prologue.

"I will keep fighting against the god of this world 
until my arms have been blown off and my feet will not carry
me"

1904.  London.

      Rats whisked past the inscription, which had been etched deep down in the brick of the alley, forgotten by time and human warmth.  It was a wide road, once used as a route for carriages and whatnot.  No more footsteps sounded.  A deserted corner.  No more footsteps sounded, except his.  He whistled softly at the rats, holding a kerchief forth.  Crumbs fell from cloth silently, the clicks of the rodents' claws growing louder, fading away as they finished and returned to their shadows.  His steel-toed boots clicked against the floor as he walked slowly towards the wall bearing the inscription... And faded into the brick stone.

-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.

apollon.

They sat together on the rooftop.

"Days like these are long.  Not much to do, mm?"  The Thin one exhaled softly.  He had a peculiar dimpled face; it was a boyish cute face.  His side-swept bangs ruffled his eyes as the wind caught between the strands.

The Tall one sighed, longer.  Louder.  "You want to go down to the docks?"  His crew-cut fought with the gusts of wind, struggling to stay immobile.  He flexed unintentionally.

Thin adjusted his glasses, leaned back, said, "I'd rather go over to your place."  He blushed.

"Not for my sister, you don't.  We could just go to the station, see where that takes us?"  Tall frowned.

"Alright.  I have... eight dollars.  You're paying."  Thin rose, his knees cracking painfully.  He groaned.  "Must've gained weight."

The Tall one smirked.  "After you just implicitly harassed my sister by turning red after suggesting we go to my house?  Fat chance, baby girl."

"Oh, shut it.  We're both adults, aren't we?"  The wind blew.  "... When was the last time you went to the bathroom?"

"This morning."

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.

blemish - 2.3

Character List: The Artist | The Lady | The Commissioner | Henrietta | Louise | Firo | Gray

Henrietta paused as the door melded shut behind her.  “Louise?” 

“Yes, my lord.”

“You are… behind that door.  With two others.”

Louise’s eyebrows knitted as she frowned.  “That should not be, my lord.  What makes you say so?”

“What my blemished Likeness sees, I see, Louise.”  Henrietta stepped forward, reaching for Louise.  “Tell me.”

The maid smiled.  “You are quite perceptive, my lord.  This time does not come for many until their own dust ages.”

There was a seam… running across her face.

Her head opened.

Thousands upon thousands of wires: metal, formed the structure for the skin-muscle shell of Louise.  It was like looking at an intricately woven mannequin.  Henrietta reached forward instinctively, pausing inches from the metallic frame.

"Please, look inside." Louise's voice intoned, having taken on a distinctly metallic quality.

Will I break the structure if I move them?  It is of no consequence.  Henrietta smiled, pushed through the... there was nothing.  She brushed strands of metal apart.  All there was to be seen...

Was black.

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.

blemish - 2.25. reality.

Imagine a Traceless Dimension.

No matter how you try to picture it in your mind...

No matter how vast and immeasurable your mind tries to become to imagine this world...

It remains... Traceless.

In this Dimension, Time stops.  

The Space moves; but Time stops.

You cannot flow in the Traceless Dimension.

You can exist, but you cannot continue. 

There is no Time, but there is Space.

Will you live forever?  Perhaps, yes.

How long is forever?  Infinity.

Infinity is Time.  Time is stopped.

You cannot live forever.

You cannot go backward.

You cannot go forward.

To continue :: to start Time.

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.

sisters.

They hadn’t stayed long in the kitchen when it was time to put things away. Seeing the plates and silverware, Chloe promptly sighed. She felt overwhelmed with the work she still had left to do. Out loud, she hastily asked, “Do you mind if I go upstairs?”

Bethany and Tiffany were obliging. While they too had work to do, they felt no inclination of doing it. Their work could wait, they figured. They stood up, easily stacking the dishes and closing the lids of the jam and peanut butter jars. Glancing at each other, both wondered who would wash the dishes.

“I can wash,” volunteered Tiffany. She wasn’t exactly eager, but like always, if something was expected of her, she would do it willingly.

Seeing the chance of a competition, little sister Bethany quickly picked up the sponge. “Not if I get to it first,” she silently remarked. She began wiping the plates and forks, while Tiffany cleared the dishrack. They had made a happy compromise. Tiffany started singing.

“This is the song that never ends… it goes on and on my friends…”

Bethany joined in, “Some people started singing it not knowing what it was…”

“And they’ll continue singing it forever just because!” Laughing, they both were thankful for the fun times they could have.

guest post #1.

Starting a new series? Yes, of course! Guest posts. Not self-explanatory at all.

Connection of Two Hearts 
It was two entirely different hearts composing a beautiful harmonious song. Rejoicing, these hearts clung closely. No turbulent skies or depressing company could affect the sheer delight of this complete true love. The aspect of true love, being sometimes confusing and mysteriously thought provoking, has left many a person either shattered or enlightened by this sacred gift from above. How is it then, two individuals can experience this same feeling, yet one ends in catastrophe and the other en wrapped in happiness? Feeling love is those warm shivers, soft blushes, the all together glow of ones eyes, and light-hearted smiles, but "feeling" love can never last; for feelings such as these are merely human instincts set off by the interactions of persons with a natural attraction towards each other. True love, on the other hand, comes from deep within the soul when two people are drawn together by the miraculous threads of destiny. By no means, do I mean to imply this love occurs by mere chance. I simply say it was written by the artistic, purposeful hands from above. The complex beauty of true love, I hope, will continually inspire mankind.

Initialed: - FJS

blemish - 2.2

Character List: The Artist | The Lady | The Commissioner | Henrietta | Louise | Firo | Gray


Gray.  Gray!  Louise focused on the tear in the wall.  Small panels of paper began leafing off the wall, a thick sound akin to books in the wind; forming a figure.  A hulking figure, not human.  Much less, and much more.  The papers formed solidly, the last sheets closing.  Black, lifeless eyes opened.  He was giant.

Firo backed slowly, his hand on the doorknob, not knowing he had no way of escape without the seals.  Louise stood still.  Louise.  Louise.  A bead of sweat rolled down Firo's forehead as he concentrated, mostly in terror.

Louise.  It's a rat.  It's bigger than me.
That is Gray, my lord.  The maid lowered her head.

"Whatsit?"  Gray's voice was metallic, mechanical.  He had a curious accent, Firo thought... An accent like what a North Londoner would have back at home.  Accent?

"You can... talk."

The rat sighed.  "Get on with it.  What happened, Louise?  Why is this human seeing me?"
"He is not your concern, Gray.  You are.  There was... one of those."
The papers rustled as Gray's mouth crooked in a rancid smile.  Louise was hiding something.  "One of what? Hmm?"
"Gray."
The smile vanished.  "Just tell me."
"There was an overlap."

Overlap?  Louise.  What's that?  Tell me.
My lord...

Louise turned to face Firo.  The metallic, grating sounds began again.  Firo looked up.  There was a seam... running across her face.  "Louise?"

Her head opened.

long - 1.2

The doors swung shut behind me.  This was no time to be caught off-guard.  Sword unsheathed itself.

"Please, put that down."  The wyvern king boldly turned her back to me, gliding towards... a microwave?

The back of her dress was too low-cut.  

"I wore it for you."

Confusion.  I ran my hand through my hair.

"Hold on a minute, I'll just... fry something here."  She placed something in the microwave, turned, smiled.  I blushed.  Hadn't meant to do that.

Okay.  Don't look at her.  "How do... you have microwaves?  That's human technology."

Another smile.  Don't look.  "Look, please.  Well, I call this the heat ray.  It was a gift from one of my generals.  Quite more efficient than using heat spells, mmm?"

"Mmmm.  I see.  And... how many humans did he kill for that?"
She was close.  Too close.  Too... her eyes searched for mine. 

"Right."  No.
"Yes."  She matched my pace as I stepped back.

"No.  Stop.  I can't."

"Can't?"

"You have killed my people.  How can you be you?"  Slender, delicate, sinuous... beautiful.

"Thank you."  She blushed. 

"Oh.  No."

Her lips parted.  "There is reason to this war.  War may destroy some, but it sustains more than it destroys."

"What?"

enka.

      Summer scents waft the air as she reclines against the wicker pillow.  Her hand sweeps down slowly, slowly, dipping into the pool, sending vibrations deep through the crystal black water.  Two silver pins adorn her head, brilliant against the sky and the sun, whose rays and temperaments swirl about across her face, her face: unparalleled.

      Seeing a willow through the water, she casts off her heavy garments, leaving but her raiment, disappearing into the water.  It is dark; but there is much light around her.  Down, spiraling, until she reaches the willow.  She reaches out, faintly brushing the tinged, smooth bark.  The colours meld in a beautiful myriad, red, black, white, gray.  She wonders, why red, today?  Pressing close to the tree, she imagines its sorrow, of why it was named such, named a weeping willow.  There is a chirp.

      Her gaze falls upon a small sparrow.  He is motionless, save his beak.  Blue.  Why is he blue?  Is it not red, black, white, gray?  She smiles.  Something out of place.  Something like her.

"Yo, yo. --"

surreel.

      It was... I was surrounded.  Great white sharks, circling me slowly, waiting for the first sign of fear, they were.  No more.  No more would I see my dear friends and family.  Shouldn't it be family and friends?  Well.  To our work alive.  What do you think of marching to Philippi presently?  I do not think it good.  Because... I am no narwhal.  I can fight no sharks.  Ooh, they're scary.  Blood.  Don't show fear, and don't bleed.  I have an open cut from last week.  Did I put a bandage on already?  It's on.  I can feel it.  Focus.  Relax.  Roll the shoulders back, roll with the punches, and punch them back.  Yes.  FOR A RED DAW-

"Sir?  Sir."

I started involuntarily.  A gnarly hand rested lightly on my shoulder.  "Yes!  I'm here!  What seems to be the problem?  Eh??"  Don't panic.  Get... ready... they'll pounce any minute.  Oh.  "Oh, I'm sorry!"

"Your audition was to start six minutes ago, sir.  You've been sitting staring at the keys vapidly for quite some time now."

Did he just say vapid?  Me, vapid?  Really.  Couldn't he find a better word, like... facetious.  Or maldovish.  Or thunderbolt-like.  Oh.  Wait.  "Audition?"

"Yes?"

a_sence.

      The sun rolled further down in the sky, lazing over a city block as he basked in his own warmth.  He adjusted the thermometer down a little: 5,502 degrees Celsius.

      "It's much too early for you too be up like this, sun.  It's only eleven in the morning."  I sighed.  Walking down twenty blocks from 63rd in this blistering weather wasn't particularly enjoyable.  It was these mornings that I took time off... But I'd used up all the sick days for this year last year.  Bother.  "Bother."  It made more sense when I said it out loud.  I sounded like one of the main male protagonists in one of those reverse harem role-playing games.  Well, why not.  I cleared my throat, remarking, more to myself than anyone else, "You... You're not hurt, are you?  If you... If anything had happened to you, I'd... I'd fall in love with you."  I glanced up and caught the gaze of the lady walking across the road, who immediately averted it.  Why had I chosen such a quiet intersection to relieve stress?  "Bother."

      "Morning, Missus Lumkee."  I always had to stop thinking "lumpy" when I said the name at looked at her hair at the same time.  "Stop smiling, stop smiling."  I muttered.  "I'm sorry, Mister Fung?"  She'd heard?  Well, I could pass it off as a careless comment about my own behavior with absolutely no relation to her hair.  "Oh, nothing.  Beautiful sun out today, isn't he?"  She smiled painfully.  "Mister Fung, you're eighty minutes late."

      "Oh, fudge."

ocean.

Oh sorrow, i think you are my self
i call my tears my ocean, my home
No. Sorrow gave me order of exile
but i will break it

My ocean’s answer
is salt of tears like my tears
My ocean is where i swim
but beams of sunlight float

Floating on sun over ocean is heaven
Swimming in exile is earth
Weeping while hoping in light
(that dries all tears) is home

baton-tachi.

"When we encounter the people in our lives, that's no coincidence.  There's a plan for you to influence that person's life, for better or for worse.  What are we going to do?  Are we sitting and waiting for the life to get sucked out of us because we dared to say no to Vitamin B12?  You'll be an influence, and you will be influenced.  This life isn't going to wait for you."

"When we see the justice going on in the world and spit at it in our self-righteousness, that's no coincidence.  There's a plan for you to see those rusty, hellish glasses you're looking through.  There's a plan for you to smash them.  You go to Burger King and try to get only the healthy things on the menu?  Don't go to Burger King."

"When we speak words and think different words to other people, that's no coincidence.  There's a plan for you to speak truth, when you realize the destruction your lies can cause.  I told my friends I'd love to hang out with them the same time I screamed at them in my mind to leave me in my shambles, alone..."

This life isn't going to wait for you.  

But it's hard to change.

what #1. interviews.

What to do for an interview.

FOR THE HANDSHAKE
1.  Make sure your hands are as warm and non-sweaty as you can possibly make them.  As a friend of mine used to say, just use talc.  Talc keeps your hands dry, rough, and manly.  The handshake is much like the Harlem Shake - either you win, or you don't.  Either you do the Harlem Shake, or you don't.  No?  No connection?  Moving on.
2.  Firmidity.  Make sure your interviewer is pleasantly surprised by the energy imbued within your hands; try to outdo him, but only by a little.  It shows your competitivity, but only by a little.  Like you won't take his job in five years, you'll do it in ten.  For her... (meaning female interviewers) just off a bit.  Let her win.  Females like it when they win.

FOR THE EYES
1.  Ah.  You must show intensity within those deep pools.  Intensity enough to show that you will take his job, but in ten years, not in five.  Intensity enough to show that customers will not sass you, but will still be able to complain [quietly and respectfully, lest they be beat to pulp].  Intensity enough to show that you mean lots of good, good things.  You, the person.  As an employee.
2.  It also helps to have eyes that change colour often.  I mean, if you're looking intensely at your interviewer and your eyes change colour, you WILL get the job.  No bout.  *Doubt.  Being someone whose eyes fundamentally cannot change colour, I wouldn't know if they do that in daytime during interviews.  But... if you're lucky.

FOR THE RESUME
1.  ...lolwut?  << None of that.

Otherwise, just smile, speak like a boss (but still subserviently, but with authority, so he knows you mean business, but not that much business, like you won't take his job in five years, you'll do it in ten).  
DON'T: 
a) wear earrings or glasses [for men] || 
b) drink, smoke, or snort || 
c) flirt || 
d) make bodily... noises you will regret making in public, because your interviewer IS the public. 

And you know... if you work with customers:
The customers are angels.

unspoken.

The feeling you get when you write an email and decide not to send it. The feeling you get when you think of a birthday present for someone but never buy it. It’s because of precaution.  ‘Better safe than sorry’ the saying goes. Who knows where our words will land on the other person’s heart?

But I wonder what the world would be like if we always told people what we really thought? A lot more would be ugly. A lot more of hurt would be caused, I’m sure. But for the good things, should restraint be applied there? I hear a tongue shriller than all the music cry, ‘Yes, even there.’  Timing is crucial. So is the motivation behind our actions. Yet I mourn for the lost words of things unspoken. Instead, packed away in the hidden memories of eternity, they reside. 

May the Lord redeem the thoughts of His people.

dangerously.

It is dangerous to try to be alive
when all around is obligation.
Life takes time,
though time needs life--
or else once-scarce, desired freedom
becomes voluminous and hated.

Hate is a shortcut past trouble,
a beaten dirt path that sidesteps pain.
To love is to offer your life,
hold yourself up,
saying: what is here is worth something,
prickly though it be.

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.