I walk home in quiet humility and review my entire life. It's amazing how good my memory recall is and in my weakened and tired frame of mind, after a hard day of work, I start to get beat up by all the memories and perfect recall of feelings past. Somehow, my brain tells me that it's therapeutic; that somehow by feeling the pain of my mistakes will help me get through them but all of it seems to just remind me of pain.
With all the rushing feelings and emotions that I'm trying to process, I can only see your silhouette, like a cowboy cutout in a dark tunnel with a dying flashlight at the end of it; the proverbial going to heaven is my journey that I've been on till I have you in my arms and I in yours for life.
I think of the song "Home" because of its meaning and think about how because my home is with you I am in a foreign world and will be until I'm with you. I have to leave this place and soon for it is unhealthy for me to stay here. Then it happens.
The song triggers perfect memory recall and I am all of a sudden transported, against my will, to Brooklyn, NYC. It's there I can recall perfectly the feeling of the sheets and the smells and the feeling of my ex who I did love but do not anymore. I know I don't because I dream about you but the memories will never fade and going back into them sucks. I remember Arizona and I remember my plans of being with Sarah forever and it chokes me as I fall to the ground and go through it all again in moments.
It feels like a thousand images flashing in succession as I remember my entire journey with her and at the end of it all, I remember how terribly she treated me and manipulated me and how all I gave back to her was love and a desire to hear from her. After some time, it stops but the wound remains as I limp up the street with both wounded pride, fear, and a sadness that I wish I could have had you from the beginning and have never known anything but you.
As I get through the door of my house, the memory fades but the pain resonates like a Buddhist gong.
I am hailed into my step-father's room where he tells me I have to still pay rent to live at their house and I almost leave right there and then but I stay to let him finish what he has to say so...
I don't know why...
So he might feel better, I suppose. I have no desire to please him but just to stick around long enough to not tick him off. I kind of hate him at this moment. He knows the hardship that I endure ahead and yet he enforces stupid rules that only make things harder on me. He says that he loves me and that he wishes me the best of luck but he "cannot and will not support my getting married in any way."
When I'm done letting him rant and rave about how I should wait longer to get married and his excruciating dialogue about how I've made mistakes time and time again, I no longer even feel guilty about making mistakes in the past. All I feel is anger that he thinks this is going to be another one. The worst thing is: There is nothing I can do about it.
I go into my room and try to find something to do but as I fill out applications, they become so cloudy and distorted, I can no longer see and all I want is to be comfortably numb. I can't even do that.
Friday, March 23, 2012
Monday, October 17, 2011
Pier 34
There are certain things a man never talks about; that he takes to his grave. He comes home and kisses his beautiful wife and children and sleeps soundly with no remorse for the events of his day. For some men this means firing another man or woman who may not be able to feed their families for the lack of a paycheck he's taken away from them. For others it's the man who takes the job and never has to fire anyone but he takes the place of a worker who asked for "too much," from their parent companies and he works for less so that they work for nothing.
Then there's the third man. He may be the most merciful because no man will have to feel the guilt from what he does to them. They will never have to feel the guilt or even care about their families waiting at home with no means of support. They won't have to feel anything because their emotions and bodies will simply disappear. For those at home, they might hate the person for the cover up stories that the companies who hire this third man, tell to their families: "He never showed up for work." "He said something about a mistress." "He was on assignment for us in a very dangerous area, there was nothing we could do."
All in all it always ends in death. Death for the families who have no means of support; Death for the families who still have the life of their loved one but wish for death because they starve due to his uselessness.
The sound of a silencer makes a similar noise to a nail gun when fired; the pressure boom without the bang of gunpowder.
It was a Wednesday night in the city and John Maelor had been sent to the docks to pick up a shipment of fruit in his beat up U-Haul looking truck. He had been complaining to the American Fruit Company that his shipments were light and because of it, he wasn't getting paid as much as they could have been paying him. The truth was, he was too old for the job in their eyes. The company required 80 crates of fruit to be picked up to make bonus and he was always given 75. His paycheck was adequate for a man of sixty but the company saw no need to pay him benefits that belonged to the younger employees who had mouths to feed still.
The story wouldn't have gone sour had he kept his mouth shut but legal action was taken and American fruit had been subpoenaed to give him the same load of 80 that the majority of workers who were under the ages of 50 got. That's where I came in.
"John!"
"Hello, who is this?"
"Hello, Sorry to wake you, is this a bad time?"
"No, who is this?"
"Yes, well this is Dale from American Fruit..."
"Yes! Hello."
"Sorry to be calling you so late..."
John Chuckled and began to speak, "It's perfectly fine. My wife left for San Diego about 4 AM this morning or you'd really be in trouble." He nervously laughed again.
I laughed as well and began, "Well John, the reason I'm calling you is we just got a shipment in from The Keys of 48 crates of fresh bananas and 62 crates of Oranges. Do you think you might be able to make a quick pick up and delivery to HQ tonight?"
I heard a tussle on the other end of the phone and then he spoke, "YES! Yes... Sorry, this is just fantastic, that's 110 crates of produce, I've been waiting for this call all my life!"
I chuckled light heartily and said, "That's great! We were really at a loss. What kind of ship comes in at 3 AM? You know?"
"Well I suppose they don't have time schedules in The Keys, ya?"
I chuckled, "I guess not."
"Tell you what, I'll be down there in 20 minutes. I have to account for traffic and the trek but it shouldn't take me any longer than that."
"That's great John, I will await you at pier 34. Don't be late."
He hung up the phone.
Sitting next to the crates of bananas and oranges, I checked the clip and screwed on the silencer. I then went to stand next to the warehouse at pier 34.
The truck arrived promptly at 3 AM and I heard him step down from the rig and begin to load the first crate. He busily hobbled back and forth for hours loading the infallible pile of crates and smiling like a school boy.
The lamp flickered yellow and shown his way to his destination. From the shadows, I felt the outline of the circuit box and slightly moved the lever to flicker the light a bit before shutting it off.
"Damn it," said John aloud, "Those damn rats must have torn the wires to the lights again. Just my luck."
He put the 100th crate in the back of the truck as I walked over and stood in front of it and to the right. He walked around the left side to step up into the rig's cockpit and turned on the lights.
This was routine for me.
This was easy for me.
This was the way I'd done it many times before.
The lights came on; there was a small "THHHHUMP!" and then a breaking of glass as if somebody had thrown a stone at a warehouse window. A passerby would have thought nothing of it because the docks at night are so frequently broken into by hobos and the like that a broken window is as common place as wind knocking down a cardboard box.
I walked to the left of the truck to the dead body.
"Clean shot. Through the eyes," I said.
I sighed and began the process. First I checked the perimeter. Two more "THHHHUMP's" for drifters who might become witnesses and the perimeter was clean. The bodies were loaded into the truck along with the last 10 crates and I got into the rig and began driving.
I took out my cell phone and made a call.
"Hello? Yeah. It's done. Clean up on Pier 34."
Then there's the third man. He may be the most merciful because no man will have to feel the guilt from what he does to them. They will never have to feel the guilt or even care about their families waiting at home with no means of support. They won't have to feel anything because their emotions and bodies will simply disappear. For those at home, they might hate the person for the cover up stories that the companies who hire this third man, tell to their families: "He never showed up for work." "He said something about a mistress." "He was on assignment for us in a very dangerous area, there was nothing we could do."
All in all it always ends in death. Death for the families who have no means of support; Death for the families who still have the life of their loved one but wish for death because they starve due to his uselessness.
The sound of a silencer makes a similar noise to a nail gun when fired; the pressure boom without the bang of gunpowder.
It was a Wednesday night in the city and John Maelor had been sent to the docks to pick up a shipment of fruit in his beat up U-Haul looking truck. He had been complaining to the American Fruit Company that his shipments were light and because of it, he wasn't getting paid as much as they could have been paying him. The truth was, he was too old for the job in their eyes. The company required 80 crates of fruit to be picked up to make bonus and he was always given 75. His paycheck was adequate for a man of sixty but the company saw no need to pay him benefits that belonged to the younger employees who had mouths to feed still.
The story wouldn't have gone sour had he kept his mouth shut but legal action was taken and American fruit had been subpoenaed to give him the same load of 80 that the majority of workers who were under the ages of 50 got. That's where I came in.
"John!"
"Hello, who is this?"
"Hello, Sorry to wake you, is this a bad time?"
"No, who is this?"
"Yes, well this is Dale from American Fruit..."
"Yes! Hello."
"Sorry to be calling you so late..."
John Chuckled and began to speak, "It's perfectly fine. My wife left for San Diego about 4 AM this morning or you'd really be in trouble." He nervously laughed again.
I laughed as well and began, "Well John, the reason I'm calling you is we just got a shipment in from The Keys of 48 crates of fresh bananas and 62 crates of Oranges. Do you think you might be able to make a quick pick up and delivery to HQ tonight?"
I heard a tussle on the other end of the phone and then he spoke, "YES! Yes... Sorry, this is just fantastic, that's 110 crates of produce, I've been waiting for this call all my life!"
I chuckled light heartily and said, "That's great! We were really at a loss. What kind of ship comes in at 3 AM? You know?"
"Well I suppose they don't have time schedules in The Keys, ya?"
I chuckled, "I guess not."
"Tell you what, I'll be down there in 20 minutes. I have to account for traffic and the trek but it shouldn't take me any longer than that."
"That's great John, I will await you at pier 34. Don't be late."
He hung up the phone.
Sitting next to the crates of bananas and oranges, I checked the clip and screwed on the silencer. I then went to stand next to the warehouse at pier 34.
The truck arrived promptly at 3 AM and I heard him step down from the rig and begin to load the first crate. He busily hobbled back and forth for hours loading the infallible pile of crates and smiling like a school boy.
The lamp flickered yellow and shown his way to his destination. From the shadows, I felt the outline of the circuit box and slightly moved the lever to flicker the light a bit before shutting it off.
"Damn it," said John aloud, "Those damn rats must have torn the wires to the lights again. Just my luck."
He put the 100th crate in the back of the truck as I walked over and stood in front of it and to the right. He walked around the left side to step up into the rig's cockpit and turned on the lights.
This was routine for me.
This was easy for me.
This was the way I'd done it many times before.
The lights came on; there was a small "THHHHUMP!" and then a breaking of glass as if somebody had thrown a stone at a warehouse window. A passerby would have thought nothing of it because the docks at night are so frequently broken into by hobos and the like that a broken window is as common place as wind knocking down a cardboard box.
I walked to the left of the truck to the dead body.
"Clean shot. Through the eyes," I said.
I sighed and began the process. First I checked the perimeter. Two more "THHHHUMP's" for drifters who might become witnesses and the perimeter was clean. The bodies were loaded into the truck along with the last 10 crates and I got into the rig and began driving.
I took out my cell phone and made a call.
"Hello? Yeah. It's done. Clean up on Pier 34."
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Two Dream Vignettes
I can see them; even as the centuries have caused me death time and time again. It has built in me over these centuries until this life, when I have been given a pen to replace my broadsword and burdened with the emotion and reflection of a writer. I still remember her in 1210 AD when I came back from a crusade, only to find her dagger in my side.
I kissed her with my last moments of life and died saying nothing. War never leaves the blood. Even in death, it can only be transferred to the new soul. We will live a thousand times till we truly die from self-actualization. As I wake each day from these dreams to these future dreams in future lives, I wonder when I will be relieved of living...
I leered into the dark space between consciousness and sleep. The thousands of faces of all my incarnations met together like a big council. It's difficult to feel surrounded by people when they're all you but personalities differed enough that this young immoralist, was able to detach from his current woes and let extroversion and introspection mesh into understanding of his immortal plan.
Forever can go one of two ways when you look it in the eyes: either you become happy that anything can happen in eternity, or you become enveloped at how long eternity truly is. When you know that you will experience death and rebirth, however, the soul can weaken to the point you are literally Shakespeare's "walking shadow."
The meeting began. I awoke.
I kissed her with my last moments of life and died saying nothing. War never leaves the blood. Even in death, it can only be transferred to the new soul. We will live a thousand times till we truly die from self-actualization. As I wake each day from these dreams to these future dreams in future lives, I wonder when I will be relieved of living...
I leered into the dark space between consciousness and sleep. The thousands of faces of all my incarnations met together like a big council. It's difficult to feel surrounded by people when they're all you but personalities differed enough that this young immoralist, was able to detach from his current woes and let extroversion and introspection mesh into understanding of his immortal plan.
Forever can go one of two ways when you look it in the eyes: either you become happy that anything can happen in eternity, or you become enveloped at how long eternity truly is. When you know that you will experience death and rebirth, however, the soul can weaken to the point you are literally Shakespeare's "walking shadow."
The meeting began. I awoke.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
A Horror to a Horror
The streets were dead and empty but such is always the case of small towns at 4 AM. As I walked the strip down the center of downtown Blacksburg I hallucinated the life that permeated the store's innards in the light of a mid day sun and longed for those days when I could do more than live vicariously through the late night eyes and faces of college students that talked of their day.
It was an unusual time to exist in this world with earthquakes and hurricanes attacking new areas of the country and as the disasters shifted, so did the patterns of the preternatural, who were always delighted to indulge in the misery of humans. Perhaps it was envy that made an imitation of a living thing appear in the town this very night to watch and revel in the debauchery that only human youth could display. Perhaps it was his curiosity at the change of disaster patterns or intuition that here would be a ripe place for chaos once the real natural disasters started to hit within the next 50 to 100 years; for what is a century to an immortal? Most likely, though it was sheer coincidence that I should turn the corner to see a tiny stranger to this land roosting on the roof ledge above D.P. Dough.
Weighing in at a sizable 50 grams, he was large for a common Vampire bat but the fact that he hung from the ledge alone, not to mention the unnatural, iridescent blue flame that surrounded him gave him away as one of my kind.
"You're far from the Amazon, creature, and you've landed in a town where there are people educated enough to know that this area is only inhabited by fruit bats."
His eyes opened and faster than the human eye can see, he stood in front of me at eight feet tall with a hungry glare and glowing red eyes.
"I've not seen one of our kind who could change form before," I said.
He spoke to me in my mind as opposed to out loud, "I don't know your language creature as I am most likely one of the first of 'our' kind. I hope you don't mind me using this medium..."
I gazed into his cold, immortal eyes as my expression changed from that of running into an old friend, to that of sheer terror.
Speaking in my head, he continued, "this is your first meeting with a revenant, is it not?"
I gazed, transfixed, as if under a spell and found myself unable to move or talk. My expression changed to that of anger for the first time in 800 years.
As an ecologist at Virginia Tech, I had managed to avoid the sun, gain my... God knows what number degree... and even commandeer a trip to the home of the vampire bat to see their large clumpings in the caves of Chile and Peru. They had a bad habbit of always looking as if I had annoyed or disturbed them but this time his head did not even turn to look at me before he was instantaneously something resembling a human with elf ears.
He began to telepathically drivel in my head again, "vampires have evolved different ways in the world. Perhaps ours was the most natural and godly. Whereas you cursed God and were damned to feed off his creations, ours was a matter of simple genetic mutation."
Mustering incredible strength, I forced my rebuttle into his head with vicious vigor, "you cursed bastard! I don't need to hear your story, we are both of the same ilk in the eyes of men."
He moved forward and grabbed me by the collar of my Polo shirt, lifting me off the ground. "Your wretched race of heathens mocks the primal immortals that embody the truth to the word vampyr. Feeding off primates in dirty, sweaty jungles with virulent, diseased blood, over the course of millions of years formed my race. How amusingly unexpected I should run into your kind when all I came to see was human suffering in a nearly apocalyptic world. I shall fulfil my duty, however, and exterminating you will be a delightful added bonus to this pilgrimage."
Struggling and kicking, imprisoned in his vice grip, I began my protest in telepathy and speech out loud in my captive terror, "we both feed on mortals! I'm not your enemy! I hate the humans and renounced my humanity centuries ago..."
"You are not of my kind human! You were born a human and shall always be one despite your undead viciousness. Time to die!"
The last image I had was of that haunting face of the vampire bat 80 times its normal size. Its fangs sunk deep into my jugular and drained me to undead death.
"But we are both blood drinkers..."
It was an unusual time to exist in this world with earthquakes and hurricanes attacking new areas of the country and as the disasters shifted, so did the patterns of the preternatural, who were always delighted to indulge in the misery of humans. Perhaps it was envy that made an imitation of a living thing appear in the town this very night to watch and revel in the debauchery that only human youth could display. Perhaps it was his curiosity at the change of disaster patterns or intuition that here would be a ripe place for chaos once the real natural disasters started to hit within the next 50 to 100 years; for what is a century to an immortal? Most likely, though it was sheer coincidence that I should turn the corner to see a tiny stranger to this land roosting on the roof ledge above D.P. Dough.
Weighing in at a sizable 50 grams, he was large for a common Vampire bat but the fact that he hung from the ledge alone, not to mention the unnatural, iridescent blue flame that surrounded him gave him away as one of my kind.
"You're far from the Amazon, creature, and you've landed in a town where there are people educated enough to know that this area is only inhabited by fruit bats."
His eyes opened and faster than the human eye can see, he stood in front of me at eight feet tall with a hungry glare and glowing red eyes.
"I've not seen one of our kind who could change form before," I said.
He spoke to me in my mind as opposed to out loud, "I don't know your language creature as I am most likely one of the first of 'our' kind. I hope you don't mind me using this medium..."
I gazed into his cold, immortal eyes as my expression changed from that of running into an old friend, to that of sheer terror.
Speaking in my head, he continued, "this is your first meeting with a revenant, is it not?"
I gazed, transfixed, as if under a spell and found myself unable to move or talk. My expression changed to that of anger for the first time in 800 years.
As an ecologist at Virginia Tech, I had managed to avoid the sun, gain my... God knows what number degree... and even commandeer a trip to the home of the vampire bat to see their large clumpings in the caves of Chile and Peru. They had a bad habbit of always looking as if I had annoyed or disturbed them but this time his head did not even turn to look at me before he was instantaneously something resembling a human with elf ears.
He began to telepathically drivel in my head again, "vampires have evolved different ways in the world. Perhaps ours was the most natural and godly. Whereas you cursed God and were damned to feed off his creations, ours was a matter of simple genetic mutation."
Mustering incredible strength, I forced my rebuttle into his head with vicious vigor, "you cursed bastard! I don't need to hear your story, we are both of the same ilk in the eyes of men."
He moved forward and grabbed me by the collar of my Polo shirt, lifting me off the ground. "Your wretched race of heathens mocks the primal immortals that embody the truth to the word vampyr. Feeding off primates in dirty, sweaty jungles with virulent, diseased blood, over the course of millions of years formed my race. How amusingly unexpected I should run into your kind when all I came to see was human suffering in a nearly apocalyptic world. I shall fulfil my duty, however, and exterminating you will be a delightful added bonus to this pilgrimage."
Struggling and kicking, imprisoned in his vice grip, I began my protest in telepathy and speech out loud in my captive terror, "we both feed on mortals! I'm not your enemy! I hate the humans and renounced my humanity centuries ago..."
"You are not of my kind human! You were born a human and shall always be one despite your undead viciousness. Time to die!"
The last image I had was of that haunting face of the vampire bat 80 times its normal size. Its fangs sunk deep into my jugular and drained me to undead death.
"But we are both blood drinkers..."
Making the Change
It's coming. I feel it in my gut and throughout my body like a larger entity than myself was clawing up and down the chalkboard of my spine. The chirping of the cicadas becomes so deafening I lose my sense of balance and know that I need to be indoors and quick. I already know that if someone was walking down this street instead of driving; given the time and the pause to observe me at a standstill, they might be able to see the bulging of my physical form as the demon tries to escape.
The night air is thick and chalky with an eerie fog that surrounds me as if it were conscious of my shame and reticence towards the dawn of the night creature trying to escape from my quintessence. I stare off into space as I resolve all my energy to simply make it to my house and lock the door.
My muscles become toned and the full moon is so bright, I trip on the smallest rock and fall flat on my face. For a moment I can't get up and the unconscionable thoughts that run through my mind and scream with the same thrust as a freight train at sixty miles per hour, seem to overcome me before I find my zen and quell them for what is a time too short.
For five years I have jumped from relationship to relationship because to be alone on the night of the full moon, means that I have no channels to dump the energy of the demon trying to escape into; thus putting him back to sleep; so I might remain human. His virulence and malevolence course through my body as if I had imbibed fire and it began pumping through my veins. I can see my house up ahead. Moments, I tell myself. Moments till you will be able to let him out and though the house will be destroyed, human beings will be safe for another night.
She stands there like a ghost; in front of my door and with a look and expression of sorrow.
"I know what you are, creature," she says. "I and my people have protected the world from you for centuries."
I say nothing and for a moment, time stops. I am brought out of my form like a ketamine overdose and the world is silent.
"We only have moments for you to release an amount of energy sufficient to quell the beast. Please go inside."
She vanishes with the fog and I enter my home as it becomes enveloped by a demonic cloud that coats my house and makes it seem invisible in the small cul-de-sac I live in. Once I have entered the house, however, it seems that she has disappeared. The demon begins again and I fall to the ground screaming. At first it's a quiet scream: like the ones experienced in sleep paralysis when one is screaming in a dream but then I feel the pounding in my chest and it rips out as I start to grow and my form begins expanding. As if by light, she suddenly stands next to me and rams her jewel encrusted dagger into my side.
I stop for a moment and look at her with hurt, weeping eyes.
"Silver... I have never met you and here you are ending my existence. Why have you chosen to stop me? Why are you here? Who are you..."
The questions pour out of me as does the evil bile of his soul inside me, does. I finally, through coughs of blood and a gurgling of it in my throat, no longer make sense as I attempt to speak but I see her eyes with softness and love as I slip farther into the quiet serenity of death.
"shhhhh..." she says as she holds me close and strokes my hair, "it will all be over soon, my love."
I recognize her as if I'd seen her in a different life and a different incarnation of this soul.
With the last of my strength, I crawl closer to her breast and hold her as tightly as she holds me. For a moment and the first time in my life, I feel the release from the cycles of the moon and the suppression of my passions. I feel at peace and I think that I see god. Maybe it's just her eyes... Then... nothing.
The night air is thick and chalky with an eerie fog that surrounds me as if it were conscious of my shame and reticence towards the dawn of the night creature trying to escape from my quintessence. I stare off into space as I resolve all my energy to simply make it to my house and lock the door.
My muscles become toned and the full moon is so bright, I trip on the smallest rock and fall flat on my face. For a moment I can't get up and the unconscionable thoughts that run through my mind and scream with the same thrust as a freight train at sixty miles per hour, seem to overcome me before I find my zen and quell them for what is a time too short.
For five years I have jumped from relationship to relationship because to be alone on the night of the full moon, means that I have no channels to dump the energy of the demon trying to escape into; thus putting him back to sleep; so I might remain human. His virulence and malevolence course through my body as if I had imbibed fire and it began pumping through my veins. I can see my house up ahead. Moments, I tell myself. Moments till you will be able to let him out and though the house will be destroyed, human beings will be safe for another night.
She stands there like a ghost; in front of my door and with a look and expression of sorrow.
"I know what you are, creature," she says. "I and my people have protected the world from you for centuries."
I say nothing and for a moment, time stops. I am brought out of my form like a ketamine overdose and the world is silent.
"We only have moments for you to release an amount of energy sufficient to quell the beast. Please go inside."
She vanishes with the fog and I enter my home as it becomes enveloped by a demonic cloud that coats my house and makes it seem invisible in the small cul-de-sac I live in. Once I have entered the house, however, it seems that she has disappeared. The demon begins again and I fall to the ground screaming. At first it's a quiet scream: like the ones experienced in sleep paralysis when one is screaming in a dream but then I feel the pounding in my chest and it rips out as I start to grow and my form begins expanding. As if by light, she suddenly stands next to me and rams her jewel encrusted dagger into my side.
I stop for a moment and look at her with hurt, weeping eyes.
"Silver... I have never met you and here you are ending my existence. Why have you chosen to stop me? Why are you here? Who are you..."
The questions pour out of me as does the evil bile of his soul inside me, does. I finally, through coughs of blood and a gurgling of it in my throat, no longer make sense as I attempt to speak but I see her eyes with softness and love as I slip farther into the quiet serenity of death.
"shhhhh..." she says as she holds me close and strokes my hair, "it will all be over soon, my love."
I recognize her as if I'd seen her in a different life and a different incarnation of this soul.
With the last of my strength, I crawl closer to her breast and hold her as tightly as she holds me. For a moment and the first time in my life, I feel the release from the cycles of the moon and the suppression of my passions. I feel at peace and I think that I see god. Maybe it's just her eyes... Then... nothing.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
My Luna Lover
I can't see it but I can feel it in the air like a thousand butcher knives, hung facing downward from a low ceiling.
Tonight, my lunacy translates to its literal meaning and its scorn is the big, white ass in the car door window. Damn that demon bitch with her palid white eye opened at full and staring through cloud colored glasses so she can be felt but unseen in this maniacal coffee bar filled with junkies. My moon is the calmest of them all creating virulent madness in her devious hidden corner of the coffee bar sky.
Tonight, my lunacy translates to its literal meaning and its scorn is the big, white ass in the car door window. Damn that demon bitch with her palid white eye opened at full and staring through cloud colored glasses so she can be felt but unseen in this maniacal coffee bar filled with junkies. My moon is the calmest of them all creating virulent madness in her devious hidden corner of the coffee bar sky.
Friday, August 19, 2011
A Late Night Snack
Girls.
Everywhere they pollute our town smelling like fresh laundry and Donna Karen. Their high pitched squeals speak of "boys" and other random blather as their clip clopping is reminiscent of gilded clidesdale mares.
Pumped prepubescently out of "NOVA," they meander our town with the hunger for "fun" and more alchoholic musk to cloak their various individual vapid personalities, scathed by the fact that they are indeed students bound on kicking their legs in the air like spoiled children for a rod of some king Midas.
Ugh, humans are humans because they dwell in the realm of reality. Those of us who live outside it as watchers are only demi-humans or demi-gods with a pen twice as sharp as a sword. Fixing our eyes on them and attuning our senses to them helps us realize that we are different. What was it like to think like they do? To remember reality? To be tied down to the daft and depressing norm?
I hate them as I feel the torn off wings of my back refusing to open because they're no longer there. I hate them because I can no longer cross the gate of death because I disagree with their creation and existence. As I bring one of these creatures to a darkened street to drain them of their life force till they turn to sand, I look into her very short life and laugh hysterically in the face of God for its impermenance...
Everywhere they pollute our town smelling like fresh laundry and Donna Karen. Their high pitched squeals speak of "boys" and other random blather as their clip clopping is reminiscent of gilded clidesdale mares.
Pumped prepubescently out of "NOVA," they meander our town with the hunger for "fun" and more alchoholic musk to cloak their various individual vapid personalities, scathed by the fact that they are indeed students bound on kicking their legs in the air like spoiled children for a rod of some king Midas.
Ugh, humans are humans because they dwell in the realm of reality. Those of us who live outside it as watchers are only demi-humans or demi-gods with a pen twice as sharp as a sword. Fixing our eyes on them and attuning our senses to them helps us realize that we are different. What was it like to think like they do? To remember reality? To be tied down to the daft and depressing norm?
I hate them as I feel the torn off wings of my back refusing to open because they're no longer there. I hate them because I can no longer cross the gate of death because I disagree with their creation and existence. As I bring one of these creatures to a darkened street to drain them of their life force till they turn to sand, I look into her very short life and laugh hysterically in the face of God for its impermenance...
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