Thursday, January 28, 2010


I wish that
Here we go ‘round the mulberry bush
He would explain
And a hug around the neck

The man with the leatherface
Burnt the leaves in the summer
How she loved that smell
And the charred remains


I want that
Skip to my loo my darling
He would have loved me
She’ll be coming ‘round the mountain
Like he would a child
When she comes

And his mistake was grave
Buried the corpse of his soul
In a young one’s body
And she carried his unborn baby
For twenty two years

I need that
Jack be nimble, Jack be quick
Leatherface is burning
Jack jump over the candle stick
With the leaves
Mary, Mary quite contrary
But not in the forest
How does your garden grow?
In Hell

Because I was afraid
And everywhere that Mary went
And alone
The lamb was sure to go

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

The Dream: Cont.

The last bite of his food often disgusted him. This habit was similar to another trait seemingly born of the same psychological setback. He would often read a novel until the ending neared. This behavior that had manifested in many things unfinished had happened often enough, and persisted an adequate amount of time that it forced him to ponder the reason behind it. He had wondered for years if this terrible habit meant that he was subconsciously afraid of dying, but had ultimately concluded that he felt more apt to die than to live.
As a boy in his later teens, his scattered thoughts coalesced into a philosophical conclusion that it was possible he was merely thinking of heaven through a desire so soiled and tattered it was hard to understand it's identity or purpose. What he wanted out of life he was always unsure of. All he ever knew of his desire was that it would take him back to boyhood, a time before the spider and the web, to his fascination with the slow little caterpillar, and to the dreams in the quiet eyes of his angel down the street. A malicious god, he had deemed this longing, to offer him only corpses.
As he grew older, these ruminations had him considering the idea that if he died he would be born again without the heavy hand of gravity pulling him toward the world with all of its idle things. But the possibility of being born again into a corporeal reality was one he could not bear. The years had fossilized into memories, and this gnawing feeling of destiny had only seemed to increase its appetite as it devoured Time. It was a feeling that insisted he was traveling somewhere, and often close to arrival. It seemed to him that day after day, his intuition was a trustworthy leader that abandoned him in the last moment, like an athlete, a singer, who was able to sustain confidence just short of the last play, the last note sung. It was the cause of his worthlessness, his acceptance of failure. He was terrified of his own potential, and committed suicide long ago in the way of human desire. Upon his recognition of wanting the things he could not have, he had ceased to want anything at all. Instead of awakening and attempting to believe that there was an exit to the dark cave he had found himself lost in, he had chosen to go deeper into the caverns, toward the cries of a monster that had fascinated him, leaving him fearless of death. Driven only by his curiosity to gain one glimpse of the beast that unleashes such unearthly cries, he began to drink heavily, and left the occurrences of his life to be guided by circumstance.
"What can I get fer ya Adam boy?"
"Double whiskey, neat. Please, Jim."
"Rough day eh?"
Before Adam could answer the bartender had somehow knocked over a bottle of gin, in attempting to fulfill the request of his customer. Adam had not even noticed any warning movement from the bottle before he had watched Jim's hand assume the proper position for receiving the falling object.
"'Ow about that eh?"
Adam’s reflection in the mirror had seemed to him a transparent one, and he had felt like a zombie suicide, staring through a hole in his chest, where he had replaced his beating heart with a cold metal bullet. His eyes had wandered past the outline of his being. Standing against the back bar rail was a girl; her hair so fair that underneath the overhead light he could not tell if it was white or golden. Her dress was a deep royal blue. In the shadows of barflies walking past, it looked undeniably black. From each ear dangled a single diamond that was not nearly as beautiful as the glint of her teeth against smiling mauve lips. "You know what Jimmy, give me a gin and tonic instead. Work wasn't that bad today after all."
You look like the light of a full moon against a black country sky; My midnight Mary! "Hello," Looking down he stuttered, "I'm sorry it's just that, you look so much like… like… " The girl placed her finger on his lips. Her touch was that of a single snowflake resting cleanly on warm skin. The chill of winter seemed to pass through the imaginary cavity in his chest, and he felt certain he was in the company of a ghost.
"Today as I was walking to the beach, I saw a dead rabbit on the side of the road. It looked alive, as if it was... leaping. It was the strangest thing! And how beautiful it was! More beautiful than a sunset." An exhilarating smile was born from her lips as they hissed these mysterious words, "It's something I will never forget."
The girl lit a cigarette and walked up to the bar. She ordered a glass of red wine. Next to her was a dark-haired woman wearing a brown fur jacket over her shoulders. Underneath was a white lace dress, reminiscent of a reproduction vintage wedding gown, only shorter. Mary had darted a warning glance at Adam before whispering something into the woman's ear. The woman began to cry. As his Midnight Mary reassumed her position from leaning, Adam witnessed her hand brushing the glass and consequently spilling its contents, ruining the brunette's impeccable look. The woman's reaction to the unfortunate occurrence was drastic, and most likely a subconscious after thought of the secret that was given to her. Mary turned her head from the bartender to hide an escaping laugh. She picked up the larger shards of glass on the floor, placed them on the bar and in a voice of false distress said, "Oh I'm so sorry. You understand it was an accident?" Leaving money for her drink as well as that of the fainted woman's, she walked confidently out of the bar, as if nothing had happened.
Adam stared intently at the pretty picture displayed on the bar floor canvas, patterned with muddy footprints from a winter snow which had merged dolefully into the dirt parking lot. She had looked somehow sweet in her expression of discontent, and her legs and arms were positioned elegantly, as if she was dancing on air. The red wine that had seeped into the white on the bosom of her dress was nothing short of exquisite. It was if she was trying to conceal a bleeding heart with a costume of purity; the true nature of life conquering an intellectual façade. He would never forget this image.
"Jim, fetch me a double whisky, neat. Would ya please?"
The old man awoke, faced with large friendly eyes peering at him anxiously through a veil of fur. There was no need for an alarm clock with a friend like The Wolf. If it wasn't for him the old man was certain he would never get out of bed. He sat iconically in his rocking chair on the porch, an intentional cliché. The Wolf had been an obedient friend for years, wandering only within the parameters of his reign. It was the same fading afternoon it had always been in the spring. The air was soft as usual and the nodding sun squeezed it’s rays aggressively through the forest, causing stray scraps of light to fall rebelliously on fresh green grass. There were hundreds of days like this sprinkled though out the old man’s existence, all beautiful in such predictable allure. But The Wolf was acting strangely, as if he was treading upon unfamiliar ground.
Instantly alarmed, the dog began barking violently in an attempt at bravery, then suddenly resorted to a soft, foreboding whimper. His ears perked up as he became submissive to silence, then he darted swiftly into the forest. The old man stood up, running fast as he could after his strangely rebellious friend. After thirty minutes of searching, The Wolf seemed to have disappeared. Now lost himself, the old man could not hear so much a familiar sound as the shuffling of a squirrel, or the snap of a twig caused by the landing of a sparrow upon a weakening branch. He could not even seem to hear or feel the familiar ambiance of a stealthy breeze weaving through the trees. An eerie stillness seemed to have infected Time, and he felt trapped, as if immortalized as an image of a man in a photograph. His thoughts had ceased, and any life he felt inside of his aging body was instantly terminated in the onset of this strange calm. Standing next to a large rock, he could not feel the difference between himself, and the ancient gray object next to him. The only thought he could fathom was the recognition that there was nothing but sight to differentiate one thing from the next. As soon as this thought introduced itself, the man’s vision ceased, and he was left in darkness.
The walk home was a callous one, but Adam’s mild inebriation was enough to turn the air burning against his bare hands and cheeks into a kind of baptism. It was in the bitter pith of winter that he felt the most alive. For him, it was akin to roaming a cemetery, the stillness and death of the season clashed drastically against any awareness of his physical self. In the discomfort of low temperatures was he acutely aware of his warm body.
The picture of the woman was immortalized in his mind. She seemed a worldly and tormented actress, sad and alone in her brief play of death back at the bar. Though a stark opposite to his Midnight Mary in terms of her appeal, she was still a creature of the darkness. He was traveling deeper into his cave, and every moment the cries of the beast became louder, powerful harbingers of the terrible beauty of their master. He felt that the people he was beginning to meet, the things that had been transpiring around him were some kind of initiation into the night. The life in the shadows was no longer recoiling in fear of him, as they were beginning to recognize that the darkness in him was growing.
The days melted quickly into each other, forming a puddle of weeks. He was left to tread water in the center of the vast lakes that were the months, knowing that ultimately he would find himself in an inextricable ocean of time.
Adam would leave the Post Office around five or six o’clock and head straight to the tavern. He was still able to interact with those around him, but the costume he adorned was wearing thin. He made an unconscious effort to recoil slowly from society, unable to maintain an act of friendliness that he once considered reality. He could not determine the cause of this desire for hibernation, but he had felt that something had given him unwanted knowledge. He had felt cast out of reality by the giver of such knowledge, and dead to his previous life. Naked and alone it was only a matter of time before he would drown in this sea of masks that was once the world. Everything that was pure and innocent before this knowledge was given to him, now felt like a prison concealing an angel, whose light he could only see glowing through the crack at the bottom of the door to its cell. The disconnection from this angel pained him greatly, and so he had learned to despise and refuse his desire for the thing he could not have. When the icicles on the trees caught the winter sun to show him a display of glorious light, the rays dancing as fairies skipping from branch to branch or when a squirrel would stop him in his path, look intently into his eyes as if to give him a reminder of camaraderie, he felt only distrust and contempt. For these things were beautiful, but he knew that they paled in comparison to the angel that was being kept from him by some cruel and otherworldly king.

The Human And The Universe: Cont.

The Passerby: Part 2

Who is this girl that challenges what I have learned in my brave excursions? I offer her only treasures and she takes them and devours them like a starving monster to be destroyed in the acids of her deadly hunger! I have nothing but love to give her, but she is unappreciative, and does not understand the importance of the heart. And so I shall give up, it would seem. But I have been left in the place she now resides in, and it is a nasty one; a world of lies that tells its victims that they must survive in darkness alone to be strong, when the truth is that another must be let in to help them find their way toward the light. And should I continue to try and help her she may only drag me back to that place with a fog so thick one would eventually drown from the condensation! But I am sinking as in quicksand into the spell that her mad eyes cast upon me, and through them I can feel the grasp of this lonely hell she is an unfortunate inhabitant of. I swore to never tread upon the grounds of that place again, for fear its grip of hopelessness and it’s desperate measures at mimicking the nothingness of Nirvana would convince me once more that I am weak without its power. Oh how evil and full of hate a place must be to masquerade as Heaven!

But the glint in her eye is the moon rising over the sea! The waves escape her dreams of glass and crash upon the shores of my soul. She is my destiny, and if I do not save her then I am not fully saved! Walking away shall certainly hurl me back into the darkness, knowing I did not try to help another. I have no choice but to risk the enchantment of the glorious odors of this dark night that her lovely being exudes. And so I must convince her that I have not left dirt in the palm of her hand, but a pure white sand, each miniscule pebble with its own grand secret of love should she choose to listen at last to the charming murmurs of the ground singing in unison with the booming law of an uncertain sea. For its mystery is only to be pondered! Its story is one that is told by the surrounding land. Oh my dear girl, if you would only listen to the chorus and close your eyes to your search for the composer; trust that such beautiful music is evidence that such a genius exists!

I must act with haste! By now her feet are surely on the cold wet sand she deems blessed by the sea.

The Human: Part 6

I have been reduced to this empty vessel; a mere body that is home to a dead soul. I should soon be fished and used as meat for the hungry and monstrous mysteries of the bitter sea. I am utterly frozen in the midst of the night that I do not feel a thing! What a glorious vacuum that has put my doubt at ease! For now I know that I must step into the water and be consumed by the mystery at last! Should I stay here in this world they would not understand the calm of the death inside of me, and I should not be able to delight in the smile of another, or the tears of a distraught friend. And they would say that I had lost my mind, when I have merely found a place of rest. And they would put me away, and call me mad, when I have only escaped the vicious prison that is this world! I do not belong here. Certainly, I belong with the sea, and she should demolish my body that I am no longer a shell; that there will be no more pretense of life about me!

And what of this dirt I hold in my hand? I shall cast it into the wind storm and alleviate such burden at once!

Part 8: Apathy

Mother, why does the girl seem happy now?

Oh Little One, she has turned into a beast. She has killed all of her love with a doubt so grand that it has propelled her to believe in everything she has feared. All that she had doubted that was true and beautiful, is now growing weak since it is perceived as a lie, and what she has feared has been made strong, and is only gaining veracity. For it is easy to fashion egrogores from the darkness. There are others like her that she is unaware of who cast power into such entities. And these creatures run rampant in the physical realm, manifesting themselves as nightmares and luring souls into their caverns. They render many individuals as imbalanced beings, closer to demons than to humans. If you look closely as she walks into the water, you can see that her shadow now bears horns, and to fix your eyes upon it will cause a great terror, for it has become stronger than her soul. She is the emptiness in the eyes of killer without remorse, and the loneliness in the depraved criminal acts of an orphaned child. It is the goal of such beings to create a kingdom of shells, for they are angels of death.

Why do such wretched beings exist Mother!?

Because Little One, what is the reward of Heaven without passing through Hell? We cannot learn the real strength of beauty without comparison to that of ugliness. It is the traveler's perception and interaction with these nightmares that is often at fault. As at a zoo where you should not feed the animals, it is important not to feed these wild things with fear. When something is feared, it grows stronger and consumes the traveler. Like a spider feeds off of an unfortunate fly, it is only natural for these beings to act as they do. All things must be revered, and caution must be taken, certainly! But Evil stops the seeker on his or her path, and all he or she has to do is recognize it, and pass it by.

These malevolent energies are aware of the seeker only by the sound of a scream and the scent of fear. Hence it attacks and stings, paralyzing the individual. The journey has ceased. This is what is happening to the girl, Little One.

Monday, January 11, 2010

Sunday, January 10, 2010


Why do we talk of things?

The words feel like empty little boats bobbing gleefully on a deep sea of emotion. We are drowning, and too weak to hoist ourselves up upon the barges that could save our lives. The boats know not the existing monsters of the deep.

We look up from underneath, the blanket of sunlit waves that is the roof of our fate. One by one, we watch these black vessels carry nothing to the shore.

And what for are these embraces?

The human touch is but a cage we place around our passions. Like an animal we’ve stolen from the wild, trying to tame it that we may spare ourselves the possible hurt of its supposed flesh-ripping teeth, that we may not be skinless from it’s maybe wrath; it whimpers and growls in our prison, so we may revel in its thrilling, instinctual vigor. We are too afraid to feed the beast, though it may not be a carnivore.

It dies without the wilderness. We pet the corpse with a backwards fondness before burying it in the sand.

And what of this world we live in together?

It looks like a bundle of yesterdays, swept into the corner. The tarnish is mistaken for dust, and repeated attempts to brush it off fall to the confines of failure. Like the strangeness of a photograph, it is always over, and never ending.

The memories are made into mathematics. The moments add up to yield the past. A theory of happiness is deduced and published. We are left out of the equation.

Saturday, January 9, 2010


Parading ‘round in a
Teddy bear charade
Whipped on high speed,
You cannot see past the bright suit
On a clown composed of bones

And I am the old doll in the
White wicker chair
Tired of this loving
My skin tattered and worn

Monday, January 4, 2010


There is no sound
In this stretch of colorless

The stench of Death
And a vague odor of sex
Hangs heavily in the stale air
Permeates the skin
Allaying the nagging commands
Of a savage God

What do you want

Have the offspring of
Tribulation not been choked
With the lustful compulsions
Of circumstantial angels
You’ve discarded from
Your humble castle
Because they wanted to be
Great as you are?

And you are a king

With your wreathe of gold
That you stole
From a petty, sleeping thief
Who pilfered it
From your dead father’s

There is not a song
That could carry this tune
Not a tear
That could encapsulate this shame
Not an Evil
That could rival this fear

And at night
The child sleeps secretly
Under the bed covers
Kisses the loins of the angels
Comes when the wild God wills it to
And dies with the rising of the Sun