To whom it may concern (probably none),
No, this is not a suicide note... Yes, my humor is sick. I've done a short stay here and there are many talented writers on here, but hardly any feedback is given. I feel that it is more of an ego feeding community based on slapping hearts at people and not even reading their work... I am guilty of this as well so I'm part of this problem. Some have actually read my work and given feedback as so have I, but this is far and few between. Also this is primarily poetry not prose... So, thank you for those that made an effort and good luck to all with you life's endeavors!
I am become death destroyer of words; in this is not the tale of a mad man nor a brilliant one, but of a soul, the dreariest of lost souls. A story just as false as is its truths. Open your eyes and see. Follow me through these sentences as I rake and rue the world to pieces one line at a time. Come with me... Curiosity echoes in my wake and I invite all and awe to hear the universes growing pains... I am the cosmic eye that laid waste to Adam and Eve. Paradise is what I offer unto thee. In return, a contract only signed by a soul's deepest intent and its betrayal is forever. Walk with me and know all the wines these lands have to offer; all the things boy and girls dream of... I am not an ethereal being: I am MAN, I am WOMAN. I am ignorance and "I am become death destroyer of worlds." For us fools, we are our Deus Ex Machina! We are our own undoing... So, come with me. I am the many and I am the few all that I need is you?
Words are thoughts that defeated time—
They are Gods and are we slaves of
Of slaves we are and Gods are they
—Time defeated that thoughts are words.
I-Me and Self relations
We are all looking for sincerity, through the existential-ontological insecurity that is the infinite subjective realm of Self. Our greatest enemy is the I-Me relation with an objective emphasis over subjective solidarity in turn producing an inertia. An inertia seeking identification in the objective realm. This is an absolute false for objectivity cannot answer subjectivity. Inertia is a malignant void and it is all consuming to seek preordained affirmations; the slow, but sure destruction of Self is to walk such a path. There are only two forces within the soul's infinite realm of subjectivity: Gravity, an inward drawing force that collects "matter" condensing it into a star. Inertia, an outward dissipating force of a volatile nature requiring external "feeding" to maintain any mass i.e. "matter". Gravity requires work and self-actualization in the Maslowian sense. It constitutes a self-sufficient ego-system alike to a solar system moving through the Self's infinite space spiraling into the "fingerprint" of a unique personality, held together by the Self's Gravity. Whereas an Inertia based "Self" is bound for self-eradication under the pursuit of conformism and misidentifications; the cutting away of Self for the shaping of the idolized image in the sense of Horneyian theory. The issue is we live in a world and a society that encourages an Inertia based personality development. Seek Gravity and an I-Me relation that is "Self" sufficient with a subjective emphasis over objectivity. The "easiest" way to exam this is to analytically look at the script/roles and image one has chosen to identify with then ask what of my personality have I tapered to fit that identification complex. If one has done any tapering of the true personality to fit the image it is false and Inertia based. The opposite should be what of the script/role and image has one tapered to fit the personality, that is Gravity based truth and results in a "Self" affirmed individual. Just a thought...
Love, Forgive Me
I did what I did. Projection is the murderer of all things genuine. I, for years, dreamed and toiled with secret thoughts of what love is and was to be. Small smiles went unnoticed as this boy dreamed away of future days. Moments past in a bleary pit against my deepest dreary. I could see them all there, in places longing for a home here in the world. The price of their admittance was the clarity of reality. Emotions colored the sky and breathed the light of starlit life warming the night. I knew deep in the chasms of my soul the things I saw were not of my world. All deranged images whose lust was hidden from sight. Not even mine own eyes could see them in the mirror for they had stolen those too. I was lost and I did what I did. We were never, and in all those years of yearning for us to be a truth—I killed that which was you. I, a villain, stole trust and twisted lies onto you. I was a wicked fool. It was not you that rushed in, but I that burst out through the gates of mine heart. I lead astray by demons disguised as doves of hope and I became death murder masquerading as love—Oh! Love, why must you have two sides one so full of joy men like me know nothing of and then be a black vindictive hatred on the dark side of a twilight's moon. And with dusk comes what I know to be true; that in the end I truly never loved you. So, forgive me and my words for these are the only truth I give thee and they will hold till death do us part.
Forgive me, Love
The Devil’s Dog
Tick-tock tick-tock, Clark watched the massive black hands in their chopped arithmetical dance. His eyes witnessed the seconds pass. The midnight hour was nigh and the moon full. Thin clouds whisked overhead on the dark canvas night sky. An icy wind pricked his ears and nose like needles. Clark exhaled seeing his breath condense to a foggy ghostly air. He flicked back a wing of his winter night cape and checked to see if Reginald loaded the silver bullets this time. DING-DONG-DING, rang out then a howl only the devil's dog could make. It comes! The beast, it comes now!
With stylish eyes that spoke like Jazz-Blues, Ellis swayed through the bar scene with a cold-noir vibe following behind him as he made his move to her. His smile was a work of artistic perfection; designed and calculated to lure hearts into cages, into traps...
Run Girl Run
"EmMma," slithered from his mouth. Her eyes honed on a cracked and mold stained mirror reflecting fractured glimpses of his approach. Emma's heart thundered over its own beats. Thump-thump-thump-thump. She wrapped both her hands around her mouth and squeezed tight; pressing her elbows down on her own ribs in attempts to slow her breathing. Terror rose in her heart like a black fire and it hurt. His steps echoed off walls and thin plywood. A wind blew flapping tarps, a sound reminiscent of bats escaping a cave. Her thoughts scrambled for safe resolutions, He passes. I run. He passes. I run. He passes... A deep burly laugh interrupted her plan of escape slowly drowning down to a madman's cackle. A high pitch scream accompanied her pursuers inhalation serving as his crescendo to his display of a psychotic symphony. Uncontrollable tears streamed down her face as sobs of absolute dread forced muffled noises from her hand-covered mouth. Panic sprang through her. She knew her nose was beginning to run and her next breath would be loud, too loud. She knew it was now or never.
Emma let her mouth free and fear forced a deep and broken up inhale. She felt his presence turn towards her as she ran as fast as she could for the work site entrance. The keys are in the car. The keys are in the car—shotgunned through her mind. Her legs moved with a purpose like never before—they burned and felt heavier with every desperate pump. She saw the chain fencing and the slid open gate. Slight relief hardened into determination. You can do this, almost there, just a little bit farther. She heard a sound that deadened all hope in an instant. The jostling of keys and they were unmistakably her keys. They were but inches behind her. She knew then like never before that this was it. In a last attempt to live and in a cry for all that she was her voice boomed, "SOMEBODY FUCKING HEL—"
Truth is Black
I see no wrong in living shamefully for the sake of writing beautifully. Life is finite, but words? Words are... They are our infinite legacy. As I see it, some of us must trudge about in the trenches of humanities darkness, so we may know what we are through and through. I am no saint. I am a sinner that bears the names of two prophets. The irony is uncanny. Cosmic indifference has made itself know to me through the madness that is man. It is not that your god does not love us, but that he has given us everything we need to save ourselves. I am convinced God prays for us all before the black of night. Sheath thy sword! For those that live by the pen die by the pen. I see an unfathomable stupidity in humanity, it is nearly unforgivable because it is a deliberate choice. For all one has to do is but read! I am certain writing will follow. However, these are the dreams of a fool. I am a fool of fools. So leave me to my dreary; leave me to my shadows and things on the far side of despair. For in darkness I eagerly wait for the eternal silence, but first I'll write about it and write some more. Till then I remain that truth is black for only death knows all of man's secrets. Therefore only death knows truth.
Letter for my Ex Wife
This feud—this boiling hatred I feel for you and to think I was once convinced you were someone I'd die for. I really tried to be civil; to turn away from such a petty way, but every encounter with you grows more toxic and offensive. I should share with you the sick happiness it brought me when I saw the bags under your eyes and your smudged black makeup liner. I couldn't feel for you for I did not see a broken woman in the irises of your eyes. If anything it looked like strength or maybe it was boredom or perhaps an uneasy weariness with me and my games. In this the two of us could experience the last of us as if there never was an "us." The thing that gets me most is how you actually fucking think I don't see what you're doing. I'll admit it, it is a well played position. Playing the victim meanwhile feeding on all the empathy of others. Truly you are a vampire of the soul. I would know—remember? I don't hate you. I just find it sad that nothing can reach you anymore, but your own egocentricity. Any sincere move on my part is bogged down in your analytical defense till you find fault were there is no fault to be found and the whole gesture is crushed. I tried playing the martyr for us to no avail. Then my eyes were opened to the grotesque nature of what you were doing. I was no martyr but a damn moth and you the black widow. I helplessly caught in your web. Your mercilessly calculated strikes sinking fangs deep injecting neurotoxins paralyzing all my struggles. How the poison rotted my insides out only so you could patiently wait to slurp up the remains leaving a petrified useless shell of the man I once was—To hell with that! Oh! Regina, thou art a villain! No! Indeed there is no love to miss here; I doubt even if there was love in the first place. Yet a far off memory does cry out to me asking, "Are we but monsters that preyed upon each others' fears and faiths with unscabbard sabers? Are we true love's lovers like Adam and Eve only to betray another as Cain and Abel?" And truthfully I don't answer them. Besides such weak thoughts have no business here anymore. For this is an ugly business; this is survival of the fittest and if I am to go down I will drag you with me, all the way to the bottom.