Climb Abored

an anchor, 7 stories high & twice the tons

passengers without tickets shuffle up the stairs uninvited

i’ve got many guns. time to play Russian Roulette

oh you think i don’t? then what’s this?

.       .       .

everyone’s quiet now.

BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM

shooting blanks. everyone’s delighted.

most of them clapping their hands, enjoying the spectacle, gay as can be

it’s all a circus

& then a man as tall as a hundred year old tree

walks up to me

& says: “perhaps you should relax. you gave me and some others quite a fright”

poor fools. they don’t even know the caliber of plight afoot

i toss the the useless weapons overboard. they clang against a wooden platform down below & are picked up by a group of rowdy teenagers, whom hoot & holler and run off into an alley with their new toys

we’re still at shore.

i sigh a heavy sigh. i wasn’t looking for death, just something more

for i know…

i find my cabin lodgings easily, at the very top of the ship

leaving the other passengers to do as they please

folding my hoodie into the drawer, kicking my shoes off under the bed

accepting the via blasé of what’s to come

for i know…

an anchor, 7 stories high & twice the tons

we aren’t going anywhere
not anymore

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The Possession of Camille Parker

She awoke this morning and looked into the mirror to see heavy eyeshadow fading into many shades of flat blues, caked and smeared as if she had been wearing it for days & reapplying it without cleaning it off first… she does not wear make up.

Her morning tastes like sewer water though she made it the same way she does every morning. Why?

“Something inside of me,” she thinks, “is tweaking with my brain”  why why why

In rapid succession, her thoughts are racing, a never ending left turn.

“Something is the matter…” She thinks, still drinking her sewage coffee for the caffeine. “I don’t know but I…..I think I’m posessed.”

As soon as she said the words aloud, she knew they were true.
but why? and by whom?

This may warrant taking off a sick day from work but it’s a little hard to explain, no?

“A seemingly demonic force has taken up shop in my head space and I’m questioning not only my existence, but existence overall. Can I come in tomorrow?”

Can’t imagine that’d work out very well. She picks up the coffee pot to pour it out in the sink but instead of flowing out straight down, it pours upwards, leaving a leaking stain on the ceiling.

She blinks and does nothing for a moment. “Okay. Something is either completely fucked with my head or I’m possessed. Either way, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Don’t Say I Didn’t Warn Ya

Camille, swathed in fine linen and imported Italian velvet, lies in a half-awakend daze staring at the alarm clock she had just hit the snooze button on. Stretching out her legs and scratching her hair, she yawns a deep down from the diaphragm yawn, when she is startled by a metal-on-metal grinding noise permeating the room. A purple haze spreads about the boudoir, shading the room in a muted ultraviolet light.

A thunderous multi-layered voice in various harmonic pitches begins to speak in a surround sound fashion:

MORTAL FOOL!

Do you honestly believe the sissified potions and elixirs pumping through your bloodstream have anything against what is in this hand of mine? There are some spade jesters in the deck and a Queen of Blue so please make no mistake, there is absolutely nothing I wouldn’t & couldn’t do.

She sits up and lifts the silk eyemask onto her forehead and looks around. Everything was still, nothing was out of place, no intruder in sight.

The voice continues:

I have quite literally destroyed entire galaxies. I’m consuming millions more by the second into my being even as we speak.
Meaning every bit of pain you’ve every felt since birth & beyond is not even one trillionth of my power. And believe me, mortal, this isn’t even my final form…”

“Excuse me,” she squeaks out, still looking around, unsure of where to direct her attention. “What does this all have to do with me?”

“I mean you know no harm. Really I don’t darling, it isn’t personal. It’s the Nature of the business. So, I’ve come to tell you…”

A cool breeze blows through Camille’s arm hairs, sending a shiver down her spine. She pulls the blankets up to her chin.

“You should be proud of yourself for making it this far, my dear.”

Gone in an instant. The purplish tint fades away into normalcy and the metallic grinding dissolves into silence before she can catch her breath and ask another question.

Once again, she’s alone in her boudoir, questioning if it was even worth ironing her work suit and wading through rushhour traffic, or getting out of bed at all.

Birds chirp a melodious tune outside her window and the preset coffee maker in the kitchen gurgles in response. Her cat crawls up from under the bed and licks her nose.

Swan Song of The Common Damned

Mommy, talk to Yahweh
before it’s too late

everything is wrong & lost in a smog
buy me a ticket and ship me off to Hong Kong
before this world erupts.

Mommy, talk to Yahweh
before it’s too late

and the late is getting close, I’m afraid
my sanity is matching the world around me
I have nothing left & few words to say

if you’re dead before the dawn is done

don’t say I didn’t warn ya.

 

Mommy, talk to Yahweh
before too long

better hurry before I finish this song
it’s only a matter of time so let me know
if you wanna come along
before this world goes up in flames.

2016: A Space Oddity [part 5]

[  .   .   . ]

I’m on this Ride because I got the ticket against my will. Not even sure I was ready for life, let alone storming off somewhere I know nothing of without a proper travel pamphlet. The Ride you can come & go on but can never leave.

zoom zoom zoom
Off towards where exactly?!

Where in holy hell am I headed? What fun is travel if you aren’t aware of the destination? What’s the point of shooting off like a fiend out of hell from point A to M and back to C?

The ticket in my hand. Arrival stamp is my place & time of birth, the only ink on the paper.
“Oh, very helpful,” I can’t help but think aloud. The only thing you can do in the specter factory.

Or is this the way there? Have I been in the factory all along or was that many stops ago?

The Ride shifts gears and accelerates causing me to bump into the faceless figure in front of me. It grunts and straightens itself out. Passengers come and go and I wonder if they know where they are going either & have doubts that they do. Those full of life don’t glide about as a colorless blob, avoiding eye contact, no expression if they do.

“A ride to Hell this must be,” I wonder. A queer rocket ship flying through the moon’s orbit, a spirit trapped amongst the the human world unable to make contact without petrifying others into throes of The Fear.

If such a Ride is inevitable, as it appears to be, then there should be no reason I shouldn’t get off at the next stop. You’d think the unknown would be better than the chaotic dull of machine-like drudgery. Though, it hasn’t fared me well in the past to wander about.

One stop I got off at led me into a dark forest with a heavy ambiance as if a predatory beast lurked about in the shadows, a trail of pebbles lead me back to the Main Station.

Another stop was an isolated planet that rained sharp diamond particles, each boom of thunder a volcano of blue lightening, all in zero gravity. I didn’t stay there long.

The last stop I got off at was a space very similar to the familiar reality I had grown to know… only the atmosphere was prone to spontaneous combustion. One moment you’re having small talk with a patron at the bar and next you’re watching their face melt and skin fry in a purple haze of crimson fire. The sight & the screams are enough to change your brain wiring forever. I haven’t been in a rush to get off since.

Though I do know, that merely staying put, latching on to the rail for dear life, would only facilitate my own demise.

I shudder at the thought. The sins of my life weigh down on my breast, causing contusions and uneven breath. Tremors begin & clammy skin. The dirty dozens tapdancing on my frontal lobe, a hell hound’s fur left behind itching the inside of my skull. What pain reliever or fever reducer can cure that?

The doctor’s candy?

One little pill to ease the Downright Wretchedness, one to up the Established Corrective Order, & another in an attempt to rid the Abject EdHorror. Should be doing wonders but it’s a wonder if they’re really doing anything at all. A question that is hard to determine given the radical outside forces at play.

The Ride decelerates, the brakes clicking clacking on the track, the astral projections outside the sliding door window drawing closer to a stop.

Will I get off this time
or keep wondering where I’ll end up?

 

Case Study: A Near Sighted Clairvoyant

Here we find a metatypical Creature, with a shining aura that smells of sweet peaches, in very typical surroundings. A room with urine colored wallpaper with swamp water green striping. Soft rubber runs along the edges of a coffee table and empty tv stand, which are the only furniture in the room that is presumably the living area.

The place is unnaturally quiet. No music, no lights, no beer, only tap water, musty air and sneaky sunshine slithering through small windows with dingy blinds. There are scratch marks on the oak floorboards, right between the seems of the wood panels, as if the boards have been lifted before.

This Creature seems to possess a special gift [A “Shining” for the laymen] of spontaneous peculiar prediction. Capable of seeing what is measured as 24 hours ahead into the future at a time. Images of car crashes, gunshot wounds, a group of rowdy bastards with iron knuckles, explosions, Fear; all from a first person point of view. Tremble, this Creature does at such ghastly sights! Rightfully so.

However, what this poor Creature fails to realize is that while it may be possible to predict the future in a general sense, it’s not a precise science. It cannot be guaranteed that the perspective you see is even yours. Fate decides which path we choose. Whether we choose the corridor with cotton candy or go down the one with a piano hanging above on a wire.

How much would this knowledge ease the furrowed brows and tightly hunched up shoulders of the Creature? Would it inspire It to open the door?

If for no reason other than to break the damned ungodly quiet that’s enveloped the place, as if we’re actually in space. [And at this point, it’s hard to argue that we aren’t!] The hellish inception of the deep down Icky that may erupt at any moment.

The Creature is hard to make out in the near dark and floating dust.

File Under: “Electric Madness”

Brother (A Tale Of a Man I’m Not)

Popping pills to find serenity
but pills can’t erase the fact that he’s alone
In a place that’s not his home
A place where his energy is no longer welcome
Trying to feel better, feel good
but he’s not. Feeling far less wonderful than me
or you, frozen in the lonely cold.
Just another sucker working in
the specter factory wondering, “Oh
what will I do
?”, before grabbing another bottle.

So blind, so blind is he to his righteous
anger that wakes him each day. A fury
that Hell hath no reason to combat nor
will try. Yet rum & an eighth dull
what can not be contained, what will
only be kept at bay for a terminable time.
But seconds, minutes & hours mean nothing
when his head in the clouds.

Oh, I hope someone will help him before he loses control
You may think, as you continue down your own lonely cold road with a peacoat.