Rambling in dust

The world itself supplies its own scaffolding w/ or w/out the human race. We're here though, building our own structures & systems; from skyscrapers to personal relationships. Even truths, assisting the ability to survive, but those truths don't always hold us up. Just as the structure of a building may collapse, so can we, along w/ all our beliefs.
One of the good aspects of destruction is the process of rebuilding. Such great potential exists in ruin that a better chance may come to fruition.
Private life & cohabitation. Two people can create their own language together, develop patterns, bond through experience & share feelings___ that at least result in contentment. However, it rarely lasts, & they leave their stance behind___ to find something new, whether or not everyone involved agrees. If it lasts___ well, good for them.
I don't believe in broken hearts, but I do believe in broken homes. A heart can only be 'broken' if one lets it be so. As for homes, it could be a mansion or a shack, it's the people inhabiting it that make or break the deal. If the people living there care & support each other no matter what, then the home is sanctuary. If not, then no matter the grandeur or simplicity of the structure, it may as well be an asylum or half-way house___ that no doubt breeds the belief of broken hearts.
Either way, all this is just rambling. Nothing is actually set in stone, being that change is our only dependable constant. Any stone can be broken down into dust.

Just keep going

Fear & amazement I have witnessed in other's eyes as I told them about my life. Only if it's on the table & I'm comfortable w/ the company. Often they don't want to believe, & that's in response to the cleaner versions. Me detailing the whole deal isn't common, partly because I don't want to burden their minds w/ such information. A friend asking genuinely, yes, I will explain w/ no need to over exaggerate.
No one's life is actually easy or w/out struggle. Some get fucked though, & to varying degrees.
There are those that bring it upon themselves & those that like to blame others.
Some of us though, would rather just take the hard-knocks either way & keep going.
Writing has always been important to me. Even as a child learning to talk I would observe their speech patterns, tones etc. & when it came to me speaking my first word___ I recall thinking it out beforehand. Still, I didn't want to be a writer. It isn't as if I've come too terribly far on that journey as is, but I'm working on taking that further. Beyond my health & general well-being, writing is the most important thing in my life. It helps me better understand myself, as well the use of expression.
The life story though___ no. Only cryptic in bits & pieces.
Perhaps if I live to a somewhat old age I might consider it, but the odds appear slim.

Night ;}

Faintly somber

Repeat stories. Crass, bordering on morbid humor w/ poking.
Talk myself out of anxiety issues. Smile. Relax. Laughter keeps you from grinding your teeth.
Giving wisdom a hug. Deal w/ dropped petals & fading flowers.
See life for what it is, before it's gone.
Faint numbness & burning.

*

Altruism lives
in beaten hearts forever,
somber in beauty

Evasive cheesecloth & you

What impresses me most about the human condition is that our purpose is to suffer, & those that don't off themselves___ those that maintain under the worst odds that could possibly have been dealt___ w/ the right mind set/power of will, can rise above it. If it is impossible to rise in the living state, given the potential of a terminal case w/ a sooner than later expiration date, the opportunity to accept & be at peace is still quite possible.
Death is nothing to fear, but luck be for those which death takes so quickly, it goes unforeseen.
It interests me greatly, the contrast from one person to the next, being that we all exist on the same fundamental parallels. For example: one person (say breaching into adulthood) hangs from a noose they tied, because the pressure of life was too much; another person (say two doors down in the same neighborhood) endures the struggle even through poverty & extreme illness. Had their paths crossed, the latter may have casually saved the former's life just by being available. In today's world though___ we barely know our neighbors. Most of us___ barely know ourselves.
I believe, in a world of: eat your greens & don't spit on the floor, we must be seasoned properly to take life w/ a smile___ no matter what.
Society clamps us into cells, categories & seals us in cellophane, before we're ever given the chance to see anything else. Even in the instances where there is a batch of those able to see outside the railing set up by society; they set their own rules w/in society, & it becomes so real to them, that others are wrong to not live by aforementioned boundaries/rules. It's the same, give-or-take. Society is a corrupt, gluttonous fucker calling itself Santa Claus. What does that say about its people?
I speak of society as if it's a being. Is it not? It is composed of its people, & they created it in the face of chaos (along w/ the rest of their cunning inventions). Surrounding all, while evasive___, it's like living in an endless web of cheesecloth.
One reason I speak such high volumes about annihilation is this: the core. What exists at the center-most, the so-called essence, of a human being is that of white heat. One might say we are each our own star, but while interconnected through a current of energy so vast___ that society as a whole cannot comprehend. Ever-more surrounding, ever-more evasive than humanity could manage. THAT ball of cheesecloth is why I favor annihilation. We have derailed so far from the point that only mass, world-wide devastation could bring into focus the real deal. If you can't see it, that's not my problem. If you read this & disagree, I don't care. Because the whole is already too far gone for one to go about preaching & trying to change things, w/out getting shot. What I think or say won't make anymore of an impression on the whole___ than my neighbor's would.

Until then

Being held back in the publishing process, & I'm looking at it like a good thing. As I said: the windows are already open, why must I open the doors too. ___Seems only natural I'd be fine w/ it.
Right now it's too early. The only reason I'm awake is being in too much pain to sleep.
What matters more is my nervous system standing on end, screaming.
I sit calm. Quiet. Appearing peaceful.
If I were actually cut deep w/ blood gushing, I would sit just as still & calm; serene w/ a different version of pain. My body doesn't respond to impact wounds as one might think. Be it road burn or puncture, it's like taking a break. Gives my body something else to think about & deal w/.
Mental tasks, if anything, drive the pain. It's usually what motivates me.
& sometimes I look around & think: holy shit___ this is my life___ what the fuck?
& I try to change it, but it's like being in a puddle of drying glue. Like when paralyzed___ you try, you push to move, & there may be some progress. In the end though, you have to wait until the paralysis subsides before making any real moves.
I assume it to be implicit that my focus is on my livelihood & self maintenance, more so
than trinkets such as books. Once more familiar w/ the process I'm sure
it won't be such an issue to release the work in that form.

Learn & fix it, oh shit___

At the moment I am extremely frustrated. After years of learning & working I finally put together a manuscript (quite some time back). Right now I am in the process of getting it developed properly to self-publish. Being new at this & things just not going smoothly is draining my patience. It will happen. W/out doubt this is something I have to do, because I said so. Sure, I'm stubborn, but my ego is well in-check. Some days I feel as though I'm surrounded by megalomaniacs, which is part of a larger view in the process. Because, I'm sure I appear very arrogant as I set out to accomplish what builds up to a major task in my mind. My own press label, my work my way & a couple people around me acting as buffers when I just don't know what the fuck to do. I am thankful those people are there! As the process hits turbulence & feels arduous, I end up having to back away for a spell to breathe. Currently, I am trying to breathe & can't help but think further out, than the current tasks at hand.
When it has been completed & the book is available for purchase___, then what? Sure, keep developing & releasing. My frustration is doubled at just the thought of self-promotion though, & dealing w/ more people on a personal basis. Or, not even the personal basis, but rather the peek-a-boo/run-&-hide commentary___ that very poorly executed tongue-&-cheek manner of letting someone know what you honestly think, because it's not honest. [It's actually very similar to the unspoken 'rules' in corporate society/work. There's not a huge difference. Now that I've reached this point I see it even more clearly. All the things you didn't know, & couldn't have known, until committing to specific actions. Resulting in having to adhere to a new 'rule' or even attitude due to having changed one's stance.] I understand that I can't expect everyone to be straight-faced w/ me. Right now I'm sure I don't come off as straight-faced because I'm terse. In general I am a terse person, in fact I was born w/ an aversion for most people & had to learn to adapt as I grew. Not so much mean, as brutally honest. Forward, if you will. Naturally, I hesitate at people's reaction to my ideas & statements in poetry form. Part of me is doing this because it seems natural w/ so much work already at hand, & part of me wants to just keep working___ & never look up. The windows are already open, why must I open the doors too?

"In short, I am at my best when nobody knows me, nobody recognizes me. When I am just another nobody, in other words."
      -Henry Miller

Pushing it

The main holidays everybody loves &/or bitches about haven't quite arrived, & already I've decided November is over. It's December already! Only if I could expect others to work on the same track of time that I do, then I could be pissed that they're all behind. Seriously, let's just skip Thanksgiving & Christmas, because this time in actual December I will have pushed it on into January just for the hell of it! Let's see what the year is like w/out major holidays. It'll be refreshing, I promise___, & if not then we'll make sure you get hit in the head w/ a two-by-four by May (at least). Go ahead & rip those cardboard turkeys, over-stuffed plush Santas & all decorative light bulbs down! Just go back to what you were doing, don't ask any questions & everything will be fine.
Time flies by so fast, yet unbearably slow___. Why not just forget what the rest of the world is usually up to & throw them all a curve ball? Because, then all & everything would be in a state of chaos. Hello, we're already in chaos & it's the pattern of the current state that doesn't actually work. I'm aware it's probably just me that wants to smear time around, but it would make sense if you knew my reality.
How about this: I'll give you back your Thanksgiving & Christmas___ if we can forget my birthday.
(Brought to you by: It's too early!)

Peeling back another layer

Still at that numb stage
transmogrification
on set of slight shock___,
life was brilliant
& couldn’t get better
so it dug a hole
& stayed
there

Just a dream of thoughts

Alone,
in a cocoon
of silence w/
no speck
of light
to be found

results
in such speeds
of thought
w/ strategies
applied, just
try
to relax

at
first
everything
seems
to mock, but
there’s a way to cope,
even if it hurts
& no,
there’s nothing
you can do
to stop it
-----
having learned to ignore
a great many things,
& understand well:
there’s always
more

nothing is making
a sound & it’s
getting cold,
in an awkward
half-awake state, it is
asked
for the point
exactly,
before passing back out
in escape
under the covers
wrapped up
safe

Take a breath for more

What is
only seen through
a certain light,
something untouchable
unheard by others,
yet lived by

Impossible to miss
like a lover,
because it is always
present
eager
pushy w/
an occasional
punch, a
twist

Since
it can only be
seen through a certain
light
&
remains as untouched
as a naked
body
sought after
for years

A painful toil of being
thus far___

Odd eyes

Sketch I'm working on, the right eye makes no sense.

Necessary for the end product

Opening the front door
in drifted a pamphlet,
the cover read simply:
When will
suffering end?

Scoffing
& rolling my eyes
w/ a knowing smirk, I
left it sitting on the
kitchen table.

My mother arrived
& walking by,
she picked it up & read
it aloud w/ a healthy
laugh, stating:
What would
be
the point?

Mixture of what

Coughing up
the bad
stuff
&
having the guts
to
spit it out



White heat takes center seat

navigating
pure
chaos
takes skill

tell the truth, not the dream

Acorns & holocausts

November___ truly my least favorite month. I'm certain & hoping, eventually, some event___ some-something will occur in a November that will soothe my on-going distaste. Of course, I have my reasons, it's not just hatred for the fuck of it___ : this is the month where not getting sick all year catches up w/ me & I end up w/ three days of crud
(& don't give me the boo-hoo so sad sarcastic bullshit, because ALL year I deal in chronic pain that takes a patience most couldn't imagine to endure on a daily basis for what is now rounding a fucking DECADE!).
Can't help but mention, it's the inevitable month where there is no doubt winter is about to take over. Fall is my favorite time of the year for lots of reasons. It's better than spring___, because there's less insects, I like to watch the leaves turn multicolored (even if green be my favorite color) & drift delicately from the branches of trees. The acorns. I like to pace around the outside of the house, leaping in a stomp atop acorns & sending piles of leaves back to flight through a simple kick/swoosh of my leg.
It's always bitter sweet to be outside in November, because no matter how beautiful nature's transition is___ you can feel winter coming. Cold, brittle fringes of death___ just a similarity is all. The way nature shows you the process of life every year, & even every day. In November, it is more noticeable than any other time of the year. Winter in CO or MI___ that I can take. Drier cold, not when the percentage of humidity all year round is 98 or higher. It cuts straight to the bone here in AL.
Remember, remember the 5th of November___ that's my great grandma Martin's birthday___ & she died at age 100 at the very beginning of December. I miss her all the time, but I think about her most in November. She was similar to a role model to me, but we weren't able to spend enough time together in life. Mostly I remember the stories told about her life. Half Native American, I believe her father was full blooded.
While we're on the subject of Native Americans___ I might as well bash Thanksgiving as a holiday. I like giving thanks & do so all year long___ there is no reserving one day for it, but that's the most admirable aspect of the holiday. The thing that bites me, that will always get me, is the tripe they feed us from gradeschool up until we learn the truth for ourselves. Being from Native American blood lines I knew the truth from childhood. I already knew that those pre-Nazi fucks had no good-will intent toward my people. No, they showed up, called us savages & began their slaughter, which later Hitler took the strategy of & applied it to how he would attempt to eradicate the Jews. Hitler's body count didn't come close to the American Holocaust. I'm already tearing up___, all I'm gonna say is FUCK YOU & instead of swigging beer over a football game & waiting for the grand carnal feast___ instead, watch The Canary Effect. It's a very well done documentary on the American Holocaust. The last I'll say on this subject is that American society has a large genocidal attempt in their history, & a very successful attempt at that. Meanwhile, they turn their heads & act like nothing happened. It goes socially unacknowledged, just as does racism. They want to act like racism isn't still an issue. Just like they did to the Native American women when they would go to the doctor___even if for something as simple as a cough___ they would walk out sterilized. In a state penitentiary in CA they are unrightfully sterilizing African American women. I was unrightfully sterilized & almost killed___. Humanity has unknowingly designed their own demise. Other than that, I can't think of the proper words to depict how I feel___ I would only grow further indignant in my speech.
Think I'll just round this post off w/ a general GO FUCK YOURSELF!

Snip 2: Beat the Noise

(Doing some dialogue/general flow experimentation. Obviously punctuation & capitalization are still in the works here, but I figured another taste wouldn't hurt. / This is about mid-story, w/ another appropriate song attached to the post. Enjoy!)

I set to foot & was nearing the bar in no time; once I reached the parking lot my thoughts were moving so fast I couldn’t keep track of them. Until I saw Dillon standing outside the door, then my mind partially ceased & I heard only a low ringing. The look on his face as he caught sight of me was that of happiness, but slight distress, since I’m sure he knew what was coming. As I approached closely I held out Kris’ hairpiece, as he stood solid w/ arms crossed.
“You didn’t___ did you?” I asked, not using a harsh or loud tone.
“Mia, ___no, of course not. She left that thing there & I didn’t touch it. I’ve watched her operate since I’ve been working here, & last night seemed personal. I’ll admit that gaudy thing disturbed me in my sleep though, while you were gone.”
“How so?” I softened a bit & let my arm fall back down to my side, as he thrust both of his out into the air for a moment.
“Because it wasn’t yours! You were gone, & it was just proof some shit would go down when you got back.”
“How far did my so-called friend go, by the way?” as I asked, he shifted uncomfortably in his stance.
“That’s not even a so-called friend, Mia, that’s a whore___.”
“___Brilliant. The cow is still trying to be clever.”
“She kept putting her hands on me, tried to sit in my lap & when I got up she followed me to our room. It was so loud I didn’t know she was behind me until I turned around, by that time she was putting her arms around me & trying to kiss me. I pulled her off & asked what she thought she was doing, but it was like I said nothing. She sat down on the bed, just to make my skin crawl, & started messing w/ her hair. Kept going on about, “ he shrugged, “being attractive too & how the two of you share everything. I tried to lead her out by the arm & ended up having to pry her off of me & slam the door in her face. That chick is disturbed.” hearing his take on the events left me angry w/ the feeling of calm cold, as I stared at the door. Silent. Still I heard nothing but that low ringing in place of my forethoughts, “She’s in there.” I heard Dillon say smoothly.
“What histrionic bullshit!” I said full of distress, then after a moment full of fury once again, “What a whore!”
One good thing about this particular group of people was that they respected a fight they knew was coming. Passing through the front door straight-faced was easy, & a few different people looked at me as I made my way; some even out of my way. Sure, it had been a long time, but I had known half of those people even longer. She was sitting at the bar, & couldn’t be missed, because she always made sure to sit down under one of the hanging lights w/ her dyed black hair & drawn on eyebrows. The devil painted like a clown in ceramic-fit punk styling. I saw what was happening & that I triggered it, but either way someone would have pulled something___ they always do. Apparently I managed to get so wrapped up in myself, I just didn’t think about the potential of someone stabbing me in the back that badly.
“Mia! Girl, what’s up? I’ve been waiting for you!” yelled Myrah, the bar tender.
I simply smiled at her & she winked. The bar tenders & bouncers always knew everything, & it was obvious Kris had been alerted as her posture went stiff. I slid between her & whoever was on the opposite bar stool w/ a smile on my face.
“Hello puppet___.” I held up her hair fascinator, “Been after something while I was gone?” she looked petrified underneath her glib demeanor.
“Oh my god, where did you find it!? I thought I lost it forever!” she spewed in desperation.
“Don’t waste it on me you faberge whore!” grabbing a wad of her product sprayed tangle hair, I growled into her face, “You have lost something forever, & it’s NOT a hair pin!” I began dragging her kicking & screaming to the back alley, w/ no one stopping me. Shoving open the door w/ my body & tossing her through it, she fell on the few steps leading up to the alley. Bracing her leg against the concrete stairs w/ my boot, I took the ankle of her other & began twisting it until she screamed, “What did you think you were doing w/ my boyfriend?”
“What are you talking about? I was really drunk that night & on pills. You know how crazy I get!” she tried to wriggle away from me & wailed, “You can stop hurting me now!”
“Crazy?!” I yelled, “You must be to make a pass at him in our own room! Acknowledging THAT night & acting like your drug-induced state makes you innocent, is just the topper. Half the bar knows why I’m here & Dillon told me what happened. I’m not operating blind, Kris! YOU ARE!”
Leaning down quickly I sliced her face w/ a sharp edge of the hairpiece. She dabbed her fingers over the cut & looked at the blood; which angered her, thus breaking the flimsy act.
“Fine! I know what I did, & why not!?” I let her stand up, as I stepped out into the alley, “You get the one sane & sober guy around here, the one that doesn’t even bother w/ other girls & now only thinks of you.” she sneered at me as she spoke, “If anything I’m going to fuck him for every girl in this bar!”
Before I could think I had knocked her in the jaw & she landed in a puddle of mud amidst broken asphalt.
“You!” I laughed, “You’re going to fuck him for every girl in the bar!” I jeered mockingly as I walked toward her, “When you wake up tomorrow I hope the damage is enough that you’re able to see past that selfish, hollowed out excuse you use as a personality. If this is what you call popular, then you should look up the word pathetic & compare the two.”
My boot swung toward her face & in the next blink she was unconscious. Before walking away I jammed the fascinator in her ratted & dirtied mop of hair.

Snip from: Beat the Noise

[Mia’s dream]

Steam clearing, the room’s walls were made of bodily innards still in motion w/ the occasional mouth posed as if mid scream; I could see a figure to my left in a welding mask. My body strapped to a table. To my right, an obese figure of a man’s balding upper torso w/ pale green flesh, his lower half a series of rusted & creaking metal appendages in place of legs. Trying to lift my head, before me, in a corner was a girl w/ dark hair & porcelain skin sitting at a table writing in a journal___ as if nothing was happening. Behind her, at center a staircase, on each side were rows of old wooden church pews, in which sat faceless figures I couldn’t see clearly in the dim light.
From behind the welding mask, “Clamp her head. Tighten the straps.” The obese figure further restrained my body, w/ his limbs stinking of decomposition.
“What!? No! Not again!” I wailed as loudly as I could. The figure in the mask leaned in w/ a growl.
“Shut your gob wench! It’s time___.” Thrusting out a black-gloved hand across my body to the obese figure, it simply said w/ a rasp, “Begin___.” I saw the first tool, rusted & filthy, pass from the rotting hand to a black glove.
“NO!” I screeched, attempting to move w/ no success. Knowing what was coming I let out a scream w/out end, as the masked figure started the incision beginning at my pubic triangle & up to my sternum. I fell into shock as he revealed my guts; there was no release, & thus no need to yell out for help. Restrained in midst of vivisection, my eyes fluttered rapidly w/ blood dripping in place of tears; too, blood released from my nose & filled my mouth. Choking on the blood, I tried to take a breath, but the pain was such I could only bellow in agony.
“The box___.” The masked figure insisted. I heard the creaking & rattle of the obese creature’s lower fixtures as he retrieved the box. Placing it in the gloved hands I saw the latch & wooden casing. Through my choking I attempted to speak, but my voice was faint.
“Please___, please___ NOT the spiders.” My vision was blurring & all I heard was echoed.
“No. NOT the spiders, ___Ducky. This time___ we use cicadas___, because you entered into LOVE. HAVEN’T YOU!?” The figure leaned to my face as it yelled. I spat blood at the dirty pane of its welding mask I could never see through. A gurgling groan released from my mouth as I could see the black gloves open the box & pull out a mechanism resembling two cicadas. Prying them apart they chattered w/ wings buzzing w/ piercing sound, “Think EROS, ___Ducky!” It chuckled demonically, shoving the cicada mechanisms in place of my ovaries. The pain was such the mouths on the walls groaned w/ my screaming, as the porcelain skinned girl & the faceless figures in pews sat w/out sound. Steam curled back around, concealing all I had seen.

Main character's dream sequence from Beat the Noise / Hope you enjoy / Please excuse any typos
& a lovely song that fits the general theme of the story to assist your reading___

Irrational sketching

Sitting/sketching,
I am drafting ideas for
a children's book, out pops
my deepest fear___
& there's no one to talk to.

So, I will submit it to the void.

Currently___
my deepest fear is not of dying,
but instead, it's
dropping dead of a brain aneurysm
before I am able to pull my life
out of the hole it's been in
for over 8 years.

'There's nothing to fear but fear itself' (as it is said)

I know it's irrational
& have even
traced this particular fear to
its root___,
yes, I know where it began___.

That doesn't really
change
anything though___, since
no matter how
I reason & rationalize,
the fear returns, because___
I let it.

No conclusion & A Coney Island of the mind

Take a break, I keep telling myself, but it has yet to happen. For some reason I just can't give in, because if anything I am relentless when it comes to work. Sleep deprivation benefits me in these matters, generally. Eventually though one must catch up on rest for the sake of mind & body. Over the past few days I've done my best to do so, & the process is grueling. My relationship w/ sleep is love/hate, & even more so w/ being awake. If I am determined to catch up on sleep it results in my being taunted by dreams, & when awake all I want to do is work.
Currently my 'focus' is on determining the flow of dialogue for my stories. I have taken to studying how others employ punctuation & so on. Today alone I have gone through: Harper Lee, Dorothy Parker, Ernest Hemingway & even the writer's reference books from use in college. So far, the only author whose dialogue flow makes the most sense to me is Hemingway. He's very concise, & I find the clarity of his work to be admirable. As for finding my own flow___ pox bottles! I thought I had it, but now I'm not so certain. Obviously I wish to re-work my punctuation so that it is not disruptive to readers. Initially I wrote dialogue in the way it felt right to me. Of course I must analyze & beat everything, including myself, to death before coming to any conclusion I find acceptable. Thus far, no conclusion has been reached.
At least a few things are looking up in life. Sort of.

"I spring out of bed in my nightshirt & I commence to dance the dance of King Kotschei. In my nightshirt I dance, w/ a parasol over my head. They watch me w/out a smile, w/out so much as a crease in their jowls. I walk on my hands for them, I turn somersaults, I put my fingers between my teeth & whistle like a blackbird. Not the faintest murmur of approval or disapproval. They sit there solemn & imperturbable. Finally I begin to snort like a bull, then I prance like a fairy, then I strut like a peacock, & then realizing that I have no tail I quit. The only thing left to do is to read the Koran through at lightning speed, after which the weather reports, the Rime of the Ancient Mariner & the Book of Numbers." -Henry Miller, Black Spring, chapter Into the Night Life. . . (A Coney Island of the mind.)

Perhaps by 11pm tonight I will have turned a corner, fully woken up & the ability to at very least continue work on another story I am determined to finish titled: A One Night Stand. On my breaks, if the sky is clear, I like to track the star Arcturus. Soon, the country___ far out away from all the lights & pollution___ there are constellations I wish to map more clearly. Saint Dominic insists___, as he is strung around my neck.
As far as taking a break from work___ fuck it.

Untouchable dreams

Coming out of delirium is one those things___, it is to be enjoyed & despised.
Sleeping for extended periods in a deep state, as if under water, w/ dreams biting at you.
Never can I remember them entirely. Thankfully___.
Last night's, or rather this morning's, was a total trip that has left me feeling as if
I am continually hurdling down an endless tunnel
of images, memories, fantasies & various thoughts. Still, yes, I am beyond the dream state.
What I can recollect is this pink, hairless creature being brought to life somehow.
Similar to a rabbit, which makes sense. Once this creature was cognizant enough it began to run.
& I don't blame it, if I were born into one of my own dreams I'd run like hell too (wait___).
Anyway, there was a group of us initially & I was the only one willing or capable of
going after said pink, hairless rabbit creature. It seemed innocent enough, so why chase it
I asked, but hey___, we're talking about a dream here. Even the people in the group
were those of an oddly scattered nature. People I've met throughout my life, none of which
really knew each other (it was like the blender I throw people I know into
in order to create my fictional characters).
As I chased the creature a state was reached where I was of the same mind as it; so,
I was it & it was me. Strategy from both sides, running away & tracking.
(No doubt typical Gemini mental shit.)
Seems like I caught up w/ it & returned to the lazy group, but as I did so___
the creature disappeared from sight, & I knew it had become a part of me. The group cheered,
celebrating for some certainly unknown reason as I stood back & watched as they crowned
an old friend of mine. A psychotic friend, one of several I've had to distance myself from
for my own sanity. & as I watched her stand on a platform
giving the classic Miss So-&-So wave___ I missed the pink, hairless rabbit-creature.
It had been a better companion to me than any of those in the group.
My disgust was what woke me up, then my alarm brought me completely to, & now___
I'm just fucked___ caught in this weird image tunnel. Feels like my mind is moving
at the speed of light & yet, my body feeling rather inert as I sit typing this out.
Oh, the creature was born out of a white box. Yeah___, the box we thought was full of only
that poofy white stuffing they put in toy animals. It was very interesting to see the
creature born. I even remember the texture of its slimy, new body
as I held it in both hands.

This is going to be a weird day___.

You would want a gun too

Indeed, there is a grievous issue which has driven me into this state of delirium, & it is not
something of which I can convey openly.
Ah, secrets___.
I would rather have sleep, or at least company. Another sound,
another mind exchanging rapidly.
There is much to say when sleep deprived. Even if my wit be lopsided.
If I were an old hag in a dirty wrapper it would be my wig which would be lopsided.
Ah, the death rattle. Funny words to place in union.
One gives a baby a rattle to play w/___ something so new to the world___.
Fresh eyes w/ an eager mind, only to be warped no matter their upbringing, because this world
is fucked.
Indubitably fucked, so much so it is beyond simple recognition. At this point it is cruel
to bring a child into such conditions, but oh they want them so!
Humanity___ you impetuous buggers, I love you w/ a sickness so sweet it
makes me wish I had a gun. For what use I will not state.
You will see, dealing w/ a beast believing itself to be a god___ you would want a gun too.
No doubt it takes the life out of you, even if in the form of delirium, continual
agony & that damn stomach ache.
Yes, secrets___.
Where oh where has my company gone?

(This message brought to you by___ fuck it.)

I am, if not

I am not a feminist, nor do I support male chauvinism.
Both are the same, give or take.
There again stands the ideal of individualism, & too the want to be a part of a group;
while forced to stand on your own two feet & to carve a path through the thick of formulaic chaos.

Recently I have been told (by males) that for so long the world has been in the hands of men,
only to meet ruin.
Too, that if any hope of restoration exists in the sickly gut of humanity,
it should be women that take power. Apparently we hold the key to life, even if barren. Still,
my agreeing has yet to come to fruition___.
What a rip!
If anything male & female should be thriving in harmony, but we're all just too damn stubborn.

For so long I have been observing the pattern of women being held under the thumb of men, &
the selection of women that allow men to believe they are in control when in all actuality they are
simply puppets. All-in-all, in that observation, what conclusion I have reached is that both are
pulling strings attached to one another for each their own reasons.
Which of the two genders has true power in that pattern is rather___ obsolete.

My vote: annihilation.
Complete & utter destruction of humanity as a whole.
We are doomed, whether or not male or female takes control.
On the off-chance that we learn to thrive together, I guarantee it will be as we struggle to survive
in the ruin we inevitably face. What population is left will have no choice.

Call me wrong, I don't care. We're all just shouting out into a void anyway.
What good any of this does is beyond me, & you___.

(Another message brought to you by Leena's delirium.)

Empty beds, twisted heads & the ability to wait

Every day
people sell themselves
in some way
to make it by in life

as we wait___

be it for the golden box
holding all the
answers
we have yet to
achieve
through thought,
& we commit
to actions
that may not feel
so noble

as we wait___

be it for the key meant
for the lock of the
aforementioned box,
which is bullshit
to begin w/

as we wait___

every day
people sell themselves,
& like cattle
we walk right in
to the slaughterhouse,
prodding ourselves
shocked by fear
& hunger

as we wait___

for pain to stop &
to not feel so cold &
alone
when we crawl home
to our
empty beds

The mind fuck

After months of work resulting in my eyes feeling like sandpaper, my latest piece of fiction titled: Beat the Noise___ has officially been deemed as a mind fuck (thanks to Ian McLeod, author of The Darwinverse). Yes, I take this as a compliment. My initial goal w/ the piece was to step out of my usual style of fiction writing, & balance eroticism w/ death. Generally I do not detail sex or death, because I prefer the Hitchcock approach of: "There's nothing more frightening than an unopened door."
In today's world though___ obligatory sex scenes & over exaggerated gore are what grabs attention, whether or not I agree. I will forever prefer suspense as an art-form. However, bringing Beat the Noise to life has taught me a valuable lesson. Now I better understand how modern cinema gets away w/ shit plots, bad dialogue, re-makes & just in general plastering the audience w/ special effects. These days all you need is massive explosions & mangled bodies that were previously intertwined in lewd sexual acts. While you still won't even catch me dead in a packed movie theater in honor of a new release___ I'll at least give creators props for what it takes to become rich while further diminishing the minds of the populous as they empty their pockets for entertainment.
It's the new-age freakshow! Jump on board or you'll miss the action!
(Yes, I am generalizing, because not ALL modern cinema is as I've described.)
While I can't say Beat the Noise will be hitting the 'box office'___ perhaps in the future it will at least be in print & available to any of those curious enough to dare take a peek.

(This message brought to you by Leena's delirium)

11/3/14 November; she’s beautiful

Upon story finish, I looked up, & it was 11/2/14,
& I’ve just woken up, knowing I must start another
even though there is one left unfinished,
yet another must be born.

For the last I had to travel outward in order
to retrieve the finale, due to becoming so
attached to specific characters; I had to
seek out the ideal location & setting
before
I knew how to wrap the ending.

Outward, beyond my nook, past my book,
there
sounded the death rattle, echoing my
past & future, merging them into
one event, one show, one Halloween night I had
fixed in my mind & was required to fight just
to go beyond my nook, for my book
& various other
pointed fancies that remain
w/ lingering tassels & sparkling eyes
left in my mind.

For Halloween 2

For Halloween