A Contemporary Piece.

She is a dirty, dirty, racist

2012-02-08T23:30:00.000-08:00

OOPS! I. Did it again!

Oh Mr. Octopus, you're so handsome

2012-02-08T23:29:00.001-08:00

DONE BY YOURS TRULY!

HOW HIPSTERS GET GIRLS/IT'S A TRAP!

2012-02-08T23:27:00.000-08:00

All art done by me. Not that it's anything to be impressed by.

The Black

2011-11-28T22:33:00.000-08:00

Sword whose blade is of sea glass,
Shining green and smelling of salt.
Brine of the ocean crashing against my body,
Tongue battling through the waves,
I keep my breath held inside pink lungs,
A precious gift.
I covet the gills of my aquatic familiars,
Gliding through the green,
Sword slashing through monsters,
Made of scales and bone created from myth.
Keep me safe, keep me numb.
Oblivious children of the deep,
Do not let me wake.

Push Me Away

2011-11-28T00:59:00.000-08:00

Since he’s gone away, my sweet mortal man,
Life has turned dull and acrid;
Dust replaced blood, still becomes my bones.
Weeping women wail all over town
I can’t be awake, I walk steady in dreams.
The comfort I had once been given,
Had bathed in and glorified,
Is ripped away, leaving only the black ink
A substance so revolting that it fills me up
My throat is black and oiled
Brain submerged in shadow.
Let me speak to my once mortal man,
My once living hero, my only friend,
I will tell him all the wonders about all the sparks
Lighting up the world in brilliance.

Three words:
I
Am
Sorry.

White as Diamonds

2011-11-28T00:57:00.000-08:00

Demonic voices sing out to me as I desperately try to bury my identity. Of course, with me out of commission the opposite forces strike up a tidal wave of controversy. As much as I want to fight back, my thoughts linger towards the vulnerable. I cannot begin to rebel against the foundations that have raised me to such heights. How unfair, how cruel, how terrible my darkest thoughts seem.

I trembled beneath the ghoul’s verdict. Grant me one last choice before the world succumbs to fire and deep heat.

Svefn G Englar

2011-11-26T00:01:00.000-08:00

The selfish block of humanity saying, “we got you,” but really no one has anyone. How could they? They won’t catch you as you fall back into the crowd, arms crossed over your chest in a sign of absolute trust. It’s a kill or be killed world. Eat or be eaten. They’ll drop you.

...

The world felt light as a balloon, helium filled and taking me higher. I had a bottle of wine in one hand and a shot gun in the other. Most of my time here had been spent shooting empty tomato cans and arguing with the chief. He was as stubborn as I was, surprisingly. Short like I was, eyes like mine, and a mind that jumped to petty conclusions. Of course most of those conclusions were the absolute truth.

I spoke to the spirits.

No help could be offered. Did the spirits even exist? I was lost at sea with a group of scallywags, most of who smelled like barnacles. I was ready to abandon ship when the mermaids began to assemble. They were beautiful.

Earl shot one.

Then he shot another.

Ever wonder why no one today has ever seen a mermaid? It’s because Earl killed them all and mounted them on his wall in the French Villa. I screamed and begged for their lives, but no mercy was shown. He shoved me aside in his rampage for the fair sea maidens.

Ditty Do Wop Morning

2011-11-25T23:54:00.001-08:00

A dove flying over ahead of me,
It coos delightedly at the sun
Reminding me of the times when I wore a smile.
A body’s bed tells when the clock strikes twelve.
My glass slipper is still lost
In the ghostly hands of my prince,
Prince of Dreams, the one beneath the earth,
I am the girl who slept.
Never has the light shown upon my face,
Thighs a quiver in the grass,
Dew gathering in the corner of my lashes,
I am still asleep.

Serendipity

2011-11-04T00:52:00.001-07:00

Killing time, killing the sun
My skin stretches, stitching along my breast
The day ends, I breathe smoke
My friends are dead
My stars are lost, like my marbles
My Blood is warm within my skin
Stretched, stitched, along my breast
What the heck?
I went and did my best
And my God I really tasted something swell
And for a moment why, I even touched the sky!

Listed, List, Le liste

2011-11-04T00:44:00.000-07:00

A list of things I thought would make me a better person:

1.) A Ukulele
2.) Paintings
3.) Black stones
4.) Indie rock music
5.) Ironic tea
6.) Darth Vader Clock
7.) Fake gold Buddha
8.) Happy pills
9.) A cactus named Lance
10.) A new home

The National - Bloodbuzz Ohio

2011-11-03T19:43:00.000-07:00

I'm Your Daddy

2011-10-29T01:01:00.000-07:00

The consolation of my heart’s own voice keeps me at bay, rather than pushing my way into the fray of chaos. I want to scream. I want to pull my own teeth out. Kill the joker and dine with the queen. Of course such an event could never occur. Only a royal dinner invite for one would arrive at the step of my door before I’d enter the hall of mystery. Decorations of pine needles and cinnamon scented candles litter the walls. I let out a sigh of acceptance of my own fate, regardless of what my muse cares to voice on the subject. I cannot imagine his voice, hard and commanding, yet all the same soft and beseeching.

I dare him.

He accepts with a frown of trepidation. I can only wince as he yells, his voice echoing across the caves. Dark, silence, greetings.

For it’s a test of courage.

“Can you?”

“I’ll show you magic,”

And the end began with a forest fire.

Danger on the Track

2011-09-12T18:38:00.000-07:00

My name is Johnny Danger. I like trouble, chili cheese fries, and brass knuckles. Get in my way and I’ll run you over in my camero. He’s like bumblebee and he don’t give a fuck. I smoke cigarettes and he smokes your mom. We’re quite the pair of hell raisers, I mean that literally. I make my living killing the things that go bump in the night. Demons mostly, a few dream-walkers, Olympian gods (fuck you Hades), even no good blood suckers; I work in a very specific job environment as the bounty hunter of God. He’s a hard man to please, that holy fucker.

I live off gas station corn dogs and cheap beer, gunning down the creeps and crawlers of darkness lore. Jesus was a cross-maker and I am a rolling stone.

Thunder booms across the lands of western Alabama as I chew my cigarette thoughtfully. Lighting strikes close as I feel the land rumble beneath my feet. I was rolling along the deserted areas deep in the Alabama wilderness. I stood over a ridge overlooking a swamp full of nasties and crawlies. I cracked my neck, scratched my stubble and set off with my shotgun strapped to my back.

Here goes Danger, king of the roads.

The swamp was damp, heat stricken and a damn right bother to be in. The coming storm did nothing to repress the sticky air, instead only injecting the air with a sort of eerie calm. Thunder clapped again overhead and in the flash of the lighting I saw the creature I was hunting.

He was tall, charred flesh, and black as the sky. Mossy eyes stared back into mine. Show no fear. I lifted my gun as the thing abruptly turned to try and get a’goin. The water sloshed over my boots as I gave chase.

Thunder again. Lighting again. I see him up ahead, running and stumbling all over himself, blind in the light. Gun raised, I pull the trigger and let triumph course through me at the sight of the fallen beast. He lays face down in the ugly swamp, skin steaming and black blood leaking from the hole in his skull.

A clean shot.

I bent down to turn him over. I grabbed the machete strapped to my thigh and started sawing his noggin from his neck. Frightening little handsome, he is. I held back the wave of nausea threatening to spill over at the smell of the devil.

“Jesus,” I breathed. He stank.

I managed to get his head off and into the buckskin cloth and then set back out to my car. Passing over the wet slope, I spotted her. A young girl leaning against my car on unsteady legs. She was scrawny with long, straight, honey locks falling down her back in wet flops. Her eyes were wide and brown and frightened. The water poured down on the pair of us as I approached her with a watchful eye.

“You lost, girl?” I called out the young thing.

She looked around her all jumpy like before turning back to me. She was shivering and clutching her stomach with trembling arms. What the hell was a little girl like this hanging around a hunting ground? It was at that moment I noticed the shotgun by her feet.

She caught my eyes as I slapped the buckskin to the ground in a careless gesture. She glanced to the ground at the gun before lifting her head back to me.

“…I think I killed someone,” Her voice was small and breathy and shook like the dickens.

I ticked my head to the side before I sauntered up to her, wiping a hand across my eyes to brush the wet of the rain away. I stared down at the trembling mess.

“You think?” I drilled her, “Or you know?”

She hesitated, pink lips parting to speak, “I killed a guy… a few miles back.”

“Who was he?”

“My daddy.”

“Can’t help ya. There’s a hospital in the town over, you better get your scrawny butt over there before you freeze to death.”

She continued where she left off like a desperate record.

“He was hurting my mama and when he found out I got pregnant-,”

I interrupted her with exasperation, “I don’t got the time-,”

“He was gonna kill me!” She screeched, “He didn’t want me to have it! He wouldn’t let me! He led me out here to shoot me in the belly to get rid of the baby!”

What the hell was this girl goin’ on about? I motioned for her to stop before I noticed a trickle of blood trailing down her thigh.

“Are you hurt?” I asked her over the rain, motioning to her legs.

She looking down with a horrified expression and opened her lungs and screamed. I jumped at the sound, which would have been a funny sight. Johnny Danger, hunter, ain’t scared of no demon or monster, but the sound of a crying girl’s scream makes him startle like a jack rabbit. Jesus, Mary mother of God.

I held my hands up in what was supposed to be a calming gesture to get her to shut her trap. All that yelling ain’t makin’ me too keen on helpin’ her out. Aw hell, who am I kidding? Before I could make my way over to help the girl a rustling in the brush caught my attention. I immediately pulled my shotgun over my shoulder in a quick move and aimed it towards the sound. Another rustle.

Out shot a shorty with long hair whipping in the rain. Her black top soaked in the rain and boots caked with mud. In her small hands was clutched a bat with tape wrapped around the handle. She threw the bat down and ran full force to the bleedin girl.

“She’s losing the baby!” Shorty yelled over thunder.

I lowered the gun and ambled over as Shorty tended over the girl who had collapsed. Shorty moved her upright and laid a hand over the girl’s stomach.

“The hell are you doin’?” I demanded.

She hushed me and closed her eyes in deep concentration. The fuck does this lass think she is? I was about to rip her up by the scruff of her neck before she suddenly snapped her eyes back open and jumped to her feet lickity split. She whipped around to face me and it was then that I saw them eyes.

Eyes born of fire. Two twin comets burning into me.

“She’s fine now,” She shouted over the rain, “I fixed her.”

I stared at the Shorty’s face in bewilderment.

“You Johnny Danger?” She asked.

“Yeah,”

“Ten years from now, we’re gonna see each other again!”

She moved away then and grabbed her bat that had rolled over by the front of my car. She shook it off before heading back to the brush.

“Who are you?” I yelled to stop her.

She half turned back to me with a smirk lighting up her face.

“Taylor!”

And then she ran back into the wild and was gone.

………………………

“This girl named her kid Rainforrest. If I die, just know it was from laughing so fucking hard.”

Stone of a Bone

2011-09-12T17:45:00.000-07:00

(816): It probably isn't a good idea to go home with last night's hookup's brother. And sister.

(-1816): Probably is probably an understatement.

………………………………………………

My life just exploded. I miss the times when I never had to say that but now I’m 46 and sad to say this happens often. I watched the charred pieces of my apartment fly up and crash down upon the street like angry hail. It wasn’t like I wanted this to happen, it just does. And it’s never anybody else! Wherever I go, people just want to kill me like Nicholas Cage wants to kill decent movies with his terrible acting.

All because I swallowed the wrong Star. (Not necessarily a Star SINCE IT WAS A METEOR BUT OH WELL FUCK LETS NOT TALK ABOUT MY MISTAKES).

Now, the rest of the apartment building was on fire, a siren was wailing in the distance and I could see my landlord angrily stalking towards me just as the many landlords before him have done.

He was a short Italian man who was rounder than he was tall, with small eyes spaced too far apart and who is also very fond of wife beaters with marinara stains. His name is Don but not the Don but still Don enough to command an apartment building close enough to mafia standards. Among his many talents were gambling and yelling at me in elevators where I couldn’t run away and sometimes in front of small children.

I don’t like him.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

I really don’t like him.

Me, “I have no idea what you mean, but if you’re implying I blew up my own apartment then I’m afraid I’ll have to call my lawyers.”

Don, “Shut your goddamn smart mouth you goddamn dick!”

Another thing I didn’t like about Don was that his vocabulary was very limited to only “Goddamn”, “Shut up”, “Dick” and, “Hey you with the face!” Most of those are usually directed towards me or the scarce minority that happened to be strolling along.

The police screeched into the parking lot with the entire fire department and an ambulance in suit. I noticed a red camero swerve dangerously behind them until it came to a dead stop almost on top of Officer Harvey. While Harvey seemed traumatized, the rest of the force was too busy watching the Firemen and sippin on their big gulps to care too much.

I could faintly hear Don still yelling at me and trying to get the cops attention to arrest me as I watched a tall and (dare I say) ruggedly handsome looking man roll out of the camero. Harvey proceeded to scream obscenities and brandished his handcuffs at the offender and started waving them around threateningly. The “Rugster” as I have dubbed him, bitch slapped Harvey and then yelled something that sounded distinctly like, “YOUR MOTHER IS A DUCK!”

Don had given up on me and joined the Force in applauding a lone Fireman who ran out of the building carrying what looked to be an illegally owned baby falcon. What.

I turned back to Rugster and saw as he motioned for two other people to get out of the camero. A short blonde jumped out of the car followed by a young man with shaggy hair covered in freckles who stepped out of the vehicle at a much slower pace. The blonde slid up next to Rugster and they proceeded to argue about something or another. The lazy looking young man stood behind the girl, sticking a finger into his ear digging for wax.

Rugster and Shorty continued to yell at each other, eventually falling to brawl onto the pavement as Lazy stood aloof and ignored them.

“There seems to be no more occupants within the building!” A fireman shouted as he came rushing out of my ex-apartment.

Everyone but the strangers gave a collective sigh of relief as they continued to just stand around and watch the flames. I think I saw one of the kids of my Arab neighbors try to retardedly cook a weenie on a stick before his mother came and shouted at him, making a small scene.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around only to be faced with Rugster, who had very noticeable scratches upon his scruffy face. My eyes widened at his proximity. What can I say? I’m a 46 year old gay man, of course I’m going to blush like a school girl when confronted with Rugster up in my grill.

“You.” He growled.

I tried to inch away, my subconscious sensing his crazy (as if that wasn’t already clear).

He was suddenly yanked away and thrown about… 30… feet… away… The perpetrator/small girl scowled in his direction before turning her attention to me. I almost gasped when she met my gaze. Her eyes were like two comets alight in flames. With a small nose, big cheeks, and a dust of freckles, she seemed like a tiny bratty doll. Her lips were stuck in an angry pout that looked unintentional as she grabbed a fistful of my shirt causing me to bend down to her level (5 feet) from my own normal zone (6 feet).

“Uhhh…” I was scared.

“You Aaron McDonald?” She spoke demandingly, causing my pride to shrivel up and die in a small corner at the force she commanded and the way my knees knocked against each other.

“Y-y-yes,” I managed to answer her without peeing myself.

“You the one that swallowed the Meteor?”

And oh no, tickle my nose; they’re here for that. I nodded with an audible gulp, doing my best to find a way out of this (surprise!) dangerous situation. The small girl smirked, a twinkle in her eyes, before dragging me to the camero, Lazy following silently behind us. I could hear him sigh; probably wishing I was dead already so they could move on.

Rugster had managed to pick himself up out of a tree and drag his bruised self back over to the car. I felt myself shoved against the hood as the three weirdo strangers surrounded me. Lazy’s freckles distracted me (Can there be that many on a person with black hair?!) giving me a small window of coherent thought before every cell in my body went back to screaming:

WE’REGONNADIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Surprisingly, it was Rugster who spoke first.

“We know who you are and what you did 20 years ago on top of that mountain.”

Way to beat around the bush.

“Yes?” I squeaked.

“We’re not here to kill you.” He stated and I felt my bladder release.

Shorty’s face turned into a dramatic display of disgust as Lazy’s lips twitched behind her in silent laughter. Rugster simply sighed before running a hand down his face.

“I couldn’t help it! I was relieved!” I cried in embarrassment as tears began to streak down my face, “I thought you guys were the ones who fire bombed my apartment to kill me.”

Shorty laughed, the twinkle in her eyes back.

“We did.”

I stopped breathing.

“It was a distraction, don’t worry,” she waved me off.

I ignored the warm urine dripping down my calves.

“What… What if I had been in there?” I yelled, not caring if I looked like the biggest loser baby of all the world.

Shorty gave another laugh, “Not like we planned ahead that far.”

She was then smacked over the head by Rugster who seemed to have developed a strange tick in his left eye. Lazy snickered in glee behind her.

“About that Meteor…” He began, “My name is Johnny Danger, and this is Taylor and her Star.”

Holy Shit.

………………………………………………

(708): I'd be there a lot sooner if these damn stairs would stop moving.

Lament

2011-06-16T19:26:00.000-07:00

Oh, somewhere deep inside of these bones.
An emptiness began to grow.
There's something out there, far from my home
A longing that I've never known.

Karen Elson - The Ghost Who Walks (Album Version)

2011-06-09T20:39:00.000-07:00

Wanderlust

2011-06-04T20:25:00.001-07:00

The hauntings were starting again. The sunset bled across the dusty lands in a crimson show of battle between the oranges and the glow of the approaching navy night sky. The clouds were all gone, having disappeared with the breeze. Coyotes have awoken from their slumber and call sorrowfully into the twilight.

I met the djinn by the lonely yew tree. His eyes two black ink blots on an otherwise dispassionate visage; the thousand year bone burner risen from Lazarus. I set my bat to the ground and watch the pale dust cloud about its slender neck and taped handhold. The Djinn gave the briefest of nods before handing me the pale, yellow stained, folded paper. I took it.

Beneath my feet lay the graveyard of struggle and creed. The sun setting in the horizon, almost gone beneath the sensual dip of the land, shone over wild eyes. The Djinn was gone now, leaving me with my solitude and the cracking of the fire. I ran pale fingers over the faded slip of parchment before turning it over.

Two words.

“Run far.”

Bitch Slapped

2011-06-04T13:29:00.000-07:00

(On the palms of the east you will find the star. In the temple of the old, he will sit. There lies his master, deep in slumber. Beware, for if you wake it, your plans will surely fail.)

The travelers rode on in the great sea of sand; the desert of the ancients. There were three of them on to capture the greatest evil of their time. A demon said to guard a sleeping warrior in a hidden oasis in the sands. The old witch they had consulted before their journey had warned them of the old magic residing in depths of the demons very soul. They were to kill him, this monster of lore fallen from the starry heaven above. They were told to find him waiting deep within the temple, waiting for the glorious time when his master reawakens. The witch, ugly and decrepit, had foretold the plans unveiling in the skies.

Before the sun rose at the end of the solstice, a great monstrosity would awaken and take hold of the land; a wandering ruler bent on the foiling of their lives. The council forbade such an occurrence and so the wise travelers were sent forth.

Now they ride on their long and arduous odyssey.

O-pahl, the first rider was a long and skinny man. Rumored to be older than winds and wiser than the trees, he was the leader of the group of three. He was alone in life; one would find him sitting in the meadows of gold listening to the songs of desire. He was not tempted. When he was recruited for the job, he had spoken no words of agreement nor of displeasure, simply gave an air of acceptance to his duty and the council. He rode on.

Smire, the second rider was a middle aged father of six and farmed the great beastly lizards. He was sharp when it came to danger and always had his wits about him. He could tame even the cruelest of creatures into submission. His wife, Lazara, was a woman of steel. She ruled over their children with an iron fist and made the best pies in the land. Smire felt himself grow tired with this journey and longed for the cries of his children and yells of his ruthless wife. The promise of glory, however, called too strong for him to turn back.

Finally, Baal, the third rider was a young boy of seventeen. Recruited for his youth and naïve truths he believed of the world. He was raised by the milkers, the youngest of 12 children. He was of average height and terribly skinny, with shaggy brown hair and wide eyes similar to the cows his family owns. He knows nothing of death or the whispers of glory and pride; only the gold he is promised for his family. He rides with an air of childish fear.

The three riders, complete, spy the coveted oasis in the sea of sands, it almost appears as a mirage.

“We have found the promised land!” Smire calls out against the winds.

They continue hastily towards the haven with exhaustion and purpose. An air of trepidation fills them to their very souls. They are uneasy now. They are frightened. Nevertheless, they continue on until they hit the spring, cool and inviting.

“Let us rest, brothers,” O-pahl commands as he dismounts his steed.

The others followed suit in gratitude. They drank from the springs with fervor. The water was cool and rejuvenating against their dry throats. They sat back upon their knees and rested in the sun, a smothering breeze passing over them.

“Will we succeed?” Baal asked in a timid voice.

Smire gave a fatherly grin to the fearful Baal before answering him.

“Do not worry, we were chosen, therefore we will succeed. The demon is no match for the three of us.” His words and warmth gave comfort to Baal, who simply nodded.

They decided to head out towards the temple, its tip gleaming above the trees. They followed a worn down path that seemed to be made from someone walking back and forth from the spring. It was old and caused dirt to stir up around them. They finally reached the entrance to the temple.

The temple was small, carved out of stone and falling apart. They each entered one by one into the mouth of the stone and stood. There were no windows, and no light entered the dark chamber except for the doorway. It was as if the darkness had swallowed whole the room. In the middle of the temple floor, there was a rectangular hole, with stone steps leading down into further darkness.

The three riders hesitated before the steps. They descended quietly.

Not too long had passed before the steps ended and they were inside a dirt tunnel leading further into the darkness. O-pahl took the front as he reached into his bag and pulled out a book of matches. Lighting one, he lead the way deep into the tunnel.

10 meters in, they discovered the tunnel ended and instead lead into a giant room, carved out from the earth. There were four torches at each corner, and a stone stable with a small figure lain upon it. A blanket covered the form from any prying eyes.

At last, they gazed upon the Demon. They had been told to expect something monstrous and so hideous it would make your skin rip away from your body. Instead, they saw a man sitting cross-legged against the stone table. Just a man who was covered in dirt, with shaggy black hair and adorned with freckles, eyes closed to the world.

“…This is the Demon?” Smire whispered to O-Pahl in confusion.

The Demon opened his eyes then in one lazy move.

“What do ya want?” He called out, voice echoing in the large space.

The three riders jumped in shock. The Demon didn’t wait for a reply as he continued to address them with that lazy tone.

“If you’re goin’ to make a lotta noise, then get out, ya weenies.” He commanded as he stuck a finger in his ear in a disgusting gesture of digging for wax.

The riders straightened up and gathered all their courage.

It was O-pahl who spoke, “Are you the Demon?” His voice was booming and full of authority.

The Demon didn’t halt his finger ministrations as he continued to blink lazily at them.

“Yeah, so?”

The three riders were shocked! How could such a disgusting boy, who looked no less than twenty, be such a cruel monster? Was he hiding beneath human flesh?

Smire took a hesitant step forward, bring out the knife the witch had bestowed upon them, “We are here to kill you, by order of the cou-!”

The Demon had thrown a candle-stick which had struck Smire right in the face, halting his practiced speech.

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up!” The Demon griped, “The dog is sleeping, dumbassses.”

The riders did not know how to proceed. Should they attack? Should they leave with no goodbyes as failures to the village? Should they reason with this devil? Oh, what were they to do!

“Who the hell is making all that noise?”

Everyone in the room froze.

“Uhhhh….” The Demon looked just about as shocked as they were.

The form that was previously resting upon the stone table rose one arm into the air and brought it down to scratch where it’s head resided, presumably. The three riders were stunned. The Demon groaned as it stood up slowly and ripped the blanket from the form.

“Get up, stupid.” He commanded.

The form slinked into a sitting position before staring blearily around itself.

“… How long have I been awake?” It mumbled.

“About 100 years.” The Demon relied in a nonchalant way as it examined its nails.

The form groaned and pushed itself to stand. It suddenly looked up at the three riders who were still motionless in shock, mouths agape.

“Its… Its…”

“… I don’t believe this…”

“My eyes! Kill me, please!”

The form “tsk”ed as it cracked its neck and whipped its hair to the side.

“What’s their deal?” It asked.

The Demon shrugged.

“They want to kill us.”

“Nothing new.”

“Same old, Same old.”

“Get me the slugger.”

“The slugger answers to no one. I don’t want to touch it.”

“Just get it.”

“I want to sleep. Why did you have to fall asleep? I want to sleep.”

“Because in the real world, people do this thing called laying down and shutting their eyes-,”

“Can it, mutt.”

“Can it yourself, freckles.”

The two, master and star, continued to banter back and forth for no apparent reason other than for the sake of arguing. O-Pahl raised his eyebrow in confusion as Smire flapped his jaw open and closed. Baal just stared, continuously slapping himself to reaffirm reality. Obviously, none of this was helping the situation.

The form began doing yoga poses and complaining about the lighting.

“Seriously, you couldn’t put me in a hotel? This is so dramatic.” It complained.

The Demon just shrugged again and joined the form in its exercises. They began squatting in synchronization and touching their toes. The riders stared for another few seconds before Smire looked down at his dagger and halfheartedly threw it at the two black holes of chaos and destruction. It flimsily flew through the air before petering out and clanging to the ground five feet from its intended target.

Everyone stopped and just looked at it.

“Fuck this, I’m out of here.” O-pahl grumbled as he turned around and stalked away.

The other two riders glanced at each other before following O-pahl’s lead.

“This was stupid…” The Demon and his master heard Baal mutter as they drifted further away.

Finally, they were gone and the Demon simply stared at his master.

“Taylor, you always have to scare everyone away.”

She grinned wickedly and put her hands behind her head, “Whatever.”

Chaos and death has landed, bitches.

.....................................................

847): There were 11 girls in that minivan and everyone was either puking, crying, or yelling "we're a total shit show"

Florence + The Machine Inspired

2011-05-20T21:09:00.001-07:00

Girl with one eye, you’re beautiful to me. Your eye so round and lovely, it makes me cry. I love you, girl with one eye. Pretty little thing, you are the beauty of this ugly world. I would do anything for you. The girl with one eye sits quietly in the plush chair, her small fingers delicately digging into the fabric of the cushion. I offer her a drink. She takes it, without an ounce of dignity.

She is so beautiful, my girl with one eye. We sit together in the dark corner of sensuality. Her lips pout, colored in red, making me sweat. Her skin so smooth, not a blemish in sight, the girl with one eye. She is my world. She is my reason.

Her one eye peers up at me through thick lashes with a shy smile. You can run, girl with one eye, you can hide; I will always love you.

“Get your filthy fingers out of my pie.”

(I cut your little heart out cause you make me cry.)

My Home Ghost

2011-05-20T20:47:00.000-07:00

This is my home. Winds howling though the wood, it chills me to the bone. This is my home. Air stale and decrepit. This is my home. Laundry piled up at my door and leaving me wringing my hands. This is my home. Ghost of memories past living inside me. This is my home. I live here.

Something Corporate

2011-05-20T20:34:00.000-07:00

She's lucid and departed. A life left behind, she can find in her mind gone away. Away with these nightmares. Away with suburbia. Shake down away; you marry a role and you give up your soul til you break down.

Me and The Moon

2011-05-20T20:26:00.000-07:00

Storm clouds were rolling in like horses stampeding through a field. Everything was quiet; the wind was blowing sweet nothings through my hair. The world was waiting with bated breath for the rain, soon to come pounding down in a war of forces. I heard the rustling of the leaves as if the sound were a part of me, flowing through my veins with the blood I knew to be there.

Like a nightmare, I waited. I waited for the dream to take hold of the Earth. A murder had been committed tonight; my own dreams had been slaughtered without so much of a, “hello” or “goodbye.”

I stood on my porch, barefoot feet sliding over the old wood, passing over splinters in their wake.

Come at me, I wanted to say, bring all you’ve got and hit me.

It was a good year for a murder. Anxiously, I pressed my hands to my breast as thunder sounded far off in the distance. I am the fourth daughter.

Born to unite. Born to wage war. Born to hold them all together.

I was born to live.

Blood stained my eyes like a veil, hooded vision searching out for Zeus’s majestic lightening bolt to strike from the heavens. I held my breath as I searched the empty street; please come. Please come home to me.

I wanted the sweet rain to bless over my skin. I wanted the smell of the wet leaves to awaken me; only then would he come. The first drops fell from heaven onto my outstretched palm, pale skin shining in the grey cast. It didn’t finish with the downpour, to my great disappointment.

It’s me and the moon, and I’ve got no trouble with that.

It’s the wait that kills me. The never-ending wait for the wanderer to come back to me. I’m in a bind, wrapped up within the nightmare that makes up his very being. The house stands behind me, creaking, full of life and breathing against me. The house that supports me, the house that accompanies my childish anxiety. I scan the sky for signs of the storm.

It is coming. He is coming.

I wait. My white dress swaying in the cool breeze.

In the end, it is the waiting that kills me.

And the sky cries tears of deliverance down upon me. I see the ground begin to part, earth caving in upon itself to make way for the wooden door, it’s moaning open on it’s ancient hinges. The rain is battering down now, beating the world with its fury. I see him. He arises from the depths of the earth with a blank visage. He looks to the sky and breathes; he walks among the living.

Our gazes meet and I know. I know he is back for me.

This time he won’t be going back without me.

....

"Touch me."

"I'll never stop."

I'm drunk right now b;arrghe

2011-05-06T21:52:00.001-07:00

How can I live knowing that such novelties are few and far between? With vindication and regret. Too many conflicting ideals and emotions on my part, my apologies, but I’m not really sorry, not at all. Too many thank yous and too many sorries, for all I want in the world is a big home with a big yard and the ocean at the front.

Discrepancies pop up like bubbles in a soda, sliding down my throat, waiting to drown me in confusion. I cannot wait idly by, hoping for your safe return. The sky is endless, calling out to me in siren songs telling me how vast my quests will be. The harvest moon, shining down upon my smiling cheeks, rosy in the night, and jack-o-lantern grin.

“Kill me,” I tell my Muse.

“With pleasure,” He replied as he lifts his scythe to spill my blood in glorious slaughter.

“I want to be done away with,” I say.

“I will do away with you,” he replies to his master, the swallowed star who seeks freedom and vengeance.

“I hate you,” I love you.

“I hate you, too,” I love you, too.

He lifts his scythe in a great bravado, ready to slice my end into the abyss. I close my eyes, sighing against the warm autumn wind. I am ready for death. I will see Ian, I am happy to die if it means such a happy reunion. His gleeful grin falters in the hollow moonlight and our gazes meet in a clash of defeat and deliverance.

He lowers his scythe with a look of utter revulsion. Confusion. Detestation. He is puzzled. I am the puzzle. Put me together and what do you get? Fuck, beats me, I don’t know. Probably a deranged prison guard who gets off on architecture blue prints. He stares deeply into the blue papers ink stains as he furiously moves his sweaty fingers up and down his dick, “So hot!” he grunts.

I don’t know why I just thought of that. My Muse is looking at me strangely with a delicate eyebrow raised. He thought it too. He hears my thoughts. Damn.

“Please do not liken us to masturbating prison guards.” He says as he drops his scythe nonchalantly.

I smile.

“Please kill me,”

“I don’t answer to you,” He snarls, “I hate you.”

I love him. He loves me. He is me. We are one locked inside another, living in hatred in martyrdom. In the jealous mirror’s reflection, I see my Muse frowning back at me. He loathes my existence. I pretend to loathe him back… but the sad truth of the matter is that I adore him more than anything. I convince myself I hate him. I lie to myself and to him. But if he’s a part of me and I’m a part of him… then I must conclude he loves me too.

“Kill yourself, it’s easier for me.”

“Not on my watch. I die, you die.”

“Wrong. You die, I go free.”

“… Fuck.”

Never

2011-05-06T16:37:00.000-07:00

Contemplating the worst of this terror with a hue of red clouding my vision, the mobs are storming past me. I am the wolf in sheep’s clothing, waiting for the opportune moment to sink my fangs into their tender, sweet, flesh. A moment passes and I can’t go through with my dastardly plans. I throw my dignity to the side. After all, what is dignity but an effervescent whore whose idle hands only move to squeeze life from your neck?

She moves with my pride in a sensual dance of binding and dismay. My swallowed star does nothing to save my life. Wretched life, anyway, who would save it? It smells like molded laundry, they tell me, my life that is. Caught like the naïve fish on the hook, I can’t escape the wild and curious lips of my pride with dignity by his side. The pride that moves within me, thrumming in time with my heart as it pumps blood through my purple veins. They are highways and each leads to hell.

Tell me what you will, I’m sleeping.

Something Old and Something Sorry

2011-05-06T16:20:00.000-07:00

Your infamy was nothing short of the state of sense and the sense of state. The grotesque beings which you scoff upon are the very ones you are; with your talk of space and ideology you've become nothing but a prototypical being, with all your meaningless nonconforming, and repetitive arguments about nothing.
You said it. You mean it. You want it. You've got it.

(I don't ever want to lay eyes on you again.)

The Nihilist

2011-03-31T22:25:00.000-07:00

A woman exhaled and the other occupant in the room watched passively as the smoke whirled past the woman's red painted lips, "Is this war?"

They were in a round navy room. Blue and teal beaded cushions sparkled off the lamp lights and the floor was littered with gold glitter and Recipe books. Everything sparkled and glinted with Persian accents. There was a golden Cheshire cat glinting on a shelf in the corner of the room.

"What do you think?" came the bored reply.

The woman stared with a dull lolling of the head as the white powder on the table seemed to blend in with the smoke. Her companion stood up suddenly and her chair screeched back with the quick movement. Black shark eyes followed her friend's quickly retreating form out of the small space.

The young girl turned and gazed upon the woman with a face of ferocity, her small hand poised on the knob of the door.

The woman remained seated and crossed her legs, torn pantyhose stretching with the movement. She leaned forwards and let her head drop with a hollow thud onto the table; her cigarette fell onto a paper on the floor, igniting the recipe in flames. Her lips moving as she continued to snort the powder, ignoring the slow burning by her ankles.

"Actions define us all, but it is speech that ultimately destroys us."
…………………………………

I found myself in flames, wondering how to decapitate the next human I came across. I resided in a wheat field of sorts, set afire. The harvest moon bathed the world in a most murderous glow, the ghosts of mistakes past cloistering around me in a clusterfuck of panic. Smoke; the whispers wrap themselves around me like lovers and I feel my own embers grow cold within my blood. The fire’s light cast upon me felt most like a stranger’s touch. My thighs began to quiver beneath the attention of the flame’s shadow, like Pan’s it was treacherous and wild; not to be trusted.

“Do you hear it?” It whispers, “The sound of your heart.”

Shit. So many voices are carried by the wind.

“Find the compass-”

“-No, he told me it couldn’t be flown-,”

“Too bad about the baby…-,”

“-The atlas is gone, sir!”

“-What happened to it?”

“-it died.”

My daze broken only by gentle wind filling my being with nostalgia; I am awake. I felt the brush of a phantom hand and lost myself for a lingering moment to my memories clutches.

No.

I am alone. I am dreaming. I snapped myself forwards into action. Assess my surroundings (done). Accept that I am dreaming (done). Find it (in progress). I could feel my lucid senses coming alive as if I had only breathed life into them. Memory. Memory. Focus. If I’m in a dream, I might as well try to find it, to grasp it, to know it. I began searching for the memory, pushing savagely against its defenses. Let me in, Let me in, Let me in!

The most important memory.

Flashes of the white house came before me.

(Round room. White House. Sickly green. Rooms. Rooms. Rooms.)

But it kept me out. I slammed viciously against the imaginary locks but it was no use. They hid the key from me and I shall have to fight to see it. Again. It’s lost, lost, lost! Mon dieu! It’s lost!

Rage set my blood to boil.

Up ahead were a hundred apes who each held rubies and diamonds and howled until I thought my ears might bleed. I twitched and my hands raced to box my own ears to block out the sound. Shut up! I wanted to yell at them, Shut up or I’ll rip out your throats! My eyes were like fire, everything felt rushed.

Everything is not all right.

The apes fingered the gems and continued their guttural communication, further infuriating me. I strode towards them, ignoring the heat, the smoke, the very air I was breathing. Everything was annoying, vague, half seen through half opened eyes. Teeth bared and hair whipping like flames.

“Out of my way you bastards,” I hissed vehemently towards them all. The night sky shone upon the scene of devastation. The apes parted like the red sea and I stalked through the path kicking through stray embers and staying clear of the more filthy looking creatures.

(They tricked me. They tricked me all over again.)

“I see the Dog made it to the party.”

He was standing up ahead looking every bit like the useless brat he was. My head snapped up in a snarl as I made my way to the edge of the charred forest to where he stood, stumbling over darkened debris. Dressed in his jeans and ripped black shirt; his face was arranged into his usual snarky expression. Freckles gleaming in the light and eyes black as his soul.

And mine.

“Sup,” I greeted him cordially, “I guess the world’s in mortal peril again?”

He seemed disgusted to even be speaking to me, “Seems so. Square up, mutt, the apes won’t let you tread the flames for long.”

“They don’t have a choice,” I bit out, “and apparently neither do I.”

He glared down at me with a sardonic smirk making him seem ugly and cruel.

“Drop it. You did this to yourself, or don’t you know?”

I cringed back into myself.

“Now stop biting your cheeks!” he chastised me, the smirk sliding from his face.

I spied an amber glass box by his feet. I nodded to it, “What’s that then?”

He swept down to take it in his grasp and fiddled with its lock. It opened with a click, and inside lay two shiny needles encased in dark velvet. He looked up at me with a mischievous glint in his shark-like eyes.

“The Man has requested your presence down under,” He spoke carefully, gleefully almost.

He says all this like I’m expected to know what it means.

“The needles?” I pointed.

He continued looking at me with a growing sort of pleasure and loomed over my small figure.

“Will it hurt?”

“Not enough to wake you.”

“Why?”

“Because in five seconds we’re going to die.”

(No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself were undone)

…………………………………

“Attenzione la musa, riempiendo le tasche di sassi, la stella ingoiato il cui piacere sta nel urla del suo padrone.”

I coughed abruptly as I woke up on the cold marble floor next to my Muse. He was gasping for breath with eyes so wide they frightened me. I guess I was in a similar state. We met gazes and nodded to each other before respectively hauling ourselves up to stand.

“Glad the Dog and its Star decided to grace us with their presence,” A voice boomed from above, bouncing off the grey and black stone seemingly surrounding us.

The Man.

“Hades?” I choked out incredulously.

My Muse only offered a shrug and eye roll, his pleasure of snuffing my lights out long forgotten. I turned my exasperated attention back to the God of Death. We were in the inner chambers of his domain in Tartarus, and it showed. His sense of decoration was bleak as usual. You take an eyeful of this place and you can hear it scream, “FOREVER ALONE.”

I took a breath and decided to be straight with him.

Me: “Listen, fuck-knuckle, you better tell me why we’re here or my foot’s presence is going to grace your ass.”

Hades: “-Jesus H. Christ, why are you always so angry?! I just wanted to ask you one thing-!”

Me: “-All I ask for is one night of friggin’ peace but nooo-!”

Hades: “-One thing! Is that really so much!? You are so impossible-!”

Me: “-Stupid, A-hole with an inferiority complex! GIVE ME ONE NIGHTS SLEEP!”

Hades: “-… My timer is gone.”

…………………………………

"Beware the muse, filling his pockets with stones, the swallowed star whose pleasure lies in the screams of his master."

The Hunt

2011-02-10T12:49:00.001-08:00

I had a dream.

A dream that’s happened before. In the night it happens, over the patio, up the stairs, and through the hallways. Third door from the dead end hallway on the left. Dark red, purplish, oak door with a brass handle. Open it. It leads into a large dark lit room, full of old chests and a dusty bed. Look outside the window. There is the sea, the night, the day, the tide. I hear the sands calling my name in a breathy whisper and I linger. I don’t want to leave this room. Mysterious, old, new, borrowed? I love this room. I don’t want to go. But once the recognition hits, I try to cling, but it slips away again.

My eyes are open and I’m not dreaming anymore. Instead I’m wishing, hoping, waiting for sleep again, trying to get back to that scene. Because it’s connected. It’s a missing piece to a memory I strive to capture. A memory of a white house, a round room, and endless winter hallways, rooms with chains, always empty.

So nix the afterthoughts and scram, old belly-achers. I’m in this job alone and I don’t want any comrades, square? This deals cold, so drop what you know if the knowings worth the drop and hide it. A body’s bed is curious so light the sheets and leave.

You didn’t hear this.

But I had a dream. And I’m hunting that mother down.

How My Escapades Ended in Me Almost Dying

2011-01-02T20:50:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago, my group of friends and I unanimously decided on making a bucket list before I set off on my glorious adventure into the world of college. We had thought it was a wonderful idea at the time, full of mystery and allure. However, a week into the bucket list, after having syringed alcohol semi-successfully into an orange, trying to jump off various household objects with an umbrella to see if I could fly and almost making a subsequent trip to the hospital, I was getting a bit anxious about this list.

Of course, when the time came rolling around where I had reached numéro vingt sept (get higher than any of us has ever been), I had been taunted into completing the rest of the tasks within the same day. Of course, being the ultimate debby-downer and the first one to suspect something amiss, I was skeptical that anything on the list would actually work or be feasable in any which way considering we had written things like, "Bungee jump off roof," and "Swallow a guppy", not to mention my personal favorite, "Make a paper mache Obama smoking a joint". Naturally, I was less than less conviced we would get through it.

Of course my friends would all jump at the chance to make each other look like idiots, so it came as no surprise they were bullying me into the whole affair.

Needless to say, as everyone around me knows: I AM NOT A PUSSY. So I accepted their challenge. Five beers, three shots later, and I was on a mission. As the night wore on, the challenges became more and more reminiscent of The Triwizard Cup that I swear someone tried to use our garden shears to create a maze.

One of the new tasks on la liste was to buy my own pack of cigarettes for once in my pathetic life with a fake ID. For the first five minutes we were stumped as to how we were going to obtain a fake ID before SOMEONE remembered that they already had one. Thus I was given the fake ID and shooed off to the convini store in the dead of winter.

What a sight I was. I was inebriated beyond coherent thought, alas I was stumbling blindly down an icy road in deisgner boots and ratty sweatpants with a drink danlging in one hand and my wallet in the other, clutched to my chest like a prized jewel. I remember passing the sex offender's house just a few doors down from me and proceeded with whisper-screaming, or as the kids in the hood like to say,"Whisming", at his dogs that if they weren't careful, Good ole Mr. Eddie will go third degree sexual assault on their asses.

I managed to drunkenly find my way to my destination ("May the great gods of Pursley's shine mightily in your favor, young soldier.") and collapsed onto the glass doors in an unelegant heap of Coco Chanel purfume and mis-matched winter clothing. I hobbled to the register and started off on my fiasco. Upon entering the man at the register was obviously confused by what was happening and leaned cautiously away from me.

"May I hearp yoh?" Cashier Boy speaks in broken english, he is from Korea or something.

Me, "HRRRRRRRRRRRNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGHHHH..."

I remember him giving me an oddly frightened look.

I thumped my wallet unceremoniously atop the counter and fixed my glazed stare on him.

"Cirettes," I slurred incoherently.

Somehow he was leanred very proficiently in the language of the Drunks. (An ancient race of people dependent on a beverage that had the power to turn you shit slam drunk. They were huge in numbers back in the 1700's up until the 1930's where suddenly being drunk all the time was frowned upon.) He managed to hand me a random pack of cigarettes and I waved my ID in front of his face at the speed light and dropped the cash and trotted out the door. Success.

I ran all the way home, falling only twice, and felt like the Flash. Or as if all my dreams had suddenly come true in one big orgy of cigarettes and Captain Planet.

But by the time I arrived everyone had passed out and left me alone to simmer in glory and pent up energy. My mother walked in dressed for work and looked at me gravely in disappointed silence she thought would actually tempt me into feelings.

Our bucket list is still an ongoing thing, though now we've had the sense beat into us not to try it all in one night. Thank you, vodka.

I sleep filled with the knowledge and anticipation that asians in Michigan... they are not a myth. And that Bill Clinton fucked that chick.

Amen à tous et à tout qui une bonne nuit!

Teaser

2009-09-12T16:30:00.000-07:00

It is fire that spills forth from these lips.
It is embers that pulse through these veins.
My blood is oil; black and slick; my mind is the match that burns the wick.

........

Chi dora fine al gran dolore?
L'Ore

"Who will put an end to this great sadness?"
"The hours passing."

"Werewolf" by Cocorosie

2009-09-05T14:22:00.000-07:00

In a dream I was a werewolf
My soul was filled with crystal light
Lavender ribbons of rain sang
Ridding my heart of mortal fright

Broken sundown fatherless showdown
Gun hip swollen lip bottle sip yeah I suck dick
Loose grip on gravity falls sky blinding crumbling walls
River sweep away my memories of
Children's things a young mother's love
Before the yearning song of flesh on flesh
Young hearts burst open wounds bleed fresh
A young brother skinny and tall my older walks
Oceanward and somber, slumber sleeping
Flowers in the water, but I'm just his daughter
Walking down an icy grave leading to my
Schizophrenic father. Weeping willow won't you wallow louder
Searching for my father's power

I'ma shake you off though
Get up on that horse and
Ride into the sunset
Look back with no remorse

He's a black magic wielder some say a witch
Wielded darkness when he was wilein on his mom's
And born child and he was the bastard that broke
Up the marriage evil doer doing evil from a baby carriage
And he was born with the same blue eyes
Crystal ships dripping with ice, diamonds coruscate
In the night fireworks electric bright
And now he's gots his own two sons
Tries to hide his tears in a world of fun
But loveless bedrooms filled with doom
Bring silent heartache July to June
Swoon over new young hot flame
Mourn the memories later
Laugh now alligator
Laugh now alligator

Oh in a dream
My love came to me
And made me swear
That I'd keep what's sacred to me
And if I get the choice
To fill in his name
I'll pray my way through the rain
Singing, Oh happy day

I don't mean to close the door
But for the record my heart is sore
You blew through me like bullet holes
Left stains on my sheets and stains on my soul
You left me broke down begging for change
Had to catch a ride with a man who's deranged
He had your hands and my father's face
Another Western vampire different time same place
I has dreams that brings me sadness
Rain much deeper than a river
Sorrow flow through me
Tiny waves of shivers
Corny movies make me reminisce
They break me down easy on this generic love shit
First kiss frog and princess

Ryan Ross got married. Supposedly.

2009-08-03T18:46:00.000-07:00

I dreamed I loved a giant. I could not see his face, I only saw his eyes. They were large and brown and tired. I couldn't even fit my arms around his foot, covered in expensive loafers; he smelled like a burning match and when he sighed it felt like the wind. He would do that a lot; sigh. He sighed at my childish behavior, at my attempts to speak with him, he sighed at my smile and sighed when I tried to see his face.

"I love you," I told him.

He said, "Sigh."

I tried to throw my arms around him, but they would not fit. I heard a cry from behind me and I turned to see what it was. Nothing met my eyes and when I turned back to the giant... I saw that he was just a tree. I was in love with a tree. A tree.

How hopeless. At least I knew he couldn't run away.

"I call last night an epic fail or success depending on how catholic I am feeling."

2009-06-08T12:51:00.000-07:00

http://textsfromlastnight.com/
Now THAT is something remarkable.

If I'm Alice, does that make Las Vegas my wonderland?

2009-05-30T18:18:00.000-07:00

"Smoked with the Caterpillar, left him change for the shroom
waltzed into a flower's deliruim, tripped about the room
Stuck her middle finger to The Cheshire Cat, and hauled ass without a care
Romanced the Mad Hatter, left his burning heart longing in despair (it was only fair)
She whirled around to face the queen whose orders were to hang
It was murder she wrote, Alice said, as they chopped off a golden bang
She turned and-Oh!
But the queen was not the queen at all, but The Cheshire Cat she had scorned not so long ago.

He grinned and gave little Alice a kiss
Then sent her off with a hiss
‘Wonderland is a fairyland, a wonderland, a wasteland. Come back with one, come back with none, it makes no difference to us; as long as little Alice thinks that, she’ll never be free from me, The Cheshire Cat.'”

The Caterpillar: The man soaking in a tub of self doubt and mid life crisis: locked in his mind holds the greatest secrets.
Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum: One is small, the other smaller; Instead of male, what goes on between their legs is a considerable tale.
The Mad Hatter: Tattoos on both wrists, he writes to stay sane (insane) and drowns in a delirious confusion; dying to live, living to die; praying for the party to end for it to begin.
The March Hare: He lives away from old friends, his home is the bottom of a tea pot, trying to make sense of one word.
The White Rabbit: The boy who's looking for himself (the late bloomer)with the modest nose ring and red vest: name tag reads CS.
The Queen Of Hearts: Could be two, could be few: everyone has a dark side.
The Cheshire Cat: White house, wood floors, looming windows, disorienting smile, cold; The Endless Laybrinth, filled with lying foot notes; death to The House Of Leaves; the smile of a criminal.

"You are the caterpillar in my life," She sighed and banged her head against the oak table.

The other exhaled smoke with a sardonic smirk, "Who else did you expect?"

(Who. Are. YOU!)

Bat For Lashes

2009-03-01T10:59:00.000-08:00

Thanks to dear Mr. Beckett for this little lovely: