musician.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

All in a Smile

The walls around me,bleak,
speak of sorrow,forgotten.
Forgotten by all save for those who suffer.
Tonight,i suffer too.

She was pristine,perfect.
Telling me of better times,
when the sky was not as dark,
when it felt good to be alive.
Why do you suffer with me?

The darkness calls,its promise of peace,
tempting.
Veiled in lies,the darkness lies.
She is the light,so pristine.
So perfect.
Where will i be,when the sun strikes set?

It rips inside me,leaves me lesser,leaves me dying.
She holds me closer,
and the light breaks through.

And all you brought was a smile.

The Chameleon

He is a chameleon
Ever changing, never himself

The Arrogant Red

The swagger he carries
Portrays his insolence perfectly
Overflowing with vanity
Concealing his humility


The Humble Green
He could be obedient
Respectful as well, and
Though he seemed hesitant
In truth he was just indifferent


The Indifferent Brown
He was a loner at times
Unconcerned, distant, detached
He was forlorn, I swear
Yet for some he did care


The Caring Yellow
The Excited Blue
The Romantic Pink
The ...


Was it all a hoax?
We may never know
For what his true color is
He does not show
Drop the veil son, they say
Be the true you
But no.


He is a chameleon
Ever changing, never himself.





Monday, April 4, 2011

Bane


My name is not important.

Isn't that sad?
19 years of a life so wasted...that my name isn't important. I could be Steve, Joe or Barney the fucking dinosaur it doesn't matter.

Fuck this. Let me start over.

There are 6 billion people in the world. 6 billion different lives, ambitions and goals.

Doesn't the monotony of it all make you sick?

But what am I, in this world? I'm no more than a speck of dust, a conflicted mind, another rebel with nothing to fight for, another voice which no one heeds.you wouldnt notice me.

i wouldnt notice me.


Let me tell you a little secret...lean in close, so it's just between THE TWO OF US...enter my mind,take the tour,watch your step...

The last ones a doozy.

If theres good in us all,surely evil exists as well,like a mischevious cousin waiting to pull out the carpet from under your feet.i know this because i live with this conflict.i know i have a side that wants to choke the prick who thinks its funny to blow smoke in my face and drown those annoying women with squeaky voices.maybe that makes me crazy.call the men in white coats,we've got a madman on our hands...

But a man who is insane will never doubt his sanity...so what does that make me?
I'm trapped in a constant cycle of thoughts that race through my head as this unstoppable force inside me tries to rear it's head, tries to break out of me. It threatens to destroy me and my world around me. I'm trapped in an hourglass of my own thoughts as I destroy myself. The weight of my mind is heavy, it buries me, the sand pouring down, it suffocates me...protects me AND NURTURES ME.

The glass threatens to break. It wants to come out. It wants to play.

In destruction I find salvation, in the midst of the ruins I erect a new life. The darkness is pierced only by the brightest of lights.

I have accepted my weakness as my strength. I can never understand what lies inside me, and I don't want to. But I can channel it, use it.

I am my biggest weakness. I am the only thing that can stop me.

There are 6 billion drones living their lives , dreaming their dreams. I am not one of them.

I am more.The world will suffer my existence.

You will hear my voice as I scream my name.

They will know me.

I am Bane.

Saturday, April 2, 2011

Hope


I sit alone,


Draped in the curtains of Reminiscence
Stitched a misty memory a time
Stained with wretched pride and pretense;
If only my broodings would cleave away
The failings that hold me in their sway.

So I hope.


I sit uneasily,

Resting upon the hill I’ve scaled alone
A throne Ive built of my fallacies
I gaze longingly at the sights below:
Twirling pathways of pleasing possibility
At each end a different person to be.

Yet, less unproven than the present one
Uncertainty is writ over my Decisions,
Never easy, the trail one chooses to run
I lament that in looking so far ahead,
The first stride, sadly, falls to dread.

Yet I hope.


I sit impotent,

With vain visions of ventures and victory;
Is the clenching of past splendor futile?
My words are no more gallant; so suddenly,
Rendering all Ive done harrowingly hollow,
I utter a valediction, to set a schism to follow.

And as I finally take the first step down
Alas, my kingdoms, they turn to sand;
My heart feels the foretaste of a frown
As their sifting whimpers of decay torment me
It is hard; but I only look ahead, to what will be.

And I hope.