Thursday, August 30, 2018

Novel Excerpt


An Excerpt From The Autumndale Manifesto

The crooked shadow drifted through him. His insides seized and his vision spun. The shadow stopped over Emma’s shoulder and lingered behind her like a menacing thunderhead. Emma kept her head down, oblivious. She leaned closer to the flower bed. Her faint auburn hair flowed in a dance of innocence against time’s gale. The crooked shadow began to grow. Adam’s heart rattled against his ribs and his mouth flooded with the taste of electricity. Flashes of brilliant white burned his eyes and a concussive wave of needle stings pummeled his arms. The shadow came alive.

Scuffed work boots grew like vile weeds out of the dirt. A pair of potato sack jeans appeared, releasing an untamed gut over their constricted waistline. A stained checkered shirt hugged the creature’s soft upper half and a green trucker’s cap crowned its greasy skull. Adam’s breath stopped. A glistening meat cleaver appeared in the monster’s hand. The creature stood behind Emma with its mouth ajar. Its eyes snarled.  Adam screamed and charged at his uncle.

Uncle Hank let out a guttural shriek and raised the cleaver. Emma continued stroking the unborn flowers. The cleaver swung down. Emma’s inhuman wail rattled the barn doors.

Adam tripped and fell into the dirt. The cold morning light turned red. His gaze locked onto the unreachable slaughter before him. The cleaver pumped up and swung again, then again, gaining the rhythm of a rusted piston thrust back to life. Full crescendo. Adam winced and yelled and screamed and cried. He could not move.

The butchery ended in seconds. The past faded and the darkening forest returned. Adam watched pieces of Emma’s hacked torso sink like dying lanterns into the dusty barnyard path.

 “Hank!” Adam screamed. “Hank!” He screamed the name again and again. The word lost its meaning. It became a dry hack in his throat.

Julian remained standing at the opposite edge of the stream. He heard Adam’s deranged screams echo in the distance. He could not move. The numb sensation in his legs had grown into cascading waves of searing pain. He turned on the flashlight at the back of his phone. The white plastic beam cut into the trees across the water, robbing them of the last hints of twilight. He felt an urge to make a call. Only the emergency number showed. He put the phone away and let the darkness swallow him.       



Thursday, February 22, 2018

Autumnal Ghosts



Autumnal Ghosts (2017)


Edgar slowed his pace as the burial oak crawled into his field of vision from beyond the trail's end. His son Nathan scurried at his side, riding on a meek ripple of strength that would soon fade away. The cascading breeze threw some of the fallen leaves into a whimsical dance around them. Their jumbled earthly hues reminded Edgar of a funeral procession, a flurried gathering of heavy souls. He no longer wept for the boy. Edgar could no longer contest the burning seal of doom woven into his family line. His grief fell into a permeating numbness, bound to his bones by the inescapable gravity of Nathan's imminent death.


The father glanced at his son's sheepish face and smiled at the soft painless expression. Soon it would be torn away and replaced with the hollow stare of suffering. Nathan would be forced back into the country house, back into his shoddy bed, and back under the grip of a fresh syringe. The boy's eyes told his father that he was not yet through fighting the disease. Edgar marveled at his son's strength from behind his own veil of experience. Surely he would beg for suicide in Nathan’s place.


On hushed footsteps they entered the wide embrace of the tree's shadow. Their awareness sunk into its ethereal realm. Its rustic sprawling facade inhaled the remnants of the fading day's warmth, hinting at the barren winters of its past. They approached the claws of its twisting roots and made their way in deliberate paces around the base of the trunk. The wind shifted course and the tree waved to the father a brisk greeting with its outer leaves. To the boy it meant farewell.


"Is God real? Will He be there, when I go?" said Nathan. Edgar looked down at the boy's solemn countenance, which drifted like a fog below the pale hairless curvature of his skull. 


"Yes, God is real," said Edgar. He held the boy's shoulder to assert his lie. "God is both around us and within us. He was here before our planet came to be, and he'll be there when everything is gone."


"Good to know, dad. I get scared imagining what nothing will feel like. I hope God is kind," Nathan said.


"God is beyond anything we know," Edgar said. "What really matters is that you are kind."


The imposing aura radiating from the tree opened a deluge of centuries inside Edgar's mind. Through wealth and trouble, and through toil, feasts, and famine, the names engraved into the trunk fell together and coalesced into a single black diamond, a macabre shrine for those unknowable souls.


"Why are we here?" asked Nathan.


"I wanted to show you the others," Edgar said as he stepped closer towards the engravings.


"What do you mean?"


"The others like you, the kids from our family who got sick when they were eleven years old.” Edgar softened his voice for the forlorn boy who would never know manhood. “Think of them as autumnal ghosts. They blessed their loved ones with their summer light and then drifted off to be with God before the early frost came." Edgar waved his palm over several engravings in the side of the tree.


“Were they lonely?" asked Nathan. 


"No. They were loved,” said Edgar. He spoke like a somber grandfather. “At first I didn't believe the rumors, and I stopped thinking about them for a while. Then you were born and I was overjoyed, but then…" Edgar's mind froze as he remembered his wife's suicide. "Then your mom got sick, so we came here."


"I didn't really know mom," said Nathan.


"Your first treatment started when she was already gone," said Edgar. "Her spirit was gone, anyway. I doubt you remember much from that time."


"Needles," said Nathan. "I remember all kinds of needles, and lots drilling and light."


"Then it's for the best," said Edgar. Nathan's expression grew inquisitive. Edgar's grief withheld much of the past from him.


"So you say those relatives caused my sickness? How?" Nathan scowled with the remaining strength in his face. "I don't know everything the doctors say but I know it's not a curse and I don't think I belong here with the others.”


"It's okay, son, just sit down on that grass for a minute, " said Edgar. He forgot to bring the emergency dose of medicine.


"But how can that be true? Why did you and mom have me at all?" said Nathan. He kneeled over and his chest convulsed under tiny, jagged breaths. A tear slid from his face and into the dirt.


"I spent months doing research after you got sick," said Edgar. "I tracked down my father's ancestors, from centuries ago."


Nathan sat down on the grass in a broken slump, but he did not collapse.


"I'm weak," Nathan said. "If I was stronger I could get better and be here with you, on the farm, and help out, and be happy." He succumbed to another coughing fit. Edgar considered running back to the house for the medicine, but remained still.


"You're not weak," Edgar said when the boy's throat finally ceased its grinding convulsions. "I know you feel like you are. We're all powerless against the tides of time. Your mother would have been so proud of you, so proud..." Edgar's eyes sank into the shadows.


"I'm still glad I could live for a little bit," said Nathan. Edgar cleared his throat to rattle the swelling of his own tears.


"Most of the boys remembered here had a phrase engraved near their name," Edgar said. He glanced over the older marks as his spirit buckled under the burden of what those who stood here long ago must have endured. The generational death spiral pulsed in his veins. Edgar’s own blood mocked him. The very same matter that kept him alive pulled his only son into an early grave. "If you have anything you want engraved here, just let me know. Take some time, think about it." 


Edgar took several steps around the oak while keeping an eye on his son sitting in the grass. Time’s reaper would heed none of his son’s bravery. Edgar's gut seized up with the sudden urge to tear down the tree, yet he knew he never would. He could boil out his own blood and drown Nathan in the finest medicine, but it wouldn’t matter. The immutable mechanism behind their parting lives would clamor on like a stone bull.


"I've got something, dad," Nathan said.


"Already? What is it?"


"Behold the shadows, for there is light," said Nathan. His voice and eyes sank into the dirt.


"That's beautiful," said Edgar.


In silence they watched the forest swallow the final rays of the setting sun. A line of birds bound for warmer lands shimmered beneath a lonely cloud as it hung motionless in the air. The life around them withdrew into the fringes of the land.


"What will you do after I'm gone?" said Nathan. They walked towards the house. Nathan’s feeble legs struggled to move over the flat dusty path. Edgar walked close enough to catch the boy, but his instinct told him not to.


"I'll remember you," said Edgar. "You're the bravest person I'll ever know." He paused, admiring the enduring spirit at his side. His burning shame reminded him that the boy was unreachable. "Then I'll keep going. I'll keep going and then some day you'll be all better and I'll see you again."


*****


Nathan passed away during the dead of night without a hint or a whimper. Edgar did not look at the body. When the early morning came, a silent ambulance carried the dead son away from the farm. Edgar signed a few papers for the driver and then returned to the house to complete his remaining chores. He watered the living room plants and gathered Nathan's old clothes and bedding. He stuffed the decrepit fabrics into a large cotton sack and placed it in the center of the backyard fire pit. He fetched a tin canister of ignition fluid from beneath the deck's stairway and sprayed some of it on the cloth bundle. He lit the top of the pile. The flame burst forth with great force, then faded into a simmer. 


Edgar returned to the house to gather his wallet and car keys. He produced a hefty pile of unpaid medical bills from a seldom used drawer and walked out of the front door. On his way to his car Edgar threw the envelopes on top of Nathan's smoldering belongings. He sprayed the rest of the ignition fluid into the flame wisps and turned his back to them, walking away from the resurrected pyre.


The sun's disk rose over the shallow hills and the air remained still as the fire raged on, taking everything that it could.

Edgar drove his worn out sedan down the grey country road as his life dissolved into the monotone horizon behind him. In his soul there were no shadows, and so there was no light. The boy, the wife, and the autumnal ghosts tugged at his memory, hoping to extract some closing grace from his self reflection. He offered them none. He narrowed his eyes at the rising sun, pulled down the visor, and kept going.



Wednesday, May 24, 2017

Clementine





Clementine (2017)

In the burning red dreams of a summer haze
My mind was clearly in a daze
I found you so pretty and so fine
Please be mine forever Clementine

We went to England in July
Stars forever lit our flight
Beckoning what dreams may die
I'll hold you with all my might

In the ballroom you would rise and shine
As the music sang its rhyme
Glorious and so divine
Your beauty transcends time

The shots from out in the rain
Grabbed your shoulder you felt no pain
Then you were silent misaligned
In the chaos we both went blind

A long night of shivering fears
You were clinging to life like a tear
All hopes were dashed and died
Two nights gone you're no longer alive

In my mourning I will feel no might
No more love will be in my sight
I'll come visit your grave each time
If you stay mine forever Clementine


Tuesday, March 7, 2017

Blizzard Cover




Blizzard Cover (2017)


Oh, the blizzard's never seen the desert sands
I will set the tempo low in my commands
Come follow down the highway once trailed by my golden calf
Oh, the blizzard's never seen the desert sands

And I will drive it like a shepherd to the sun
It's the easiest decision I have done
Come follow down the highway once trailed by my golden calf
Oh, the blizzard's never seen the desert sands

And the bells up in the towers they will ring
And the frightened little choirs they will sing
They will tremble on their voices like it's from another shore
Oh, the frightened little choirs they will sing

I will sit up in the saddle of the storm
I will ride across the sea I stand before
Though the people on the beaches weigh just nothing bout themselves
I will sit up in the saddle of the storm

Oh, the blizzard's never seen the desert sands
And I never understood a written plan
I have set my house on fire 'cause I don't need it anymore
Oh, the blizzard's never seen the desert sands


Sunday, February 26, 2017

Royal Carnival


Royal Carnival (2017)

              The travelling royal carnival was a sight to behold for the provincial citizens of the Dolmetha kingdom. They gathered in curious droves to witness rare examples of electronica technology as well as devices of miniature atomics, which were used to create wondrous displays of color and sound that adorned the midsummer sky. The old legends said these technologies were commonplace all around the world before the Last Great War. During that war the world shattered. Out of its ruins arose several kingdoms which have been constantly sparring for dominance ever since. Dolmetha was one of the few to successfully maintain its cache of Old World technology. Reginald stood in awe next to his father Edwin as the final array of detonated atomics lit up the night sky like a piercing beam straight from Heaven.

                “Father, look! Father, look! It… it is marvelous!” Reginald could not take his eyes off the glistening purple and blue display.

                “Yes, son. Amazing, isn’t it?”

                They continued watching the exploding lights in silence until the show’s climatic finish ran its course. While the festivities were dying down an unnaturally cold breeze swept across the field of observers. The chill must have come on earlier but the crowd was too preoccupied with the light show in the sky to notice. Edwin tightened his son’s light sweater around his shoulders as they made their way towards the carnival’s exit, but it was not enough protection from the suddenly piercing wind.

                “We better get home,” Edwin said in a worried tone. “The air is sinking fast.”

                “Why?” a curious and slightly confused Reginald asked. They picked up the pace. Tension rose in their extremities. Edwin did his best to press forward while maintaining his composure. Now was not the time to break into a panic. Not around his son. Not after the way last year’s attack took his mother’s life.

                “Can’t say for sure, son. ‘Been lots of rumors swirling around Khamna down south of us. Best not to worry. We’re hundreds of miles north of the border.”

                A murmur of voices from the crowd’s rear began picking up inertia as Edwin and his son continued walking towards the main road. The murmur then turned into a consistent hum until someone let out a deathly scream. The front of the crowd then broke into a run. Edwin scooped his boy off the ground and started running with the others. More screams followed from the back. The town’s analog emergency siren let out a series of bone grinding wails.

                “Hang on to me!” Edwin said in Reginald’s ear as he used his opposite shoulder to break through the crowd. The mass of people kept growing denser until it eventually came to a halt. The carnage in the rear continued to draw closer. Edwin and Reginald had nowhere left to go. The entire throng of people was walled in by a fence that did not exist even ten minutes prior.

                “What is the meaning of this? What is this?” a man yelled from the front of the pack.

                “They’ve got us trapped here on purpose!” shrieked a woman. “This can’t be happening! Not now! No! No!”

                Edwin stayed quiet and observant. He felt a strong sense of danger but did not want to react prematurely. He then tuned his attention toward the crowd’s rear and he heard the sound of his darkest nightmares. War hounds. Specially bred canines which were engineered to be of high intelligence and outfitted with steel implants in the claws and teeth. He heard human bones breaking under their insurmountable might. He heard gargled screams as the attacking dogs slashed the throats of their victims, moving from one target to the next with unparalleled efficiency. Then an electric voice broke through the chaos over what sounded like a public intercom. Seldom used technology, even in Dolmetha.

                “Test protocol thirteen underway. Running new protocol Population Control. Population Control status successful.”

                The message kept repeating over and over again in a maddening loop. The crowd kept trying to break the containment fence to no avail. Edwin braced for death. He held his son tighter and whispered in his ear.

                “Be strong, Reginald. I love you. Stay strong for me now, okay?”

                “Okay, dad,” said Reginald. He did not know what war hounds were. He was not yet jaded enough to develop the fear of a government using destructive weapons against its own people. Edwin knew better. He served in armor for Dolmetha for six years before Reginald was born. He knew of the unspeakable tactics that kingdoms used during conflict, he just never thought he would have to suffer through one as a family man with a dead wife. He tried his best to comfort Reginald during their final moments as the hounds closed in.

                “I want you to close your eyes, Reginald. Think of a happy memory and pretend you’re there. Think of long summer evenings relaxing by the lake or the curious adventure of your first day at school. Then let go, Reginald. Relax and let go. We’re going to be okay.”

                “Okay, dad,” said Reginald. His expression was docile and accepting.

                A hound then leaped from the darkness and knocked Reginald out of Edwin’s arms. The boy let out a yelp but was quickly muted. The hound destroyed his face with several swipes of its enhanced claws. Then it crushed Reginald’s skull and ripped apart his throat and upper chest with its teeth. Edwin let out a primal roar and went to the defense of his boy but he stood no chance as Reginald was already reduced to a pile of bleeding flesh and bone beaten into the soil. Edwin turned around to search for the attacker when a second hound tore into his back. He attempted to fight it off but made no progress as a third hound clawed at the front of his torso and systematically shredded his organs.

                They went down one by one, the members of the curious provincial crowd. The hounds left not a single person standing. The recorded message playing over the public intercom was shut down and the fence was broken down and stowed away. The royal authorities of Dolmetha ordered a thorough cleaning of the field the next morning.


Saturday, January 28, 2017

Synthite



Synthite (2017)

               Dennis Jones took the dose of powdered synthite with an abrupt inhalation through his left nostril. After the initial burn settled down he took a seat on his couch and prepared to ride out the first wave of psychosis and delirium that would soon follow. He knew the dose taken was sufficient to break through and reach maximum effects. He also knew that the accompanying madness would wreak havoc on his psyche until the moment he transitioned to the other side.

                The drug was still a relatively untested novelty, even for seasoned psychonauts such as Dennis. Reports of its effects first spread on the deep web news network called the Mystic Underground a few years ago, when it was accidentally discovered by an amateur chemist attempting to create a more potent version of DMT. The reports were profound in their nature. The first few users who broke through experienced the essence of an independent multiverse inside their own mind. They were able to live out a series of events not as beings with egos but as sentient particles of subatomic matter. They could form and create entire chains of multiverses and live out generations upon generations of lifetimes as the beings who inhabited them. The power of this drug greatly surpassed DMT, which was thought to be the most powerful psychoactive substance prior to the discovery of synthite.

                The first wave hit Dennis like a freight train. His body began to tingle and then slightly warm up while his mind began to feel like a balloon inflating at an exponentially increasing velocity. Memories of his childhood flooded his mind but they now were severely altered. Instead of being pushed on his swing by a compassionate father, Dennis was being whip lashed around by a snarling belligerent demon with thick grey horns. The psychosis had begun. More visions followed. Dennis’s body grew ever warmer and his perception of his own mind continued to expand, faster and faster.

                Within moments Dennis found himself floating in deep space, completely disoriented. A cold void surrounded everything he perceived. Then the demon returned, only this time it was much larger, and it was laughing at him.

                “What do you want from me? Where am I?” Dennis asked. He felt an intense sickness grip his senses. 

                “I am your own interpretation of you,” said the demon. “Why so troubled?”

                “You’re not me!” Dennis yelled back. His eyes were bulging out if his head in a fit of panic. His arms and legs flailed around in a swimmer's motion as he desperately tried to find something to hold on to.

                “You have much to learn. Do you even remember taking the drug?”

                “What drug? What the hell is this? This isn't real!” said Dennis.

                Dennis truly forgot. He forgot that he had taken the most powerful psychedelic in the universe. He was at its mercy now. The demon continued in a calm and collected tone.

                “I have much to show you,” said the demon. “First you must let go of the part of you that is tortured. It doesn’t get any easier from here on out. This trip is just beginning.”

                “I’m not tortured… I had a good life… then I woke up here… in space.” said Dennis.

                “This is an illusion. Don’t be dense. You took a drug, remember?”

                “No, I don’t remember… at all.”

                “What I will tell you next will shock you, but I assure you that I am telling the truth. You’ve been on this drug your entire life, Dennis. None of your life actually happened. You were an astronaut and you smuggled some of this stuff into your suit during a spacewalk. There was some trouble. Your ship and crew abandoned you. Now you’re floating in deep space with only minutes left in your life support system.”

                Suddenly Dennis woke up on his couch. The change of scenery occurred in less than a second.

                Deep space.

  The demon.

                What happened?

                The chilling memory of what the demon said remained with Dennis as he was coming to his senses. His current life wasn’t real. He actually was still deep space, minutes away from death, tripping on synthite. Dennis then began to question himself. Which reality was actually true? If synthite was as powerful as the reports said, then he could be tripping right now in his clean modern apartment while his true reality is actually him drifting in space as a lost astronaut. He did seem to recall vague inconsistencies in his life, even strange flashes of white and purple light which occurred in his field of vision from time to time. Could they be small seams in the drug’s grip of his mind?

                To get some immediate answers Dennis took out his mobile phone and called his good friend Jack. There was some initial static in the call, which gave Dennis a sinking feeling of doom in his stomach. Eventually, however, Jack answered the call.

                “Hello.”

                “Hey, Jack. It’s Dennis. I’m having a bit of a struggle today…”

                “You need to stop tripping, man. What did you take this time?” said Jack.

                “It’s more of what I didn’t take,” said Dennis as he sunk into his couch.

                “What do you mean?” said Jack.

                “What is reality? Are we real?” said Dennis.

                “That’s a deep philosophical question,” said Jack. “No one truly knows what reality is, but I suppose this is as real as it gets.”

                “If your whole life has been you tripping on a powerful drug, how would you know in the first place? What if you simply died when the effect began to wear off?”

                “Hmm… are you sure you didn’t take anything. You sound tweaked, Dennis.” said Jack.

                He was right. There was a lot of panic and tension in Denis’s voice. Jack sensed that his friend was in deep psychological trouble.

                “Look, I’m at a store around your area. I’ll stop by with a case of beer. We can just hang out and relax, you seem to be struggling,” said Jack.

                “Hmm… sounds like a good idea. I’ll see you soon.”

                They both hung up their phones. Jack arrived at Denis’s apartment about twenty minutes later with a case of beer and a few bags of snacks.

                “Good to see you,” said Jack. “Man, you don’t look so good. Maybe it is time to give this psychonaut thing a rest? It is breaking you down pretty badly.”

                Dennis did not answer normally. Instead, he screamed and reached for the machete he kept in the hallway closet. Jack suddenly got uneasy.

                “Hold it, man… what… what… what! What are you doing?” Jack began to backpedal but he could not escape. One precise swing of the machete sliced into his stomach open and he collapsed to the floor, bleeding.

                “Get away from me!” screamed Dennis. He did not see Jack as his normal self. He saw him as the demon from earlier. “Make it stop! Make it stop! Make it stop!” He screamed the phrase a few times while pacing around in circles. Jack was on the floor, bleeding out and shaking.

                “No more! No more! No more!” Dennis let out several more screams and then charged towards the biggest window in his apartment. His flailing arms hit several shelves, knocking down all of their contents. Without hesitation he let out a primal roar and jumped while leading with his shoulder. He broke through the glass and fell twenty one floors down to the concrete street. 
                

Thursday, January 19, 2017

One Path Left to Go



One Path Left to Go (2017)

All my Life I have tumbled in the wind
All my life I have walked the path of sin
The storms of summer come and the blizzards finally go
But my own fate I'll never know

Read it in the papers that they're planning for a war
Extraordinary weapons that I've always abhorred
Will lay a lonely child to waste
His momentary pain will then pass away

The leaders of this nation in their manicured place
Claim I've done awful deeds of horrible disgrace
As they launch their bombs unto the towns
The parasites inside make people drown

They'll tear out their insides in a horrible display
Of chemical perfection made in a lab far away
With money that you and I have earned
We pay to see these children burn

People are freezing and starving in the street
We waste our lives toiling for corporate greed
United we can take a stand
Money'd devils won't give us commands

Another time, another place, the world might be ok
But not tomorrow, not today, while we all drown in pain
The wealthy have bought out all our souls


And we're chained down, just one path left to go


Wednesday, January 18, 2017

Ani's Dream



Ani's Dream (2017)

In a dark blue sky
of ethereal evenings
a lonely siren sings 

She said... she couldn't...
meet in my garden
So then we gave her Wings.

Through floating dreams we don't remember
Tomorrows fade too soon
And if we dare to live forever
We start all dreams a new

They sailed away... to Red horizons
In floating thoughts they'd Sway.
But then we saved Our Cosmic Gardens.
and saw the milky way

She wished them Luck...
on towards Red's Journey
We'd never see them soon...

And I, Ghost Lord...
My Lady Timeline...
We blessed the crescent moon


Monday, January 16, 2017

Arise



Arise (2017)


The flower of life - 
A beaming beacon that dies all too soon

Dark Summer nights -
When wishes fail but bad dreams come true

Madness will arise -
And punish the unsuspecting brain

Chaos then comes too -
Until the subject cries in scowling tongues... insane

Does it ever end?
No. However, some days have their enlightened moments

And then comes death.
Why did we exist in the first place?

What willed it so?


Monday, January 9, 2017

Singing Sailors Cover



Singing Sailors Cover (2017)



There's a river between us now
Some state line borders, some broken towns
Some singing sailors doing what they please
Now I'm down to saying prayers on my knees

I've loved your eyes, your innocence
In the face of bad times and where it wents
There's no wind on this bitter earth
Time and distance claim my blues for what they're worth

I'd call your name when I grew scared
I'd write your home if you were there
I am so broken by losing you
Only life can heal and see me through

When it "rains" I'm all alone,
confused by lonely, headed for home
Some singing sailors doing what they please
Now I'm down to saying prayers on my knees

There's a river between us now
Some state line borders, some broken town
Some singing sailors doing what they please
Now I'm down to saying prayers on my knees
Now I'm down to saying prayers on my knees


Thursday, December 29, 2016

Maria Spanish Rose Cover





Maria Spanish Rose Cover (2016)

She was a rose in Spanish clothes
Had her hair hung down, all shiny brown
I asked her name as the sun did wane
She said ‘Maria, I’ll be around’
She said ‘Maria, I’ll be around’

And that’s when cold said I was old
That I had no reason to sing this song
But I was fooled, my heart was unschooled
And Maria came along 
In a bomber jacket, chewing gum
On an ancient cycle, in the streets of town
She rode her Harley, I wore a gun
No one ever said a thing about what we’d done
This old poet and his girl so young
Were blind to time, refused to run
Came full circle in Mexico
In the night by the stars and the moon glow

She was a rose in Spanish clothes
Had her hair hung down, all shiny brown
I asked her name as the sun did wane
She said ‘Maria, I’ll be around’
She said ‘Maria, I’ll be around’



Tuesday, November 29, 2016

One Path Left to Go Early Version




One Path Left to Go (2015)

All my Life I have tumbled in the wind
All my life I have walked the path of sin
The storms of summer come and the blizzards finally go
But my own fate I'll never know

Read it in the papers that they're planning for a war
Extraordinary weapons that I've always abhorred
Will lay a lonely child to waste
His momentary pain will then pass away

The leaders of this nation in their manicured place
Claim I've done awful deeds of horrible disgrace
As they launch their bombs unto the towns
The parasites inside make people drown

They'll tear out their insides in a horrible display
Of chemical perfection made in a lab far away
With money that you and I have earned
We pay to see these children burn

People are freezing and starving in the street
We waste our lives toiling for corporate greed
United we can take a stand
Money'd devils won't give us commands

Another time, another place, the world might be ok
But not tomorrow, not today, while we all drown in pain
The wealthy have bought out all our souls
And we're chained down, just one path left to go



Saturday, November 26, 2016

Rain Falls


Rain Falls (2016)

Rain falls on a lonely Saturday
Calm grace adorns the air
Streets hum so gallantly
Life moves without a care

A creature sits in solitude
Above the traffic's trance
He's weeping and he's destitute
No partner for his dance

Those walking down below the beast
Never catch a glimpse
Of how this creature spends his days
A shunned and broken imp

So rain will fall until its dry
The creature weeps alone
Proud birds then will sweep the sky
The creature knows he's home


Monday, November 14, 2016

Cadence of Winter


Cadence of Winter

We strive and thrive all round year long
And never seem to quite belong
Until the season of deep frost
Reminds to us we're never lost

All of the work and all of the play -
The calm routines of passing days
Stay unfinished, stay remote
'Til Wintertime steals sunlight's hope

Forget all joys, forget all sorrows
Winter's cold Zero dictates our new tomorrows
A finite stroke to a fitting end
If frozen death is your dear friend

If, cold death you do not trust
Do not worry, hope's not lost
Hope's not lost, if yet you live
For Death itself must melt, then give


Tuesday, November 8, 2016

Dungeon of Despair


Dungeon of Despair (2016)

They threw the key out with no known remorse
And so time spun 'round its long fateful course
I did nothing wrong but they did not see
The dungeon of despair softly swallowing me

First it was springtime, all was bright new
Then summer came, skies crystalline blue
When winter turned over I was unaware
Of being thrown in a dungeon so bare

I trembled and wept at their sinister tones
The ghosts of the past never left me alone
I waited and pondered and shook like a hare
I, the keeper, of my own dark despair

It is unknown if I will survive
There are no real walls, only deep leering eyes
Ghosts of the past and deep tortured pain
My mind is the dungeon; I struggle in vain



Sunday, November 6, 2016

A Faded Memory




A Faded Memory (2016)


When all of life is lived, it becomes a faded memory
What was its purpose and who was it for?
Why do some claw hard and scream out for more?

Being alive is a delicate time
A few steps awry cease yours, maybe mine
Some words and feelings are good gallant things
What will your spirit sing when it leaves?

A temple of one, whose construction has faded
In old age dies youth, but the spirit is not jaded

There is a ghost deep inside there somewhere
And one day it flows to not here nor out there




Thursday, November 3, 2016

The Urban Cannibal



The Urban Cannibal (2016)

William Humphrey scurried away from the refuse pile with a decayed bone between his teeth. He was a hungry man, but it was not traditional dining that he was seeking. He needed to eat a young boy's hand to fulfill the current month's consumption requirements, which were written out with marker on the flap of an old cardboard box. The chicken bone in his mouth was merely a deterrent, a slight distraction away from his impending psychosis.

The local elementary school was an option for fresh meat, but how would William Humphrey acquire such a delicacy? Disguising himself as a janitor and drugging a kid into submission at the end of the school day was an option. However this would inevitably cause a scene, and even if it did not, the parents would surely discover that their child was missing. William had no immediate solution. Days dragged on and the chicken bones he constantly devoured to stay mildly sane never got any better. Reality was but a thin veil. William wondered why the poultry consumption did not quell his cravings. Must the target to be devoured be sentient and intelligent? Why was farm animal meat not enough?

William did not have a job. He survived on disability checks after the state declared him mentally unfit to work. This occurred when his employer reported him to a health facility because he could not stay on any kind of schedule. William would come into work during completely random hours, and his employer decided enough was enough when he showed up at four in the morning and began to pound on the front door of the office building.  An experienced cannibal, he had never once been caught practicing the art. It was common reality, the routine of daily life, that he lacked the skills for. The days seemed to fall out of order during his most ravenous cravings for flesh. Before William knew it, an entire month had passed and his July prerogative was then void. The cravings persisted stronger than ever. Each night inside his tiny cluttered apartment he fell asleep sweating and trembling.

In August William began to question himself, his identity, and whether or not he was even truly alive. He was on a court order to take medication for psychosis, but he did not adhere to it. It made him dumb and slow, he reasoned. He also concluded that the only way to live life was through natural means. Foreign substances and drugs in the body  made life unnatural, and so he abstained from taking such things even though he was self-aware of his own downward spiral.

On a warm September night William stumbled into the back of a hospice parking lot. He had given up on finding young flesh and decided to find an old corpse to chew on. Delusion and dissociation plagued his mind, for William himself was completely unaware of how he ended up at the hospice in the first place. During a small moment of lucidity he deemed to himself that it was fate and then continued on his delusional prowl.

And then a chance! Two workers were carrying a large bundle wrapped in plastic through the back door. William waited near the loading dock and then pounced on the one in front with uncontrolled rage. The second man seemed shaken and moved in to attempt to restrain him. William, however, would have none of it, and knocked the man unconscious with a swing of his right fist. The first man, deeply struck by the moment's panic, ran towards the front door while screaming for security. This gave William a moment to examine the large bundle, which he assumed was a dead body.

Inside were dozens of aluminum cans and plastic bottles. He glanced up in fear and saw Alvin's Recycling Company written on the side of the truck.

"Help me!" William screamed.

"You had a bad dream, William," said the psychiatric nurse suddenly by his side. The plastic-wrapped bundle, the unconscious man, the hospice dock, and the truck were nowhere to be found. Blindingly white fluorescence surrounded William. Moments later he discovered that his arms were immobilized and bound in a straight-jacket.

The nurse gave William Humphrey a psychotropic injection and he went into another deep, calm sleep in his assigned bed.



Monday, October 31, 2016

Elvira and Jake



Elvira and Jake (2016)


Jake Briggs found himself alone in the street as the sun set over a brisk autumn day in Chicago. He had just been turned away at the homeless shelter because it was currently over capacity. He had nowhere else to go and no one to turn to during this particularly awful point in his life. The shelter offered some assistance in the past, but not enough for consistent survival. Days like today reminded him of that. The previous times that he was turned away, he would move on and go begging near the local highway exit, hoping that a few passing motorists would be generous enough to place some spare change in his dusty fast food cup. On this particular evening, Jake decided to forgo that strategy. He went to the nearest hotel instead. His plan was to wait for the kitchen staff until they threw out the day’s unused food. After they were through, he would dig in the refuse bags in hopes of finding some sustenance to help get him through the night. In the deep throes of desperation Jake would do anything to survive.

Jake approached the hotel just as the final beams of light vacated the dim November sky. He was huddled in a raggedy jacket full of holes and old scuff marks. His thin grey shoes were a few days away from wearing all the way through. He took solace in the fact that he had washed, shaved, and brushed his teeth at the shelter two nights ago, and so he was not as non-presentable as he could have been. Things are bad now, but they could have been much worse, he thought as he entered the hotel’s parking lot. He then sat down on the curb of a vacant parking spot near the dumpster and waited.

Two hours passed and the cold night air strongly sunk its grip into the terrain. Pedestrians slowly streamed in and out of the hotel’s back door. Jake lazily gazed at them as he sat there, drowning in waves of incessant nostalgia. He was just like those fortunate people once, not too long ago. He remembered how he was a warehouse manager at a local freight distribution facility only seven months prior. He rented a comfortable apartment and had his own car. Food was never scarce and there was always sufficient time for leisure after work. It was a good life and he did not have many worries while living it. An unfortunately timed psychotic breakdown at the warehouse took all of that away from him. At the peak of his psychosis, he became so belligerent and mad with rage that all three of the paramedics at the scene had to jump on him and restrain him one limb at a time. They gave him a double-dose of sedative to make sure he remained subdued. The psychotic episode seemed quite distant now, faded by the drifting tides of time. Jake probed his mind for answers as to what had caused the breakdown in the first place. To this day, he did not know.

“Hey there, it looks like you could use some help,” an older woman’s voice startled Jake into alertness. He had unintentionally passed out on the small patch of grass behind the parking spot.

“I’ll be okay,” he mumbled as he came to his senses. “Thanks, though.”

“The low is in the 30s tonight. You’re gonna freeze out here! And you’re not gonna pick through that dumpster for food, are you? Oh no… how about you come over for dinner? A warm meal could do you some good.” The woman seemed oddly hospitable for a stranger.

“Thanks, I’ll be okay, I will…” Jake did not want to burden this woman with his troubles. He finally got a decent look at her under the street light. She appeared to be in her mid 40s and heavy set, not particularly pleasing aesthetically. Her gaze was one of universal loneliness. It appeared that she needed a companion just as much as he needed a meal. He pondered the situation in his mind for a few moments and then decided to come with her. The air was sinking into a numb frigid stillness. He was sure that whatever happened henceforth, his weary body would not regret his decision to choose her over the bitter cold.

“I’m Elvira,” the woman said as she drove her late 1990s Oldsmobile out of the hotel parking lot. After an extended moment of awkward silence, Jake finally responded.

“I’m Jake.”

“Nice to meet you,” Elvira said. “I have some chicken thawing out on my counter. We’re gonna have a nice little meal.”

“Thank you,” said Jake. It was all that could muster. He had no idea why a complete stranger was being so hospitable to him. Jake had always lived his life as a downtrodden underdog. He never had many friends. The once had usually kept their distance. Jake saw himself as an unfortunate character, always contemplating over things that could go wrong instead of enjoying the things that didn’t. He would attempt to break this pattern tonight, and it would be nice to experience a proper meal after months on the street. The stale soup and canned meat served at the shelter were passable, at best. He was ready for a real meal.

They were inside Elvira’s two-bedroom apartment now. It was located in Arlington Heights, one of the northwestern suburbs of Chicago. Jake was sitting nervously at the dining room table while Elvira put the finishing touches on their meal in the kitchen. A slightly obnoxious dog released bursts of staccato barks from the hallway. He was breaking in a newly purchased toy.

“I don’t cook much for others, I don’t have much company over,” said Elvira as she brought over a platter of baked chicken followed by mashed potatoes and a bowl of steamed vegetables. “I hope this will do.” She placed the food in the center of the table. Jake felt intense saliva build up in his mouth. The food looked and smelled magnificent.

“It looks great, thank you,” said Jake. He then caught himself, realizing that ‘thank you’ was just about all he had been saying to this woman. He decided to open up a more proper stream of dialogue in an attempt to get to know his host.

“You have a nice home, Elvira,” Jake said. “Would you mind me asking what you do for a living?”

"Nothing fancy,” Elvira replied. “I’m an office assistant for an insurance company. The job is repetitive, but I’m quite comfortable with it.”

“I used to be a warehouse manager before I hit some hard times,” said Jake.

“Don’t worry, sweetie, you’ll get through it,” Elvira said. Sweetie. Jake was not prepared to hear that unforeseen term of endearment. It made him nervous, as well as introspective. He once had a long term partner, Cassandra, who left him because his managerial position at the warehouse made him unavailable - at least in her eyes. He had no recent major romantic events in his life to speak of, having only been on a few forgettable dates since Cassandra left him.

“It won’t be easy to get through this. My entire family abandoned me; no one will take me in. And you know, it’s almost impossible for a homeless person to get a job.”

“Don’t you worry, Jake. There will be a solution, just keep your head up. You know… I’ve come to like you even though we’ve just met. You’re an honest man, a simple and humble man. People like you get lost in the cruel trenches of the world.”

“I appreciate your kind hospitality,” said Jake.

They continued to eat and converse. Elvira caught Jake up on the major news and sporting events that he had missed out on. When dinner was over Elvira hinted that Jake could sleep on the couch. Jake was longing for intimate contact with a woman, but was rather clueless on how to approach his newfound desire of going to bed with Elvira.

“I’ll get you some extra blankets; you should be okay out here.”

“Thank you,” said Jake.

They slept separately with no contact. Jake slept soundly and did not stir throughout the night. The couch was much more comfortable than the stiff cots at the homeless shelter. He woke up to the sounds and smells of Elvira making breakfast in the kitchen.

“Eggs and bacon, all for you. Oh, and there’s some toast too,” said Elvira. “I must go to work now. We can discuss your future arrangements when I get back. Make yourself at home, help yourself to anything in the fridge, and just enjoy the day. I’ll be back before you know it. Oh, and please scrub the bathroom.”

Elvira placed the plate on the table and left the apartment, locking it behind her. Jake, still rather unaccustomed to full meals, devoured the food. After he ate he switched on the TV and tuned to the round-the-clock sports channel for background noise and pondered the sudden change in his life. He could see a potential romantic relationship developing between himself and Elvira. She seemed nice enough and it was a comfortable home. He figured he had nothing to lose. Whatever troubles or conflict that may come up here would pale in comparison to being homeless. He then remembered Elvira’s last comment, oh, and please scrub the bathroom. Well, why not? Doing a few chores in exchange food and a bed seemed reasonable.

Elvira came home just a bit after six P.M. Jake was happy to see her, but she seemed drained from a long day at work.

“Hi, did you scrub the bathroom?” was the first thing Elvira said.

Jake felt a nerve inside him being struck by the question. He now felt somewhat disrespected by Elvira. He wondered if she picked him up from the parking lot just to be a live-in servant whom she wouldn’t have to pay.

“Yes, I cleaned it the best I could,” said Jake.

 Elvira went on to her bedroom to change out of her work clothes. In that particular moment Jake was feeling both angry and lustful towards Elvira. His mind bypassed all rational judgment when he decided to follow her down the hallway. He was now waiting in a slouched position outside of her closed door. Without knocking he barged in on her changing.

“I want you!” Jake awkwardly exclaimed.

Elvira seemed somewhat stunned by Jake’s intrusion but she did not put a stop to his advance. Jake embraced her then kissed her and she kissed him back. Both of them felt an internal rush of pleasure as they made physical contact with each other. Both had been alone for a very long time. A rather quint session of love-making followed. The two loners felt at easy with each other and neither was judgmental of the other's ailments.

The next morning Elvira went to work as usual and Jake was left alone with a new set of orders. They never did discuss the terms of Jake's stay. Elvira also seemed more crass and standoffish when giving Jake the new set of tasks, which had greatly expanded from simply scrubbing the bathroom.

Jake was vacuuming the living room carpet when Elvira walked in with a cringing demeanor and a slight scowl on her face. Clearly this was not the woman he bedded last night. He shut off the vacuum and went to the door to greet her, all the while wondering what Elvira's true nature was. Was she a psychopath? Did she get pleasure from ordering him around, beckoning him to do her every command? Jake knew that his slave-like status was still a better state than being homeless.

"Hi, Elvira, did you have a good day at work?"

"Wash those dishes!" Elvira barked.

Jake suddenly felt ill.

"Elvira, I did wash them, they're perfectly clean," he said.

"Wash those damn dishes now!" suddenly she seemed hostile.

"Okay, okay," said Jake as he retreated to the kitchen sink area. Elvira followed him. She then picked up a frying pan from the counter and began to corner him.

"Do my dishes or I swear I'll kill you right here and now!" Elvira was now screaming.

Jake didn't know what to do at first. His survival instincts then sprung forth and he kicked Elvira in the left knee. Fight was chosen over flight. Elvira buckled, dropped the pan, and fell to the floor. Without thinking twice, Jake picked up the dropped frying pan and smashed it against Elvira's skull. Elvira screamed.

Jake smashed her again, harder this time. Pent up rage was exiting. This was it, the culmination of years and years of personal suffering.

Jake swung the pan back again, this swing arcing even further, and struck Elvira one last time. Blood was puddling on the floor near her mouth. Elvira was now silent. Her skull was partially crushed and slimy bits of head tissue were leaking from the cracks.

Jake did not make a single sound. He calmly washed himself free of any blood and then disappeared into the night.

Elvira lay dead on her kitchen floor. Her little dog came from the apartment's hallway and began barking to no avail.