Archive for the Uncategorized Category

In Pursuit

Posted in life, poetry, prose, Uncategorized, writing with tags , on September 17, 2014 by Shadow

In Pursuit

Running and running through the empty streets with the wind blowing in my face, the water molecules collide with my skin and gets in my eyes, and my clothes get soggy and heavy as I go.

No one is following me.

I am chasing something.

A shadow of a person who may or may not exist.

The shadow I chase is the vision of everything I had ever hoped for, everything I dreamed of doing, and the shadow gets further and further away, the more that I chase.

Don’t stop for me, shadow, don’t prove yourself weak in your will; keep from me all that I hope, all that I dream, for I wouldn’t want anyone to think you were frail and incompetent.

Time’s Up

Posted in life, personal, poetry, Uncategorized, writing with tags , , on May 8, 2014 by Shadow

My Sins

What is that presence I feel?

I can barely make the image, my mind reeling from the exertion, from crushing the wine glass in my hand.

Crystal shards glimmer and sting, long and dripping blood streams trickling to the floor, and though I’m content with my bottled rage, I feel the presence, agitating the moment.

Who are you? Is there something I can help you with?

I had been recollecting my thoughts, gnashing my teeth, by the memories of an icy hatred, when I realized I wasn’t alone.

And as the blood dried I felt the truth working its deathlike fingers around my heart.

Had the years of my volatile shame taken form, by the sound of a midnight clock?

Could I no longer stay the shadow that bore — that amorphous emotionless shape — the weight of my infinite sins?

Deep Recesses

Posted in life, personal, poetry, prose, Uncategorized, writing with tags on September 13, 2013 by Shadow

Loss

The terrorization of living. One person thrives while another suffers. This is alright in the eyes of God? Was there ever a chance for everyone to be happy? Or do the wolf packs chase the herds endlessly, a victim bound to fall?

Each moment is a moment of terror, blows of inanity that induce fight-or-flight reactions, propagating the natural order. To put matters bluntly, God does not exist. The terror of life is easier to cope with under these conditions, the survival of the fittest paving the way for the future. For a soul caught by the wayside, caught in the jet stream of progress, floundering in the dilemma of ignorance, his spirit is torn to shreds for his attempt at trying.

The feeling is like a moment in the reality of an alternate world, when one notices a gruesome element of the environment. Maybe water is dripping along the insides of a stone building, and with the turn of a head, one sees the people gathered as they stare; they are mutants, outcasts of the social order, and they can see a person’s every move. Or maybe a vast desert has become all the more inhospitable for a pulverizing wind that won’t stop, where one’s thoughts are continually drawn to the thought of water and comfort.

When the fog of a dream lifts, the sound of traffic comes roaring in. Each four-wheeled domain a rolling entity of agenda, each willing to mow another over in the name of itinerant duty. The clouds keep the sun out and the faces, they meld with the pervasive absence of satisfaction, a ceaseless game that breaks only when the dinner bell rings out its paltry chimes.

A woman walks along the littered gutters of the street, fortune her long lost lover, and the cats in the cans dig for their evening meal. Love had been wrought by the great and mighty voice in the sky, but its smooth silky petals grew worn by streams of corruptive radiation, that force which comes from a vile thought, a cutting, hateful remark. Hurt, she spent some change for a can of food to give to the cats so she could cling to the smallest grain of goodness in her soul. And the people in the windows, five stories up, they watched as their pizzas grew cold in preparation for the mildew that would form.

Then came the rain. It began as a light drizzle that moistened the oily streets enough to create a sheen that brought back memories. That time when we tried to train our dog. The day your bottles were found in the back yard. The moment when I specifically told you, not to jump. The rain doesn’t care about friends or families, or schedules. It just shows up like a diesel truck from out of the distance, its clatter turning pockets of silence into pockets of disruption. Would the fates endow a measure of peace if I offered to feel bad, for as long I could, the rain soaking my head as I sat there in the park, trying to figure it all out?

No, the rain could have stayed away, and everything would have been fine, but because it was there, creating puddles of dirty water, it was therapeutic. Dreams and desires vanished in the sound of cars whizzing through the wetness, a spark of hope crushed like road kill pushed aside, waiting for animal control do its job. Rain was better than love because you knew, you could feel it, the emotions and the glory, you knew it would all go away so that something more dreadful would puncture its way into your world, something that would utterly ruin you; and the people, they would all notice and watch as you made a complete mess of yourself. I told you, I pleaded with you, and yet you wouldn’t listen.

Some say that the afterlife is waiting for us when we die. No one knows what this place looks like. I see trees and sidewalks, mountains and skyscrapers, but I don’t see the afterlife, presumably because I’m not dead. Should I take a leap into imagining what the afterlife is like? How could I? I know the afterlife doesn’t exist. So when I think of death, I think of a vast ocean where all my suffering becomes diluted in the rolling waves. All the things I hoped for are exchanged for oblivion, that state of nothingness where what might have been known, can never be known. I hope that the sooner people forget me, the better. I hated this life. Being alone is a punishment; being rejected makes it worse. Instead of being vindictive, I can only spell out the reality on the page.

“Who are you?” she asked. But my question in return would be, “What does it take to ask a question like that?” The guts, the gall, the inspiration, the confidence. The question she asked seemed like curiosity, but was merely an effect of repetition. With each person we encounter, the need to know drives us, even if the answers are sometimes disappointing.

The blinds block my view of the stars high in the night sky. Beneath me the spiders crawl while out on the street, people passing by in their vehicles travel to their places of importance. Every unit of activity has a measure of importance. I thought about the needs and desires of people, what makes a thing important to them. I was unable to complete the thought. I let it flow through me without trying grasp it, much like the woman whose cloak keeps her sheltered from the prying eyes, a disguise that keeps her sanctity intact. And when the falling acid burns the rooftops, I play songs that make me think, that make me believe, that somehow I have significance, which is such a travesty.

The nightmare speaks of the deepest fear, the reality that marks truth. And truth can be the most frightful thing of all. It bores into the deepest recesses of the human heart and puts it in a stranglehold, until some resolution can purge the terror of that truth. Facts are undeniable, and some facts are subjected to the sincerest attempts of neglect. When the animal, the predator looks one directly in the eye, facts become like the festering rot of truth, where everything is as serious as the death of someone you loved, like no other person in the entire world. And your stomach becomes tight with the pain.

I am Changing

Posted in life, personal, poetry, Uncategorized, writing with tags on December 29, 2012 by Shadow

Mistakes2

Beginning this day there will be some changes.

People will see this change because things will not be the same.

Matters will operate in a different fashion and there will be a series of reactions accordingly.

Such change will mean that the old way of doing things will no longer be done.

A difference in the way circumstances unfold will become apparent, and people will notice.

The basic flow of situations and events will work in opposition to the manner in which they previously existed.

Things that were, won’t be anymore.

Times will feel differently than they did, because lives will experience a shift from what was originally thought of as normal.

Past protocols will sustain significant alterations while specific processes will endure prominent reformulations.

Aspects of life that have been adapted to will undergo metamorphoses and there will be an awareness of novel activity.

Please do not attempt to interfere with the nature of this change, as results could be harmful.

Internalized

Posted in poetry, Uncategorized with tags , , , , on July 4, 2010 by Shadow

Painful thoughts
My knife
A teardrop
Blood pools
She disappeared
Unforgiven
Candlelight shadows
My funeral
Blend into night
The grave
I am lost
Unseen
To feel
No comfort
My icy heart
Walled within
Stone

I curled myself alone into the bed before the soft moonlight, and thought of all the things we were going to do together.

I closed my eyes and remembered the day when you smiled from the shy ledge of an ocean rock, and the waves came and softened the sand around you.

I miss you.

I miss you so much.

Burning Fire

Posted in poetry, Uncategorized on May 18, 2010 by Shadow

I have fires burning in my thoughts.
Fires of hate searing with intense heat,
Melting with embers of shame
Drifting up from the flame.
My eyes burn holes into those that look,
I walk alone through crowds of those
Who repel and avoid my every step.
I glance at a stranger,
Their head turns away;
I look at a woman,
She passes my empty soul;
I look at a family,
Protective angel guides them
From sharing with me
Their happy ways.
Reach in and feel my heart
Frigid fuming acid jealousy,
The memories of a day
When I longed for a life
Have all but vanished
Into the flames
Of the burning fire.

Abandoned

Posted in poetry, prose, Uncategorized, writing with tags on May 12, 2010 by Shadow

The hell, left for the wolves. Through black pits of tar my mind was dragged till up it came coated, dripping with muck. I viewed the world through the ooze where my thoughts severed and tore with disgust. I was appalled with what happened because what happened was appalled with me:

I was born.

She went to a church and she pushed me out of her womb, and without knowing what or who or how I would do, she left. She had her life on her mind, and I was in her way.

I still think about you, mother, I think about who you are, where you are, why you never came back to say, “but wait a minute, my baby…that’s my baby.”