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Tag Archives: Existentialism

Ninteen Summers

               The clearing is beautiful and the perfect place for a camping trip. Alcohol and a lack of self control pave the way inside the fractured mind and isolation seems the safest course as it always does. The sky is clear and the stars are the second brightest ever seen, the moon is crescent and seems a sliver of a thing just barely peeking out. There’s a slight breeze flowing and the world is perfect except for one thing. A half soul is not much of a price and even the devil would need to be hard pressed to take the deal. Something seems to be missing from the moment and the grave calls just a little louder than yesterday, promising peace yet only ever promoting fear.

              

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Posted by on February 21, 2016 in Paradise Drift

 

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Drifting

I find myself far from home, floating through the vastness of space on a derelict spacecraft. I would fix it if only I knew what the problem was, if I only knew anything at all. I see so many stars but they are all just spots of light in the vast darkness that surrounds me and I’m afraid that if I don’t find out what the problem is, that I’ll be lost forever. The bed I sleep on is hard and uncomfortable and often I find myself just pacing the metal floored hallways at what I can only assume is night. Time loses itself in the absence of a life giving sun. There’s someone here with me but she never comes from the shadows and rarely speaks anything other than cryptic one liners that all equal out to the same five words. You are going to die. Her voice is soft and barely above a whisper yet it puts me back on my heels as swiftly as a roaring lion on the hunt. I know what she says is true. Know in my heart that it’s only a matter of time till the oxygen runs out. Know that if I were to be merciful to myself then I would move into the airlock and let infinity have me. I’m so scared of that thought and yet it only gets louder and more insistent. My ship mate must have heard me arguing with myself, for now she’s taken up a new phrase to whisper from the shadows. Do it without fear. It will be better. You are going to die.

Days or weeks or months pass. Like I said before it’s impossible to tell even the days out here. I have already scoured every room of this vessel that has become my home, just trying to find a clock so I can know how long I’ve been drifting. I wish I could remember how exactly I’ve ended up here, but I can’t even recall my last name. Surely I must have been important. Otherwise why would I be here on this spacecraft floating through the empty black? Despite the warnings of my fellow passenger, the oxygen doesn’t seem to run out and why exactly is just as mysterious to me as all the knobs and buttons in the cockpit. The lights however do run out and I find myself spending every waking moment hugging the windows where the light from the stars outside make it so I can almost see. The woman gets even more insistent now, her voice rising from a whisper to a distant scream from some back corner of the ship. YOU ARE GOING TO DIE! Then comes a whisper from right next to me and I feel her breath against my face as she repeats once again the phrase that scares me most. Do it without fear.

I don’t know how this story will end, or even my life for that matter, but I know somehow that it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that I’m lost out here or that I will die out here. It doesn’t matter because I remember the puppy I accidentally jumped on when I was young. I remember it’s final whine as it lay broken before me. I remember running inside for my mother and through tears and gasps got her to follow me outside. I remember the tears that grew in her eye’s and rolled down her face as she realized the painful truth that the poor creature was dead. Only two weeks old and I had killed it. I didn’t understand why it couldn’t be fixed and why it had to be buried. I remember my mom explaining it to me and the end of my innocence. I know now that it doesn’t matter where I breathe, eventually the breath will stop. Be it by accident or simply old age, the woman in the shadows is correct. I am going to die. But this fact is not enough to sway me to the airlock. I refuse to give in. I will fight the infinite black until I am pulled there by force. And though the situation seems rather grim, there’s always hope for a brighter tomorrow. There must always be hope.

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Posted by on November 6, 2015 in Paradise Drift

 

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Writing Fuel

 
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Posted by on May 23, 2015 in Paradise Drift

 

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Insight

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If you don’t know me and you’re reading this or potentially some of my other scribbles, then you may have already guessed at some sort of tragedy that plagues my waking mind. A close friend of mine was stabbed three times less than 15 yards away from me. At first it just appeared that the phantom had simply hit him with a brick, as sadly I had seen that happen before and the spray of blood was very close in resemblance. What really happened was he was stabbed in the throat and then the chest twice, rupturing his lungs and causing him to have blood now rushing out of his neck but also into his lungs. I tried to get there in time to get my hands on the ghost that all too quickly had slipped back into his car and was gone in a matter of seconds. Friends wanted to get in cars and give chase but we were all drunk and I protested against the idea, I walked over to where two of my friends hovered over him, trying desperately to stop the bleeding, without thinking I took my shirt off and handed it to them lamely, as if it would make any fucking difference. He choked on red bubbles and looked straight at me with so much fear and an indescribable panic in his eyes, then the panic was gone, and so was my friend.

I’m not explaining this looking for some form of sympathy or attention, for I am well aware that neither would help at all. I’m just trying to offer a little insight into my poems and stories, for I know many find them complex riddles with no explanation ever clearly given. I’ve had people ask me with genuine concern if I’m suicidal based upon their misinterpretation of my poems, at which I can just explain, yet again, that my problems and worries come from an extreme fear of death, so why would I ever embrace it? I have seen the edge of the fall and have watched the impact, and it has forever changed something in me.

I used to enjoy going to movies and concerts, loved the thrill of potentially meeting someone new who was worth talking to. I would offer up conversations to complete strangers and was enriched in many ways for it. Crowds frighten me now. I get shaky, and when people look at me, which they are often prone to do given my large stature, I instantly feel suspect of the stare and my skin crawls the longer it continues. I no longer crave the company of strangers and in fact even polite conversation with the lady selling me cigarettes, has turned into an unwelcome inconvenience. When I drive I picture the wreck that kills me at least five times before I’m finally safe at my destination. I’ve become so petrified of death that I’ve developed a new fear on top of it, I’m scared that I’ll be so fearful of death that I’ll spend the rest of my life watching the second hand on a clock.

I smoked weed before the incident but rarely. It was more often than not a special occasion sort of thing where it was probably only once or twice a year that I would partake. After the incident I couldn’t sleep, I would just stare at my ceiling for hours but my mind would never shut off. I tried my old failsafe method of writing everything down, but it would just send my thoughts spinning and I would just end up a shaking and blubbering wreck of a man. When sleep would finally decide to take over, it was full of nightmares and I would wake up shaking and drenched in sweat. A close friend of mine was concerned and came over to see how I was. I had been drinking heavily for around a week and was just mentally done. He had some marijuana with him and asked if I would like some, honestly I’m glad I have good friends because I was wishing for a handful of heroin and not marijuana but I said why not, can’t hurt. Part of me was scared because in my youth I had experienced many aweful paranoid highs, where things in my mind that were already buzzing would go into a full blown rampage that would either leave me crying or punching something. My fear was unfounded, for as I took a couple of rips from his makeshift joint, I immediately felt a calming sensation take over me. We started a movie after that and I smiled for the first time since it had happened, and within thirty minutes I was fast asleep. No dreams or nightmares. Just sleep. Since then I smoke a little weed everyday, enough to take away the noise without removing my common sense. It helps me but if I were caught with it I would end up in the same place as the man who murdered my friend, what kind of sense does that fucking even make?

I’ll end this with just one more piece of me splayed across the page.

See I saw the light leave his eyes, hope choked out because of prideful lies and the wicked movements of demons in disguise.

So when you ask me if I’m fine, well immediately two things flash through my mind, the first being a flash of crimson and the image of the crime.

The next thing I see is sand, falling from an hourglass held by Death’s hand, swinging back and forth across every land, claiming every nation and every single man.

Am I fine? No one is.

 
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Posted by on April 30, 2015 in Paradise Drift

 

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Hardened

I’m not sure that the words will ever be enough to express what it meant to me. Not only the smiles and the warmth. Not just the faith that was expressed through open hearts and free flowing emotions. No, it was something more that broke the chains of mortal entanglements, it was the peace. Never before, nor since, has my soul soared so high into the infinite cosmos and danced alongside something as beautiful as that moment.

The hurt exploded from within our weary hearts, and turned outward at the only reflection that exists of that which we truly hate the most, ourselves. So if I were you and you were to step inside of me, the memories would remain as intact and pure as they stay locked within. The world would never grip or grasp the melody that stole the white noise from our ears and pierced straight through our ruined cores, leaving us only stronger and lovlier because of it.

And I love the way you broke the most. It burns of familiarity and pulls me in like a home I never knew I had, leaving my feelings of loneliness shattered and bleeding out upon the floor like a fuckin’ murder scene. Goosebumps followed your fingers as they lightly traced a circle upon the bare flesh that covered your heart and my soul. If I could crack the shell then I would crawl back to you and trade my life for a chance at redemption. Sadly the years have thickened this layer of brick and bone into an almost indestructible thing.

Death will come and I’m only ever consciously aware of this fact. What worth is there left in this blank grey world of dust and ashes? What can I do when the ending was written in crimson ink before I was even aware that I could love something so much? And I’m so sorry, I’m so fuckin sorry, but I can’t grip something that never stays still. And I know that as the sun sets at the end of every day, I know I’ll always love everything that you are, and everything that you’ve done for me. Death will at least have failed to steal me before I knew the joy of falling asleep, fully within a world not composed of a single being, but something much more beautiful than simply that. Goodbye love, and know that all of mine that remained left with you.

 
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Posted by on April 26, 2015 in Paradise Drift, Poems

 

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When you find out Everything Dies

He remembers the coarse feel of the dried grass as it crunched under his bare feet. The field was vast and he could see nothing in the distance except for a vast expanse of pale brown. He remembers nothing of before. He tries to grasp the name that men used to call him but every time he gets close to the thought it flits away like some sort of demonic pixie playing tricks on him. He looks down and sees that he is a thin man wearing a stained plain white tee and faded denim jeans. He continues walking for a time before he finds his voice and screams out to the empty expanse for someone, anyone, to help him. No one responds but that does little to deter his voice as he screams louder and louder, until finally his voice is gone and the only sound that escapes him resembles that of a death rattle. He collapses to the earth and lays down in the rough field, slowly yet most assuredly, sleep finds him and sends him on his way once more.

Water splashes him in the face and snaps him rudely out of sleep and into a sitting position. He hears the screams from the men on the deck around him, muted by the howling winds and crashing waves. A man with the fear of God in his eyes shouts at him to get up and help, otherwise they are all going down to Poseidon’s home and not a one of them will survive. He stands and looks around frantically, for though he knows he stands on a boat he has no clue as to what he can possibly do to help. He looks off to port and see’s a wave that is stretching so high that it blocks out the horizon. He watches as it collapses over him and all he sees is black. He can feel hands clutching his ankles and trying to pull themselves up his legs. He kicks the hands loose and swings at the water just praying that he is headed up rather than down. Just as his lungs have passed the point of burning and are ready to explode his head breaks the surface.

All is calm and the sun is lowering itself behind the western horizon. He finds himself still in a vast expanse of water, he can’t taste salt on his lips so he knows it must be fresh. He can’t begin to comprehend what he is doing here or how he even came to find himself naked and swimming here. He picks east as his direction and swims away from the sun for a time, until his limbs are finally so weary that they begin to feel like water themselves. He looks back behind him and sees that the sun has moved only slightly, even though he felt that he must have been swimming for more than two hours. He kicks his legs up and settles back against the water, letting it slowly rock him while he can regain use of his weary muscles. He feels it as an inkling at first but very soon sleep is pulling him down into it’s depths. He fights because he knows if he rests than surely he will drown but something about the warm sun slung low in the western sky becomes hypnotic and he lets go of consciousness and allows sleep to pull him into yet another great unknown.

 
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Posted by on April 15, 2015 in Paradise Drift

 

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Burning

Give me but a moment,  I beg, to collect these thoughts that much like incessant insects, buzz around my head so quickly that they make me spin. See I stared at a western horizon that was so black that the very hope was choked in my throat before a word could even be uttered up in prayer. I saw the world turn white at the darkest point and watched the world painted in cold. The red hill to the south was finally smothered in white as I fell backward through a warm moment and found a sick betrayal of momentum. I tried to stop the backward spin through the chaotic white hills that orchestrated the spin at the end of all time. The ashes splinter into a fractured sense of seduction, as the addiction turned pale and bled out all over the knights of perdition.

There they go again. Little bastards are constantly running away from me. It’s like a crackhead on a bender with two overworked cops thrown in a blender. See because they saw me, they assumed I was found. The blue stretches on forever, stretched thin over iced oceans and snow blasted desolation. I clutched so hard and still it seemed to slip my hands. I’m so very scared. I’ve seen the monster that lies at the far edge of the night. I was hoping for a dream that was worth fighting for. Hoping on a dream.

I would scream if I only had a voice worth hearing. I would tear the sheet that separates me from what I’ve done and who I’ve been. I would rip the flesh from the former to recreate the latter. I would spit back the pill and remember that the hole can never be fed with chemical satisfaction. I would prevent the constant spin that split the seems and left my childhood buried in black tar heroin. I would flee from the cold pale eyes that haunt the very air I breathe. The dodged bullet wasn’t worth the price paid in blood and life. The trip should have ended and the smile should still have been able to shine. Let them go. Please just let me let them go.

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Posted by on January 4, 2015 in Paradise Drift

 

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