So I have a story I am working on.
Raina, Bradley, And Tyler are all close friends. The are all involved with music, and all stable in their careers. Seemingly content, and boring. But there is more to Raina than her sexy voice and mysterious, mature life. She can't be broken. She needs a cure. And she isn't the only one. Supernatural? Or just sick?
Who knows, but interesting things happen with a Kukri. And I'm sure they aren't things you may think.
Stay Tuned.
I was meaning for it to be amother post for last week. But it is getting longer and longer. And with my disappointment in myself for the short story, Blood Rivalry, I think I'll make sure this one pleases me before I call it finished. In the mean time, I had to write some...thing.
Here you go:
Their heads are like voo doo dolls. Hair ties and green eyes. They live in the trees.
Their ghost like enemies are too behaved for them, too good. They help the human spirits. And they all writhe together, good and evil, in the trees.
There are more than one hundred spirits in human form lined up facing the same way. Their arms are all held out from their bodies and they all cling to eachother. Wrist to wrist. The khakie brick wall in front of them blurs. And behind every group of ten spirits, there is a tree. Behind the trees there is a street, lit by one street light.
All of the ghost like heads fly from the trees and sit their necks on the arms of the human spirits one after another.
One spirit is missing though. A girl. The heads start churning in anger.
The girl is not far. She is running as fast as her black lungs will let her. Her long hair is flying behind her. She runs into someone. Someone who is really human. He has a box of household items and seems to be headed toward a donation box. She grabs him and hides behind him screaming, he can't see her, but he can see the man that is after her. He thinks the man is after him and tries to run. But the girl pulls his shirt harder, closer to her. "Help me! Help me!" She screams in agony. Bloody saliva is dripping from her mouth. The man after her ignites in her horror. The human with the box pulls a small lamp out of it and crashes it over the middle aged freaks skull. He steps back. Just long enough for the girl to flee.
She makes it to the chain. She runs up the grass hill past a tree. The ghost like heads are almost pulling the branches out. They are hooked by just a mere tail like string of smoke and mist to the tree. One gets up to her face and she can breathe it's soul.
She clings on to the last spirit in the chain. And the process of going to a new universe, begins.
-----
Yes, I could elaborate much more. But I'd rather call it a night. Sooo, night.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Blood Rivalry
I had a weird, horribly annoying nervousness. I jumped when I realized there was someone turning the doorknob at the same time I was. Having to make eye contact for the first time thrilled me. In a not so thrilling way.
"Oh!" I said. "We were just about to have a drink."
"Good idea." She said with a tone I couldn't decipher.
"Right here." I said strolling in my new, black, studded heels. "It's the only way to go. It's right next door. Can't lose. Do you have a fake ID?" I don't think I sounded sarcastic.
"Heh." She pervaded my body with wretched tingles from her pointless laugh.
I watched her turn and jump with open arms to my brother. She already had me not liking her. Her name fits her. In fact she fits her. She's typical. Her long black hair flips out everywhere in layers. The chunks of hot pink blend how they should. Her piercings are the norm for these days.
Not my days. When piercings were hardly accepted and you really did make a statement if you had them. No, she is the regular teenager of 2008. Nothing different, nothing new, not even anything old. For in my book, old is like the coolest old person you could possibly know giving you the best baked cookies you've ever had while sitting and talking about the year 1932. It might be typical and already in history, but it is unique. Oh what a paradox. And she...isn't different, or unique.
"Hailey!" My brother yelped so innocently and happily. "How are you? All of you guys?"
Here we go, I am on my way to my masquerade. Except masquerades are mysterious, mature, and sexy to me. Wrong. I am on my way to, to, well, I just need my damn mask. Why am I here anyway?
"Oh my god Chris, like we're good." She snapped. I wondered if she was real.
So they talked and talked. And I sat and sat. What could such a smart boy possibly talk about with her?
"Give me a Sam Adams, Cherry Wheat." I was surprised such a rundown, no name town had my cherry beer."
"Five dollars." Said the lady behind the bar. I gave her a five. No tip yet.
I sat and gulped, and stared. I had to break this Hailey down. Her eyes were that of a stoner. Her smell was of the greasy munchies she'd eat afterword. Mentally she was not attractive at all. She talked like there was no one like her. And she glanced in the bars mirror every minute. I think she's breaking herself down for me.
"Let's go back to the house." I said not meaning to literally slam my empty bottle down. Still giving no tip.
They didn't mind, they didn't even have a drink. And I just wanted to find a way to move. I was hoping I could just go to my brothers and hide in a bedrooom, but my morbid mind wanted to see more. I wonder what is running through his head.
"So, some old guy at the store gave me twenty dollars." She was telling him, not me.
"For what?"
"For being hot." She replied, with an everyday normality. "That's what he said. A twenty for being hot."
I think the milk and cookies I had earlier curdled with my beer, right in my stomach. I think she really feels good about herself, she really thinks she is the daydream of any man over twenty one. Not under.
I felt like I was the third eye in some statutory mind rape. But Chris has a woman. A pretty damn cool sister in law to me. They are two lucky people. Too bad she's working right now.
After all the talking, of everything I predicted to myself about her, was over, we went outside to quench all of our one common something. Tobacco.
Hugs and good nights. Fakes and reals.
"Maybe again tomorrow." She said. And again I couldn't decipher what I thought of her tone.
My brother and I inhaled our smokes and went back inside.
Maybe again tomorrow? I think not. Then again who am I to tell that to Chris? Blood can always find a way I suppose.
"Oh!" I said. "We were just about to have a drink."
"Good idea." She said with a tone I couldn't decipher.
"Right here." I said strolling in my new, black, studded heels. "It's the only way to go. It's right next door. Can't lose. Do you have a fake ID?" I don't think I sounded sarcastic.
"Heh." She pervaded my body with wretched tingles from her pointless laugh.
I watched her turn and jump with open arms to my brother. She already had me not liking her. Her name fits her. In fact she fits her. She's typical. Her long black hair flips out everywhere in layers. The chunks of hot pink blend how they should. Her piercings are the norm for these days.
Not my days. When piercings were hardly accepted and you really did make a statement if you had them. No, she is the regular teenager of 2008. Nothing different, nothing new, not even anything old. For in my book, old is like the coolest old person you could possibly know giving you the best baked cookies you've ever had while sitting and talking about the year 1932. It might be typical and already in history, but it is unique. Oh what a paradox. And she...isn't different, or unique.
"Hailey!" My brother yelped so innocently and happily. "How are you? All of you guys?"
Here we go, I am on my way to my masquerade. Except masquerades are mysterious, mature, and sexy to me. Wrong. I am on my way to, to, well, I just need my damn mask. Why am I here anyway?
"Oh my god Chris, like we're good." She snapped. I wondered if she was real.
So they talked and talked. And I sat and sat. What could such a smart boy possibly talk about with her?
"Give me a Sam Adams, Cherry Wheat." I was surprised such a rundown, no name town had my cherry beer."
"Five dollars." Said the lady behind the bar. I gave her a five. No tip yet.
I sat and gulped, and stared. I had to break this Hailey down. Her eyes were that of a stoner. Her smell was of the greasy munchies she'd eat afterword. Mentally she was not attractive at all. She talked like there was no one like her. And she glanced in the bars mirror every minute. I think she's breaking herself down for me.
"Let's go back to the house." I said not meaning to literally slam my empty bottle down. Still giving no tip.
They didn't mind, they didn't even have a drink. And I just wanted to find a way to move. I was hoping I could just go to my brothers and hide in a bedrooom, but my morbid mind wanted to see more. I wonder what is running through his head.
"So, some old guy at the store gave me twenty dollars." She was telling him, not me.
"For what?"
"For being hot." She replied, with an everyday normality. "That's what he said. A twenty for being hot."
I think the milk and cookies I had earlier curdled with my beer, right in my stomach. I think she really feels good about herself, she really thinks she is the daydream of any man over twenty one. Not under.
I felt like I was the third eye in some statutory mind rape. But Chris has a woman. A pretty damn cool sister in law to me. They are two lucky people. Too bad she's working right now.
After all the talking, of everything I predicted to myself about her, was over, we went outside to quench all of our one common something. Tobacco.
Hugs and good nights. Fakes and reals.
"Maybe again tomorrow." She said. And again I couldn't decipher what I thought of her tone.
My brother and I inhaled our smokes and went back inside.
Maybe again tomorrow? I think not. Then again who am I to tell that to Chris? Blood can always find a way I suppose.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Still Untitled
Where am I? I'm groveling. It's strange though. I am groveling to myself.I lose all of my senses sometimes. And when I have them back, they still aren't mine.I have to be different. Believe I am different. I smack her so hard I swear her neck collapses. She was ready for it?She is what some of my own cells wish I was. I tell myself that. But it probably isn't true.If there was only a way to pierce her, without killing her.I know there isn't. I know there are few choices. And I know what I need.This room is fucking cold. And I love the cold. But let me tell you it doesn't love me. She believes I'm a hero. A supernatural savior. I like her believing that. Hell I think I am a hero sometimes. And I like her getting warm from my indecisive cold. I know so much about her. She's opened her soul for something she's not ready for.
Where am I? I am an indecisive fool. He seems to be melting into himself. What? What is going on? I'm freezing. I think he's sane. That's his problem. Sanity. When you can pour a perfect drink and enjoy every sip, you're sane and don't even know it. He wouldn't like to hear that. But shit would I love to say it.I'm not. I am not sane. And I know he sees it. Ohhhh shit.My jaw feels broken. My head feels limp. I'm alright, I'm alright. I like it. Breathe. You're sad. And it pleases me. Oh how I feel sane at this moment. Just like him. Just like his body. His eyes. He's yummy. Oh warm me. You seem to never change with the temperature. You feel good. Just wait until you make me another drink. You have only a slice of my madness. Stop thinking you have more.
I love when she looks at me. And I love the chill she gives my spine. Only my spine. I like touching her face.She always falls right into my palm. It's so lascivious. And I feel like a fucking beast. I want to shred her open. Sample every part she has to offer. I will shelter her tonight. And we can both have our fill. A genuine fill. Close your eyes lovely. I am ready.
Oh, now he is gentle. Rough, gentle, rough, gentle. Gentle pain. I can never choose just one and that's why I'm here. His fingers are ridiculously soft. I am ready.
You never have me, lovely.
You have me only sometimes, sir.
I just give you death, lovely.
I just give you life, sir.
Then it's time.
Where am I? I am an indecisive fool. He seems to be melting into himself. What? What is going on? I'm freezing. I think he's sane. That's his problem. Sanity. When you can pour a perfect drink and enjoy every sip, you're sane and don't even know it. He wouldn't like to hear that. But shit would I love to say it.I'm not. I am not sane. And I know he sees it. Ohhhh shit.My jaw feels broken. My head feels limp. I'm alright, I'm alright. I like it. Breathe. You're sad. And it pleases me. Oh how I feel sane at this moment. Just like him. Just like his body. His eyes. He's yummy. Oh warm me. You seem to never change with the temperature. You feel good. Just wait until you make me another drink. You have only a slice of my madness. Stop thinking you have more.
I love when she looks at me. And I love the chill she gives my spine. Only my spine. I like touching her face.She always falls right into my palm. It's so lascivious. And I feel like a fucking beast. I want to shred her open. Sample every part she has to offer. I will shelter her tonight. And we can both have our fill. A genuine fill. Close your eyes lovely. I am ready.
Oh, now he is gentle. Rough, gentle, rough, gentle. Gentle pain. I can never choose just one and that's why I'm here. His fingers are ridiculously soft. I am ready.
You never have me, lovely.
You have me only sometimes, sir.
I just give you death, lovely.
I just give you life, sir.
Then it's time.
A Magic Act
Disrupting, disgusting, and also invalid
no comprehension of why you sing to madness.
The barrel is wasted, it's filled with it's ailment
the wood is in it's deepest.. stage of rottenness..
The room you're in darkens,
and you can only tell through the cracks
and your windows start to freeze over
not even you can see your soul.
Projection of fear, and deaf to speech
it's not a wonder your hatred is all you do keep
So us others, we wonder-
where are all the chains? The locks and the steel-
you do proclaim.
Hard to know that you did it, you put yourself there.
Oh, how did you manage? With only two hands..
How does it feel?
We wish you could talk, your ghost, to the others
but your senses they grow more dim
Why, you don't even cry for you,
others have stopped too...
the worst thickening agent for this barrel would be
loneliness.
By and by, it will come.
Distraction, imagine,
no one but you... no one....but you.
no comprehension of why you sing to madness.
The barrel is wasted, it's filled with it's ailment
the wood is in it's deepest.. stage of rottenness..
The room you're in darkens,
and you can only tell through the cracks
and your windows start to freeze over
not even you can see your soul.
Projection of fear, and deaf to speech
it's not a wonder your hatred is all you do keep
So us others, we wonder-
where are all the chains? The locks and the steel-
you do proclaim.
Hard to know that you did it, you put yourself there.
Oh, how did you manage? With only two hands..
How does it feel?
We wish you could talk, your ghost, to the others
but your senses they grow more dim
Why, you don't even cry for you,
others have stopped too...
the worst thickening agent for this barrel would be
loneliness.
By and by, it will come.
Distraction, imagine,
no one but you... no one....but you.
Her Autumn Buffet
So the man doesn't bleed. Doesn't cry.
She does. Not only can she as quick as a blink, she loves to.
The temperature change as it slides down her chest.
It's a cold, burning wet.
She feels and understands. She's free and has sight.
He is so warm inside. Compassionate and pleasant.
His face streams with sweat from his work. He smells amazing.
She could get high from inhaling him. And be in a different land.
He isn't clueless. Probably of equal or more intelligence than her.
But he has never had her sight. And never will.
She knows that's why it's okay. She knows that's why he's perfect in her mind.
Sometimes she thinks about it. And she asks a typical now and then "Why?" to herself.
But it isn't the kind of why he, or another man would think. It's a good why.
It's her "Why?". Her way of functioning. For when she asks it, she tells herself, every time...
"He keeps me alive, shows me how to love and be loved. And that is all I need.
My past serves the rest of the courses."
And she moves on. Playing out her activities of the day. As does he.
Dinner is ready.
Her heart is black, his is white, the two are inextricable.
She does. Not only can she as quick as a blink, she loves to.
The temperature change as it slides down her chest.
It's a cold, burning wet.
She feels and understands. She's free and has sight.
He is so warm inside. Compassionate and pleasant.
His face streams with sweat from his work. He smells amazing.
She could get high from inhaling him. And be in a different land.
He isn't clueless. Probably of equal or more intelligence than her.
But he has never had her sight. And never will.
She knows that's why it's okay. She knows that's why he's perfect in her mind.
Sometimes she thinks about it. And she asks a typical now and then "Why?" to herself.
But it isn't the kind of why he, or another man would think. It's a good why.
It's her "Why?". Her way of functioning. For when she asks it, she tells herself, every time...
"He keeps me alive, shows me how to love and be loved. And that is all I need.
My past serves the rest of the courses."
And she moves on. Playing out her activities of the day. As does he.
Dinner is ready.
Her heart is black, his is white, the two are inextricable.
Just Part of my Gun Metal Sky
When disasters and accidents collide...where do I belong
In this sickness I call mine, and the dire need for
clarity, dignity, and acceptance,
give me my benevolence
hinder, hatred, sacrificed lives
find me my desired time
hope in eternity, longing in fear
where do you get off finding me here?
Putrid are the ways I find most of them work
and never it seems that there’s cleanliness for sure
distempered and horrid, so many words
my favorites come out, but just never work.
The sky remains metal, so shiny and grey,
I look to the raindrops to take me away
the ethics of them, I will never comprehend
and I know of a tingling sensation that blends
pain with the kindness, sincerity, and proof,
that masters of disasters have come for you
the eyes of honesty I never will see, f
or blindness caresses and parades with glee
someday they’ll get it but this does not mean
that their time on earth will be when it’s received
find me a succulent shelter to live
and maybe this weakness will finally give
embers and ashes, filling the wounds
oh never forget the “trivial” words.
In this sickness I call mine, and the dire need for
clarity, dignity, and acceptance,
give me my benevolence
hinder, hatred, sacrificed lives
find me my desired time
hope in eternity, longing in fear
where do you get off finding me here?
Putrid are the ways I find most of them work
and never it seems that there’s cleanliness for sure
distempered and horrid, so many words
my favorites come out, but just never work.
The sky remains metal, so shiny and grey,
I look to the raindrops to take me away
the ethics of them, I will never comprehend
and I know of a tingling sensation that blends
pain with the kindness, sincerity, and proof,
that masters of disasters have come for you
the eyes of honesty I never will see, f
or blindness caresses and parades with glee
someday they’ll get it but this does not mean
that their time on earth will be when it’s received
find me a succulent shelter to live
and maybe this weakness will finally give
embers and ashes, filling the wounds
oh never forget the “trivial” words.
Scottish Flower
Oh wretched souls! I long to hear my name
worthless, cold endeavors driving me to blame
Sickened with the beauty of the carefree heart
marching to the melody of nothing is your part
Finding true serenity, rapture of my mind
realizing sunflowers aging with this time
the epitome of silence combs my every hair
honesty from lips of war, arrows in the air
Garbage that I pick through, useless to my soul
ebony angels that corrupt my every move
when the light reflecting shimmer bounces of my body
I wonder who is looking, who does see the rotting.
Floating in the whispers is this non loved spirit
feeling in eternity the agony you've built
run at every corner, hide near every tree
when you find your insides, maybe you'll be free.
worthless, cold endeavors driving me to blame
Sickened with the beauty of the carefree heart
marching to the melody of nothing is your part
Finding true serenity, rapture of my mind
realizing sunflowers aging with this time
the epitome of silence combs my every hair
honesty from lips of war, arrows in the air
Garbage that I pick through, useless to my soul
ebony angels that corrupt my every move
when the light reflecting shimmer bounces of my body
I wonder who is looking, who does see the rotting.
Floating in the whispers is this non loved spirit
feeling in eternity the agony you've built
run at every corner, hide near every tree
when you find your insides, maybe you'll be free.
Happy Quiet
Quiet, hidden meaning
It finds that it does not believe
How to make it we soon will see,
For never ending silence has hidden beneath.
Does it not see how to live?
Is it bound by an un-reality?
Inevitably it shall be found,
but shall you be happy, when it is?
Quiet,seen by all It knows not how to be pleasing
How to be forever teasing
For eternity it thinks that it may keep shutting.
Don't you see it may be benign?
Is it bound by reality?
Truly to it's utmost it will be hit,
but will you be happy when it is?
Shhhh, quiet! Only quiet knows
It finds that it does not believe
How to make it we soon will see,
For never ending silence has hidden beneath.
Does it not see how to live?
Is it bound by an un-reality?
Inevitably it shall be found,
but shall you be happy, when it is?
Quiet,seen by all It knows not how to be pleasing
How to be forever teasing
For eternity it thinks that it may keep shutting.
Don't you see it may be benign?
Is it bound by reality?
Truly to it's utmost it will be hit,
but will you be happy when it is?
Shhhh, quiet! Only quiet knows
Web Spinner
So the web is made. Finished. And oh how soft it is.
Reflective and pure.
It preys on anything smaller than itself. Smaller.
It likes to hunt at night.
Cold wind. Haunted trees. Flowing river.
Behind the rocks it waits
Sending the song of a widow to my mind.
The cries are unbearable, disturbing, silent.
I wait and listen.
How proper it seems under these circumstances
to hold your breath...close your eyes.
When you know what is to come.
You hear it every day, hear it every night.
And still you do nothing.
You know to do nothing.
She swirls wonders around the bee.
A beautiful dirty. A wondrous scream.
And again she saved me.
From the blistering sting.
The deadly aftermath that could have been.
A kill for a kill.
I can now sleep.
I can remain safe for another day.
I can see the moon again.
My pay is given in the morning
My pollen lures the bees
Her food, my fight.
So I
shall always...do nothing.
Reflective and pure.
It preys on anything smaller than itself. Smaller.
It likes to hunt at night.
Cold wind. Haunted trees. Flowing river.
Behind the rocks it waits
Sending the song of a widow to my mind.
The cries are unbearable, disturbing, silent.
I wait and listen.
How proper it seems under these circumstances
to hold your breath...close your eyes.
When you know what is to come.
You hear it every day, hear it every night.
And still you do nothing.
You know to do nothing.
She swirls wonders around the bee.
A beautiful dirty. A wondrous scream.
And again she saved me.
From the blistering sting.
The deadly aftermath that could have been.
A kill for a kill.
I can now sleep.
I can remain safe for another day.
I can see the moon again.
My pay is given in the morning
My pollen lures the bees
Her food, my fight.
So I
shall always...do nothing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)