unused.

      Angels, angels and demons.  They mock me.  I am the in-between, the unused, the neglected, like torn fringe on a petticoat.  But they do use me.  I am the secret hiding place.  For meetings in the dark, for lovers in their shameful visits with... They use me.  Imperfection after imperfection I harbor.

      This is well.  I am imperfection.  We will blend

well.  Together we make up a constant denial of the ideal, the perfection.  We loathe it.  We loathe the mediums of glamour and brightly shining, shining, shining...... perfection.  Get it away from us.  Burn.  

Quietly.

      Anger?  We have it not.  Guilt?  We have it not.  We do not live in this place.  We are this place, and the imperfection permeates it, but not us.  I.  Burn.

Us.

      Mercy, let us drink.

-eciate.

      Some people will disturb the peace of every day, their opinions tearing holes in my heart intentionally and unintentionally.  Their opinions will relish my vulnerability.  They will sink in their bloody teeth eagerly, ravenously.  And they will be right to do so.  Because I know they are right.

      Some people will hurt me more than others, their words doing so much, meaning so little.  It doesn't sound the same to me, the way it does to you when you write it to me.  You meant well, but perhaps I see it as a path to bloody my own nose.

      I am a wounded animal.  I splash water in the fresh cuts so it stings.  Stings me.  Hurts me.

            I am words.  I will break you.

      It's all about me.  My pain, my unhappiness.  Listen to me.  Jeer at me.

            Throw your tomato juice at me.

I am your Consciousness.

cumulus.

      When my thoughts are clouded, I will be turned to hear the whispers of indecision.  Are they whispers of evil?  No.  They delay the good until such a time that the good cannot and will not be done.  Defiance is forced against my teeth, yet it is not defiance, but confidence.  Confidence that my indecision, my clouds, will cover the light shining the way until too late.

      Too late, and I have fallen into the great swamp of my own folly.  O, injurious murder is my sin: I wish.  Instead, the swamp forms from the smallest of mistakes made by my own white lies, so many white lies that the palette is no longer white, but grey, black.  Burnt out.

      Defiance clashes with defiance.  My body is weak.  How will I find peace?  How will I run from the sorrow of my swamp, my lies?

      There is a light shining in the dark.  I will never reach this light.  Until I blow away the clouds.  Until I blow away the cobwebs.

      One Breath.

attack.

A dream is where your heart seeks comfort

It is a more fragile thing than your life

You can abandon it, but will always find it again

So then, sleep in peace

My pulsing rage 

Defiles the wishes I harbor

Before I forget them

Only to remember again

In this beautiful cruel world

What will we protect

With our strength and weakness

If reason and logic do not hold true

(c) 進撃の巨人.

silic.

I Have a Dream.

It is a quiet dream; the water is going all around me.  But I can only know it rushes because I feel the waves going around my body.  I hear nothing.  Is it ocean water?  It tastes sweet.  There is no air here, not enough for me.  The surface is light with sun.  I am close to it.  But I am not dead.  When will I go up?  I have to go up.  I cannot see the end of this water.  It goes on far.  Even with the light of the sun I cannot see.  My head is hurting.  I am sinking.

it.

      Building, building, always ready to speak, to strike, to redress.  At the tip of my teeth, it quivers, raging against the offending lips that hold back the thousand-tongued lash that must fall upon my enemies.  My enemies?  Its enemies.  Knocking softly, insistently, gently, violently, at the left side of my brain, thinking of ways.  Ways it can smash.  Grind into dust.  Maul.  Not physical bodies, no.  Spirits.  Crushing the life of another from the inside out, leaving them a shell, a victim.  Savoring the shivers of the defendant as he is culled into unwariness, then beaten quite senseless.  "Your hair."  "Your face."  "Your eyes."  "Your clothes." "Your speech."  "Your behaviour."  "It's all... so dead."  

      Have you felt it?  It is careful not to show too easily.  It leaves small dents in your body.  Out of the spirit, the body withers.  It leaves marks all over, marks only time cannot heal.  It is anger.  It burns.  It festers.  It rots from within.  It spawns from negligence.  It spawns from fear.  It spawns from death.  It spawns from wrongdoing.  It spawns from misunderstanding.  From the negligence, anger.  Out of the anger, negligence.  A wheel, never ending, until... 

      Have you felt it?  I've felt it.  I've felt the anger of other people.  I've felt my own anger against other people.  It is ugly.  Rid me of it.  Please.

Gollum.

trauma – 1.3

When she woke up, she saw the sun glistening through the window. She felt sore, but well-rested. Where was she, though, she wondered.

A nurse in flower-print scrubs pushed aside the curtain that surrounded her bed. “Good morning, sunshine! How are you feeling, Natalie?”

Natalie gave a crooked smile. “I guess I’m okay. I survived,” she added hopefully.

“Is there anything I can get for you? There’s someone waiting to see you.”

Perplexed, she paused to think. “Is it Tyler?”

“Yes, believe that’s the gentleman’s name. I’ll send him in when you’re ready.”

Not five minutes later, Tyler was seated by her bed in one of the uncomfortable-looking visitor chairs. He witnessed a bandaged face with a bright smile beneath it, but also an exhausted body that lay immobile on the bed.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Of course.”

“There’s something I want to tell you, Tyler. I originally asked you to come because I didn’t know if I was going to get through. You know, live. But now that I know I’ve still got some time, I really want my life to have meaning. Time lost is never found. Use today as if it was you’re last.”

heaviness.

my pain is gaping wide, swallowing up your kindness, groaning and insistent.
its hunger is all I can hear.
you, you peaceful gentle friend,
composed and conscious,
how can you understand?

but indeed it is I who do not understand;
I cannot grasp the paradox
of losing what you desire without losing your patience.
In that you can bear your own and mine as well,
your suffering gains stature.


[inspired by Sense and Sensibility]

kraken.

      Cuddled in my precious coils, hiding behind my masses, I lie: waiting for opportunity to take life and crush it in the midst of myself.  They will never stand against me.  When the time comes for me to reveal myself, they will all flee, courage frozen, from the face of my hideous self.  Golden warships, Great white fish, the marauders of the half-open sea... flee.  How many days has it been?  How many days since the men would fire their harpoons in futile attempts to pierce my flesh.  How many times since the sharks would gang together, hoping to feast upon my body.

This lonely authority is not for me.  Fight back.

Fight back.  Give me scars and annoyances.  Call on your valour.

  Fight back.  Give me insults I can never hear.  Muster your packs.

    Fight back.  Give me defiance.  Aim your cannons at me.

      I longed to be pierced through, cut up, destroyed.  I long for an adversary.  Foolish, to wish for what does not exist.  I spend eternity at the end of the great ocean.  They will not come for me.  I spend eternity, ageless, waiting until the day I must strangle my life with my own limbs, for no one will dare to beat me to it.

breaking.

"Shhh! You'll break it."

"Break what?" she asks, laughing again.

"The silence."

Her golden laugh trips over his words. He tries to look stern, but fails, breaking into a huge grin.

"Why'd they let you go?" he asks, catching her in his arms -- never wanting to let her go.

"Let me go? From what?"

"The zoo, you strange creature."

Again, she laughs. There's a mysterious quality in her laughter that makes it both boisterous and soft. It's for this mystery that he allows its shimmery tones to go on breaking the precious silence of the sunset. They take a seat on a park bench -- his arms still around her.

"Oh, you're silly," she tells him, snuggling closer to him on the bench. "No one would pay anything to see me. At least, not the outrageously expensive prices that most zoos charge."

He smiles. What else is there to do when she takes his jest so seriously?

"Ooh, let's go to the zoo. This weekend. Friday morning through Sunday night. Just you and me. The Bronx is close-by and it's always lovely this time of year."

"It's spring, darling. All it does is rain in New York this time of year. How could it be lovely? And it's expensive, dear. You just described the ticket price as 'outrageous.'"

She smiles at him, with that sly little grin.

"Oh, you just want to jump in the puddles of New York... am I right?" he looks at her, wondering how her eyes can sparkle so brilliantly. It must be the setting sun -- sparking a gleam in her eyes, setting her hair on fire, giving fuel to her dreams and love.

"You know me too well," she says, sighing into his arms.

Ahh, but he doesn't. She's such a mystery to him. Always was and always will be. They watch the rest of the sunset in peace, their weekend plans already set. There's nothing to ruin the moment... nothing to break the silence. Until a thought comes to his mind.

"Wait a second, darling. Your second chemo treatment is on Thursday. You won't be able to walk, let alone j--"

"Shhh!" she interrupts him, putting her fingers to his lips. "You'll break it."

"Break what?"

"My dream."

Her laugh, once more, interrupts the silence.

unthink - 1.0

A pleasant melody wafted through the window as the man sat, striking two sticks together, humming along to the rhythm and the tune.  His crimson cloak rustled as he stood, tossing the sticks aside, and walked slowly toward the door.  The floor creaked.

"One does not go about being an assassin and make the floors creak, boy."  The crimson cloak fluttered softly to the ground after its brooch.  The man's sword gleamed against the boy's dagger.  There was no answer.  The boy's eyes narrowed.  Up.  Left.  He rolled past the man, swiping at his ankles.  Nothing was there.

The floorboards shattered as the boy's body crashed, propelled by one hand between his shoulder blades.  The man bent down, his hand still holding the boy to the ground.  "Neither does one think once his prey is in sight.  Your instincts are right, but unpolished."

"Just kill me."

The sword pierced through.  The boy's eyes widened, his breath pushed out suddenly, but then closed in resignation, a smile on his face.  Waiting for the pain to start.

"Get up, boy.  You've got some guts in you."  The sword had missed his throat, leaving only a small cut.  The boy lay still.

"Get up."

wére.

Morgan sat slumped over, his hair falling over his face, whitened from lack of sunlight and nutrition.  His drifting consciousness registered a figure standing in front of his cell.  The door swung open without a sound. The torture would begin again today; but today was different.  The figure spoke, with his eyes closed, his chest forward.  His voice was high, grating.

"I hope you understand why I'm here, Mr. Frieman.  I harbor no ill will towards you... But it is my duty to enlighten you as to why you are in here.  As you know, the society of Non Tenor Voices has been long abolished.  You, as the head of that society, have no rights to speak of within our glorious and ebullient na-" He stuttered.  "Mah, meh, mii.  Mhmm.  You, as the head of that society, have no rights to speak of within our glorious and ebullient nation.  Therefore, I will attempt, unwillingly, to enlighten you on your rights within reason.  There was a story of a boy, just like you.  His name was, well, he had no name, but they called him Old Man River.  And now, Old Man Riv-- Mah, meh, mii.  And now, Old Man River, he had a beautiful head of hair.  I would even venture to liken it to my own, but, eh, he had a beautiful head of hair.  No one in all the village could compare to his engrati-- Mah, meh, mii.  Eh, what's this?"

The cell door had swung shut behind him.  The figure was the only one left in the cell.

this day is mine - 1.1

"'ARRGGHH' I screamed. For as I learned from the whale, dolphins become confused when they hear a scream, since their main form of communication is echolocation.......and violence. Basically when I screamed, the dolphins heard, 'hey Bob, pass the pancakes, I put way too much maple syrup.' (this is a rough translation of course, since the language of Dolphin - or flabber as they call it - and English are very far apart).  Now, in dolphin circles, the the words 'syrup', and 'pass' don't mean much. However, there are a few dolphins named Bob here and there. And they do love a good pancake. But the reason why the dolphins were so confused was that the Bobs normally worked in the financial department of the LVD, and they don't get off from work 'till around 6ish. How can they possibly be having pancakes at this time of the day? With this scream, I dove into the murky depths of the LVD cove. Armed with a trident, sandwich, and a picture of Morgan Freeman, I quickly found myself unable to breathe, so I came back to the surface, grabbed another picture of Morgan Freeman, then dove into the murky depths once again. What terrors lay before me? What trials of endurance must I face? Why in the world do I only have two pictures of Morgan Freeman instead of 10? All these questions and more will be answered next time, on...........eeeeehhhggghh.....!!"

dinner party.

"Hey, a cow is a herbivore, isn't it?"
"Yes!"
"So if we eat a cow, it's like eating grass and meat at the same time?"

The padded hammers hit gently at the strings as Jacob pressed the keys, producing a non-intrusive, non-calming, non-fitting melody, the perfect atmospheric for a dinner party.  He smiled; strains of such conversations were more why he played than money.  There was that too... But he liked to think he was more of a noble character than a grubbing salaryman.

"I'm so angry with you, sorry.  So quit trying to cheer me up."
"I'm really sick, so sick... of this food."
"Is that so?  Keep babbling, that's just fine."

"The radio was talking about the robbery in Inkritch the other day."
"Did you hear -- I could have sworn they said he had no head."

"There were four!  One had a big, brown straw hat."
"And they just jumped in the pool?"
"Stark nake --"

It was at this moment that the man decided to make his entrance.  "Put your hands up!  Everyone on the floor!  N-no one move."

Jacob smiled, put in an acciaccatura, raised one hand in an L shape.  His thumb crooked.  "Bang."

- for Summer and Autumn

scared.

Fay runs and the sticks under her shoes snap.
The mud seeps to the sides of the shoes.
She pants; her breath heaves.
She runs from what she's seen: a deer sprinting across the highway, a Suburban rollicking around a bend, and the groan of metal and sliced flesh.
The machines could be anywhere behind her, angrily upturning the underbrush, crushing the mud, catching Fay between their teeth.

bliss.

"The setting sun creating a mosaic of reflections through dusty sheets of some sort of clear, hard substance. They could have told us it was hardened water, for all we cared. It was pretty. Trees changing different colors for some reason. They could have told us it was Green being bored with what he was and decided to become Orange, for all we cared. It was beautiful. Sounds coming from pieces of wood and metal. They could have told us little people made those sounds within, for all we cared. It was wonderful. The sun shining on our backs while we turned rocks over to look for snails. They could have told us God was shining a flashlight down to help us out, for all we cared. It was fun. They could have told us many things, for all we cared. For all we cared. But in reality, it was our world. We made the rules, we set the standards, and we didn't care. Then we started caring........."

enemy.

"Did you hear?  Everyone who was attacked said that the guy had no eyes."

"No,no, I don't think that's quite right.  He just had completely black eyes."

"You mean he had black pupils? Like just black all the way through?"

"I think you mean black retina.  At any rate, I'm not going out later than ten."

"Neither of you are right.  But, I have to sign off for now.  I'll see you on P.I. tomorrow."

-- has left the chat room.

"Night.  He always leaves so quickly, mm."

<> has left the chat room.

"Are you serious...."

-- has entered the chat room.

"Oh.  I thought you had to leave?"

"Life. 

 Life.

 Life.Life.Life.Life.

 I have to give Life."

"Um"

"Lost.Life.Life."

"Seriously"

"Life."

"Spam?"

"Life.Life.Life.Life.Life.Life."

>< has left the chat room.

"Life." 

-- has left the chat room.

perfection.

Splotches of black paint -- no, blood -- litter the sidewalk.  A gentle breezes wafts through your jackets, whispering unintelligibly, beckoning your footsteps to imprint upon the fine layer of dust coating everything.  A low, rusty ladder straddles the narrow street, leaving enough room for cats and vermin to pass through.  Time stills in a mosaic of idyllic imperfection.

              I worked my way up the stairs, heedless of the countless creaks and snaps, focused.  The door to the rooftop; my last obstacle.  The air nipped at my exposed neck.  What a dull rooftop.  The first rays of sunlight peeked out over the western horizon.  This would have to be done without contemplation.  The right edge of the rooftop.  It was friendly.  Accepting.  No time.  I jumped.

Splotches of black paint -- no, blood -- litter the sidewalk.  A gentle breezes wafts through your jackets, whispering unintelligibly, beckoning your eyes to cast light on the figure lying prone next to the ladder.  The blood is pooling.

give up.

Left.  Right.  Her shoulder popped.  Screams.  She powered down the wall, dragging her with her and leaving a cavity in the face of the wall, her breaking body tossed to the side as she touched the ground.

Dark, red drips fell slowly off the edge of the wall, pooling beside her legs.

"Wake.  Wake."

She was standing over her, hand outstretched, the tips of her fingers still tinged red.  The other hand clasped a black towel.  Faint sensation came back.

She opened her eyes, hands cracking as they returned to their former positions.  The blood trickled down her throat.

"Again."

She stood.

this day is mine - 1.0

"But David, how are you so sure you own this day? Can it be you found the tear?"

"Why yes, oh nameless one to whom I give my love. You see, in this world, there are people who would take much enjoyment in testing the efficiency of different various objects. I call these people the scum of the Earth. I shall beat up one of them in real time for you now.  Oh, he ran away. That's sad for my body. Let me explain the tear. When a dolphin cries, his intelligence gets leaked out into each individual tear. Now as you know, the dolphin contains within itself the souls of the damned. Every day they plot to kill us all with their minds, but they cannot do so without opposable thumbs. This is a problem for them. One day, as I was taking my daily stroll along the beaches of Maui, I came across a beached whale. He told me the secret coven of the League of villanous dolphins. LVD for short. I set out on my journey..."