Death is dark and life is light
But all the outside streams still fight
And wonder whose lot shall be best
When light and dark in shadow rest.
The dreams that plague your listless mind
No fate or fantasy can find
Yet move in synchronizing song
To sway the stars the grey night long.
Speak loud your love in strident chords
To all the listening lonesome Lords
Declaring you the voice alone
Who questions sins Gods won't atone.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
Walls of Glass in Rain
When the rain starts to fall, as it has a tendency to do often, the walls go up. A thin metal dome, just enough to keep it out, covering the town within. But the rain still thunders and they can hear it, and it drives them to distraction. So, up goes the cloth covering. Thick and muffling it covers the sound of the rain, absorbing it to where the townsfolk don't even remember it was raining. In the worst hurricanes though, even that cloth is not enough. Then there is the glass. Premade solid glass dome covering the entirety of the town and some outlying areas. Because if it is good to cover one it is good to cover all isn't it? Keep the insides safe.
But oh, sometimes the outsiders pull at the coverings. When it is just the metal they can speak through it and be heard, and hear to some extent what goes on inside. When the cloth is on, the words get absorbed as if they never existed. Any effort to conduct communication is so garbled and muffled, both ways that is may as well be lost. The glass is even worse. Soundproofed. And the worst is there, the town forgets that it even has it up sometimes, they can see through it to what they want to see and do not have to hear or feel the reality.
So occasionally force is tried, the cover being ripped away, walls being assaulted. This is the only method that goes through the glass covering, thick and solid and all-encompassing as it is. The panic in the streets as the cracks begin to appear is overwhelming, frightening. They sometimes prepare to surrender, and other times run to patch the cracks with thicker stuff. If the assault is lifted early enough, they may still succeed, leaving the walls cracked but thicker than before, and it will take longer for the town to take them down. But if it succeeds... when the glass crashes in and the damage is done and they are open to the elements and the harsh realities... Ah, it is rare, but it is the only time they can feel the rain on their faces.
But oh, sometimes the outsiders pull at the coverings. When it is just the metal they can speak through it and be heard, and hear to some extent what goes on inside. When the cloth is on, the words get absorbed as if they never existed. Any effort to conduct communication is so garbled and muffled, both ways that is may as well be lost. The glass is even worse. Soundproofed. And the worst is there, the town forgets that it even has it up sometimes, they can see through it to what they want to see and do not have to hear or feel the reality.
So occasionally force is tried, the cover being ripped away, walls being assaulted. This is the only method that goes through the glass covering, thick and solid and all-encompassing as it is. The panic in the streets as the cracks begin to appear is overwhelming, frightening. They sometimes prepare to surrender, and other times run to patch the cracks with thicker stuff. If the assault is lifted early enough, they may still succeed, leaving the walls cracked but thicker than before, and it will take longer for the town to take them down. But if it succeeds... when the glass crashes in and the damage is done and they are open to the elements and the harsh realities... Ah, it is rare, but it is the only time they can feel the rain on their faces.
Driven - 1 - Musings
Chapter 1 - Musings
She stared up with half-lidded eyes at the ceiling fan slowly spinning on the roof above her, watching its blades barely miss the glow-in-the-dark stars hung from strings that peppered the roof of the white room. Her attention wandered slightly to the stars and the random patterns they made. Not so random perhaps, at least to her mind. In all the hours of staring at the ceiling she'd invented "constellations" in the patterns that she kept hidden away in the small places of her thoughts, only remembered now in the quiet and absolute emptiness. There was the Dolphin, an elongated diamond shape with a single star at the end for a tail. And the Tortoise, it's speckled ovoid shell and three limbs and head jutting out; she imagined that one missing leg must have been lost in a mishap with the Dragon, another shape right next to it, snakelike and twisted constantly up and around. Perhaps she should have called it the DNA, she contemplated idly, reaching one hand up into the empty air as if to touch the plastic stars, though they were as unreachable to her grasping fingers as the actual stars beginning to appear in the dusky autumn evening outside her closed blinds and curtains.
Maybe there was something to the randomness of things, she thought, turning her gaze towards the lidded window next to the bed she lay on. Maybe all the things we saw as random were really organized just in some way that didn't make sense to us right away. Perhaps there was some order to the universe? She sighed, and pushed the complicated musings back out of her head. She needed the empty space in there. Too many things going on, too much complication in everyday life, too much to not think about...
She shook her head and sat up, her meditation ruined. Sliding off the side of the bed she began to readjust the pink pillows piled at the top of her bed and pulled the white comforter up, tucking it underneath them. There was a disgruntled feline yowl as she did, causing her to shoot an irritated glance at the base of her bed. A grey and white furry mass was slowly unraveling itself there, stretching and very deliberately showing her its claws and fangs.
"Shut up, Tyrael. You're messing up the bed. Shoo."
The cat didn't even grace her with a backwards glance as it pooled to the floor, gracefully hopped up onto the beanbag chair in the corner of the room, and rehuddled into an indistinct form amidst the piles of stuffed animals already occupying the chair. Returning to the task of straightening the bed, the girl smoothed the last of the wrinkles out of the comforter and left the now-tidy bed for the much-less-tidy desk that housed her computer. She sat down in the desk chair and reached for one of the pile of young adult novels next to the laptop, her hand brushing her cell phone as she did so.
Changing her focus, she nabbed the phone and flipped it open. Her reaction to the screen was slight but sharp. Four forty-nine. He'd be here soon. Damn.
She dropped her phone into her jeans pocket and stretched back over the edge of the chair once before straightening back up and perusing her room. The desk was, as always, in a cluttered state. Books sat in small piles here and there, and somewhere buried under them her laptop lay quietly bemoaning its fate as a bookshelf. Not that she never used her computer, she just usually managed to get what little homework she needed to do done near the beginning of the week and pretty much glide through the remaining school days. Her cell phone could usually be found here, silent and slightly chipped at the corners, used more for the trial version of Tetris that came with it when her father had bought it for her than for its intended purpose as a communication device. Not that she didn't have friends at school, they just weren't the kinds of friends that were still friends outside of school, and she'd never felt the overwhelming urge to 'reach out and touch' any of them.
Next to her door was her bookshelf. Deep and tall, it housed her growing collection of novels, comic books, movies, and even the occasional video game. It, at least, was well organized and accented in places with remnant dolls of childhood or models from one of her favorite television series. The books were in general arranged with an attention to detail that showed her passion for organization and tidiness, but suffered from gaps left by the books she'd pulled out and eventually left in the growing pile on her desk and nightstand. Her little television also sat here with her Playstation and DVD player hooked up next to it. These at least saw a decent amount of use, and did not suffer from the dust that seemed to pervade the rest of the items on the shelves.
Her closet sat closed with her name-sign she'd made in third grade hanging on the doors in front. The thought flashed through her head that she needed to do laundry, she was almost out of school shirts and she still had one day left in the week. Fuck laundry, she thought, it's never completely done and it always takes forever.
Quickly she ran her eyes over the neat pile of books next to her lamp and candles on her nightstand, lingering for a moment on her newly straightened bed. It was white with pink pillows and a white comforter with a large teddy bear sitting primly on it, and might have belonged to someone fifteen years her junior were it not for the calculus textbooks that sat on the nightstand next to it, papers sticking out of odd pages and a pencil hooked over the front cover.
She threw her closet doors open and grabbed the bin of laundry inside. Grunting with the effort it took, she hauled on the heavy thing, dragging it to the door and pausing only to undo the lock before heaving it out into the hallway. Down the stairs she and the heavy bin bumped and jostled until they finally achieved their destination: the laundry room beneath the staircase. She opened the door, stepping into the space between the washer and dryer that was barely big enough for one person and groaned. Not again... The washer was full of half-damp clothes she recognized as belonging to her brothers. Cursing under her breath in frustration she hauled the slightly wet laundry out of the washer and shoved it into the dryer, nearly breaking the knob as she turned it on. She proceeded to grab her hamper and began pulling clothes out of it and filling the evacuated washing machine.
A creaking and a muffled slam caused her heart to jump. Heavy footsteps came from the direction of the front door towards the stairs. She struggled to maintain her calm as she continued filling the washer. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a tall masculine figure come into view through the open door of the laundry room. He stopped, his hands pausing in their task of untying his necktie, and smiled down at her.
"Hey, baby." he said. She formed her mouth into a smile and looked up at the man.
"Hey, Daddy, you're home! How was your day?" He shrugged and continued undoing his tie.
"Same. Boring. Glad it's Thursday though, almost through." He moved fully into the doorway of the little closet, and reached out to ruffle her hair. "How were classes?"
She snorted. "Boring too. Not bad though, Dr. Baas said he'd give us an extra assignment to complete instead of a midterm so at least that's one test I won't have to worry about."
He chuckled a little and reached for her, turning her as she came so her back was to his stomach, and wrapped his arms around her. "More time for wild partying to celebrate the holidays, then?"
"Oh of course, Daddy, you know me. I'll be out all week, drunk and getting high with all the bad boys from college. Blowing off my classes as usual." Her wry tone let him hear the humor in her voice, and he responded in mock seriousness.
"Well, be careful not to get caught. Wouldn't want you to get carted off to prison. It isn't safe there for little girls." She laughed out loud at this.
"Daddy, I'm twenty. And besides, I'd be careful not to drop the soap. And we all know they'd be too intimidated by my knowledge of Greek and Latin and my ability to parse chemical formulae to attack me."
He hugged her tighter momentarily as he gave an amused grunt in acknowledgement. She tensed a little then as his hands slid under her shirt and caressed her stomach.
"I'm so proud of you, honey. You are going to make a fantastic doctor."
He slid his hands up further under her shirt, eliciting an involuntary gasp from her as they slipped underneath her bra. She clenched her back teeth, closing her eyes as he groped her, pinching her nipples lightly and making small pleased grunting sounds. The growing hardness pressing into the small of her back gave her that slight sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that was so familiar, and as she did every time she pushed it down and away. It would all be over soon enough and she could get back to her laundry and her room. She thought about the book waiting for her on her nightstand, trying to ignore the sensation of one of his hands pushing its way past the waistband of her jeans and then of his finger shoving its way awkwardly into her over and over. She kept her eyes closed and her voice made the happy humming noise that she knew he liked as her mind worked to solve that last tricky calculus problem that she'd been putting off from today. She knew it had something to do with the way she was supposed to integrate the y term but for the life of her couldn't remember how to handle the logarithm it was encased in. There had to be something she was missing...
She came back to the present to find him kissing her forehead and straightening her shirt for her. She turned and put a smile on as he stepped back out of the little laundry closet.
"I love you, baby. Go on and finish your work, I have to go pick up your brother in a few, you're on your own for dinner." He started off down the hallway as she giggled and called in a too-high voice, "Love you too, Daddy!"
She let the smile drop and shook her head harshly. God, she wished he wouldn't interrupt her like that, she needed to get her laundry done. It wasn't like she particularly cared what he did, after all, he'd been doing it since her mother died six years ago and it wasn't like it hurt or anything really. She'd thought about trying to tell someone early on, since she'd known in a kind of academic way what was happening and that you were supposed to Tell An Adult if it happened. She even went to one of her favorite teachers once and tried to tell her about it. All she'd gotten were confused looks and finally a laugh and a demand to stop telling stories to get attention. She'd blushed and run out of the room, and had never brought it up with anyone again. To her, it was simply another fact of life. There's always more laundry, homework sucks, periods suck, and Dad gropes you. At least he never actually tried to do much more than that. She figured a couple of years back that he was too afraid of getting her pregnant to try anything like that. And it really wasn't a terrible way to live after all, he never bothered her in her room unless she left the door unlocked, and he made sure they were all taken care of and her college was paid for. Really, she couldn't ask for much more, could she? And it wasn't like she had friends around ever to start asking nosy questions.
Dumping the last of her laundry into the washer, she pushed the start button and meandered back up the stairs with the much-lighter bin. Back in her room she shut the door and put the bin back into her closet, closing it and leaning her back against it. She rested there for a moment, shutting her eyes and leaning her head back. There was the Turtle again. He was always her favorite, so tough and durable and always sitting there right next to the Dragon and still holding his own. A tired grin brushed across her face, and she pushed off of the closet doors. They made a protesting rattling sound that she ignored as she moved over to her bed and flopped down. Debating within herself for a minute, she came to a decision and grabbed her bear and her Calculus book. No point putting off the last bit of work there, she thought pragmatically, and maybe then she could finally get back to that fantasy novel she had picked up from the library. It was just beginning to get to the good parts.
She stared up with half-lidded eyes at the ceiling fan slowly spinning on the roof above her, watching its blades barely miss the glow-in-the-dark stars hung from strings that peppered the roof of the white room. Her attention wandered slightly to the stars and the random patterns they made. Not so random perhaps, at least to her mind. In all the hours of staring at the ceiling she'd invented "constellations" in the patterns that she kept hidden away in the small places of her thoughts, only remembered now in the quiet and absolute emptiness. There was the Dolphin, an elongated diamond shape with a single star at the end for a tail. And the Tortoise, it's speckled ovoid shell and three limbs and head jutting out; she imagined that one missing leg must have been lost in a mishap with the Dragon, another shape right next to it, snakelike and twisted constantly up and around. Perhaps she should have called it the DNA, she contemplated idly, reaching one hand up into the empty air as if to touch the plastic stars, though they were as unreachable to her grasping fingers as the actual stars beginning to appear in the dusky autumn evening outside her closed blinds and curtains.
Maybe there was something to the randomness of things, she thought, turning her gaze towards the lidded window next to the bed she lay on. Maybe all the things we saw as random were really organized just in some way that didn't make sense to us right away. Perhaps there was some order to the universe? She sighed, and pushed the complicated musings back out of her head. She needed the empty space in there. Too many things going on, too much complication in everyday life, too much to not think about...
She shook her head and sat up, her meditation ruined. Sliding off the side of the bed she began to readjust the pink pillows piled at the top of her bed and pulled the white comforter up, tucking it underneath them. There was a disgruntled feline yowl as she did, causing her to shoot an irritated glance at the base of her bed. A grey and white furry mass was slowly unraveling itself there, stretching and very deliberately showing her its claws and fangs.
"Shut up, Tyrael. You're messing up the bed. Shoo."
The cat didn't even grace her with a backwards glance as it pooled to the floor, gracefully hopped up onto the beanbag chair in the corner of the room, and rehuddled into an indistinct form amidst the piles of stuffed animals already occupying the chair. Returning to the task of straightening the bed, the girl smoothed the last of the wrinkles out of the comforter and left the now-tidy bed for the much-less-tidy desk that housed her computer. She sat down in the desk chair and reached for one of the pile of young adult novels next to the laptop, her hand brushing her cell phone as she did so.
Changing her focus, she nabbed the phone and flipped it open. Her reaction to the screen was slight but sharp. Four forty-nine. He'd be here soon. Damn.
She dropped her phone into her jeans pocket and stretched back over the edge of the chair once before straightening back up and perusing her room. The desk was, as always, in a cluttered state. Books sat in small piles here and there, and somewhere buried under them her laptop lay quietly bemoaning its fate as a bookshelf. Not that she never used her computer, she just usually managed to get what little homework she needed to do done near the beginning of the week and pretty much glide through the remaining school days. Her cell phone could usually be found here, silent and slightly chipped at the corners, used more for the trial version of Tetris that came with it when her father had bought it for her than for its intended purpose as a communication device. Not that she didn't have friends at school, they just weren't the kinds of friends that were still friends outside of school, and she'd never felt the overwhelming urge to 'reach out and touch' any of them.
Next to her door was her bookshelf. Deep and tall, it housed her growing collection of novels, comic books, movies, and even the occasional video game. It, at least, was well organized and accented in places with remnant dolls of childhood or models from one of her favorite television series. The books were in general arranged with an attention to detail that showed her passion for organization and tidiness, but suffered from gaps left by the books she'd pulled out and eventually left in the growing pile on her desk and nightstand. Her little television also sat here with her Playstation and DVD player hooked up next to it. These at least saw a decent amount of use, and did not suffer from the dust that seemed to pervade the rest of the items on the shelves.
Her closet sat closed with her name-sign she'd made in third grade hanging on the doors in front. The thought flashed through her head that she needed to do laundry, she was almost out of school shirts and she still had one day left in the week. Fuck laundry, she thought, it's never completely done and it always takes forever.
Quickly she ran her eyes over the neat pile of books next to her lamp and candles on her nightstand, lingering for a moment on her newly straightened bed. It was white with pink pillows and a white comforter with a large teddy bear sitting primly on it, and might have belonged to someone fifteen years her junior were it not for the calculus textbooks that sat on the nightstand next to it, papers sticking out of odd pages and a pencil hooked over the front cover.
She threw her closet doors open and grabbed the bin of laundry inside. Grunting with the effort it took, she hauled on the heavy thing, dragging it to the door and pausing only to undo the lock before heaving it out into the hallway. Down the stairs she and the heavy bin bumped and jostled until they finally achieved their destination: the laundry room beneath the staircase. She opened the door, stepping into the space between the washer and dryer that was barely big enough for one person and groaned. Not again... The washer was full of half-damp clothes she recognized as belonging to her brothers. Cursing under her breath in frustration she hauled the slightly wet laundry out of the washer and shoved it into the dryer, nearly breaking the knob as she turned it on. She proceeded to grab her hamper and began pulling clothes out of it and filling the evacuated washing machine.
A creaking and a muffled slam caused her heart to jump. Heavy footsteps came from the direction of the front door towards the stairs. She struggled to maintain her calm as she continued filling the washer. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a tall masculine figure come into view through the open door of the laundry room. He stopped, his hands pausing in their task of untying his necktie, and smiled down at her.
"Hey, baby." he said. She formed her mouth into a smile and looked up at the man.
"Hey, Daddy, you're home! How was your day?" He shrugged and continued undoing his tie.
"Same. Boring. Glad it's Thursday though, almost through." He moved fully into the doorway of the little closet, and reached out to ruffle her hair. "How were classes?"
She snorted. "Boring too. Not bad though, Dr. Baas said he'd give us an extra assignment to complete instead of a midterm so at least that's one test I won't have to worry about."
He chuckled a little and reached for her, turning her as she came so her back was to his stomach, and wrapped his arms around her. "More time for wild partying to celebrate the holidays, then?"
"Oh of course, Daddy, you know me. I'll be out all week, drunk and getting high with all the bad boys from college. Blowing off my classes as usual." Her wry tone let him hear the humor in her voice, and he responded in mock seriousness.
"Well, be careful not to get caught. Wouldn't want you to get carted off to prison. It isn't safe there for little girls." She laughed out loud at this.
"Daddy, I'm twenty. And besides, I'd be careful not to drop the soap. And we all know they'd be too intimidated by my knowledge of Greek and Latin and my ability to parse chemical formulae to attack me."
He hugged her tighter momentarily as he gave an amused grunt in acknowledgement. She tensed a little then as his hands slid under her shirt and caressed her stomach.
"I'm so proud of you, honey. You are going to make a fantastic doctor."
He slid his hands up further under her shirt, eliciting an involuntary gasp from her as they slipped underneath her bra. She clenched her back teeth, closing her eyes as he groped her, pinching her nipples lightly and making small pleased grunting sounds. The growing hardness pressing into the small of her back gave her that slight sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that was so familiar, and as she did every time she pushed it down and away. It would all be over soon enough and she could get back to her laundry and her room. She thought about the book waiting for her on her nightstand, trying to ignore the sensation of one of his hands pushing its way past the waistband of her jeans and then of his finger shoving its way awkwardly into her over and over. She kept her eyes closed and her voice made the happy humming noise that she knew he liked as her mind worked to solve that last tricky calculus problem that she'd been putting off from today. She knew it had something to do with the way she was supposed to integrate the y term but for the life of her couldn't remember how to handle the logarithm it was encased in. There had to be something she was missing...
She came back to the present to find him kissing her forehead and straightening her shirt for her. She turned and put a smile on as he stepped back out of the little laundry closet.
"I love you, baby. Go on and finish your work, I have to go pick up your brother in a few, you're on your own for dinner." He started off down the hallway as she giggled and called in a too-high voice, "Love you too, Daddy!"
She let the smile drop and shook her head harshly. God, she wished he wouldn't interrupt her like that, she needed to get her laundry done. It wasn't like she particularly cared what he did, after all, he'd been doing it since her mother died six years ago and it wasn't like it hurt or anything really. She'd thought about trying to tell someone early on, since she'd known in a kind of academic way what was happening and that you were supposed to Tell An Adult if it happened. She even went to one of her favorite teachers once and tried to tell her about it. All she'd gotten were confused looks and finally a laugh and a demand to stop telling stories to get attention. She'd blushed and run out of the room, and had never brought it up with anyone again. To her, it was simply another fact of life. There's always more laundry, homework sucks, periods suck, and Dad gropes you. At least he never actually tried to do much more than that. She figured a couple of years back that he was too afraid of getting her pregnant to try anything like that. And it really wasn't a terrible way to live after all, he never bothered her in her room unless she left the door unlocked, and he made sure they were all taken care of and her college was paid for. Really, she couldn't ask for much more, could she? And it wasn't like she had friends around ever to start asking nosy questions.
Dumping the last of her laundry into the washer, she pushed the start button and meandered back up the stairs with the much-lighter bin. Back in her room she shut the door and put the bin back into her closet, closing it and leaning her back against it. She rested there for a moment, shutting her eyes and leaning her head back. There was the Turtle again. He was always her favorite, so tough and durable and always sitting there right next to the Dragon and still holding his own. A tired grin brushed across her face, and she pushed off of the closet doors. They made a protesting rattling sound that she ignored as she moved over to her bed and flopped down. Debating within herself for a minute, she came to a decision and grabbed her bear and her Calculus book. No point putting off the last bit of work there, she thought pragmatically, and maybe then she could finally get back to that fantasy novel she had picked up from the library. It was just beginning to get to the good parts.
Tuesday, November 09, 2010
Streetlight Dreams
Sometimes.
When it's dark out.
And stars are only little burning gaseous masses from somewhen far away.
And streetlights flare with manufactured starlight, dying in neon with their ancient counterparts.
And the wind chaps lips and chills raw skin with cold, not even having the decency to bear comfortably anthropomorphized teeth or claws.
When the background hum of electricity and distant blaring car alarms seems loud enough to drown out any music the night might have had.
When trees don't whisper and the shadows on the moon are just craters.
When there is no magic left in the universe.
I roll over on my pillow.
I take your hand and place it on my cheek.
And I fall asleep.
When it's dark out.
And stars are only little burning gaseous masses from somewhen far away.
And streetlights flare with manufactured starlight, dying in neon with their ancient counterparts.
And the wind chaps lips and chills raw skin with cold, not even having the decency to bear comfortably anthropomorphized teeth or claws.
When the background hum of electricity and distant blaring car alarms seems loud enough to drown out any music the night might have had.
When trees don't whisper and the shadows on the moon are just craters.
When there is no magic left in the universe.
I roll over on my pillow.
I take your hand and place it on my cheek.
And I fall asleep.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Unstable
"Come on, just jump, it's fine."
"Uh... seriously, I don't like the look of those rocks..."
"Stop being such a sissy and jump."
"I'm not being a sissy, I'm being careful. There's a difference."
"Whatever."
"Look, you remember what happened the last time I tried a jump like this don't you? How the big "stable" rock turned out to be one of those they warn you about on those stupid falling rock signs? Remember the broken femurs? The month long hospital visit?"
"Okay, okay, jeez, no need to get all defensive."
"I'm not, I'm just- I'm just not so sure this is a good idea."
"Would I tell you to do it if it wasn't? ...Just trust me okay? I've done this before, it'll be fine."
"You have NOT done this before, don't even pretend you have."
"Okay, fine, so maybe I haven't but my cousin has! And there's a whole bunch of people on those chat rooms I go to that have too. Come on, if you don't jump you'll be missing out on the chance of a lifetime! Just trust me, it'll be fine."
"You I trust just fine. Those rocks, not so much."
"They. Are. Fine. Good grief, you've got to learn, this isn't the same as last time, this isn't even the same place, it's totally different and it's going to be fine. Look, they're steady as... well, as rocks."
"I don't know..."
"Just do it already! How long are you going to stand around agonizing over it like this? Either do it or don't."
"Yeah, I guess you're right. This is different, it'll be fine, no problem. I can do this."
"That's the spirit! Now, you ready? Okay, you first then. I'll count it down for you. Ready? On three. One... Two... THREE! Yeah! There you- oh god. Oh my god. Hey! HEY! Are you- where's your- can- Oh God! Somebody! Call an ambulance! Hurry! I think he's crushed! HEY! Anybody! Call 911! Hey, listen, can you hear me? Can you hear me? Hang in there, they're coming for you, hang in there, don't give up on me, don't you die on me now, come on, I knew, I thought, I was sure it was safe! They told me, they all told me it was safe, how could- No, no, NO! Don't you give up! Hang on! Just another few minutes and they'll be here! We'll get you back, they'll fix you up fine, you'll be okay, it's... come on... just another few... no, no, no, not like this... oh God not like this... Come back......"
"Uh... seriously, I don't like the look of those rocks..."
"Stop being such a sissy and jump."
"I'm not being a sissy, I'm being careful. There's a difference."
"Whatever."
"Look, you remember what happened the last time I tried a jump like this don't you? How the big "stable" rock turned out to be one of those they warn you about on those stupid falling rock signs? Remember the broken femurs? The month long hospital visit?"
"Okay, okay, jeez, no need to get all defensive."
"I'm not, I'm just- I'm just not so sure this is a good idea."
"Would I tell you to do it if it wasn't? ...Just trust me okay? I've done this before, it'll be fine."
"You have NOT done this before, don't even pretend you have."
"Okay, fine, so maybe I haven't but my cousin has! And there's a whole bunch of people on those chat rooms I go to that have too. Come on, if you don't jump you'll be missing out on the chance of a lifetime! Just trust me, it'll be fine."
"You I trust just fine. Those rocks, not so much."
"They. Are. Fine. Good grief, you've got to learn, this isn't the same as last time, this isn't even the same place, it's totally different and it's going to be fine. Look, they're steady as... well, as rocks."
"I don't know..."
"Just do it already! How long are you going to stand around agonizing over it like this? Either do it or don't."
"Yeah, I guess you're right. This is different, it'll be fine, no problem. I can do this."
"That's the spirit! Now, you ready? Okay, you first then. I'll count it down for you. Ready? On three. One... Two... THREE! Yeah! There you- oh god. Oh my god. Hey! HEY! Are you- where's your- can- Oh God! Somebody! Call an ambulance! Hurry! I think he's crushed! HEY! Anybody! Call 911! Hey, listen, can you hear me? Can you hear me? Hang in there, they're coming for you, hang in there, don't give up on me, don't you die on me now, come on, I knew, I thought, I was sure it was safe! They told me, they all told me it was safe, how could- No, no, NO! Don't you give up! Hang on! Just another few minutes and they'll be here! We'll get you back, they'll fix you up fine, you'll be okay, it's... come on... just another few... no, no, no, not like this... oh God not like this... Come back......"
Friday, October 15, 2010
Tears
She is 5 years old. She is crying. An older, deeper voice than hers speaks soft words of comfort and warm wide arms wrap around her and she is held tight as her little fists ball into her eyes and she tries to pull her knees closer to her chest. The misery is all she can feel and creates her whole world. In a few moments, the misery will be a vanished memory and the world will exist within a sphere of whatever emotion grips her at that time. But for here, and for now, she is crying and she can't stop.
She is 10 years old. She is crying. The stinging insults and jeers of her so-called friends and sisters still hound her mind just as they did as she ran sobbing from the yard, back into her house, into her room, and finally into the corner she is now curled up in. She tries to remember that she isn't all the nasty things they said. That she loves her sisters. That she loves her friends. But the betrayal is overwhelming in her young mind. The feeling of being rejected and mocked. In some part of her mind she knows that this is just one more episode, just one more time to add to her collection of broken memories, and that it will pass and she will keep living and find a way to happiness of some form or another. But for here, and for now, she is crying and she can't stop.
She is 16 years old. She is crying. The girl she loves, that she wants to love her back, she just realized cannot give her what she needs. The overwhelming devotion and love she feels towards this girl isn't returned. The hopeful leap in her heart she feels every time her phone rings, hoping it is her calling, is not felt by the other. A part of her mind logically reminds her that she has no reason to expect any more than casual friendship from this girl, and certainly not the bond that she wants to form with her. The insistent pull of the girl on her mind is foolish and signs of an unhealthy obsession, she knows. But she can't not love her. And she can't not want her. And she can't have her. She knows that in a few hours the tears will fade and this broken moment will become a memory of pain to remind her to smile when she next sees her love. But for here, and for now, she is crying and she can't stop.
She is 20 years old. She is not crying. The hopelessness she feels now is not even an emotion to her, it is a way of life. The loneliness, abandonment, rejection, knowing she isn't good enough, that she's tainted and unclean, have simply sunk into her skin like ink, etching the fragments of her broken future into an unrecognizable mural that she does not want or care about. She has already passed the point in her life she thought she would live to, and now she is living on borrowed time, stolen from the ashes of bridges she's burned and ideals she's sacrificed. The small joys she finds serve to stimulate her brain into forgetting the tide of pain for a moment or two, but it comes back. It always comes back. As she sits quietly in her dark corner and stares into the black shadows on her wall that subtly move with evil purpose she cannot feel the fear, or the pain, or anything. The abyss of her memories swallows each moment in silent acceptance. And for here, and for now, she is not crying and she can't remember how.
She is 26 years old. She is crying. The pain and loss and fear of years crash into her over and over with the merciless force which she'd used to suppress and hide them for so long. There is no respite for her running feet, no hiding place for her wild staring eyes, no calm for her ragged shallow breath. Every belief of her world has died, every foundation has cracked. Simple moaning gasps tear from her throat as she runs. She cannot form words enough even to plead. And even here, in the depths of agony, she cannot scream. No release, just torturous memories dragging up and over here, combining with the terror and loss so fresh in her mind to cause the street before her to blur and waver and phase. She stumbles, she falls, she is leaning against a wall. She scrambles backwards into the darkest corner she can find and pulls her knees up to her chest and sobs helplessly. But there are no comforting arms now. No soothing voice to bring her back. The dark presses in, shattering her mind and her memories with a crushing pressure greater than she's ever experienced or imagined possible. No help comes. And for here, and for now, she is crying and she knows she can't ever stop.
She is 10 years old. She is crying. The stinging insults and jeers of her so-called friends and sisters still hound her mind just as they did as she ran sobbing from the yard, back into her house, into her room, and finally into the corner she is now curled up in. She tries to remember that she isn't all the nasty things they said. That she loves her sisters. That she loves her friends. But the betrayal is overwhelming in her young mind. The feeling of being rejected and mocked. In some part of her mind she knows that this is just one more episode, just one more time to add to her collection of broken memories, and that it will pass and she will keep living and find a way to happiness of some form or another. But for here, and for now, she is crying and she can't stop.
She is 16 years old. She is crying. The girl she loves, that she wants to love her back, she just realized cannot give her what she needs. The overwhelming devotion and love she feels towards this girl isn't returned. The hopeful leap in her heart she feels every time her phone rings, hoping it is her calling, is not felt by the other. A part of her mind logically reminds her that she has no reason to expect any more than casual friendship from this girl, and certainly not the bond that she wants to form with her. The insistent pull of the girl on her mind is foolish and signs of an unhealthy obsession, she knows. But she can't not love her. And she can't not want her. And she can't have her. She knows that in a few hours the tears will fade and this broken moment will become a memory of pain to remind her to smile when she next sees her love. But for here, and for now, she is crying and she can't stop.
She is 20 years old. She is not crying. The hopelessness she feels now is not even an emotion to her, it is a way of life. The loneliness, abandonment, rejection, knowing she isn't good enough, that she's tainted and unclean, have simply sunk into her skin like ink, etching the fragments of her broken future into an unrecognizable mural that she does not want or care about. She has already passed the point in her life she thought she would live to, and now she is living on borrowed time, stolen from the ashes of bridges she's burned and ideals she's sacrificed. The small joys she finds serve to stimulate her brain into forgetting the tide of pain for a moment or two, but it comes back. It always comes back. As she sits quietly in her dark corner and stares into the black shadows on her wall that subtly move with evil purpose she cannot feel the fear, or the pain, or anything. The abyss of her memories swallows each moment in silent acceptance. And for here, and for now, she is not crying and she can't remember how.
She is 26 years old. She is crying. The pain and loss and fear of years crash into her over and over with the merciless force which she'd used to suppress and hide them for so long. There is no respite for her running feet, no hiding place for her wild staring eyes, no calm for her ragged shallow breath. Every belief of her world has died, every foundation has cracked. Simple moaning gasps tear from her throat as she runs. She cannot form words enough even to plead. And even here, in the depths of agony, she cannot scream. No release, just torturous memories dragging up and over here, combining with the terror and loss so fresh in her mind to cause the street before her to blur and waver and phase. She stumbles, she falls, she is leaning against a wall. She scrambles backwards into the darkest corner she can find and pulls her knees up to her chest and sobs helplessly. But there are no comforting arms now. No soothing voice to bring her back. The dark presses in, shattering her mind and her memories with a crushing pressure greater than she's ever experienced or imagined possible. No help comes. And for here, and for now, she is crying and she knows she can't ever stop.
Thursday, October 07, 2010
Ansem Report 10
The sheer magnitude of my revelation has kept me up every night for days. It burns in my brain, the same thoughts over and over, in different forms and words each time. Emblazened golden against a starry expanse I see them, words upon words, hour after hour, each different thought overwriting the others but all with the same theme. That maginificent thought. I have tried to put my thoughts onto the pages of this journal again and again and ripped them out again and again. But finally, finally, I have seized on the core of the truth I seek to record. There, the ink still drying on the page the elusive truth sits, taunting me with its simplicity.
Just as people have hearts, so do worlds. The same can be said of stars in the night sky. And deep within each world lies a door to its heart. The Heartless desire those hearts. Born out of darkness in people's hearts, they seek to return to a greater heart.
I stare at the words, willing them to reform one more time, to deny their truth. They are motionless on their page. No changing now. Just the words, bright and shining against the dark canvas of my mind. The shifting moire of the shadows that seem to consume my thoughts cannot touch this. The clarity with which I feel this revelation is startling, shocking even after so much doubt and torment. I set my pen carefully to the page again to confirm my truth.
Yes that's it. The Heartless come from people's hearts, as does the darkness. Is the core of the world's heart the world of the Heartless? I will pursue the answer there and become all knowing.
My obsession... my one true desire... my only purpose in life is understanding this truth. And obtaining the power that comes from it. Power. Knowledge. One and the same in so many ways, ways that my predecessors could not understand. That they did not possess the heart to truly seek. Heart. I chuckle dryly in the waning hours of the night. The one thing they did not have was the one thing they failed to obtain. That I would obtain. The necessary actions crystallized in my mind even as my hand reached for my pen one last time.
My path is set. I shall seek out the wielder of the Keyblade, and the princesses. My body is too frail for such a journey, but I must do this. I will cast it off and plunge into the depths of darkness.
I sign my assumed name with a flourish and throw the pen aside. No more words are needed. I had signed the contract sealing my fate. I would pay any price demanded, make any sacrifice needed. My own body would be the cost for sating my hunger. And I would pay it. And gladly sacrifice a thousand million others if needed. No cost is too high.
For a moment I feel a cracking sound in my mind; a hint, tiny and glinting, of uncertainty. Was this truly my only way? Was this prize worth the cost I was about to pay? Once I set foot on this path there was no turning back. No changing the inevitable future. I would reach for the darkness with both hands open and my gaze focused. There would be no redemption for me should I fall. No hope of return.
The chink sealed silently, and the whispering twilight of my thoughts became again an incomprehensible whole. Yes. No doubts. No regrets. No hesitation. No weakness. Only complete dedication to my cause. Here was my prize. Here was my heart. I wonder for a moment if the future reader of this journal will understand what transpired in this moment, but dismiss the thought as futile speculation. More important thoughts of how I would accomplish my goal were already threading silver lines through my mind, connecting and weaving the fabric of my new reality into a cloak I would cover my new body in. An uninvited shudder of anticipation raced down my spine before I sheathed myself in icy determination. Only one thing left for me to do.
Now.
Time to die.
Just as people have hearts, so do worlds. The same can be said of stars in the night sky. And deep within each world lies a door to its heart. The Heartless desire those hearts. Born out of darkness in people's hearts, they seek to return to a greater heart.
I stare at the words, willing them to reform one more time, to deny their truth. They are motionless on their page. No changing now. Just the words, bright and shining against the dark canvas of my mind. The shifting moire of the shadows that seem to consume my thoughts cannot touch this. The clarity with which I feel this revelation is startling, shocking even after so much doubt and torment. I set my pen carefully to the page again to confirm my truth.
Yes that's it. The Heartless come from people's hearts, as does the darkness. Is the core of the world's heart the world of the Heartless? I will pursue the answer there and become all knowing.
My obsession... my one true desire... my only purpose in life is understanding this truth. And obtaining the power that comes from it. Power. Knowledge. One and the same in so many ways, ways that my predecessors could not understand. That they did not possess the heart to truly seek. Heart. I chuckle dryly in the waning hours of the night. The one thing they did not have was the one thing they failed to obtain. That I would obtain. The necessary actions crystallized in my mind even as my hand reached for my pen one last time.
My path is set. I shall seek out the wielder of the Keyblade, and the princesses. My body is too frail for such a journey, but I must do this. I will cast it off and plunge into the depths of darkness.
I sign my assumed name with a flourish and throw the pen aside. No more words are needed. I had signed the contract sealing my fate. I would pay any price demanded, make any sacrifice needed. My own body would be the cost for sating my hunger. And I would pay it. And gladly sacrifice a thousand million others if needed. No cost is too high.
For a moment I feel a cracking sound in my mind; a hint, tiny and glinting, of uncertainty. Was this truly my only way? Was this prize worth the cost I was about to pay? Once I set foot on this path there was no turning back. No changing the inevitable future. I would reach for the darkness with both hands open and my gaze focused. There would be no redemption for me should I fall. No hope of return.
The chink sealed silently, and the whispering twilight of my thoughts became again an incomprehensible whole. Yes. No doubts. No regrets. No hesitation. No weakness. Only complete dedication to my cause. Here was my prize. Here was my heart. I wonder for a moment if the future reader of this journal will understand what transpired in this moment, but dismiss the thought as futile speculation. More important thoughts of how I would accomplish my goal were already threading silver lines through my mind, connecting and weaving the fabric of my new reality into a cloak I would cover my new body in. An uninvited shudder of anticipation raced down my spine before I sheathed myself in icy determination. Only one thing left for me to do.
Now.
Time to die.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Shallow Grave
Her voice cuts through the walls
Rings through everything that's hollow
These bitter words recall
All that's left and hard to swallow
She was always good for nothing when the good broke bad
All she's got to lose is everything she never has
(Every back turned to her)
We put her down in a shallow grave
She wears a dress like a body bag every day
And this way she won't have to run away
And she can keep her regrets at bay every day
Her blood runs hot to cold
Always breaking while she borrows
Her favors bought and sold
She lives like she's dead tomorrow
Just another reason looking for the next because
Just another has been wishing that she never was
(Every eye turned to her)
We put her down in a shallow grave
She wears a dress like a body bag every day
And this way she won't have to run away
And she can keep her regrets at bay every day
Tomorrow's not a new day
Or time to think things through
As patience starts to fall away
A day can feel like two
When we gave her a new face
The past was out of view
She never fooled us because she could never fool herself
Rings through everything that's hollow
These bitter words recall
All that's left and hard to swallow
She was always good for nothing when the good broke bad
All she's got to lose is everything she never has
(Every back turned to her)
We put her down in a shallow grave
She wears a dress like a body bag every day
And this way she won't have to run away
And she can keep her regrets at bay every day
Her blood runs hot to cold
Always breaking while she borrows
Her favors bought and sold
She lives like she's dead tomorrow
Just another reason looking for the next because
Just another has been wishing that she never was
(Every eye turned to her)
We put her down in a shallow grave
She wears a dress like a body bag every day
And this way she won't have to run away
And she can keep her regrets at bay every day
Tomorrow's not a new day
Or time to think things through
As patience starts to fall away
A day can feel like two
When we gave her a new face
The past was out of view
She never fooled us because she could never fool herself
Wednesday, September 08, 2010
Argumentation
Christa turned her face away with a depressed, bored expression from the couple at the monitor.
"I'm not in the mood for this. Turn it off."
The two, man and woman, sent commisserating glances at each other before the man reached over and clicked the little blue button and the music that had been playing stopped abruptly. He and the girl next to him quirked their eyebrows at the irritated girl on the chair. She seemed not to notice them and continued staring off into space with a faintly pouting look. The man reached over to the girl on the chair and started to put a hand on her bare arm before she jerked away.
"What's wrong, love? Christa? Talk to me." Christa shifted her gaze slightly and it became even more irritable.
"I just can't handle that stupid music anymore, Wyatt. Sometimes I can but not today."
Wyatt pulled his extended hand back and his voice took on a note of concern.
"What is it? What's bothering you?"
"I'm FINE." snapped the irritated girl, standing up suddenly. The other girl looked between them both with mild confusion and a hint of frustration.
"If you say so," she remarked in a cheerful tone, "Hey Wyatt, let's watch something all of us together." Christa jerked her head towards the other wall at that.
"I don't WANT to watch anything, Ella." she snarled, "The things you want to watch are boring and stupid. Why would I want to see that?" She then turned away and shut the door to the bedroom as she passed into it. Ella and Wyatt just sat there for a moment.
"Think you should go after her?" Ella queried, still looking at the door. Wyatt hesitated then shook his head.
"She said she was fine. I have no idea what that was all about. She does get moody sometimes."
"Moody, my ass." snorted Ella. Wyatt snapped around to face her.
"Hey! That's my wife you're talking about." he snapped.
"Oh I know." Ella said placidly, "And you can't tell me she's not a total bitch a lot of the time, can you? Come on, I'm her friend too, I know what she's like. If she's not whining about something or getting mad she's sick."
Wyatt looked like he was about to jump to the vanished Christa's defense but hesitated.
"I... Yeah, kinda. She's just had a rough day."
"Sure. Like yesterday. And this past week, and this past month. I swear it's like she's PMSing for three weeks a month instead of one."
Wyatt snorted at this last comment. "Yeah, kinda I guess. Don't tell her I said that though. She'd MURDER me." Ella's mouth quirked into a wry smile.
"Wouldn't dream of it." she said with mock solemnity, "You probably should go after her though. You know how she gets."
Wyatt sighed. "True. She's probably falling apart as we speak." He pushed himself up from in front of the monitor with an audible groan. "Alright, I'll handle this. You stay here, have fun, okay?"
"At least one of us will be." Ella smiled. Her expression sobered as Wyatt turned and went into the bedroom Christa had vanished into and shut the door again. Ella sat looking at the doorway for a few long moments before shaking her head brusquely and holding her hand against her forehead as though in pain. She winced as if thinking of something uncomfortable and shook her head again. Seeming a little less frustrated, she turned back to the monitor and pulled up another video to amuse her. She had the feeling it might be awhile before anything happened.
"I'm not in the mood for this. Turn it off."
The two, man and woman, sent commisserating glances at each other before the man reached over and clicked the little blue button and the music that had been playing stopped abruptly. He and the girl next to him quirked their eyebrows at the irritated girl on the chair. She seemed not to notice them and continued staring off into space with a faintly pouting look. The man reached over to the girl on the chair and started to put a hand on her bare arm before she jerked away.
"What's wrong, love? Christa? Talk to me." Christa shifted her gaze slightly and it became even more irritable.
"I just can't handle that stupid music anymore, Wyatt. Sometimes I can but not today."
Wyatt pulled his extended hand back and his voice took on a note of concern.
"What is it? What's bothering you?"
"I'm FINE." snapped the irritated girl, standing up suddenly. The other girl looked between them both with mild confusion and a hint of frustration.
"If you say so," she remarked in a cheerful tone, "Hey Wyatt, let's watch something all of us together." Christa jerked her head towards the other wall at that.
"I don't WANT to watch anything, Ella." she snarled, "The things you want to watch are boring and stupid. Why would I want to see that?" She then turned away and shut the door to the bedroom as she passed into it. Ella and Wyatt just sat there for a moment.
"Think you should go after her?" Ella queried, still looking at the door. Wyatt hesitated then shook his head.
"She said she was fine. I have no idea what that was all about. She does get moody sometimes."
"Moody, my ass." snorted Ella. Wyatt snapped around to face her.
"Hey! That's my wife you're talking about." he snapped.
"Oh I know." Ella said placidly, "And you can't tell me she's not a total bitch a lot of the time, can you? Come on, I'm her friend too, I know what she's like. If she's not whining about something or getting mad she's sick."
Wyatt looked like he was about to jump to the vanished Christa's defense but hesitated.
"I... Yeah, kinda. She's just had a rough day."
"Sure. Like yesterday. And this past week, and this past month. I swear it's like she's PMSing for three weeks a month instead of one."
Wyatt snorted at this last comment. "Yeah, kinda I guess. Don't tell her I said that though. She'd MURDER me." Ella's mouth quirked into a wry smile.
"Wouldn't dream of it." she said with mock solemnity, "You probably should go after her though. You know how she gets."
Wyatt sighed. "True. She's probably falling apart as we speak." He pushed himself up from in front of the monitor with an audible groan. "Alright, I'll handle this. You stay here, have fun, okay?"
"At least one of us will be." Ella smiled. Her expression sobered as Wyatt turned and went into the bedroom Christa had vanished into and shut the door again. Ella sat looking at the doorway for a few long moments before shaking her head brusquely and holding her hand against her forehead as though in pain. She winced as if thinking of something uncomfortable and shook her head again. Seeming a little less frustrated, she turned back to the monitor and pulled up another video to amuse her. She had the feeling it might be awhile before anything happened.
Friday, August 20, 2010
An Open Letter
An Open Letter to the Men Who Love Me,
I hope this letter finds you well. I for my part have been engaging in several activities during my time here. Candle-lighting has become one of my favorite pastimes. Ah, the aroma of seafoam and violets fills my darkened bedroom as I pen this. Truly nothing soothes the senses like the darkling flickering light of tiny flames enclosed in amber glass, reflecting like will-o'-the-wisps in the dressing table mirror behind them.
Music as well has caught my interest. Low chants and heavy bass beats at the base instinctual nerve endings in my mind. I feel provoked to move in curves and caresses, half-lidded eyes making my slow dance upon my white satin sheets feel as though I am swimming through sound and sensation, alone in my steadily pulsing universe with every basso thrum causing a primal thrill to course down my spine and explode within me.
More menial tasks have also engaged my attentions. Clothing design for example. I find my designs of late have tended more toward the revealing and sheer. As I write I am wearing one of my designs, a scarlet silken thing that clings possessively across the curve of my hips and breasts to the lace fishnet covering my legs, belly and breasts, ending in a single loop of black lace fastened like a collar about my neck. It is lovely, and the feel of it against my skin is like crimson come to life as it twines itself like sinuous arms around my thighs and chest, gliding sensuously where it comes into contact with my bare skin.
Know this then, these things that have held my interest as you have secluded yourself in your prison of self-pity. Think on what I have said. And know, had you been able to rouse yourself from your self-imposed exile to the world, you could have been here, with me, in my bed.
Yours,
The Dark Lady
I hope this letter finds you well. I for my part have been engaging in several activities during my time here. Candle-lighting has become one of my favorite pastimes. Ah, the aroma of seafoam and violets fills my darkened bedroom as I pen this. Truly nothing soothes the senses like the darkling flickering light of tiny flames enclosed in amber glass, reflecting like will-o'-the-wisps in the dressing table mirror behind them.
Music as well has caught my interest. Low chants and heavy bass beats at the base instinctual nerve endings in my mind. I feel provoked to move in curves and caresses, half-lidded eyes making my slow dance upon my white satin sheets feel as though I am swimming through sound and sensation, alone in my steadily pulsing universe with every basso thrum causing a primal thrill to course down my spine and explode within me.
More menial tasks have also engaged my attentions. Clothing design for example. I find my designs of late have tended more toward the revealing and sheer. As I write I am wearing one of my designs, a scarlet silken thing that clings possessively across the curve of my hips and breasts to the lace fishnet covering my legs, belly and breasts, ending in a single loop of black lace fastened like a collar about my neck. It is lovely, and the feel of it against my skin is like crimson come to life as it twines itself like sinuous arms around my thighs and chest, gliding sensuously where it comes into contact with my bare skin.
Know this then, these things that have held my interest as you have secluded yourself in your prison of self-pity. Think on what I have said. And know, had you been able to rouse yourself from your self-imposed exile to the world, you could have been here, with me, in my bed.
Yours,
The Dark Lady
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Emptiness, Filled.
Echoed banality,
Currents of commonality,
Created here the abhorrent void.
Creeping dullness,
Pretending fullness,
Creation stifled, life destroyed.
Fantasy was never born that stark reality could kill.
Word was never thought that does not echo within silence still.
Hope was never so far gone that one soft touch could not renew.
Life is never without worth while there is me and there is you.
Currents of commonality,
Created here the abhorrent void.
Creeping dullness,
Pretending fullness,
Creation stifled, life destroyed.
Fantasy was never born that stark reality could kill.
Word was never thought that does not echo within silence still.
Hope was never so far gone that one soft touch could not renew.
Life is never without worth while there is me and there is you.
Monday, May 17, 2010
between
we are not together here
though we lie entwined
to make room for the other presence
we both draw back in our minds
I have a prophecy
threatening to spill into words
this growing certainty
of Over
there once was a time I was sure of the bond
when my hands and my tongue and my thoughts were enough
we are the same but our lives move along
and the third one between replaces what once was love
freedom is being alone
I fear liberation
but something more alive than silence
swallows conversation
no pleasing drama
in subtle averted eyes
the swelling fermata
as the chord dies
there's no denying we feel the third one
we do
I'm tired of hiding and so are you
though we lie entwined
to make room for the other presence
we both draw back in our minds
I have a prophecy
threatening to spill into words
this growing certainty
of Over
there once was a time I was sure of the bond
when my hands and my tongue and my thoughts were enough
we are the same but our lives move along
and the third one between replaces what once was love
freedom is being alone
I fear liberation
but something more alive than silence
swallows conversation
no pleasing drama
in subtle averted eyes
the swelling fermata
as the chord dies
there's no denying we feel the third one
we do
I'm tired of hiding and so are you
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
Saviour
As the stars appear
I know I'll find you staring at the sky.
Pointlessly reaching for some light
You hope to guide your sorry way.
Your body bleeding.
Your body burned.
Your body scarred.
Around the cinder of your heart
A God of love.
A God of care.
A God of hope.
A God of words.
A God as lost as you and blind
to fill your hollow soul again.
You seek a God to stand above you,
wrapping healing arms around you.
You'll find another God of pain,
a God of suffering and tears.
Give yourself unto your God.
Sacrifice yourself again.
Burn your thoughts erase your will
to Gods of suffering and tears.
Tie hallowed bonds around your hands.
Kneel before this seat of shame
to Gods as lost,
Gods as blind,
Gods of suffering and pain.
© VNV Nation
I know I'll find you staring at the sky.
Pointlessly reaching for some light
You hope to guide your sorry way.
Your body bleeding.
Your body burned.
Your body scarred.
Around the cinder of your heart
A God of love.
A God of care.
A God of hope.
A God of words.
A God as lost as you and blind
to fill your hollow soul again.
You seek a God to stand above you,
wrapping healing arms around you.
You'll find another God of pain,
a God of suffering and tears.
Give yourself unto your God.
Sacrifice yourself again.
Burn your thoughts erase your will
to Gods of suffering and tears.
Tie hallowed bonds around your hands.
Kneel before this seat of shame
to Gods as lost,
Gods as blind,
Gods of suffering and pain.
© VNV Nation
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Monday, January 25, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Left to myself past the hidden meanings in enticing words I wonder if I understand anything of humanity at all. Only ten real people with real fears and hopes and selfishness is too many to know. I suppose I dip lightly into the well of each companion because I would drown in their own brand of poison if I touched more. I am only immune to my own and that of a few others I may not know. So much greed and pettiness and selfishness and hate and fear and disgusting remnants I find myself thinking as I never thought I would "Enough! Don't tell me anymore! Don't let me further in!". And I am one of their pathetic lost number, as tied to my own romanticized filth as any of them. It's no wonder we laugh so loud.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Time in a Glass
I looked into the Glass and saw
Inexorable time grinding down
All ripple that once might have been.
No disharmonious note or strand,
No imperfection marred it's sheen
Feeling contrary, I took a bit
Of stone and slashed the pristine Glass
Four, five times, then I lost count
Yet even as I tore the marks
As one the swirling sands scrubbed them out
As though affronted, I balled my fists
And blindly struck the offending Glass
Like a madman, crazed by what only he can see
I tore into the placid frame
Till I fell on the floor half-senselessly
There I looked up, and with horror saw
The unchanged Glass as smooth as lies
Still hung with all Time passing by
Within its frame, unconscious or uncaring
Of all my petty sound and fury.
Inexorable time grinding down
All ripple that once might have been.
No disharmonious note or strand,
No imperfection marred it's sheen
Feeling contrary, I took a bit
Of stone and slashed the pristine Glass
Four, five times, then I lost count
Yet even as I tore the marks
As one the swirling sands scrubbed them out
As though affronted, I balled my fists
And blindly struck the offending Glass
Like a madman, crazed by what only he can see
I tore into the placid frame
Till I fell on the floor half-senselessly
There I looked up, and with horror saw
The unchanged Glass as smooth as lies
Still hung with all Time passing by
Within its frame, unconscious or uncaring
Of all my petty sound and fury.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
The Second Rising
Ululation of tortured tongue
Cross jagged lips in lion's head
Screams horror in its nightmare song
Resounding along the ocean bed.
To Bethlehem, yes, to Judea next,
Then Samaria unto the ends of the world
The mysterious hope once caught in text
Splits wide its maw. Now wings unfurled
That prophet Daniel saw and wondered
How such abomination might yet be;
The truest travesty that ever silence sundered
Slouches its way cross the cavernous sea.
Cross jagged lips in lion's head
Screams horror in its nightmare song
Resounding along the ocean bed.
To Bethlehem, yes, to Judea next,
Then Samaria unto the ends of the world
The mysterious hope once caught in text
Splits wide its maw. Now wings unfurled
That prophet Daniel saw and wondered
How such abomination might yet be;
The truest travesty that ever silence sundered
Slouches its way cross the cavernous sea.
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