The following is an excerpt from a recently uncovered story I started playing with in my mid 20's.

As a disclaimer I'll have it known that my inspiration at the time came almost solely from Jameson Irish whiskey and a rotating cast of back ally pain pills prescribed for my suffered aching being.



     "You're probably thinking at this moment that you're a murderer, a monster in a world full of pimps and cheap whores, a world that is on its way to self destructing in a giant nuclear explosion with the button pusher some green suited speed freak with a cold sweat swatting at flies that were never there. You're thinking you've extinguished an immortal flame but really you prevented a forest fire, like that king sized talking bear walking upright wearing a rangers hat peddling cheap tricks while preaching about the prevention and death of adolescent mischief. The truth is you're a hero and as such deserve the highest honor in our commander and chiefs armed forces, as it is the president is no longer accepting any correspondence from me because of a mix up of words that i sent his way by carrier pigeon hastily written while under the influence of several mood altering substances mixed with copious amounts of home baked spirits that i concocted in a lab in the desert that i found while on a journey to find and kill my spirit animal, I'd like to point out that any misgivings that you may have about my procurement of these mood altering substances are all for naught, if a prescription is required for any fact checking purposes I'd be more than happy to point you in the direction of my pharmacist, he is very easy to find in his back ally shanty made from sturdy brown paper and ski poles, I'm sure he'd be more than accommodating in explaining his trafficking of these life saving medicines and more than willing to supply you as well (I recommend staying away from the little green and white fuckers he tries to push on you as the high is great until it turns on you and demands the life of your first born child on the day his first tooth falls out.) I'm getting off topic. Today you killed a man, I can't imagine the thought that raced through your head as you smashed into some bat crazy lunatic wearing a blindfold and his best thrift store suit, holding in one hand a high ball full of wild turkey and half melted ice cubes, and in the other a signed manuscript of Richard Milhous Nixon's memoirs titled "If I had the chance to do it all over again..... I'd have gone by the name Dick". This book never reached print and was purchased by an acquaintance of mine in an antique store in Bangladesh from a one eyed chinaman half insane from the opium smoke steadily coursing through his lungs, mouth, and nose. The manuscript eventually came into my possession after a duel to the death involving a stun gun, 16 feet of rubber medical tubing (sterilized for the safety of myself and the others involved) and the poison of a torafugu blow fish native to the waters of Japan. Upon arrival the police will also find a satchel on my person. Said satchel will be chock full  of family portraits that were purchased from various second hand stores with my face savagely scribbled in between the fake smiles and eyes looking slightly to the left. The reason i mention these is because this is where this vicious splatter of blood, bone and meat all started, family, or lack there of. i was born in the Netherlands on a farm over looking the north sea that shares maritime borders with Belgium, Germany, and the United Kingdom to a Dutch agriculturalist with a drinking problem and a wandering eye, my mother a french prostitute that serviced my father while on a stint in the dutch conscription army. The farmers wife saw me as an abomination and I was soon sold for scientific purposes to a young american inventor that holds patents to adhesive for cereal flour and also drunkenly holds claim to inventing the first manure bomb used by Guatemalan freedom fighters in the Mexican revolution. Terrence Reginald Thurston was his name, you'd be hard pressed to find a more nervous tick ridden introvert this side of a padded cell. The adventures of the doctor you will have to save for another time for it is not for the faint of heart or empty of stomach. You'll find that story buried 50 paces magnetic north from the dying oak tree in the back yard of......."

strike anywheres are all but extinct.

jackie knows a secret. its a secret about a place. its a place with great trees. great trees with faces, with names. great trees with perfectly voiced opinions. its like being in a classroom full of nay sayers spitting out balanced theories on the state of gravity and its effects on small round fruit and struggling bee colonies. a wealth of knowledge from an army of thumb suckers hell bent on an endless recess. jackie walks like a ghost. astral and non committal, plotting to burn down the forest. purification by fire, the death and silence of the god damn trees with their god damn voices. fortunes and omens are just a hairs breadth away from rubber bands and rocket ships. angry course faces proficising the weather and the all consuming crash that follows. a fall from grace, the grace being ones and zeros with  a few points and currency signs mixed in. names become numbers and numbers turn to ash, the ash composed of atoms as indistinguishable as the next. worms of the earth fight for our remains and we become energy for the sake of decomposition. jackie is a cycle breaker, she sees a working system of heat, gas and electrons contained inside a perfectly formed environment that once initiated produces a reaction that fulfills the wishes of a chain pulling upright mammal also the work of a complex system of meat, bone, nerves and thousands of years of genetic modification. european aspen, potassium chlorate for oxidation, sulfur for combustion, glass powder to condition and animal glue to hold it all together. rub with red phosphorous and the reaction is a small yellow flame. the flame fed with oxygen and malicious intent brings the end. the end of the god damn forest. those god damn trees.

pocket full of smoke bombs, at least thats the idea

chipped black paint with a cold dead air
perfect drinking weather
the illusion of fun in small cardboard boxes filled to the brim with 1x3 blown out muddy omens
vile
flabby
and irrelevant
a full house of insults thrown around haphazardly with a chuckle or two for good measure
habitual intellectuals arguing the finer points of their favorite communist
all the while i try my best not to pay dumb
set your feet
dig in
you started out strong now its time to finish off this performance
it was going so well
it'd be a shame to falter now
darting eyes with the ability to guess age, weight and status of your fertility
its unraveling slowly
but only to your trained eye
one arm at a time
thats the ticket
thats your way out.

"i am heaven sent"

im in a forest and its chasing me.
i can smell its fetid breath.
hear its labored breathing.
i can feel its hunger.
i willed this creature into existance and now i cant seem to will it to rest.
my muscles are tiring.
i cant stop to rest
stopping is capture.
my surroundings are a reflection of my inner doubt.
this god damned mist will be the death of me.
a light comes on.
a warm presence.
a guiding light willing me to take control.
salvation lies within this light.
within me.
we build these things around ourselves.
we are the master.
face it.
stop it.

stop.

end of the world party

omens

theres a black dog starring at me from outside a rainy window

..... for the second time this week.

if it happens again i'm sure to wind up in hell.

sollicitudo est Monasteriense sub nostrum beds

wake up on the floor.
limbs tucked in,
wrapped around my body for warmth,
protection from a chill that isn't there.
people are shuffling by.
stand up.
stretch out the kinks of a body numb from sleep.
look closer at the mass.
they're happy,
sad,
content.
they're normal.
its like a stream of fish.
they're living life,
shooting the breeze,
carrying on.
the instinct is to join in.
catch up.
take a step.
take another.
the impact is teeth rattling.
forward motion violently halted.
look for the reason.
theres nothing there but a sea of normalcy.
take another step.
this one slow and exploratory.
theres is something there.
pupils dilate and iron appears.
its a bar,
connected to a cage,
my cage.
look around.
i need help.
turn to the people.
they're not like me.
i cant call out,
scream.
they'll know.
they'll know you're not one of them.
they'll know you're not normal.
play it safe act natural.
take stock.
theres a cage.
there are people.
i catch glimpses of another cage in small breaks in between the endless parade.
i stifle a shout.
the normal ones cant know.
carrier pigeon,
message in a bottle,
save our ship.
i must know the sins we have committed to be quarantined like this.
composure.
i must control my breathing.
get rid of the erratic heart beat,
the hollowness in the pit of your stomach,
the feeling that your chest is on the brink of explosion.
i see another cage.
i search more and find another.
there are many.
im not alone,
but i am.
its not working,
my heart beat has reached a crescendo.
they can hear it,
taste it,
smell it,
they can see it on my face.
"help me to be like you"
i shout in my head.
i turn around.
i see another cage.
this ones closer.
its a girl.
she's staring at me.
there is fear in her eyes.
her features tremble.
i silently will her to still her beating heart.
these bastards will have her for breakfast if she doesn't control the chemicals in her brain.
the chemicals that separate us from them.
the chemicals that are causing our own bodies to rebel against us.
i cant take it anymore.
neither can she.
i try to shake the bars.
the fear is diluting from her eyes.
the bars don't budge.
i shake harder.
still no play.
i shake longer.
i scream.
i curse.
a boy stops.
he turns
gives me a curios look from a tilted head.
i stop the commotion.
the mother comes back,
gently grabs the boy by the shoulder and gently reinserts him back into the stream.
it hits me then.
we are the unseen.
we are the lost sheep.
we are the ghosts.