The Obscurian

2010-12-23T17:21:00.001-07:00

I'm so sorry, little blog of mine. I'm afraid I have severely neglected you. If it makes you feel better, I haven't posted writing anywhere else since I haven't written anything new in a very long time which actually makes me quite sad. I will try to write more. If not for you but for my own good and for my own sanity and my own nagging creativity.

You Are My Sunshine

2010-05-07T21:10:00.001-06:00

I don't think Blogger has an audio feature, so this is a link to me testing out my new microphone with the first verse of You Are My Sunshine.

Buy a God Damned Book Why Don't You

2010-03-18T10:57:00.003-06:00

It was dreadfully dead in the store. The floors felt no feet, the books remained unbrowsed, and the poor girl at the register nearly died from the lack of stimulation. Sure there were a few mindless tasks for her to do, but she could feel each brain cell die of boredom. She heard each cell scream it's last breath before it's microscopic life was snuffed out. She was sure she saw the hand on the clock go backwards not just once and that time was actually slowing to a halt. Perhaps a crossword or sudoku from the free paper in front of her would keep her alive. There were no guarantees. So if in a few hours you find a corpse in a Janis Joplin shirt strewn behind the counter by the front door, you'll know she didn't make it. What a pity.

Duo Bowie

2010-01-09T21:35:00.001-07:00

A drawing I did for the poster for my book club's February book, "Left Hand of Darkness" by Ursula K. LeGuin. Let's face it, Bowie is an androgynous alien.

2010-01-07T21:23:00.002-07:00

An unfinished preview image of an animation I'm working on for hitRECord.org for Sundance 2010, which is in about 15 days. It's tissue paper and cardboard on top of a lightbox.

Puppet Test

2009-12-28T18:52:00.002-07:00

Testing out my first paper puppet before attempting to construct a nicer one with better materials.

Rough Draft

2009-12-19T21:51:00.002-07:00

I haven't been writing much, but I've been working on this. It's for an instillation at Sundance by hitRECord.org. This is nowhere near final, not final art or photography. It may not even be the whole story. I just threw this together to see if I could do it, if it would work.

Sea Man

2009-09-17T23:24:00.003-06:00

There was a man, long ago, who lived beneath the sea. He didn’t live so much as he simply existed, trudging through the sand and weeds, stroking fish as they swam by. He never slept, but always dreamt of one day touching land, he so much wanted to feel the warmth of the sun on his cheek. He tried and tried to walk the way the waves washed up, but never seemed to make it. He tried crawling up and up, but that didn't work either. One day, if he knew what days were, he grasped the fin of a near by shark. He held on until the shark got near the big waves, he looked through them like a window to another world. Once he got in front of the waves, he let go of the fin and drifted to shore. He stepped up out of the sea and turned his face to the sun, the warmth filled him completely and along with his heart, he melted.

Skull-A-Day

2009-08-04T19:40:00.002-06:00

So, this isn't something I wrote, but something I submitted to Skull-A-Day. Have a gander at my typewriter case... http://skulladay.blogspot.com/2009/08/real-skull-case.html

Knob

2009-06-12T18:41:00.000-06:00

Deveryn had her heart set on Love. The dial was turned and the knob fell off and got lost beneath the fridge. She could never set it to anything else. She tried to use pliers to grasp the tiny rod that the knob had once been glued to to try and turn it to Indifference, but the pliers slipped and nicked the tip of her swelling, pulsing, pounding, love-lust heart. Deveryn did not know that when one sets the heart on Love, a tiny speck of Loneliness is released and the longer the heart goes without receiving Love, the Loneliness grows and grows and grows until it devours the whole of you.

Hipster

2009-06-04T22:52:00.004-06:00

If everyday he woke to find that things had stayed the same, Everest would think to himself, ‘how boring’.

If everyday the people who surrounded him played out their life with pattern, Everest would murmur, “how cliche”.

If one day he stood from bed and realized that he himself was the cliche, Everest would most likely note, ‘how ironic’, then he’d slide into his skinny jeans and lace up his Keds after draping himself in his slightly oversized v-neck shirt, adjust the faux black frame specs, and slink out the door to the coffee shop.

Legs

2009-05-25T19:57:00.003-06:00

This was my first attempt with my camera and iMovie.

Some Meaningless Dribble, Drabble, Ramble Round

2009-04-30T22:20:00.002-06:00

Dandelion smiles all waves

and brackets,

Spoons and hatchets,

dreams of silk and leaves.

Oil soaked soil seeps,

In the dark

A creature creeps

Made of sour pollen.

The Paper Balloon

2009-03-07T12:24:00.003-07:00

There once lived a girl who wished she could fly so she made a balloon out of paper. She tied one end of a string to her wrist and the other to the paper balloon.
She tried her best to make it float, 'there's air in there', she thought. But still the balloon lay on the grass at the end of the string that was tied to her wrist.
She ran and she ran waving the paper balloon behind her like a kite. And still, when she stopped, it fell to the ground and lay on the grass.
The girl took a penny that she found on the ground and dropped it down the wishing well. As the penny fell into the well she closed her eyes tight and made a wish for her paper balloon to take flight.
She opened her eyes and her feet lifted from the grass and she knew her wish had come true. With her hand held high above her head below the paper balloon by the string, she watched the well get smaller.
Through the clouds and with the birds, the girl was finally flying. She soared over mountains and rivers and plains. She travelled across oceans and saw the whole world.
When she finally landed, safe back at home, the girl began to dream of her next great adventure.

Shimmerland

2009-02-18T11:23:00.003-07:00

A start of something. Something perhaps to go with Dream Keeper.

Let me take you to a place of wonder, a land far from your own.
A place where silver flows down rivers and trees can travel time.
A place where the sky is on the ground and in the ground the blue birds fly.

I Kicked Writer's Block's Ass

2009-02-17T17:15:00.003-07:00

I started a story last night. It felt so good to be able to write again. It's a noir set in L.A., I'll give you just a taste...

I watched her leave while I woke on the bathroom tile. They always do that. One of these days I'll find someone who stays. Someone who helps me when I drink too much. Someone whose name I'll remember in the morning. But that morning, I had to do things the way I always had. I climbed into the shower to wash off my sick and I left the towel on the floor to take care of the rest. I buckled my belt and tightened my tie and lit a cigarette for breakfast. I couldn't remember where I left my car, so I walked to my office. The sun felt like weight pressing down on me and there were waves on the pavement ahead. Where the hell was my car?

---skipping a little ahead, past some dialogue, noir case set up. Here's more---

I went out to try and find my car. I played back the last night's events and it was hazy. I decided to start at my usual haunt, The Bronze. The Bronze was a seedy little bar full of has-beens and guys with no teeth. It was the closest place to home and nobody bothered me. I don't think I had ever seen the place in the light of the sun, if I had it was dark by the time I left. It was weird. My car wasn't in the lot so I went to the beach to think. It's a funny feeling, the burning sand beneath the soles of your shoes. I stood there watching the waves and the tide, my sleeves rolled up over my elbows, my jacket slung over my shoulder. That was the only view that never had a palm tree in it, I'm sick of them. Two things other than tourists love palm trees, roof rats and crows. I loosened my tie, unbuttoned my collar, and sat in the sand. No one seemed to be out there that day, which I was thankful for. I tend to spend a lot of time at that spot on the beach. It's calming. It feels like time doesn't matter, nor does all the other shit that life throws at you. There on the beach I feel free. When I find myself somewhere and I can't get out, I imagine the smell of salt and fish and the sound of the waves and the gulls and I try to imagine the feel of the spray on my face and the hot sand beneath my shoes. I need this place. So as much as I hate Los Angeles, I know I can never leave. Anyone can hate anywhere if you live there long enough. I've never lived anywhere else. And no, I don't know any celebrities. You tell anyone who's not a Californian that you're from L.A., and they ask you who you've met. They also ask you why you're not tan. Assumptions are why I stay here. I don't have to explain myself here, people leave you alone because they already understand. I had to think. Where the hell was my car?

Adaptation's Keeping Me Busy

2009-01-28T11:56:00.003-07:00

I won't have anything new to post on here for a while. I'm currently trying my damndest to adapt a book into a screenplay one index card at a time.

The Stone by the Sea

2009-01-09T20:15:00.002-07:00

Upon a large stone

Sat a woman of old

How long she'd been sitting

Well, that is not known

If hot or if cold

Through the night

And the day

She sat and she stared

Past the beach

And the bay

She stared at the sea

Waiting for, some would say

A long lost love

To return to her side

A promise she'd kept

For many years she has wept

And now she is waiting

Until death will come

Not with malice or fear

But with sad compassion

To reunite the old woman

With the one she holds dear

And take her away

To a place with no sea

Where her lover will stay

And they both can be free.

See

2008-10-02T09:24:00.002-06:00

Summer crawls 'til Winter snows
And all will come undone
People crash while no one knows
That none of us have won

All wear masks to hide the pain
And truth is buried deep
Twisted tongues will lie again
For pride they wish to keep

Vile words spat without thought
Cut deep into the bone
See the mess that Man has wrought
Blind to what we're shown

She Slipped

2008-09-27T15:15:00.001-06:00

And as she drew her last breath, she stared up to the sky with wonder. She saw the clouds huddling closer together, the blue was beginning to hide, the clouds darkened and it rained. She could taste the first few drops as she closed her eyes and died.

He couldn't hold on, lost his grip. Whose idea was this?

They went up the one hundred and twenty flights of stairs to sit on the roof. They crawled if they had to, took small breaks to rest. He thought this would be a romantic spot to propose. The view, my God, the view. She wanted to see it from the edge. He told her no. It was slippery and still she insisted on looking over. My God, the view.

Stay

2008-09-04T12:28:00.003-06:00

Slip away from sinking thoughts
Of dark black holes and stay,
Stay above and wonder not
Of what your mind portrays.

Take My Hand

2008-09-03T10:50:00.004-06:00

When hope feels fleeting and sorrow's near,
When far from happy is where you stand,
When deeper down you sink in fear,
Then stretch your arm and take my hand.

Why I Write

2008-08-23T17:04:00.002-06:00

How with time we all will die
And how life seems to pass us by
How memory we hope won't fail
And every day we write our tale

To leave a legacy of ourselves
To add to books upon the shelves
As photos fade and faces gray
Our words, our phrases will hold sway

Dream Keeper

2008-08-22T10:39:00.000-06:00

Come now, oh thou keeper of dreams,
A wish for a dream of fancy.
A golden ship that shimmers and gleams,
That flies through clouds of old.
Adventuring pirates will be my crew,
Upon my ship of gold,
And fight we might against the few,
Who dare to sail beside me.
Ready the cannons! Shout out I will,
On whichever side they be,
And fire when ready will be my call,
To sail toward victory!

Please hear me now, thou keeper of dreams,
I ask you for this one,
This golden ship that shimmers and gleams,
I want my slumber fun!

And I shall grant your wish tonight,
Now lay down your head.
Close your eyes and shut them tight,
I lay you now to bed.

Be ready now, your dream awaits,
Remember to be bold,
For pirates can be nasty mates,
Upon your ship of gold.

Countdown to Apocalypse

2008-08-21T15:47:00.001-06:00

Tonight is the night the whole world ends.

Sing it loud to set you free
The Anthem of hope and clarity
Display it proud for the world to see
The words of truth for you and me

Tonight is the night the whole world ends.

Out not with a whisper but with a bang
We shall not whimper but we shall sing
We all look forward to eternal dream
We shall gather in the streets and scream

Tonight is the night the whole world ends.

Large and low hangs the moon
We all know the end is soon
Blood-red ocean, beach whale-strewn
Apocalypse illness none immune

Tonight is the night the whole world ends.

Flight

2008-08-20T11:50:00.000-06:00

So loudly sounding the song of the wren
Feathers flutter through wind so restless
And hollow bones float easily weightless
Lovely flight inspiring dreams of men

Ever held to gravity, man has been
To touch the stars, a wish I now confess
Forever doomed to dream, and write, and guess,
And never soar the skies, feet planted in

How is it that the heart is free to fly?
And minds can travel anywhere in time?
But the body can only pantomime
To lift my heavy feet from where they lie.
Since the dawn of man he has wished to soar,
But rooted down he shall stay evermore.

Taxi

2008-08-19T17:24:00.002-06:00

This was a writing exercise for me. I took a line from "The Crack Up", which is the notebooks of F. Scott Fitzgerald and used it as the first line. I'm not sure it's finished... I think I want to turn it into a forty days and nights flood thing. Anyway, here it is.

A taxi tipping over on a nervous night
Skidding tires on slick street rain
Crunch of metal and swirls of light
Overturning once, twice, and again

Heaven showers still rain falls
Dripping drops tell up from down
People huddled ‘gainst the walls
One by one begin to drown

Beach

2008-08-07T15:57:00.002-06:00

I had this one on the Chupacabra Can't be Stopped blog a few months ago, but I wanted to put it here. Some of the older stuff on Chupacabra is probably starting to collect some sort of electronical internet dust from not being read.

The hissing sound of the spray of the sea against the rocks is strangely soothing, the warm salty stench of fish wafting through my window is too. I hate this place. If it weren't for the sounds and the smells, I would have left years ago. At least I think I would have. Now I can't leave this place. I feel some kind of tether keeping me tied down, anchored. The sea sways back, forth, back, forth, back, forth, the rhythm is hypnotic. The swelling tide does not swell enough to make this terrible house disappear into the water. I wish it would. I hate this place. The floor is never clean of sand, I gave up sweeping it years ago, it was pointless. Now the floor looks like the beach outside. The salt has dried out the wood and it is drafty at night. Why can't the sea take this place away from me? I have always loved the sea, I suppose that must have been why I moved into this terrible place. I can't remember now. My memory is shot, I lost it too, years ago. So many years ago. I haven't seen anyone come to this beach in so long, I wonder if anyone is left. After the sky flashed bright all those years ago, I have seen no one. Not even me.

Morbid Truth

2008-08-04T10:59:00.001-06:00

Hang me from a hook through ribs,
Leave me here to die.
Click the camera, ink the nibs,
Rather art than rot for I.

City of Strays part Three (not done yet...)

2008-07-28T09:22:00.002-06:00

“You want your usual, hon?”

Jean nodded while giving a friendly sort of smile. If there was only one person Jean could truly trust in the Strays, it was Dot.

Five-forty-five and Jean started toward Gravel Pier, two miles east. She tossed her leg over the seat, thrust her foot down the kick-start and the bike sputtered alive. Roaring and raring to go, she situated a pair of silver framed goggles on her face and curled the throttle back, speeding forward, she rode. The sun began to set over the crumbling old city just outside of the Strays. Rebar and beams were skeletal silhouettes against the orange pink sky with a few reflective panes of glass clinging to the bits of concrete and brick still attached to the once grand skyscrapers. Gullville used to be a great city booming with suits and stocks and bonds and ties, polished shoes and gallons of hair gel, a yuppie paradise built for trade. People moved like clockwork in straight lines like drones, work, lunch, home, work, lunch, home, day in, day out, no weekends, non-stop. You could almost hear the ticking of their synchronized wrist watches echoing from the shiny buildings.

Jean looked like a ruby speeding through the smokey bleak city, the side of her hair that wasn’t pinned up waved behind her. She reached the edge of the Strays and found the road she had always used to be nothing but rubble in the desert sand. Fucking Rats, she thought. She had to hope her junk-yard bike would make it across rough terrain, the tread on her tires was nearly non-existent and the sand spray not caught by the fenders would certainly leave some sort of rash on her legs and arms. This better be a damn good assignment. She rolled onto the sand slowly, it was hot, she could smell the rubber begin to melt and knew she would have to go as fast as the bike would go. She backed up onto the remaining road, revved the engine, and bolted forward. The sand swirled around her like a hurricane, she kept her mouth shut tight and her face down. Weaving around chunks of road and rubble, she rode toward Gullville with determination. After what felt like an hour, she felt the front tire bump up and onto pavement. Jean took a moment to brush some sand from her hair and face and wipe clean her goggles before she continued on to Gravel Pier.

Six-forty-two. Jean pulled up to a rusty gate chained shut to an even rustier fence that crumbled at the slightest touch. She went to the largest hole and pushed her bike through. She climbed back onto her bike and rode along side the murky littered shore to Gravel Pier.

Jean saw two shadowed figures before her as she approached the pier wearing trench coats and hats they spoke to each other with intensity, she was unnoticed. She popped down the kick-stand, removed her goggles, and dismounted her bike. Wanting to listen in, Jean stayed back silently. She couldn’t hear anything more than undecipherable whispers, she saw a gun pass between silhouetted hands. Being two minutes to seven, she decided to join them. As she walked up to them, they kept their faces down, shadowed. The figure who passed the gun handed Jean a manila envelope and walked away without a word. She turned to the other figure, a face lifted enough for the setting sun to light the eyes.

“Hello Jean.”

“Cliff.”

“Are you gonna open it or what?”

“You know I won’t until I get home.”

“Aren’t you curious?”

“You seem to be.”

“You know, this light makes you glow.”

“Is that right.”

“You really are beautiful, Jean.”

“So they say.”

Jean left Cliff beneath Gravel Pier and walked unturning to her bike knowing Cliff’s wanting eyes were solely on her. She zipped the envelope into a pouch on the rear fender, fit her goggles on, kicked up the stand and down the start and rode toward the hole in the fence.

***

Jean locked the door behind her and sat on the couch opposite the fireplace which she lit on the way. She lifted the little prongs holding the envelope shut and raised the flap. She reached inside and pulled out and eight-by-ten photo of her assignment. Her lungs emptied with a shocked sigh and her shoulders dropped. Flipping the photo, she found the explanation as to why. This is what it said:

He has been found to be the Pin of the Rats.

He can not be trusted.

We have enough evidence to prove so.

You have one week.

Though she had a dislike of him, she would have never wished his death. A single tear flowed down her soft cheek as she started contemplating how his life would end.

City of Strays Part Two... more to come later

2008-07-16T11:51:00.000-06:00

She sauntered to the kitchen and poured herself a drink. Moving back to the window in her bedroom, she sat on the floor before it, drink in hand, and let herself get lost.

***

The bright warm orange sun woke her in the morning. Jean had finished the drink and fallen asleep where she sat. She lie awake on the floor soaking in the sun’s embracing rays hoping the new day would be better than the previous, she hoped the night’s meeting would bring a good assignment, and she hoped that Cliff would catch her hints of disinterest. Leaving her glass on the floor, she propped herself up, stumbled to the bathroom and filled the tub. After a lengthy soak, she slipped out of the towel and into a silky blood-red floor-length dress, a slit from toe to hip let flash her long leg a white leather holster attached to the thigh cradling an elaborately decorated six-shooter with a gleaming white mother-of-pearl handle. She climbed into her black heels and pinned up one side of her hair, leaving the other to rest on her shoulder and back. She dripped dangling pearls from her ears and painted her lips scarlet.

It was noon.

Jean locked up and walked to the Tea Tin, a tiny diner a few blocks away from her apartment, it was in a small one-story building that had streams of a rust-colored grime running down its once sky blue exterior walls, the interior looked like a typical roadside/airport diner from some forgotten time that had been left to devour itself. There were tears in the fabric of the booths, gum beneath the tables and bar, the walls of the restroom were layered with thousands of markings from girls with pens, and the teal and once-white checkered floor was ever-sticky with syrup and soda. The place was run by a sweet old lady named Dot who tried her best to do what she could to keep that diner going, and to keep it from going to the Rats, a band of transients who stayed in the Strays to terrorize the town into submission.

City of Strays - Part One

2008-07-01T11:25:00.004-06:00

She took the cigarette like water, sucking down the smoke in gulps. The dim blue glow of the moon lit her face with shadows, her red lips puckering to blow then swirls of smoke danced circles before her. She dropped the butt beneath her pivoting foot and began to walk toward home, her high heels clicked on the concrete. Jean's only solace was her lonely stride home through streets littered with the trash of the world in a city built for strays. Sidestepping past bums was just part of the path and turning a deaf ear to the whistles and calls from dirty old men became routine. Jean was the prettiest thing about that part of town, a diamond in the mud and the mud was drowning.

In the night, there, in the City of Strays things tended to change, buildings would twist and stretch and some would sink into the sand-soft pavement. Jean loved watching this happen, it seemed like she was the only one who noticed anymore, at times she questioned whether anyone else could see it at all. By morning everything would look the way it always had, dull gray buildings covered in filth, but the night, yes, the night was magic.

Jean slid the key into the lock on her front door, she felt the pins move beneath the grooves, a twist and a sigh and she was home. She knelt to retrieve the mail finding only one unmarked envelope. Jean sliced open the envelope with one of her long red nails, she pulled out the folded paper hidden inside to find a single sentence typed.

"Wednesday 7:00 p.m. Gravel Pier"

Jean tossed the note into the fireplace and followed with a match. She went to her bedroom, flipping off her shiny black heels along the way, and began unbuttoning her dress; the neck stretched to just below the chin and the hem to just below the knees, little black buttons swirled their way down the length of the blue satin fabric embroidered with pink cherry blossoms, following lines of black piping. Eventually managing to free herself of the garment, she unclipped her stockings and rolled them down her statuesque legs and placed them in a drawer. She pulled the pins from her auburn hair and let it fall free onto her slender back. And there she stood nearly bare at the floor to ceiling one-way mirror which was her window to the ever changing city, ten stories above the trash and filth and scum of the world in that muddy little part of town. She stood watching the buildings sway and bend and wondered why this was, why the city could change at night and show no signs of its dance by dawn.

Epidemic

2008-06-11T12:58:00.010-06:00

I wrote this in traditional story formatting, but decided to play with it when I pasted it in here. I moved the lines around more like verse.

It all started when someone left the window open...
First came the shivers, which was odd as it was the middle of summer.
100 degrees, and we shivered. That lasted for three weeks.
We bundled up in layers and huddled together under all the blankets we owned.
Then the itching began. It felt as if we were attacked by fleas, but there were no bites.
In fact, I had noticed that there were no bugs or pests of any kind.
We dealt with the itching until it was intolerable.
I went out to get some calamine lotion. They were sold out.
Everyone was scratching, it wasn’t just us. I was both relieved and alarmed.
On one hand, we weren’t alone, on the other, it appeared to be an epidemic.
I got back home and saw the blood. Drops on the floor leading to the bathroom.
I followed the drops and found her.
She was in the tub crying hysterically,
her nails sinking into the skin on her arms and legs.
It seemed to peel away easily.
Through the tears, she managed to scream
“It still itches! It still itches!”
She couldn’t stop herself. I didn’t know what to do, my mind blank from shock.
I called for help but no one came. I shut the door and left her in there.
I feared for myself. I felt awful about it, abandoning her in there to die, but
I had to. I had to think of my own survival.
She stopped screaming after ten hours. She didn’t make any noise at all after that.
I needed to look.
My hand trembled as I reached for the knob. What would I find?
I grabbed it and turned. I gave a slight push and nearly collapsed.
Bones and goo slowly flowing down the drain.
She had dissolved.
Would this happen to me? When? Oh God, I’m going to dissolve, oh Jesus!
What am I going to do? My mind was filled entirely with questions and terror.
I noticed that the itching had stopped. Am I getting better? What does this mean?
I couldn’t be certain. I played it safe and shut the bathroom, quarantine.
I didn’t go outside. It wasn’t safe out there.
I remembered the window. That damn window.
I shut it and wondered who had opened it in the first place. I hoped it wasn’t me.
I hoped it wasn’t my fault that she was gone.
Purple lines began to appear on my fingertips.
They slowly crawled onto my hand and up my arms. They looked like veins.
They spread onto my chest and down my back. They reached my legs and chin.
The lines kept moving down to my toes and onto my face.
They closed in and sank into my eyes.
I was blind.
Did this happen to her before she dissolved?
I didn’t see her after I shut her in, and her skin was falling off.
Could this have happened to her? Oh God, I can’t see! How long will this last?
I sat where I stood, too scared to walk.
I slowly crawled around, feeling for my phone.
My fingers knew where the numbers were.
Familiarity, slightly calming.
I pressed 911. It was disconnected. What had happened?
Was this everywhere?
I imagined piles of bones in chairs at the call center
with puddles of human goo on the floor.
I couldn’t see outside so I opened the window that started all of this.
There was no noise. No cars, no voices, nothing.
I imagined, like the call center, cars stopped with piles of bones in the seats
and puddles of goo at the pedals. I shut the window once again.
My legs went numb, they wouldn't move.
I pulled myself with my arms, dragging my useless legs behind me to the corner,
curled up,
and waited to die.

She Dreams

2008-05-12T23:04:00.003-06:00

An italian sonnet. Completely fictional, by the way. She is not Me.

Toes sink into the sandy dreams of night,

Dreams that look like amber glaze of summer,

Dreams of passing storms, of rain and thunder,

Dreams that linger in the dark until light.

Dark too these dreams may be, terror and fright,

Silent screams of dreams that horrify her,

Remembering that awful thing under

Her memory's brick wall, hiding from sight.

She wakes unknowing of the sights she's seen,

Tears rolling down her sheet-creased cheeks so red,

Breathing quickly, startled, sitting wide-eyed,

Leaving her to question what these dreams mean.

She searches to find the scars that once bled.

Dreams aren't dreams, but memories we hide.

My first sonnet which is as of yet untitled

2008-05-10T18:34:00.003-06:00

Flames of love within my bones attempt to shine and glow,
Beneath the bones, the beat, beat, beat of a heart so tender.
Flames burn through and seep into the beating heart below,
A cage of ribs keeping flames encased, I wonder of the splendor.

How brightly they shine, what colors do the flames render?
What of the marrow, within the bones do the flames take hold?
Do they course through veins, does it matter what gender?
Who is it that ignited these burning flames, for who should be so bold
To reach inside and light a fire that now is uncontrolled?
It has spread beyond the heart, spread beyond the bones,
Spread into every cell of me, every freckle, every fold.
It keeps me warm, safe now from the cold, never will these flames be outgrown.

I wonder if light does shine dimly through the pores
To be seen by thee who lit these flames, wonder I will evermore.

Hello

2008-04-03T09:06:00.004-06:00

Gone were the days of warmth and happiness, all that is now is darkness and solitude. Except for Them. Them emerge when they need to feed and are savage. Beasts that once were human, now evolved into monsters. Them dwell underground in caverns dug for them when the virus first began to take hold. The scientists never figured out where the virus came from or why it spread so rapidly. They tried to find a cure using blood from those of us who seemed to have a natural immunity. It didn't work. While in their labs, a vile containing the beastly virus was dropped and it was set loose. It ravaged the bodies of the scientists and they became Them. More and more people succumbed to the virus, and those of us who didn't soon realized that we were being hunted. I watched helplessly as those around me, my family, my child, either became one of Them or became a meal for one of Them. For twenty-seven years I thought I was the last survivor alive, until two weeks ago.

I heard a radio transmission. I have one of those camping radios that wind up and don't need batteries. Once a day, for the last twenty-seven years, I wind the little plastic handle and hope. Usually it's nothing but static, I grew to expect it and it had become routine. Then there was this, "Hello?". It was faint, I wasn't sure I had actually heard it. Then again, "Hello?". I began to cry, I hadn't heard a voice in so long and for so long I thought I was alone in the world. I desperately wished I could answer back. I wanted to let them know that they weren't alone and that I was alive. I wanted to speak to someone other than myself. Did I still remember how to speak aloud? I've been alone so long with no one to talk to, I took to not speaking at all. I tried to say something, anything, just make a sound. "Hello." It was scratchy and soft, but it was there. It didn't bother me that my voice sounded strange and forced, had forgotten what my voice sounded like before. At least it worked. Now all I have to do is figure out how to transmit a message to the person on the radio and try to find them. All this while trying to survive. There's no difference between day and night now. The sun burnt black around the time of the emergence of the virus. For that reason, many people were convinced that it was the Devil's doing, others thought it was God trying to cleanse the Earth. Then there were the proud few who just "knew" it was aliens. It doesn't matter why now, it's done.

It is impossible to predict when Them will come out and feed. One must always be prepared to fight for your life. Be alert and fast, always run. I began growing food on the roof of my high-rise. I'm the only one left inside, so I do with it as I please. I made the bottom three floors completely secure and I now live in my place on the top floor. My garden has flourished unexpectedly. I have fresh fruits and vegetables now, so my days of running at top speed to the store to pick through what hasn't rotted are over. I haven't tried to leave the building in five years, I haven't needed to. Now I must, I need to find a radio station. I need to tell the other person that I exist, that I'm alive. I didn't realize how lonely I actually was until I heard that faint transmission. Then the loneliness of twenty-seven years flowed through me like a freight train, seeping into every cell of me.

Tomorrow I will search the abandoned apartments for weapons. I have to be completely prepared before I try to go outside. I am scared that I won't be able to run fast enough anymore.

Lady Sings the Blues

2008-03-26T18:25:00.005-06:00

This is the beginning of a story I want to continue into a classic sort of noir. Enjoy.

Helena drove hard and fast. As she drove, the rain hit the glass like a million pieces of glitter. And the lamp posts were like the sun, making the rain sparkle and shimmer as she passed under each one. The wiper was swaying with determination, like a metronome, trying its hardest to rid the glass of the rain. But the wiper would lose. Just as the rain streaked the windows, tears streaked Helena's cheeks. Her black mascara dripped like wet paint down her face. She did not wipe it away. Those tears and the leaky mascara were too well deserved to wipe away as if trying to hide the crying. She needed to cry. To cleanse herself of the overwhelming sadness so she could focus on the rage. Helena needed to find him, the one who killed her beloved Johnny. She knew where to start, the Black Rose.

The Black Rose was a speak-easy on 23rd street. A dark, smokey, bluesy joint where the who's-who of the crime underworld went to get liquor. You could walk into that place on any given night and see at least two or three faces from the FBI's most wanted list. These mobsters were the big time, if they were caught, they would go to federal prison for life. Surely one of these men would know who did it. They all loved Helena, the pretty little songbird. She knew that they wouldn't have hired anyone to off him like that. But she also knew that they were all very well connected and someone had to have heard something. It was her only hunch so far, so she had to follow through.

She parked in front of a place called Benji's. A cute little diner that served soda-pop and ice cream for the kids. She went inside and gave a nod to Mike, the man behind the counter serving the sundaes. She walked to a door that led to a hallway with three doors. One of those was the ladies room, one the mens, and the last one was unmarked except for a small painted black rose in the center. Helena went straight to the door with the rose and knocked four times. The door opened a crack, "It's Helena.", then it opened wide enough to let her in. It was dim and smokey. She went down a set of creaky wooden stairs into the basement that was the Black Rose speak-easy.

"You singin' tonight?" the door-man asked as she descended. "Not tonight." she replied without turning around to face him. She went with blinders to a table in the corner, Frisco's table. He was the biggest of the big time. Legend has it that Frisco started off robbing banks solo, after a while, he recruited a wing-man. After that he got a driver, then he switched from bank robbing to embezzlement when he ran out of banks that he hadn't cleaned out. When prohibition hit, he took advantage, like any good criminal should, and began selling booze. He was probably the most connected man in the place.

"Hi there beautiful." Frisco's words came out of his toad-like face like they were being pumped by tiny bellows. "Hello Frisco." He could tell there was something different about her tonight. Her voice was slightly shaky and her eyes pierced right through to the soul. She got straight to the point.

"Johnny's dead. I need to know if you've heard anything, if you know who would have done such a thing?"

"Oh sweet songbird, I would have never done anything to hurt you. I swear to you that it wasn't any of my guys."

"Have you heard anything then?"

"I'm afraid, this time darling, I have not. I would have warned you, told you to get out of town for awhile. Please believe me Helena, whoever did this isn't professional and if you don't get to them first, I'll make sure they get what's coming to them."

All she could say was, "Thanks." She stopped at the bar before leaving and ordered a tokyo tea. When the alcohol touched her lips and soaked into her system, the memories of Johnny flooded her mind.

Helena and Johnny met on the hottest day of summer five years before. Johnny was working at a hot dog stand on the beach. He looked at girls splashing in the water all day. After enough days, it wasn't fun anymore. Until the day he saw Helena. It was her first time to the ocean. She had just moved to Los Angeles to get into pictures. Hollywood fascinated her, she knew it would be huge and she wanted in at the beginning. Fresh out of high school, she bought a bus ticket and headed west. She had arrived only the day before and didn't waste any time going to the beach. Johnny almost felt guilty watching her so much, it almost made him feel dirty, like some sort of perverted stalker. He had his eyes on her for hours until she walked up to his stand. He was so nervous that the first hot dog he tried to serve her he burned, the second, he dropped, then he finally pulled it together and served her the perfect hot dog. She could tell he liked her, she had noticed him looking at her several times that morning. There was some awkward stumbling of words as he told her that she didn't have to pay and he thought he was going to vomit when he asked to take her out to dinner. She was so flattered, she agreed.

She finished her drink and decided to go back to the beach house to look through Johnny's briefcase. When she found him and called the police, they came, asked a few questions then left. A few hours later, a hearse arrived to take away the body. Everything else was still there. She hadn't looked through his things before because she was so upset. Now she needed to find something, anything to give her a direction in which to go.

It was their honeymoon, Johnny rented a little bungalow style house on the beach front. They were there for three days when it happened. Helena wished she had seen something instead of hiding in the back bedroom. They were deeply asleep after a passionate night when the front door slammed open. The cracking of wood in the door frame woke them up. "Stay here." Johnny got up, put on his shorts, and grabbed an empty wine bottle, a make-shift weapon, to go see what was going on. Helena remained naked and scared, in bed with the sheets pulled up to her chin. She heard yelling and the rumble and tumble of fighting. Then she heard it, BANG. Then the distinct sound of loud footsteps running out the door. Her heart nearly stopped. "Johnny!" She ran out to the living room, not bothering to take the time to grab a robe, and she saw him. Flat on his back, arms out, and a giant hole where his right eye used to be. She bawled and pleaded with his lifeless body to come back to her. She held his mangled head in her bare lap, the dark red blood flowing onto her milky white legs. She waited until his body went cold to accept the fact that he was gone. She got up off of the floor and went into the bedroom to get dressed. Then she called the police.

Sucker

2008-03-12T21:12:00.002-06:00

I should have known. Why didn't I see it coming? Mikey is a notorious liar, I know that. I'm just a sucker I guess. He seemed sincere and so sad. He said that he was in trouble and some guys were going to kill him. That much I thought he probably wasn't lying about. Mikey's that kind of guy. He said that he owed them money. Probably also true. He said that all he needed was two thousand dollars, that's all. I was a sucker, I gave it to him. The next week, I saw Mikey in a brand new suit, new leather shoes, and a new tattoo on his neck. I should have known.

Forgot

2008-02-20T19:15:00.004-07:00

Shit. I locked my keys in the car again. Third time this week, you'd think I'd start carrying a spare, or remember my fucking keys when I shut the door. Oh well, I never learn. That's why these shitty things keep happening to me, or I keep causing them, hard to tell these days. Last week I forgot to shut the door to my tiny living place they keep telling me is an apartment. My dog got out and got hit by a car and died. Two days after that, I got evicted from my "apartment" because I forgot to pay the rent a couple of times. Now I've been living in my car and I locked the fucking keys in again. A month ago I lost my job. I worked in a receiving dock unloading trucks. It wasn't a job I liked, but it was something. They fired me because I forgot to show up for a week. Maybe I should stop drinking.

Loss

2008-02-18T15:54:00.002-07:00

Never again will her feet touch the sand. Nor will she lie in the tall grass gazing at the passing clouds. She will never imagine the shapes in the clouds, or feel the rain run down her face. Her hair won't fly in the breeze or tangle in the wind. She will never again taste the sweet thickness of honey straight from the hive, nor will she smell the flowers. She will no longer see, hear, smell, taste, or feel. Her lungs won't move and her heart has stopped, I think mine will too.

A Tale of Trepanation

2008-02-11T23:20:00.000-07:00

The hole in my head is beginning to effect me. For a while, the things held in my brain didn’t notice that there was a way out. Not anymore. Now I can feel my thoughts escaping. They’re leaking, flowing out one by one. Some of my memories have left me too. I don’t know why they don’t want to stay in my brain anymore. Didn’t they like it there? I thought I treated them well. Perhaps my brain was too full. That must be why the headaches began. My brain was at capacity and swelling as I put more information into it. My swelling brain was pushing against my skull and forcing the cerebral fluid to be pushed back into my spine. Then my brain was dry and swelling and rubbing on my skull, and it was excruciating. It felt like a thousand knives and ultra bright lights searing in through my eyes. Doctors only wanted to give me pills. They told me there was nothing wrong with my brain. They took x-rays and when they showed them to me it looked normal but I know that they switched them out. They didn’t understand the pain I was in. Those headaches. I had to take things into my own hands. I bought a brand new power drill with new sharp bits. I sterilized everything. The drill, the bits, the walls and floors, the sink, and the mirror. I put down a sheet of plastic, which I had also sterilized, to catch whatever came out. I didn’t care about the consequences. If it worked, I would finally get relief. If it didn’t and I went too deep, I would die. At that point, death was better than the pain. I took the battery off of the charger and snapped it into the drill. I got into the shower and shaved my head. When I was finished, I grabbed a fresh clean towel and dried myself. I stayed naked. If anything was going to come out of my head, I didn’t want it staining my clothes. I stood in front of the sink and stared into the mirror as I picked up the drill and squeezed the trigger. That glorious high pitched whine of relief. I aimed the bit at the point where the headache was the worst. I took a deep breath, squeezed the trigger more, and began pressing it into my head. It only hurt for a second. As soon as it was through the skin it didn’t hurt at all. The vibration as the drill was eating through my skull was invigorating. I knew I was almost done. Then the resistance gave way and I pulled the drill out. I heard a thud and all went black. When I woke up, the pain was gone. The pain that had tormented me for three years was gone. For that, I’m glad that I went through with it. But now, I’m not so sure. I fear that all of my thoughts and memories will escape and never come back. I can feel them leaving. Now the doctors want to lock me away. They think I’m a danger to myself because of what I did. Maybe they can help trap my thoughts and memories and put them back into my brain. Maybe.

Martin

2008-02-11T16:08:00.000-07:00

My name is Martin Renner and I was born without a soul. I think God ran out of souls the day he made me. I am completely empty inside, a mere shell of a man, walking and talking, pretending to be like everyone else. When, in fact, no one is like me. People always try to tell you to embrace who you are, but I can't. I have to pretend, I have to try my best not to completely embrace my true self, if I did, I would do very bad things. Evil things. Because where my soul should be, there is a vast hollow full of the darkest evil.

My name is Martin Renner and I kill people. It is impossible to completely ignor who you are, there are natural instincts and urges that nag at you and won't leave you alone until they are satisfied. It is like having an itch that gets stronger and stronger until you can't help but to scratch it and when you scratch it, it feels good. My instincts and urges tell me to do very bad things and because of the fact that I have no soul, I feel no remorse for acting on them. I actually get a strange warm, tingly sensation all over my body when I do it. I think it's the closest thing I'll ever feel to happiness. It's thrilling to almost feel something. My heart races and my breathing becomes heavier, I can feel my pupils dialate and I start to sweat. I like it very much.

City of Lights

2008-02-05T22:11:00.000-07:00

In the distance, out of the vast darkness shone the wondrous city of lights. Tiny round yellow and white lights floating together in the shapes of various buildings. It was like magic, each building built of twinkling luminous little lights. I think that no ordinary car, truck, bus, train, or plane could get there because to travel to the magical floating city of lights is to travel to space and the lights are stars. Stars hanging in constellations of buildings so tall they stretch into the heavens. Who lives in the city of lights? It must be a higher form of being that has figured out how to string up lights with gravity and form structures out of nothing but bright energy. They can’t be people as we know them, there is no way that you or I could ever build such a city. I want to build a vehicle to get there, I feel a strange need to go to the city of lights. It is as if it pulls me from the inside. The gravity holding the lights together has tied a string through my ribcage and is reeling me closer and closer every minute of every day. It is all I think about. The city of lights is flooding my thoughts, slowly taking over my mind. I think I must build a train with a massive velocity. There is no other way. I must go.

The Sun and The Moon

2008-02-03T15:17:00.000-07:00

If ever there was a morning,

When the sun forgot to rise,

The moon would stay,

Keep wake away,

And never open eyes.

If ever there was an evening,

When the sun forgot to set,

The moon would cry,

And wonder why,

The sun sometimes forgets.

The Diary of M

2008-02-01T22:18:00.002-07:00

The air is thick with the stench of decay. When all of this started, it was difficult not to gag and vomit. I hardly smell it anymore, but you can feel it. Not only is the air thick with that sticky smell of rot, but there are little particles of dried out skin flaking off of them and floating around. It's gotten so thick that when the sun shines, it's not as bright as it used to be. A cloud of dead skin dust blocks the light. And because of this skin cloud, it's a little colder. The air has also gotten drier. It's like the environment wants them to walk around, it's creating a perfect environment to prevent further decay.

Their numbers are growing, it used to be pretty easy to avoid them, but now the unturned are the minority. They're not so difficult to deal with when there aren't that many of them, they're slow and rigor-mortis has taken over. Get enough of them around you and it can be difficult to find a place to run. You can try and push your way through them, but a set of teeth will come out of nowhere and snag a chunk of your arm before you realize it. I've found that the best way to escape, if they've got you completely surrounded, is to get on the ground and crawl out. It confuses the hell out of 'em, it's almost funny. I've made my house practically impenetrable. Boarded up the windows and unnecessary doors. It's a general rule, while inside my house at least, that you never lean against the walls or boards covering windows or doors, just in case one claws through.

March 28, 2030

Why hasn't Vivi come back yet? She's been gone far too long. She went out to gather supplies, i.e. food, liquor, cigarettes, feminine products, and maybe some ammo. She left three hours ago. The department store, that's been abandoned for a year, is only a block away. She's taking too long. I'm getting a little nervous. I don't know what I would do if she was turned. Vivi's all I have, she's my everything, my reason to survive this plague. What am I going to do?

Falling

2008-01-30T13:07:00.000-07:00

The wind was warm. It enveloped her like a hug and she closed her eyes. The sound of the wind filled her ears like sweet music, she could hear nothing else. It tangled her hair and brushed her face. At this moment, she was finally happy. She opened her eyes for only a moment. She could see fingers pointing up in horror and hands covering gaping mouths. She shut her eyes again. It's been said that it's not the falling, it's the jumping. But not for her. The jumping was the hard part, and now the falling is serene. She knew the ride was almost over. She had the most beautiful, peaceful smile on her face. Then

Night

2008-01-29T21:54:00.000-07:00

What does one do

When a heart fails

To love

When there are no

Tears

Blood

No pumping

All stone

It rots

All dust

I give

Too much

No return

My trust

Lost

All dark

It's cold

Can't sleep

Awake I think

My mind won't

Rest

1 2 3 4

I can't stop

5 6 7 8

Time moves not

Nights are long

Sun is gone

Pain is strong

All is wrong

All alone

Heart of stone

Cannot sleep

I must keep

All my trust

Heart of dust

Cannot cry

When will I

Learn to love