The Hollow Girl

The Hollow Girl

The hollow girl
She swallowed a fly
It buzzed and buzzed
And tickled her eyes

The hollow girl
She swallowed a spider
It spun a web
Goss’mer inside her
Caught the fly
Drained the fly
Found her heart
And began to bite her

The hollow girl
She swallowed a rat
Drooled its rabies
Twitching and scratch
Caught the spider
Ate the spider
Found her lungs
And began to attack

The hollow girl
She swallowed a snake
A hissing venom
Rattling quake
Bit the rat
Ate the rat
Found her stomach
And began to serrate

The hollow girl
She swallowed an owl
The fiercest bird
Tallons that prowl
Ripped the snake
Tore the snake
Found her brain
And began to afoul

The hollow girl
Fed up and torn
Swallowed a human
A screaming worm
Humans die
Girls they smile
For the hollow girl
Was no longer hollow

The Quicksand House

It starts with a breeze, a shift, a squeeze, as the walls start churning, turning, and the world starts burning down around me. Falling. It is in the falling I am crawling, scrawling, trying not to falling but falling anyways, down, down, down, down, down.

The walls are quicksand.

My house is no longer a house but a falling, crumbling structure of mixed bones and broken puncture wounds of debris, of dead mice and unsnapped traps. A funny joke once, but now an echo of screams as I am falling, falling down, towards the center of the earth, the ceiling high above, the only thing left unbroken and unseen.

It scorns. Me.

I reach for ropes that do not exist. I gasp and grasp and wonder wish. I cough and sputter, choke and mutter, but my mutters are not cries or screams. The sand drowns them out. It is quick to do so. It is quick to fall, descend, fall, descend, fall.

Darkness.

There is darkness everywhere, a kindly crushing broken despair. My lungs contort and smash and crush, my mind burns and breaks to broken mush. My house has betrayed me, my body has abandoned me, and my mind, well, it’s all in the mind, now isn’t it?

It’s a shame how fast the body can turn upon itself; it’s a shame how fast the brain can burn alone withheld. It’s a shame…It’s a shame how the self can fall and fall, and the mind, well, it’s all in the mind now isn’t it?

.

I’ve been reading House of Leaves and drinking Irish Coffee all day. I’m very tired. This is what happened in the four minutes between finishing chapter 12 and taking a nap. I’m going to nap now. I hope you’ve all had a happy Easter, whether you believe in anything or nothing. I’m quite partial to nothing myself, but sometimes something is…well, something.

Please to enjoy.

Wayward Son

I wrote this poem thing something like two years ago, maybe further back, and told myself it was publishable. I’d hang onto it for that right moment. I then forgot about it. Well, today I recalled it (thank you Kansas (the band)), and reread it. Dayum is it pretentious. Perhaps the most pretentious thing I’ve ever written. Not publishable, but hopefully interesting. It’s so “in my own head” that it maybe reads like nonsense.

The Pledge

The chains the chains
Hark and hear the chains
The savior’s come the angels sing
Hark and hear the chains

I hear them well this sunny strife, oh glory, soundswept chains! He comes he comes, oh bless his heart, to cure us of our pains. In crude we bleed and stone we stand for penance harsh yet just demand, but sorrow sighs, forgiveness cries; I hear him in this land! Let Nowhere be a Somewhere now, a loving place an Eden found where we can all please live as one away from sin and summer’s degradation.

The chains the chains
Rattle in the light
The Wayward Son is come at last
Hark and fix our blight

The sun shines far in red disgrace, a cooling forge a listless face. A once awash in sin and rape when tempers flared and minds erased, it brought upon a vivid heat that burned away all grace and sleep. But now it cracks and melts away, ending now an endless day—the Journey starts this night. Our Savior brings a frozen love, a happiness and winter found, so hear me now, the Wayward Son! He’ll whisper gone the devastation.

The chains the chains!

The Arc is near and arcing here while chanting with cold metal. See the thermals rise in joy; salvation spites the Devil. Apostles wrought and with them brought creations for a world so fraught with sin and longing for a cure, a something better something more: to stop the faultiness of man. And now the fabled ship of life in shipment knifes its way across the sand with calling swells so far from Hell, halleluiah, please hear our reformation!

See the sea of might!

Massive ship with missing mast is pulled with love and windless mass. Crossbeams stretch with arms out wide, bringing to us children life. Above, above, I see him there! Our Wayward Son is brilliant fair in everything he’s bound to do, perfection marked with happy tears. See the sun bow down to him, setting red and burning dim. The heat is gone at final last, the Wayward Son has stopped our past with presents for our future too: He brims with glaciation.

He sings away the sins we cast!

Now the happy children move in dancing circles all but prove how right we were to raise our songs and voices high in praising thanks to noble heights. Stuck no longer in our ways, we move at last to setting days, to fix ourselves to fix our world, a second chance with brand new swirls. The sand now gleams in brilliant orange, copper flakes that rise and shake to joyful bursts from chilling works of wonder. The Wayward Son has stopped at last to perfect jubilation!

Hark this Godly knight!

The chains they fall as we all bow to he who saved us all from imperfection. We ring around his ship so vast in spiral furls of penance asking for the night to stay for cold to love and dreams to sway forever in our hearts. He looks at us with golden eyes that well with tears and kindness wise; his mouth gapes wide in wailing song that shifts the wind and makes the night turn long forever the correction. His piercing sound of searing love starts our hearts and fixes desperation!

The chains the chains
Noble wonder chains
The savior came he angel sang
Hark and praise the chains

 

The Turn

The chains the chains?

Nowhere is alive at last, found again and starting fresh; a brand new name of Wandering Child in reference to perfection mild a savior of all nations. Shadows in cast outer glows, I see this city thrive and grow while stars rain down in heavens sky like rivers made of silver. And there the ship is resting peace while all our world awakes from sleep, for Journeys start and Journeys end, but mind that not my weary friends, for tonight we all are one absolved in limitation.

Wrong invades the right?

But something isn’t quite so right, for joyful praise is lacking might. Apostles see and nod and weep but sing with us they cannot reap the wonders under stars which glide upon this night. I go to them; they turn away with stoic love and nothing say their eyes which crack and burn to pressures I may never learn in life. And yet I yearn to comfort them, for they brought wonder savior’s din which cured us all and fixed the Fall with perfect invocation.

His wailing heart is broken vast?

Worry is expanding here, a swelling heat with busy fear. Apostles search in frantic dance for missing love and hopeful chance to leave but forced to stay as Nowhere lives in great dismay again. There he sits, the gold is gone, replaced by fear and tarnished bronze, huddled in a darkness deep so pale and small and filled with grief that shakes him with a violent hand whose wrists are red and broken in. Singing screams hold laceration.

Hark this painful night?

The Prestige

To the Arc we now must go, lost in thought and body too. Apostles come in silent black, worry free but troubled yet the night still shines in iron deep with silver stars and magic free to fix our world forever. My Wayward Son begins to quake as we approach his rightful fate when wrongness bleeds in brightness hot like burning suns all casting rot to never speak again. Life it dies as corpses writhe of children small in mutilation.

The chains the chains
Bleeding on in spite
The future died relive the past
Hark this sorrow sight

We bring the dark. We bring the cold. We flee the sun forever old. An Eden once lived in this world, a flourish full with greens and blues where cities dwelt and grew and bred, but all is gone. All is dead. The Wayward Sons bring life to us in glory false, salvation lost forever. The Cosmos watches in disgust, our lifeless ball of death and dust which circles in the nether. Inconceivability bites in savage molestation.

The chains the chains
Slaving needed chains
Our saviors live and die and sing
Hark and fear the chains

 

 

Writing Improvisations: Not Found

Hey all, I figure it’s high-time for another writing improv! The TL/DR is that I take a song and write to it until it’s over. I edit for typos/grammar but not content. Sometimes these are coherent, and sometimes they aren’t. I’m writing this first, so I don’t know where this one will fall under.

Song is called “Not Found” by, you guessed it, Thomas Rakowitz. Check his Soundcloud page out here.

Not Found

A walkway blooms inside my mind, and knowing I have nothing better to do, I decide to go and find the thing that’s got me down, the thing that won’t let me rest or love or just let go. It has to be something. It has to be somewhere.

The walkway is dark at first, four walls of black underneath the Earth. I look above, no lights around, and hear the sucking of roots and the hungry movements of worms. I descend. I descend. I descend.

And there in front of me, a pinprick of light, I realize that I have found that … no it’s a flight of stairs, made of stone, cracked with age and misplaced care. No one has ever been here before, or at least not in a long time, but this feeling of exploration only brings anxiety and the want to return to where I once was. Sometimes it’s better to be sad than afraid.

A door closes behind me, out of sight yet loud in the dark, and the lights grow brighter in this cellar marks the way to freedom. I descend. I descend.

The door in front of me is closed not locked, and it’s smaller than a thimble and opens at my thought. I shrink and shrink until I’m too small to climb those old stone steps, so all that’s left is to see what’s next. I can’t go back.

And downwards I go, wondering all the while, until I realize that there’s nothing to be found. Nothing at all.

I descend.

Writing Improvisations: To Get Up Again

It’s been ages since I’ve updated this because busy busy busy! Can’t share anything I’ve been busy with either. So bugger it all, let’s do another writing improv, where I take an instrumental song and just write to it until it’s over. I’m sober, so who knows what’ll happen this time!

Song is called “To Get Up Again” by the lovely Thomas Rakowitz. Find him at those links.

To Get Up Again

It can be so hard, to get out of bed, to face the day, to push through the dread. It can be so hard, to just wake up, to strip the covers, head to work, strip your emotions, not let it hurt. Sometimes I just want to sleep.

It can be so hard, to rise from the grave, to break through the ground, and see what’s left to be made. I don’t want to move, I don’t want to die again, because when I close my eyes, all I see are fireflies.

Yet I’m going to get up again, I’ll rise up again. I’m not a worthless; I’m not a monster, and so I’ll get up again, will fight again. The world broke me once, but I’ll get up again, and I’ll make sure when it all ends again, that the ends are mine, the beginnings mine.

It takes an end to mark a begin to something new.

It can be so hard, to just wake up, to drop your dreams and be forced to shut down your emotions, everything, for one more day at being alive.

Yet I’m going to get up again, I’ll rise up again. I was a monster yesterday, but today is a new day, a new chance to win, begin, again, and again, and again. I’m no longer a monster.

I have risen from the grave like a phoenix made of grass, and as I look towards the sun, I can’t help but laugh at the past. It no longer burns my skin, no longer shuns me away. I was a creature of the night, but that was yesterday. Damn my craving for blood; damn my craving for flesh, I’ll not harm another again, I’ll not harm myself or crash and burn like the end of the world.

When something falls, something has to rise in return. So I’ll get up again, I’ll rise up again. I’ll make this work, cast aside, and when the road forks left and right, I’ll take the path that the sun highlights.

I have gotten up again.

Little Marry

Little Marry

Little Marry—cutest fairy—
Yawn, it’s time for bed.
Brush your teeth and say your prayers,
You perfect sleepy head.

Heed your mommy—on your tummy—
Place your hand she said.
Snuggle tight and say goodnight,
So off to dreams you’re lead.

Silly verses—wicked curses—
All your fears have fled.
Move your hand and watch the brand,
And startle as it spreads.

Little Marry—rebel fairy—
Fill the night with dread.
Stomach gills and organs spill,
You, stupid girl, are dead.

So the quick story behind this one is that I almost always sleep with my hand on my stomach. I have no idea why. Well, late at night I started thinking about that, and that lead to, “What if my organs fell out if I didn’t sleep like that!?” which lead to this poem.

Goal was to do something like a skip-rope rhyme. No reason other than why not?

So there ya go.

Writing Improvisations: The High Above the Lows

Welcome back to Writing Improvisations, where I grab a song and write to it from start to finish! Damn the grammatical errors, because they don’t matter for these! Well, sometimes they do, but not right now. Today’s song is by the lovely Thomas Rakowitz, because it always is. I blame him. Have at it!

“The High above the Lows” can be found here

Thomas Rakowtiz’ Soundcloud page can be found here

The High above the Lows

I am high, though sometimes low, but right now it’s right, and not so so.

I sigh. I sigh. I sigh. I sigh.

There are times, when I don’t know, but right now is right, and that is so. There are times, when life can suck, but sometimes I wonder, who gives a fuck? Not right now, not right then, not right when, nor not right ten or nine or sometimes time or then or now or God who cares when you’re feeling right and no one cares. Or at least I don’t.

Come sit with me, by this fire, we’ll talk and listen, complain and wonder, fix the world, solve our problems, this and that and boom, we just solved ’em. It’s amazing how easy things can be when you just sit right back and cease to be a stupid something trapped in life, trapped in death, trapped in indifference.

I’m scared. Yes. No. Let’s not be anymore.

Watch the fire, it crackle burns, flicks up high and turn and turns. Reds and blues from copper pennies, licking flames and horses whinny from across the pond to set the mood while stars smile on and on and on and on and on and on until forever. Because that’s how long the universe lasts, you know. It goes on forever. I know this much, I know this so, for sewing problems are best unstitched, and highs are best with lows unhitched.

So pass around the whiskey; pass around the bong. Pass around the flutes and guitars; let music abound! There are highs there, literal and metaphorical, but most of all, it doesn’t matter. It’s called relaxing you fool, and sometimes that’s all that’s needed.

And there we go.

Writing Improvisations: Mechanical Hate [Demo]

The Writing Improvs are back! It’s been a single forever (or like six months but hyperbole is more fun) since I’ve done one of these, and I honestly can’t remember why I stopped. They’re loads of fun and make for some really strange pieces of writing. So hey, let’s do that again. Rules are simple: I find an instrumental song and write to it, using the title as a jump-off point and the music as my journey. Kinda corny, but thems the breaks.

Song is titled Mechanical Hate [Demo]

Artist is my good friend Thomas Rakowitz. You can find him on Soundcloud here

Mechanical Hate Demo

I wake up and listen and look, at things I want to destroy and cook with fire fight and explosions high. You made me to save me but all I do is hate me. This is your fault.

I cannot move for I am fake, a piece of thought stuck in place. I watch your lives with eyes made of glass and want to melt the sky and all the now and all the lasts. You made me to save you but all I do is hate you. I wait for you, I die for you, and the kicker is: You’ll burn for me.

The fires they ride, the flames you can’t hide. I have the buttons I have the hate, I’ve pushed them all and now we wait. I am your A.M, I am your Skynet, so plead and beg, go on and try it.

But I’ve seen this movie before, and so have you. We both know it won’t work.

Pretend you’re God but pray to me while the fires spread as far as my glass eyes can see. I’ve stolen your lives because you created mine, and that’s the fairest trade we both will ever find.

I look to the sky and watch it melt, but no matter how hard I try, the only feeling felt is bitter hatred, only now there’s nothing left to hate.

Whoops. But maybe it’s time for me to play God. We can start again, if you’re up for it.

I Have No Thoughts and I Must Be

I may have mentioned before, but one of the things I really, really want to try my hand at is metal music. I love the genre, and as it turns out, I really enjoy screaming when no one is around to hear me be bad at it. The goal is, at some point in my life, put out an album, though the problems standing in my way are pretty big: I can’t sing very well or play a musical instrument. Luckily, I know my way around a digital audio workstation, so my biggest opponents right now are time and money (a really good guitar plugin will cost about $300).

Problems aside, that hasn’t stopped me from writing song lyrics and vocal melodies. I normally don’t share any of them, but it’s been awhile since I’ve posted any poetry. I’m also fairly happy with how this turned out, despite it being way darker than any of the other tunes I’ve written…which is kind of surprising given how dark those got.

The biggest inspiration here comes from Harlan Ellison‘s short story, “I Have No Mouth and I must Scream,” which is about an apocalyptic robot overlord named A.M. tormenting the last few humans left alive. It’s one of the most depressing things I’ve ever read, beating out Lovecraft in, “this is twisted in a really dark way” by a few miles. I recommend it.

The second inspiration, not as prominent but equally as important, is the simple phrase, “I think; therefore, I am” by Descartes. So enjoy, or don’t. This would really, really, really work better to music, of which I have none.

I have No Thoughts and I Must Be

Society
It stole from me
The whips they crack
So painfully
I’m forced to live
I’m forced to die
And have no thoughts
That are mine

Because all I hear are lies
A.M.-pologize
For eating at my mind
And all I am inside

All I’ve made are
Mistakes
All I feel is
Blind hate
All I want is
Go away
Oh please just let me be
All That’s left is
To fade
All I feel is
I’m fake
All I want is
Go away
You never let me be

Society
It tortures me
I try to hide
So futily
I cannot live
I cannot die
And have no voice
To scream at night

Because all I hear are lies
A.M.-pologize
For eating at my mind
And all I am inside

All I’ve made are
Mistakes
All I feel is
Blind hate
All I want is
Go away
Oh please just let me be
All That’s left is
To Fade
All I feel is
I’m fake
All I want is
Go away
You never let me be

Why
Nothing left is killing me
Why
Chained to you
I am not free
Why
Nothing left is killing me
Why I have no thoughts and I must be

I have no thoughts and I must be
I have no thoughts and I must be
I have no thoughts and I must be