So the cop who lives across the street from me, is outside working on his wifes car. I wanted to go speak with him. I feel like from watching him interract with his wife and 3 dogs, he just seems like a nice guy. His dogs are well behaved, and rarely bark, when they do however I get suspect of the current company of our neighborhood. Little Link starts to bark as well when they do and what can I say… I trust the kids judgement. I ran through the conversation in my head. I would start by saying “Good evening sir. Would you like a hand and some company? I just got off work and am going to be awake for awhile and I sure feel like talking.” He would of course ask immediately out of genuine interest, “Where do you work? And I never caught your name?” “Sorry,” I would lightly reply, “My name is Jake Sellers, this is my dog Link. I work at RMDS in the Rayloc building, right behind Payson Market.” About at this point I began to reexamine the situation from behind the desk of a realist. It is 11:30 at night. That dude is going to think you just smoked a quarter of Angel Dust. His dogs are going to be flipping the fuck out, and why shouldn’t they? Some giant dude with an American Bulldog is walking up to their dad… I would expect nothing less from Plankon. When did I reach the point where friends get murdered and I’m scared to talk to my next door neighbor? I miss my child mind. I miss being innocent. I miss not knowing a lot of shit. I hope death leads us into the mind of a child. Then we will learn to trust again. Then we will learn to love again. I hope death leads me into the mind of a child.
Monthly Archives: July 2013
It never even knew its purpose… cosmic layers of simplistic color, overlap and confuse the weary mind… and it never even knew its purpose… water crashes with thunderous exclamation, cold and liquid it flows through everything… and it never even had a purpose… winter winds of biting cold, ice blossomed love, freezes in the month of march… did it ever even have a goddamn purpose… childhood naivete has choked on the filth, and the dirt is running like blood from the nose we all use to smell… and now we no longer care about its purpose… we burned all the beauty, and spit in the eye of the queen… we stole the kings cup, and pissed on his crown… little flashing lights laced with electric hums… innocence has been murdered, love, enslaved… and it never… it never even knew…
An ill fated experiment from the start, a tale bound in time and betrayal… and dripping in absolute beauty. A miraculous lie, that fell into his lap from the sky… a will to kill and a dream to die. A child, taken in the dead of night, prodded, molested, who could hope to put up a fight? Death drips from every word spoke, they watch, amused, as hands clutch the throat, and I begin to choke. I feel the blood stuck in my face, I swear I can almost taste… God’s grace… vision goes black, I can feel the calmness emanating back, from my attack… in this space between time and crime, where there is no reason and none dare to rhyme… I find myself. I never felt more alive than the night I felt the clutch of death and felt it’s breath, caress my soul… ever since I’ve fought its viscous pull… but who could ever hope in dreams… in a world where everything, is as exactly as it seems? Who can fight a prophecy? This questions beyond me. I’ve tried counting stars, just to try and find, how many goddamned wishes, have been lost to time. A dream cloaked in shadow, and buried in regret. A rhyme lost, and a plague found. He pleads with the shadow… just one more breath. With a glimmer and a gleam, a bejeweled hand finds his wrist. With a slight prod and an insistent pull, he leads me into the shade.
Sleepless from another, nightmare I lay myself to rest for another restless night. Something inside of me refuses to dream. I feel it is afraid of what I am doing…Enter my mind if you dare and see a figure standing in the dark. A pitiful figure of beaten and battered condition. This figure has been going through tests. Certain things need to occur in the mind. For the pinnacle of all great conquests begin within the mind. This figure is unaware of certain things. More aware of more important details. Seeing the writing on the wall he is reminded of his tests. His ability to survive. He grabs the magnifying glass. He begins studying his flesh. For some reason he knew he would find them on his legs. Call it (fate) coincidence. Freak of nature. He finds them there. Embedded in his skin and criss crossing like (stitches) some weird x pattern. Here lay multiple stitches, suddenly yet not too suddenly, embedded into his skin. He looks for the tool. The one thing that might save his sanity and allow him to dig these fucking stitches out. They itch. He cries like a baby unaware of what he is doing. A part of him feels unable. Fuck that. He stands up defiantly. Understanding more than what appears. He stumbles through the fog that surrounds him and finds what he is looking for. A scalpel. The tool to his salvation. His key. He sits down and goes to work, picking and letting it bleed to let the sickness escape and the spirits to evacuate. Digging further in to just cut the stitches out. Allowing them to get pulled out of his skin. Loosening them. One by one like little knots. Needing to be free of it all. The scalpel gleams thick red rubies as he continues his work. He is unaware that this will be his freedom. He is unaware that these here strands that will leave many scars will need to be cut. However he does understand that after his work will be complete, that infernal itching under the skin will stop. Cut back to the real world, understand that was a vision. A human being struggling for sanity. Less people. Less evil. More chores. Lets get this shit moving.
Bathe in painful succulence, as hastened decisions are pulled from the grime… and remain caked in blood and mud. Free thought is blessing and curse baptized in a fathom of betrayal. Dripping still from it’s dunk in these torrid waters, the mind is a terrible thing to loose. Running without care nor restriction, independent as the day it became aware. Following twisted paths and winding corridors, with walls built of bones and blood. Skeletons and demons alike hide within shadows made from hope, just waiting their turn to strike from the darkness and draw away this hopeful curtain. It fears the darkness, yet the mind cannot seem to stop perpetuating it. Shadows in the moonlight the cards read. The mind is a terrible thing to waste, sometimes it’s a god awful thing to use.
I stumbled through the darkness with as much grace as a bull possesses in a China shop. I embraced every fall, and savored with sick delite, every last open wound. I tried to understand the same history that they all seemed to grasp so fully, believe me I beg, I tried. I found whisps of shadows, dancing, in the far reaches of every room. They seemed to shine through the darkness, but were still hidden within it to my eyes. I begged for one to glance up… I just wanted so badly to see eyes. Mine would obscure in every mirror I dared glance in, eyes that hid, eyes not even I could see. Buried under sacred skies and locked within caverns of stone, they seemed to lay. Shadows, merrily dancing away in the moonlight… I stood so far apart from them, then… Clouds burst, followed by hurricane strength winds. Rain shattered the world in blinding liquid light. I began to dare dream again, for the dead don’t dream, and the beautiful chaos that surrounds me… well now my heart beats with the wind. Just as my blood has began to flow with this rain. And my soul… well my soul now flies with the clouds.
The cards speak of ghosts in the moonlight. The fortune is so telling in its vagueness… that it drops me to my knees. What hope has a man, when instinct becomes extinct, due to his own foolish dreams? To dream in a world full of realists, liars and filthy thieves… is just like asking to burn. The harshest truth is that trust is the devil and hatred is God. When exactly the switch flipped, I do not know. I suppose it could be the devil behind the ruse… or just mankinds never-ending capacity to be selfish. We each think we are worth more than the billions of people living on this planet… or the countless that have already died upon it. We do not matter when we are matter, so why care what your eyes tell you? Why give into the supposition that we exist at all? I can tell you a story of a man. Both a hero and a villain. A sinner as well as a saint. A man with endless perfection… when it came to being imperfect. A man, that no one cared to know. Ghosts in the moonlight… cast from my own bones.