OBLOQUY

Faces Like Echoes

2011-11-18T14:47:00.000-08:00

We would have blushed and bowed

Had we known the curtain fell

That there shall be no encore

The swan had sang at last

'Tis a bitter medicine to swallow

That there are naught but separate ways

Withal I haunt this pensive place

Musing in the seclusion of consequence

Over longhand pages of curious names

Enciphered in dark memory

The familiar features and inflections

Will cohere amidst parable scenes

Like some procession of ludic spirits

That dance and laugh beside me

By way of nights illimitable, delirious, and starlit

Rapt in pageantry, pleasure, and vice

They sing of heroes' labours

Of maidens' hearts and tears

Conquest and concession

Treasures lost and found

All this mere ephemera

In this dream's lonely winter

Whence we go forth by ourselves

Across this lurid expanse

To the gates of that silent asylum

Just beyond the western sky

While these faces like echoes

Ripple and disappear

Before our very eyes

Our disbelieving eyes

Seneschal

2011-06-28T11:27:00.000-07:00

I had lost you in the garden

Amid your peonies and lythrum

These wings could fly no further

For the snake about your waist

In the parlour my voice echoed

Upon the stairs I called your name

I suppose you took no notice

Ere you set the house aflame

Be still you now and listen

As you gape into the mirror

For the crackling in the darkness

At the far end of the hall

Blister Light

2011-06-12T17:45:00.000-07:00

I remember nothing, bobbing like a bloated corpse in the black waters of oblivion. I remember the hitch of the tether, drawing me backward to some godless place lit with vengeful colours. The nascency of despair is precluded by the hint of some noisome odour, a mephitic wisp seeping into the lethean veil of night between myself and something hideous. The lids of my eyes part apprehensively and shut again, I swallow a clot of some pharmaceutic dross that had been lingering in my esophagus. The first inkling of trepidation trickles into mind as familiar fixtures begin to manifest from indistinct masses of hypnopompic obscurity. For a moment I lay motionless in disavowal of sensation and awareness, though I can feel the filmy layer of grime and cosmetic residue smeared across my skin, and I can taste the staleness of the air. I push my face into the bare mattress and curl into a foetal position, my eyes flutter in the dead ugly light admitted through the slits of the venetian blinds.

Listlessly I rise from a welter of bedsheets bemired with a motley of crusty stains and survey the squalid space I'd recognized by now as my bedroom. A bituminous percolation is leaking through the ceiling of the southwestern corner of the room, running down the wall and gathering in a sizable puddle of resinous black shit on the carpet. The floor is littered with the usual evidence of indecency; liquor bottles, razors, prescription vials, switches, ligature, cut straws and little plastic bags. I notice among the sordid assortment a few items who's presence is distinctly more questionable, videlicet; a chisel, a pair of needlenose plyers, and a framing hammer, all three of these objects being bedaubed with an unsettling maroon substance which I surmised to be either hematic or faecal. The chisel even appears to a number of long dark hairs cohering to it's upper edge.

With my face in my hands I remain perched on the bedside for a time as I grapple with the notion of confronting the undoubtedly nefarious consequences of actions I could not remember. Through the space between my thumb and forefinger I spot something glinting conspicuously from out amidst a heap of celluloid reel and shredded pornography. At first I stoop forward, craning my neck and squinting my eyes, and then arise, cautiously, and make my way over to the twinkling object in two slow deliberate steps. I crouch down and sweep aside the clutter, uncovering a tarnished silver ring which ensconced what appeared to be a black opal. I stare at the ring intently, turning it over in my fingers several times as though momentarily captivated by the perturbing inferences that seemed to abide within the dimly reflecting facets of the dark oval stone.

A sudden flash of violence effervesces from the mnemonic gloom of my psyche, a fleeting outline of some enormity for which I am undeniably responsible. Within that infinitesimal instant I recall a nebulous white visage revulsing backward between delicate shoulders, concealed behind a thrashing swathe of disheveled hair, though as quickly as it had surfaced the image wriggles free of my prehension and retreats to some ulterior crevice of my derelict memory.

My abstraction is shattered by a morbid crepitation from somewhere in the room, followed by what sounded like the stifled whimper of an infant. A frisson of dread moves over me, in the resultant convulsion the ring slips from my hand, bouncing off the floor and vanishing into the space beneath my bureau. I look partway askance, pausing briefly as to overcome my reluctance to identify the source of the ghastly sound, before gravely directing my eyes to whatever it was that now stirred anxiously beneath the sweat-plastered duvet piled on the further side of the bed. Without averting my gaze I reach unsteadily outward toward the framing hammer, and feeling my knuckles tighten around it's helve I slowly stand and turn to face what awaited me. I lean over, and taking a corner of the duvet I draw it swiftly back to reveal something I deeply wish I'd left undisturbed.

A macilent humanoid torso with taut jaundiced skin quivered atop the writhing body of a great caterpillar, it's bellied segments bulging in a sickening undulation. It was female, judging by the pendulous dugs that swung from it's emaciated ribcage, an odious hybrid of harridan and larva muttering to itself in the mindless titters and chirps of a lobotomized imbecile. The long spindly limbs of the upper body terminated in clawlike, three-fingered extremities, though pairs of vestigial appendages continued down along the bloated lower portion, the final segment of which bore a putrescent, distended orifice leaking a tepid stream of effluvium. The back of a trembling cadaverous head, sparsely overlaid by wisps of ebbing white hair, rises into view from betwixt the creature's protuberant scapulae, and moaning mawkishly the abhorrent hag-worm turns to present a countenance of immeasurable ugliness.

Amygdaloid black oculi glistened in shriveled narrow slits, leering out above a cavernous oral fissure that bore no teeth, rather a jagged ridge of yellowing bone dripping with vile secretions. From out this monstrous breach issued a foetor like that of rancid grease, the foulness of which scours my senses causing me to stagger back and clasp my hand to my face. I open my mouth as to scream and thereby douse myself with the vomit waiting therein, the framing hammer slips from my hand as I fall backward and slam my head against the bureau. Everything goes black, my awareness recedes to the throbbing pain that grips my skull and the malodour of festering grease churning in my brain. I remain incapacitated for some time, counting fifteen seconds before I can open my eyes, whereupon I was greeted by the horrible face of the hag, which had by now squirmed it's way off the bed and begun to crawl toward me, long thin streams of saliva dangling from it's lolling fetid maw.

The crooked beast pauses, mewing wretchedly, then reaches out in a spasmodic gesture, it's misshapen claw coming to rest upon my crotch. I shriek and kick it in the stomach, sending the creature careening backward several paces and causing a rupture at it's pelvic region from which gushed an eruption of ocher fluid and black-veined viscera. The creature squeals, beset now with terrible vellications that caused it to twist and shudder heinously, threshing about the fleshy vermiform cylinder of it's lower half and so spattering the walls with the copious discharge of the disgusting aperture situated at it's terminus. I bolt desperately to my feet and take a single stride toward the door before tripping over the jactitating abomination. I thrust out my arms to break my fall, my right hand lands inside the monster's gaping mouth, which snaps shut like a leghold trap, pinning my wrist between the serrated ridges that lined it's jaws. Instinctively I wrench my arm away, badly excoriating my right hand before flinging open the bedroom door and diving into the hall. I bang shut the door with a resonant crash.

The corridor is torrid, bathed in a blaze of incandescence which has nigh dispelled all semblance of shadow, it feels as though I'm standing at the entrance of some daemoniac furnace. The sulphurous air buzzes with a strident electrical monotone, and the heat is so permeant as to threaten a spell of deliquium. For a moment I struggle to maintain consciousness, nodding forward and catching hold of the doorcase to prevent myself from collapsing. The mechanical whir invades the syncopic languor beclouding my mind, and I follow it back into visual reality. With my eyes all but closed and my arm raised to my face as to occlude the hellish light, I turn around to peer into the adjoining room and so behold a spectacle of extraordinary morbidity.

Several canular halogen lamps are suspended from the ceiling via thick orange cables, and the whole space is aflare with the glow of these infernal devices. The furniture has been torn to pieces, save for three large chairs placed about a great ebon refectory table which now dominated the room. Upon on each of the chairs abode a most unusual guest, the three of them forming a picture born of the perverse imagination of a demented genius. The first of these, seated to the right, was seemingly anthropoid guessing by the contours of the heavy blood-smeared tarpaulin by which it's entire body was enshrouded. Moreover it's drooping head had been thrust through the bottom of an ornate wire birdcage, which the figure now sported as a sort of peculiar helmet. Across from this mantled anomaly is what appears to be a naked human male, positioned upside-down, with it's trunk concealed beneath the table. The legs protrude rigidly toward the ceiling, frozen as though mid-sprint, this opposed to the respectably sized member with which the body was endowed, hanging listlessly earthward, almost reaching the navel. As freakish as these oddities were, their abberance is eclipsed by the third of the trio, stationed at the rear of the table. Presiding over the whole grisly scene was a giant fish, the size of a man, propped up in the chair and bedecked in the ecclesiastical raiments of a prelate.

The bizarre ternary sits motionless about the table, provisioned as it was for such monsters, as upon it's surface lay indeed a veritable feast of the damned. A repulsive selection of rotting offal, disgorged meat, and mouldering crustaceans lay haphazardly strown across the tabletop, attended by a host of circling flies and swollen maggots. Halfway excarnated skeletal remains provide harbourage to a number of frolicking rats, while hundreds of roaches, chinches, and ticks batten and copulate upon dented iron plates of tripe and pulverized gristle. I recognize from amid the carnage the corpses of my pet cats, one of which has been completely dismembered, the other is relatively intact, it's body embedded with dozens of eating utensils. At the center of this gruesome banquet was a shattered ceramic amphora which had flooded the table with a concoction of blood, phlegm, and bile, all of this sizzling and singeing in the evil glare of the blistering lights.

I stand spellbound, paralyzed with repugnance, gaping fixedly at the grotesque display sprawled out before me, till my attention is diverted by a tumultuous creak emanating from the attic. The ceiling at the further side of the room suddenly sags and then gives way, precipitating a great mass of stinking viscid offal onto the floor with a nauseating splash. Aghast, I lower my eyes slowly downward as I vainly contend with harrowing implications of the reality in which I found myself inexplicably environed. As horrific, abominable, and absurd as my world had so abruptly become, I could not deny that it was equally, inscrutably, familiar. What had happened here? What blasphemous depths of atrocity had been so fervidly dredged but hours before now? At that instant the roiling darkness of my reminiscence is jolted once more by a coruscation of fragmented imagery, the lights, the table, the fish-bishop and the twisting of the she-worm, these scenes flash before me only to vanish upon failing to assimilate into consolidated recollection. The savagery and sacrilege, the horror and mania, I somehow knew all of this, it was capsulized in a single notion, a single word which wavered at the end of my tongue. My heart sinks as the realization occurs, and my vision moves gradually up from the floor to the rear of the room. Spanning the entirety of the wall was a tattered gray curtain, across which was indited one word, scrawled in ash..."PERDITION".

From behind me erupts then a piercing ululation, and I spin about to see my bedroom door buckle violently outward with a percussive thump. I glance toward the staircase, though before I take a step another thunderous knock resounds from the window above the landing, which has been crudely boarded up with three splintering planks. I tarry in the hall as my mind races to no avail, bewildered as to a course of action, when the planks nailed over the window at the landing begin rattling under a continuous battery of raucous banging. The bedroom door then buckles once more under the force of the next assault, the ferocity of which wrenching the lower hinge from the doorcase. Stricken with panic, I rush through the open doorway of the bathroom, slamming it behind me and wedging a conveniently located chair under the doorknob.

The humidity of the bathroom is immediately palpable, everything is covered in a thin film of condensation as though hot water had been left running for a long time. I turn to find the medicine cabinet has been ripped from the wall and hurled into the bathtub, which was filled to capacity with turbid brown water. The traverse rod had been dislodged, the shower curtain being draped over something, or someone, situated on the toilet seat. I glower at the crinkled sheet of sheer plastic for a moment, respiring heavily and pondering what awful surprise it must conceal. Steeling myself to the best of my ability I reach out and draw aside what was to be the cerement of a dead girl, or rather, what was left of her.

The first thought that occurs to me is how pretty this girl must have been, which is strange considering the effort involved in restraining the pressing urge I have to vomit. The body was finely proportioned, with slender limbs and long dark hair, beslimed as it was with the gore of a massive wound that had riven open the back of her skull. She is naked, save for a pair of pink and black argyle socks, and hardly an inch of flesh could be seen that bore not the barbarous evidence of torture, indeed the skin is so thoroughly ensanguined as to disguise the original pallor. The corpse's breasts were utterly ravaged, the nipples having been reduced to blackened extrusions of cauterized tissue. A deep incision extended from the vulva up the stomach, effectively expanding that feminine interstice to include the contents of the cadaver's abdomen, which had cascaded dramatically into the toilet bowl like some incarnadine cataract. Her eyes had been plucked from their sockets, one of them had been placed inside her open mouth, which was bereft of dentition, her teeth littering the linoleum about the base of the toilet. The tongue was likewise extracted, which I only noticed for the fact it was nailed to her left hand, and all of her fingernails have been broken backwards. I also notice that her brain has been scraped from her cranium and thrown into the waste-paper basket next to the sink, along with the traverse rod, which has been bent in half, and the toilet brush.

I look staidly upon the slaughter, contemplating the butcherly nature of the torments which the corpse had come to illustrate so explicitly. Despite the many vicious rigours employed in this girl's destruction, perhaps what troubles me the most is the gnawing suspicion that it is no stranger that sits martyred before me. I gaze into the hollows of her eyes as terrible reveries begin to flicker on the fringes of my consciousness. Leaning inward I gently brush aside the blood-slick tresses of tangled hair plastered to the cadaver's torn chest, uncovering a foreboding symbol carven into the flesh by three wide lacerations, it was the numeral "XI". With this discovery the diaphanous apparitions flitting about the threshold of my memory begin to rapidly inspissate, and I startle backward as an inundation of phantasmagoric iniquity bursts forth to belabour my shaken mind.

Falling to floor, I brace myself against the edge of the bathtub as the revelation unfolds before me as a kaleidoscopic nightmare. My thoughts are aflame with the glow of the hissing lamps, I see the fall of the hammer, the chisel in my hand, the turning of the plyers, agonized faces streaked red with tears. My head vibrates with the clamour of a thousand screaming voices, the timbre of their lamentations testifying to the perpetration of unspeakable crimes. I see myself, naked and profane, speak aloud the secret names of matter and death, and descend into Hell upon the coils of a great serpent. I have betrayed myself and killed my friends, drained my redemption into a daemon-womb and signed away my soul on a certificate of skin. In a single gesture of cardinal sacrilege I have cast down the pillars upon which the world was shored and plunged all of existence into an absym of unbalanced force. I am XI, the architect of his own damnation, and here so shall I languish in the absence of God.

Camarilla

2011-01-15T01:35:00.000-08:00

I am your friend, your ally, your unwavering comrade, I will adopt your preconceptions so long as you sympathize with mine, and adjust my sentiments to ensure your approval in the implicit understanding that you would do the same. We will masquerade as heroes to make first impressions and construct the foundation of our camaraderie from jokes and mutual grievance, wax vitriolic over the things that we hate and talk at length about the fallacies of most people. Thoroughly convinced by the ephemeral endearment we've attained, we shall make allusions to the invincibility of our bond, whereupon we laugh and tell stories till someone falls short of the mark, reel in genuine surprise and blackguard each other as cowards and villains. If only we knew the ending of our forgettable tale had been determined far before our tenuous ties fell to pieces, would we fall to curses and contumely with clenched fists and gnashing teeth? Or perhaps just turn our eyes to the ground and shrink away with a murmur in humbled recognition of common shame.

As unpleasant as it sounds, as ugly as it is, such is our nature and none among us are to be spared it's treacherous influence. In truth the more favourably we regard one another, the stronger the impression that we make, the greater the temptation to cast each other down, to see our friends defamed before the deluge of the aspersions we've waited so long to unleash. The inexistence of selflessness taints our every action, contaminates our every word, we cannot help but resent each kindness ever bestowed upon us, begrudge any and all benevolence we may display or receive. Indeed we cannot betray each other fast enough, so anxiously we await that glorious moment of weakness, our sublime disappointment, the ever so anticipated faltering of someone's character, prompting us to ready the slings and arrows of our hidden animosity in preparation for the consequent failing of our own character as we gleefully calumniate our fallen cohort to anyone who will listen. We make special note of one another's flaws and imperfections as a discreet precaution, the things we revealed in confidence shall become as ammunition upon the inevitable dissolution of our alliance, we will cut our losses and spit poison like vipers, competing to determine which one of us has the most to regret.

There is nothing within human relation that extends beyond the natural advantages conferred of gregarious society, no greater component to exempt us from the classification of clever beasts. We are united by our desire and loneliness, all else within our conduct is but egoistic artifice and the issue of circumstance. As much as we'd like to believe otherwise, as much as we may hope for the contrary and claim the opposite, we are but a faction of conniving advisors, with a mercenary motive behind each compliment, commendation, and kind word.

Concordance, or harmonious commerce between individuals, evinces no authentic bond beyond a fortuitous amalgamation of consonant elements entirely subject to the caprices of contingency. At best we can achieve a propitious, if transitory, mutual exploitation, in all likelihood succeeded by either a scandalous perfidy or a querulous, protracted separation in which the delicate trappings of the defunct institution are first vandalized and eventually dismantled by our ineluctable spitefulness. No love between us is sacrosanct, no allegiance inviolable, and any illusion to that end is itself purely a subtle gambit, half immersed in our unconscious minds, intended to forward our own selfish ends.

Differentiation of congenial calibre can lay only within one's social ingenuity, however inherent or conditioned, the ability to effectively adorn and contour one's own proclivities and affectations to suit those of whom one wishes to favourably impress without undue concession. In this way there are no true friends, merely discriminating scoundrels, sapient knaves with a superior understanding of this silly game we play. Consideration of others is tantamount to circumspection regarding oneself, just as the courtier takes care to ensure the security of his status among the aristocracy, so too does the astute companion take pains to maintain his standing within a given circle. Discretion of this nature in no way denotes a transcendental unifying force between humans anymore than it does between a pursuivant and his court, perhaps even lending indication to the contrary, as a relationship of bare utility exists not beneath the Damoclean Sword of resentment.

Let us then flatter and fawn, posture and pose, spurt forth obsequious encomiums and vindictive criminations with equal insouciance. Let us free our minds from the chimerical bêtise of fidelity, of constancy, dispel at once these bewildering phantoms that we may raise aloft our egotism and build an altar to unshakable deceit upon the rubble of our vanquished delusion. From strangers we make allies, from allies we make enemies, from enemies we make anecdotes with which to endear ourselves to strangers, and these traitorous modes shall serve us ever unswervingly in this world of friends like these, in this world of friends like us.

Aqua Vitae

2010-10-05T23:49:00.001-07:00

Come now inamorata, lay aside this coy veneer

Was it so long since my name you revered?

Can we not now interact with pleasant parlance

In lieu of brooding always on bygone mischance?

Let us then wassail this blithe commemoration

And to that which is past we'll raise now a glass

For we shall outpace the more the spitefulness of yore

With the further you imbibe of that yellowish potation

Drink up little minx, you live only once

Here's to sickness, strictness, sorrow, and death

For life's far from certain, I'm sure you'll concur

We're never to know which will be our last breath

But what's this then? Are you feeling quite yourself?

I dare say your complexion may hint at something else

Perhaps you feel the advent of some bale intimation

As 'twould be in keeping with your laboured ventilation

Is that dearest of hearts somehow pulsing apace?

To thus occasion consternation to the forefront of your mind

Inferring the clandestine, or giving cause to question

The telltale smirk you now see on my face?

Do forgive my pertness should I sidle beside you

To excogitate the desperation of your dysphoric state

As you welter and writhe in dismay and surprise

Grasping to prehend the implications of your fate

I shall dispense with this facade, and speak in due bareness

And reveal my true intentions before you lose awareness

'Twas by my own intrigue that we'll soon bid farewell

Just something to consider as you're carried away to hell

Know that I swim in your cries, in your tears I steep my hair

By your convulsions I encroach upon the point of crisis

Know you are deceived, ensnared, defeated, and undone

That I triumph in your horror and drink of your despair

Onward my angel, for the dreary night awaits

Leave to me this vestige fair to treasure and apprize

For I can feel the incitation of macabre imagination

As the light departs the ashen splendour of your eyes

The Marabou Stork

2010-09-09T02:34:00.000-07:00

Through slums so I stumble, in flight of notions dire

Sorely wearied from the sting of blase night's travails

Winding past the crooked garrets and through the hangman wire

Around the pointed palisades of the white and peeling pales

So appeared a sudden shadow, careening down the aisle

A lank and spanning silhouette of unbelievable detail

And passing a moment or two of bewildered hesitation

A skyward glance would yield a quite peculiar observation

From the burnished argent does the awk form manifest

Some great mother of antiquity, ox-horned and enceinte

Saddled on a wading bird, clasping serpents to her breast

And dangled from the avian's beak a collied cloth restraint

A vile thing, a linen sling, a squirming bulbous nest

Effusing from it's grime-streaked folds conniption, plea, and plaint

A vulgar claxon racket or cacophonic caterwaul

That bespoke the stork's position there above the hovel sprawl

The flying fiend discharges it's parcel, and thus the plague is underway

The bundle plummets and unfurls, it's twisted contents so escape

A host of sprog and guttersnipe descending as a crazed foray!

'Twas quotidian spawn of urban troll or of blethering ape

And all the ghetto shacks and lanes soon teemed with lusus naturae

Coprophagous homunculi with vacant eyes and mouths agape

Then snatched up and swaddled by that asinine society

To be battened and distraited beyond all sane satiety

The stork clacks thrice it's dagger-bill, throwing back it's scabrous head

And from it's bloated gular sack does blare a squawking peal

Then trickling down those spindleshanks a viscid waste was rudely shed

And had I taken five more paces I'd be beshitted head to heel

The mater divinity spurred her mount, and into the vasty gray they sped

And left me there, in black despair, amid the urchin squeal

Where I first puzzled to find these appurtenant words

For philistines, deities, and adjutant birds!

As Lichen on the Epitaph

2010-08-18T23:23:00.001-07:00

As lichen on the epitaph, the streetway cracks sprawl out like skeletal fingers
Winding and indomitable, omnipotent pendulums of the clock's merciful revenge
No bond of obsession, no fetter or shackle shall be spared their sickle edges
These flecks of celadon and sick ivory absolve the marble guise they deign to touch

As each moment passes in camera to another
So that which breathes shall breath it's last, and return beneath the cypress boughs
Where our names find not refuge in the stone
And the letters of our legacies revert to sound in streams of time

Resident gulls and crows embellish their nests with trinkets and mementoes
The wistful gifts of beldams and grandfathers, forgot as they were lain
The petals of wilted bouquets flitter away in circles
Snippets of ribbon stained with dirty water, placid and dreamless on their currents of air

Any laurels have long withered upon the skulls of those that attained them
In this realm, this union of ubiquitous autumn and winter
This bastion of silence and accession ruling from dust in endless patience
It is from this somber earth we arose, infinitesimal sparks capsulized in desire

A diaphanous rain sizzles in the fire of a candle
Drops of molten red wax pool and harden in a porcelain saucer
How fervent is the heart's pulse when the mind dares venture underground
For right now the planet is but lingering sighs and dead sand

Bloodlines and proverbs, numbers and symbols and statuettes
Cradled in ivy and couched in grass the colour of bruises
Close your eyes and commemorate your tale across the lacquered slate
Feel the weight of the stillness beyond the space of this revery

Silence lives here as some orphic recluse
From his countenance issue the implicit recitation of great litanies
In clouds and falling leaves deities permit glimpses of their features
As passions and myths blossom and die in their unveiling

Let the kingdom smolder in this brazen clawed embrace
All dreams shall ever spawn from the altar of our burnt offerings
A phoenix arising in spectacular promise, tenebrose and fated
Amid it's pinions sing sorrows, cruel hopes and elations

Soliloquy vanishes beneath an overcast where words have no retort for their futility
And all the world prostrates itself before a tribunal of beetles and conqueror worms
As rust upon the machine, as the rubble of the edifice

As lichen on the epitaph

Abbadon

2010-07-03T14:42:00.000-07:00

From nothing I am delivered once more to this familiar place. This must be another prison of my puerility, a dormitory settlement set on the outer reaches of an indecorous desert town. The houses have all been vacated, seemingly for quite some time, the windows are mostly smashed, and the paint is peeling away. Yards of yellowing grass dappled with patches of dirt border broken empty streets extending somewhat further than I remembered, eventually terminating as haphazard rubble in the brittle meadow that encircles the community.

The sun does not shine, though everything is brightly illuminated by the soft radiance of the myriad stars constellated in amongst the rifts of the immense amber nebulae which pervade the midnight firmament. Coruscations of fire dance and vanish idly in the upper atmosphere, and random motes of dark ash drift downward around me. The quietness is extraordinary, the only discernible sound being a faint pyric crepitation emanating from somewhere far in the distance. We used to live here, in one of these very houses, though should we search all night, and indeed there is no day, it seems to me that we won't find that abode.

"All of this is ending." you say to me, "In the east, through that mountain range, there lay the epicenter of the world's undoing."

That will be the destination, though for what reason, to what end, I know not, but nonetheless there is nothing for us here. We wander down the street a short ways before cutting across the lawn of a quotidian single-story home which was probably white at some point though by dint of years had sullied into a pale citron. Having entered the back yard we vault a picket fence which divided the property from the rear curtilage of another home.

Twelve or so seesaws, and just as many swing sets, situated haphazardly, created a bizarre obstacle course through the back yard. All of this equipment was marked with rust and other evidence of depreciation, and the prospect as a whole had a decidedly unsettling character to it. The chains of the swing sets clink inertly in the breeze, and on occasion an ominous creak would seemingly emanate from one of the seesaws as we wind and duck our way by them.

The next yard was mostly bare, save for a single crooked rowan situated directly in it's center. The tree was barren, with neither leaf nor pome, however it was draped in a long vine garland of palmate foliage, which was itself browned with senescence. At the base of the tree lay the corpse of a sighthound, the powers of decay having just begun to adumbrate the configuration of it's ribcage.

We continue on through a side gate, and crossing another street we happen upon the rubble of a demolished tract house. We climb over the ruinous heap and enter a tarmacadam courtyard flanked by two rectangular jardinieres rowed with red poppies and predominated by a waterless swimming pool, the bottom of which was littered with hundreds of nameless books. We quit the property and proceeded into the hayfield which bordered the neighbourhood, and you are to say:

"Look there, a great cleft, flooded with darkness, has riven apart the mountain chain. Beyond that gulf we shall find a city which is named Abbadon, which abides below a dragon's maw from which leap vast tongues of flame and molten earth."

And lo, a half-league away yawns an imposing and shrouded gorge, it's viscous gloom, an umbral murk markedly darker than the astral night sky, lilts and slithers over the craggy rocks of the cleft like a heavy mist. The moment I had set eyes upon the great hollow, a noise like the expiration of breath seemed to flow from the cleft itself, and came sweeping across the field to momently envelop us within a portent which is at once baneful and obscure.

We carried on through the dry grass, and as we did the ground around us began to slink with undulating movements, and the ambiance is taken by the spirant sonance of hissing serpents. Indeed, the field has come alive with the pullulating bodies of ecru snakes, each not a pace apart from another, all writhing and twisting and ultimately entwining as to become like new fauna for but an instant before disuniting to recede into the grass. As this happened the air came abuzz with the flight of locusts, zipping hither and thither through the balmy night, and we pause for a moment in the society of these creatures, as though absorbed within the subtleties of their polyphonic sibilance.

Languidly our eyes are lifted from the ground to fix once more upon our objective, and amid the hisses and clicks of the field we go on, eventually reaching the earthwork bank skirting the highway. As we make our way up along the ridge the dark begins to thicken, and the rasping exhalation of the benighted divide is felt once more, and so too now the sharpness of the forbidding wind upon which it is borne.

Having scaled the embankment we cross the highway and descend into the final stretch of arid lea that lay before the portal of the valley, and as we approached that minacious entrance the currents of air which issued therefrom did foment to a scouring bluster, gathering up the drifting ash into fantastic eddies that whirled upward, guiding our vision as if to accent the terror of the tenebrous walls that reigned as twin despots over the awaiting passage.

Upon our ingress the gentle twilight has all but retreated, and with every step the desolate shade of this lonely place deepens, inspissating further with the waxing of the wind into an abnormal blackness that seemed as though smudged like coal upon the jagged surfaces of the rock-strown gorge. Here and there a pale incandescence burns beneath some boulder or sepulchral menhir, or flows saplessly forth from the depths of one of the varied fissures of the ravine, animating the proximate walls and stones with the cavorting movements of sinister shadows. By this cold light we proceed, and before long the world beyond the valley's entrance is obfuscated entirely, the stars have all been extinguished, and the memory of what may have anteceded this place begins to dissolve into component particles of infinitesimal minuteness.

Voices familiar and unknown ride upon the wintry wind, whispering fragmentary inanities as they pass by, and from behind the stones emerge the diaphanous forms of woebegone apparitions, empty-eyed and mouths ajar, the aimless and mechanical remnants things past and things which never were. Many of the specters are mere incoherent shapes, ectoplasmic columns of shifting features, though some have taken cohesive form, and from among the spirits I espy a horseman, a child, and a gibbering crone, and others still of wholly alien aspect.

"Bide not with ghosts." you advise, "They can but lead one astray."

Wading onward through the manifesting host of the specters we come at last upon a pair of elevated caryatids, shaped of pale verde antique and each reaching outward with a single arm to form a gracile arch above the passageway. Inspection of these figures reveals notable dissimilarity between them, as the statue stationed on the right looked not unlike a gorgon or fury (save for it's head which was missing entirely), while it's counterpart on the left bore the mild mien of a vestal. Moving through the archway evokes the peculiar intuition that we are nearing the terminus of our peregrination, and this foretoken is corroborated by what appears as a slender breach in the permeating shadow of the valley some medial distance ahead. Beyond the caryatids the passageway contracts into a narrow corridor about which progressively mouldering effigies are placed oppositely every twenty paces or so. The first few of these sculptures are classic of antiquity, pitted at random with the evidence of the ages, however these are soon replaced by stranger depictions in greater states of dilapidation, and as we near the outlet of the cleft these cease to be depictions at all, rather unguessable simulacra the major part of which lay piled at their bases.

By now the specters have become all but absent, with only a few amorphous shades lingering lonelily along the remainder of the way, and the unique eldritch luminance that effused from out the fissures and cracks begins to ebb away as though retreating from the reappearing heavens. The wind too has relented by the time we've attained the exit of the chasm, and once more the only sound to be heard is the faraway dither of some unknown conflagration.

A terrific landslide lay sprawled out over the entirety of a soaring versant, the summit of which being solely accessible by this precarious route owing to the sheer escarpments by which the ridge is surrounded. The boulders loosed by the landslide were of such giganticness that few of them could be traversed at all, and those that could demanded substantial effort and no small degree of care, lest one fall to be dashed upon the rocks below or vanish completely into one of the numerous gaps between the huge masses of stone. The ascent is slow but unremitting, and within the space of some indefinite span we have attained the median elevation of the mountainside, whereat the dull gray skarn which composed the bulk of the rockfall becomes interspersed with roughly convex projections of basalt and obsidian fraught with cruel whetted edges. The look of these projections is irregular, and indeed they more resemble giant thorns or knives than lithic outcrops, becoming gradually smaller though more distinct in their unique construction as one approaches the mountain's crest. The air is now imbued with the strong scent of tephra and volcanic gasses hissing out from hidden fumaroles, the ash falls like snow all around, and the stripes and strands of the skyborne flares flicker and curl with added esprit as if caught up in some cosmic sarabande.

The ridge is at last surmounted, and the vista thereupon displays a deep circular vale both terrible and great. Sited at it's northeastern edge is a basilican city wrought of shining marble, buttressed and spired and arched, encased by ramparts and battlements, residing indomitably beneath the colossal gaping maw of a dragon's horned head formed of the very mountains that it rivals in it's immensity. Of this beast, it's lower jaw is a basin of liquid fire, and from there spring forth plumes of blazing flame and long-tailed bolides that diminish into nothing along the declension of their parabolae. The upper jaw is stained black with pyroclastic matter, and from betwixt it's fangs streams of thick dark smoke and noxious fume exude upward and fade into the sky. Adjacent to the city is a central lake upon who's halcyon waters the stars reflect in perfect brilliance, and set about it's edge are tall wooden crosses of every conceivable variety, staring stolidly out across the water like melancholy sentinels.

A stonework system of stairways and platforms hewn from the out the mountainside leads downward into the vale. One to three stairways descend from each platform in various directions, and upon every platform is a single word, graven in giant letters.

"Eight of the names comprise a password." I say, surveying the arrangement, "The others are misspelt, the errors in the succession of their symbols speak of the dire consequence of their misapprehension."

Eight long stairways derive from the summit, the third of which we opt to descend, this veers to the southeast and terminates at a platform upon which the word "SHALIS" is engraved. From there we go northeast, and then southeast again, via the next two stairways and across the landings of which they correspond, those being of "OTHO" and "VELLIV", respectively. The stairs themselves were elephantine, as though constructed for creatures of greater stature than man's own, thus traversing them meant one would have to crouch and jump down one step at a time, and having counted fifty steps per set, one can readily imagine the considerable duration our descent required. The next landing, accessed from a stairway leading northeast, bears the name "IDARI" and is situated squarely at the middle point of the versant. Following the pattern formerly established we continue down the next stairway to a platform marked with the word "LECAIL", and from there to another that read "ENYME", and then to yet another displaying the word "SPARUS". At this point we proceed down the last set of stairs, leading directly east to the farmost and last of the platforms, this one carved with the title of "SOVILESS", to which there were eight apparent ways of arrival, and from which a single downward staircase penetrated some distance into the vale.

Our advent here is met with an immersion into near silence, save for the still-faint dither of the dragon's flames. Across the way the great city glitters with some equivocal promise as we near the lakeshore. Beneath an empyrean mantle we stand amid the lonely crosses, staring muted at nothing as the pellucid waters of the shallow lake lave against the carnelian shores.

Canis Major

2010-05-21T15:07:00.000-07:00

Look on, 'tis a splendid exhibition!
An exotic display nature surely belies
Of a most odd and uncanny composition
A cyprian pyretic, fair of shape and guise
Amid a raucous spate of specie and uproar
Who by spittle and jaw the watcher vilifies
Till emerge at last her mesomorphic paramour
Evoking utmost of scandal and of surprise

Bracing and poised in genuflexion
Beset by blur of black and rust
Prone and abject while sanguine injection
Is with force in entrails thrust!
Her vociferations garner the beholder's salivation
Provoked of a melding of elan and disgust
For the reaming rhythm and precise elicitation
Of the august hero's satyrical lust

Flashes of enamel and bestial din
As frenzied ebon nails rake and rend
Rivulets of crimson across harlot skin
And in such elation doth thy vigour send
Thy bitch in shivers and reeling fits
Once more and again as if without end
Reaving the receiver of all mortal wits
With passion a serail would be pressed to expend

What vim, what finesse, what esprit!
A tyrant, auricle erect and dusk of eye
And this visage of meridian muliebrity
Spurring concurrent favour and fie
An antic reversal of the pliant and imperious
The savagery of which enough to imply
The titles of Sothis, Canicula, and Sirius
In the minds of those who did the scene descry

With force the lurid spectacle is brought to end at last
The opalescent seed plashing on the concrete floor
And if the crowd were not elated for sure they'd be aghast
To consider what was left of the inauspicious whore
Foetal and bleeding from a usage so brutal
Crisscrossed with red lines over flesh raw and sore
Evincing the ascendence of Man in refutal
Or so thought the viewers, as they made for the door

The Auric Lure

2010-05-12T16:15:00.000-07:00

I dread we grope in darkness, toward a great abyss
Misguided by the lure pendant from the claws of this
Our obese bedizened lord, blood red of horn and hand
Fettered ever to a golden chair, it's girth too great to stand
One shall find no master at this hopeless vessel's wheel
Upon it's decks carouse and sing a rout of whores and swine
That ponder not the wayward course of the hapless keel
Flying high the soiled flag of seven tens and nine

A philistine myriad of stupendous inutility
Bleating and breeding, braying and fleeting
With wasteyard minds of infectious puerility
Thinking a feast of the rubbish we're eating
In a penthouse parley the rogue and raper
Prelates to gods with faces of paper
A placid expression, an inventive disguise
For the horror and fault their staid mien belies

Our legacy is failure, a slip and swelling oxblood stain
Of miasmic aerosol and burning polyurethane
Motorways like spider veins, choked with ugly creatures
Streetlamps leering to illuminate their imbecilic features
Down below the skyglow's hovering umber
Smothered and spent, fully tainted with fear
The sedated mass will slave and slumber
Amid the caustic fall of the bleeding atmosphere

Shall wee see it all be swallowed beneath the septic waves
These dignities and dynasties ending in some lightless pit
Shall we see the malefactors swept screaming to their graves
Committed at long last to their sea of piss and shit
Come flood, come fire, come new disease
Come judgement that not greed appease
Lay waste our houses, bear our cities to dust
Make worthless all riches, give vent this disgust

And from the distance we may hear a taunting laugh
For the impotence of this our golden calf
As the deceiver revels madly in that which it has wrought
Revealing all ambition as nihil, nothing, nought
And we who saw divinity in the glint of all that glisters
Our covetous hands clutching refuse and shreds
Will know starvation's twinge and the sting of seeping blisters
Every tribulation brought down upon our heads

I wish I could see us there among the stones
Underneath the vicious glare of a vengeful red-black sun
To see the flesh slough off so slowly from our bones
As we pitifully lament all the damning things we've done
So shall end the ignominious Age of Man
That maundering pawn of a nefarious plan
When we have sated at last the fiend we chose to serve
And thereby received just what we deserve

Spider My Dulcinea

2010-04-18T21:29:00.000-07:00

May this blood run as venom, ichor flow as my saliva
And cast your imprecation upon this granite armature
The soporous beast shall writhe within it's durance
Twist it's spiral body up along the livid core

Prurience and palaver, desultory tales, desultory lives
Soft murmurs in the murk resounding from the jaundice walls
Flicker wicked intimations through the motions of her spine
All grist for the altar - precious white places for rust-bitten blades

Stay thy course, oh Cressida, come just beyond the trees
I shall lead you to the avid creature with which your heart abides
Mayhap we make it there, so chance upon it's lair
It's waiting gore-slick teeth, and the violence in it's eyes

I there aspire to anathema - ensanguined and ecstatical
Her tears and lamentation just beneath my fingernails
This monster is anointed in his filth, as he is shriven by his crimes
And were I half myself, I'd kill you all a thousand times

Spider My Dulcinea
Ensnared a rose shall thrive?
May you consider, if it be in your power
The point from whence such thoughts derive?

Black rays retreat across idolatrous debris
Devesting the defeated of it's barbarous hide
Yet the princeling loiters there amid the smoking gallows
Circled by the jeering shadows of his fallen abattoir

Not scorn, nor invidia, not turpitude, or axiom
Now victual the fires of this latent crucible
The flesh is enervated, the spirit cringes in dishonour
The scepter of his profanity laying smashed upon the floor

With vitriol expended, I sink into the wasting gray
Ardour's ashes now unkindled by the honeyed breath of she
I will lacerate my hands upon the slivers of ascendence
Throw myself and my invectives to the corner of the room

I implore that you depend upon this grievous avowal
Lest we idle away another shame-laden day
With you in my presence, and myself in my mind
As never could I tell you, what you'd ever hope to find

Flotsam

2010-04-07T20:56:00.001-07:00

I am sitting in a coffin, adrift in the infinite sea, and such a tremendous distance must I have traveled from dry land that the very notion of it would have taken leave of my memory were it not for the various tokens which have accompanied me, coming and going, for as long as I can remember. A miscellany of objects, all manner of things, come to tide alongside me, undulating gently upon the mainly unbroken surface of the water. Cabinetry and furniture, paintings and bottles and tattered ribands of cloth, haphazard fixtures of the household, to leaves and flowers and branches, and a great many feathers of a common sort.

These things emerge from a ubiquitous sallow fog which surrounds me, and into this fog they will inevitably vanish. It is a curious substance, this fog, so pervasive and so turbid as to obscure the junction of the sky and the waves from a short distance away, merging the two in a single icterus void. I feel as though perhaps I am situated inside some glassy sphere, which is filled halfway with water and comprises the extent of my surroundings of which my vision can effectively penetrate. The sphere would be fixed in a great abyss, hanging motionless in the murk, without genuine size or location, and the flotsam enters from outside, appended to the horizontal plane of the water's surface.

At some point, a minute black blot appears in the distance. As you may imagine, my resulting astonishment has little connexion with this vague shape itself, rather in where it was that it was positioned, to wit, in the distance. Distance, or proximity, as I have explained, have no meaning to me, or at least very little meaning, certainly not enough to stretch across the considerable span which had just now manifested before my eyes. For a moment, the blot remains frozen where it was, however it is not long before I am able to verify that it is indeed approaching.

The shape grows, and indefinite features begin to slowly delineate. A man, or rather some bipedal creature, swathed in a diaphanous black curtain and standing upright in a small wooden boat. As it drew near and I became more aware of it's characteristics, I am somewhat perturbed by what I perceived, most notably it's grossly emaciated body and it's eyes, which were the colour of cobalt and so large as to dominate the greater part of it's face. Two skeletal hands with exceedingly long fingers were extended from the sheer black drape, and the creature held in it's fingertips a broken, antiquated clock. As the figure drifts past it looks to me and it's mouth opens as if to say something, but it utters not a word, instead emitting a prolonged crepitation of an ineffably mantic timbre.

The being drifted away, leaving me alone with my motley of junk, and as it disappeared the sibylline resonance of it's tongueless augury began to wane into the sickly mist. I felt somehow cheated, as the air of solemnity conjured in that moment was as such that I may have dared, if but for a moment, to refute the oppressive totality of the circumstances which I have latterly described.

Alas, the sound has now ebbed out entirely, and with it all ideas and interests which may have ever transcended the lonely globe in which I shall ever drift without cause or course. All that remains is conversancy, the things that I know and I have known and I will ever know, the water, the mist, my coffin, and the flotsam.

Twitch

2010-03-24T21:39:00.000-07:00

Did you see the boy this morning, his mind now awk and fractional
As he quit the fleeting safety of nepenthean haze?
Did you see his gilded precepts, so burnished and bacchanal
Scatter as always like moths in the chariot rays?

It is but resolve and subdual that shall yet remain
To walk the trodden path that leads to his domain
Where they assemble inside that old gray habitation
To excogitate details of his recent degradation

Where are the hard-set tenets of his vicious long-dead guides?
The import of the emblems he'd etched into his skin?
And why again does calumny ride upon mnemonic tides
And beset with pangs his body as daggers from within?

Hail to thee, my ugly apparition
Come into my house, oh dastard atavism
I am ever me, for who am I without you?
And the two of us, well we have work to do

Skeletons cavort along the circuitry of nerves
Stalking the wreckage of conviction with mattocks in hand
The meaning of the doctrines now divided from the words
Endlessly they toil as their axes strip the land

Every sallow morn of vapour and wine
Every sordid vesper of pearl and swine
Effervesce in pieces, in fragmented scenes
Beneath a banner of indignity, as waking evil dreams

Each rarefied criterion to which this one aspires
Casts a shadow of opprobrium over bygone incarnations
With emphasis on shame, the result of his desires
Is his frail frame constricted by these devil vellications

Let pleas for remission spill into vacuity
It is the price of understanding, the cost of acuity
For he knows the grisly visage of his cyclical disgrace
For who of us could mislabel their own death's pallid face?

Hideon - Part Two

2009-11-23T17:01:00.000-08:00

The story shall resume with boy as knight-errant
With attainments manifold and with valor adamant
Yet wherever he'd roam on his black roughshod mule
Led him back home through that oft-trod bascule

Over the course of a score the lord had languished there
While halls grew serpentine and windowpanes blear
The once grand and courtly mansion fell in deeper disrepair
It's disconsolate master now besotted and sere

Sadly seated by the fireside, he stares into a glass
And hearkened to the howling that echoed from below
Drifting into nightmares of an anguish years gone past
To awaken to the malodor which had from there so mutely grown

A crash abruptly thundered from within the lower vaults
Some lithic bastille razed in mammoth assault
Discontent in it's confinement inside the crypt's sunken walls
Relentless did it bore, ever closer did it crawl

That night evinced the dawn of days darker still
The dimming corridors further twisted and coiled
The mephitis increases, the air waxes chill
Sweet became brackish, and fresh became spoiled

Sleep held no succour from these abiding pangs and woes
For the devil held it's court among those noctivagant bowers
With it's Ravens of Death in droves, and murders of carrion crows
To their master's maw they goad the knight, and there he was devoured

One night the whole manse trembled with tremendous uproar
To mark the demolition of a solid dungeon door
And a grievous premonition would pursue that crushing sound
As the cellar door alone did now keep the demon bound

Of all spiritous infusion was the knight now deprived
As his woes began to rouse from their Lethean torpor
The truth was clarion, the time had at last arrived
He would slay the beast that day or he himself would be no more

Redoubted in exigency, he braces for the trial
Appointed now with aegis, with bascinet and brand
He breathes a solemn sigh and walks gravely down the aisle
With his heart thrice-bound in iron and a key clasped in his hand

The threshold comes open with a gust of rancid air
The knight peers about the dark, although he knew just what was there
There was great noise like exhalation, and the lightlessness converged
And the warrior stood unshaken as a flesh-tone thing emerged

The hero makes a fearless charge, though hopelessly outsized
And the master and the monster did commence a great melee
Three times was the beast cut down, and three times did it rise
By then the lord, now maimed and raw, was forced to break away

His body broken down and his courage dissipated
He collapses midway slain upon a rampart castellation
Awaiting the destruction he had long anticipated
Defeated after all by his lifelong imprecation

Slowly down along the parapet the fiend made it's advance
The hero bled and quavered, and he dared not look askance
Imbecilic claxon babble and fetid breath churned in his brain
As he waited for the coup de grace, the end to all his pain

Fear and sadness crystallize, a glow alights the eastern skies
The knight awaits the scythe though yet the deed persists undone
As his enemy had fallen in the trice he closed his eyes
Vanquished then and there by the ascending golden sun

The corpse cracked and then unravelled like an old and empty shell
And in his frayed imagination the voice did resonate again
"Thou hast suffered greatly, and these walls have bastioned hell
But however tragic is your legacy, it is here thou shall remain"

The boy returns to the cloister, the former shrine of his disgrace
He looks again upon the scrawl, as it gently did efface
"It all comes to this, there is no warrant and no warning
Arise now in your ruins, amidst the ingress of the morning"

So as for demon encasement
After anguish and withdrawal
The beast must quit the basement
Should it leave the house at all...

Hideon - Part One

2009-10-13T19:32:00.000-07:00

Through fog it drew near, steadily skulking

A crooked figure, stooped and hulking
Long warping limbs dragging behind
Hydrocephalic with bones misaligned

Lurching through the open entrance
It crawls between the colonnades
On it's breath it's evil sentence
It's awful face a loathly pasquinade

To flinders fly the doors of the castle
And the monster assails the inner estate
It ravens upon each servant and vassal
As the cravenly guardsmen absquatulate

The shrieks there awakened the juvenile lord
Who timidly fetches his little toy sword
And waits alone in the deepening dark of despair
As a sadistic susurrus slowly crept up the stair

At last from the gloom, a twisted shape did arise
The boy takes up his plaything escutcheon and blade
Versus clappering claws and fangs that incise
So limned is the image of an ill-omened cade

Riven and gored, a hero hastens amain
The ghost of his death moving likewise apace
Down through a cellar, the boy baits his bane
Down through a dungeon, he furthers the chase

Then inside a lightless crypt, behind a fallen architrave
The child hears the beast shamble forth into the grave
He then dashes from the tomb, slamming fast the stony door
So his demon would remain there in blackness evermore

The lord lingers in the depths, bloody and bereft
When a bodiless voice then vibrated in his mind
"Come now into the peristyle, I will show you all that's left
Look there upon the old white oak, and tell me what you find"

A cacographic scrawl graven in the ashen bole
"Know here the name of that which did thee wrong"
He frissoned and wept as he scanned the rigmarole
The word and malediction that read only "HIDEON"

Cloacina

2009-08-20T20:56:00.000-07:00

Inside a shallow trance during stringent morning hours
Lay the twilit places whence these letters hail
Hewn of astral mist by latent human powers
And stray reveries arrested within gem-studded veils

Though just below the surface there is only blue and green
And nothing stood untinctured by this aqua and marine
This cobalt and viridian, and cognate shades and hues
From earth and sea and sky, would the despotic dyes effuse

Though on a flying apparatus akin some orichalcum spider
Other people's presence does give pause my solitude
So I contemplate the features of these ancillary riders
And made little sense if any of what I did conclude

"Thou lovely and lithe ethereal prize
What think you of this mordant blue?"
"And dynamo of halcyon
Does so much green not sicken you?"

""Blue and green, green and blue, they are hardly untoward"
The knave abruptly stated with a rough-cut raucous laugh
"And if you must ask such silly questions, I shall not remain aboard"
And so the beau vacated, without his better half

Fearing the vessel would then soon be upended
In the thalassic tumult the clouds now portended
We withdrew from the surge of the of pelagic spume
And cowered like mice in the ship's engine room

While we awaited the whim of the tempest to pass
I sware I espied the fair guise of a girl
Suspended just past the deadlight's dim glass
Heedlessly floating in a vaporous whirl

Did I possibly know this blithe apparition?
Some visage since swallowed by mnemonic divide?
Yet as she calls out our names time and again
I can but ponder what happens to one caught outside

She swims in windowed waterways
Through chambers glass and square
An endless hexahedral maze
And she is not alone in there

A slithering click then an unbodied song
Of organ flue or carillon
A tainted cadence in some cembalo clavier
The source undetermined but undoubtedly near

Still beckoning companions that perhaps were never there
She drifts on ever inward down the crystal corridors
Indifference evanescing to the intimations of despair
To find herself in places that she'd sworn she'd been before

The current now hastened down it's tortuous course
Through the infinite cells of the cubical panes
To terminate at length in a rectangular cistern
The imminent nexus of the labyrinthine lanes

At last she had reached the very end of line
A turbid container choked with planktonic clouds
And thus did encounter what that room did confine
As it shuddered in the distance, beneath it's algal shroud

At the rear of the chamber, with it's face unseen
A drowned abomination of white, blue, and green
Mindlessly gorging upon invertebrate things
Awaiting whatever the watercourse brings

Upon a scream my mind reeled through a vast tesseract
As the whole of the puzzle began to deliquesce
Yet the legion quadrate angles did remain all intact
As a fractal schematic these words can't express

Light laving on fringes of aqueous space
To break the fragile rafters by which it was shored
Thus this singular scene cues the jingling theme

Of the ominous harpsichord

Fire Lake

2009-06-24T14:45:00.000-07:00

I dreamt that I had died
That my body was interred
Where no noise I need abide
And repose remains unstirred

But when came that ghastly crepitation
I knew no hint of desperation
Till in the dark of my coffin, deep underground
A cadaver awoke to an ominous sound

An intense glaring light then invaded the tomb
Dispelling what peace I had found in the gloom
Such a visit I surmised, could not be on my behalf
As a ferocious winged thing alighted on my epitaph

In it's grasp I was then prehended, and we ascended through the sky
I ask of my divine abductor, "Are we not allowed to die?"
Yet we winged on ever upward, to the place such angels dwelled
Where no sane mind would believe, what repugnance I beheld

"Would here you affirm all the horrors of yore?"
"Be this truly a saint and his twelve gleaming doors?"
I entreated my envoy, who would extend no protection
And did laugh like a vulture, to applaud this subjection

The Apostle then smiled, and proclaimed with a hiss
"Woe is thy fellow, thy house the abyss"
By that reproach the sky did crack and then shatter
As the spiriting angel took flight in contempt
And so the heavens descended as crystalline matter
Condemned to the fate from which naught was exempt

Then all around were demons, and souls in human form
Swept up by conflagration, as swallows in a storm
Forever enduring and forever devoured
Ashes to ashes, no ordeal unscoured
This tortured immortal flesh of the shades
Destined to feed the esurient blaze

Among the teeming unrighteous on a scorched basalt shore
I awaited annihilation in nightmarish evermore
A prophet lamented in unquenchable flame
A beast cried out in unspeakable pain
Together we wracked and wrenched, we would riot and writhe
In His furnace of hate which withheld all demise

From the uncounted damned came pathetic oblations
Though flesh, blood, and tears always fail to sate Him
The abominable architect would laugh in derision
While choking on gouts of accusal and blame
And by this vile cascade our torment was provisioned
From His butcherly mouth the inferno sustained

Even Hades himself shared this unending sorrow
And Death as well awaited the advent of tomorrow
Our grand chorus of anguish would ever clamour the dirge
Of the greatest transgression and most odious scourge
For every last heart, from most base to most pious
Existed to burn, our deaths yet denied us

Then all of a sudden came the great end of days
And God dared to cast off all his dazzling rays
We knew not horror, nor awe, nor surprise
And from the smoldering pit, did my last words arise:

"The Lord God in Heaven can be but one in the same
With that impertinent aide thrust below his domain
So indeed there are reasons, why we'd never seen Him
For no light could disguise, nor panegyric erase
His yellowing eyes, nor his fork-bearded face..."

Odyssey

2009-04-22T19:49:00.000-07:00

Hail!
The light upon the splendid summit, and the springtide wonder so illumed!
Look yon, you brothers and sisters, at the earthen frame of the ground, the lucid air, and the igneous heaven.

As we are lowered from the sun, so mildly now.
And together cast our first tears to the trifling breezes over the animal world.
One cannot help but forget, having nothing to remember.

To convene on a mountainside moated in clouds, where naught is found but confusion.
Of the rock, the trees, the radiant sphere and the sky in which it wanders.
Bewildered, we venture downward.

Behold!
Beyond the clouds a florescent world!
All around are trees and grasses, mosses and ferns.

Amidst the flora are creatures horned and furred, feathered and scaled.
As they appear, some among them fall to the earth and lay still.
And from their clay inventions are born, which mate with the earth, and castles rise from the dust.

The rays of the sun grow fervid, and pursue as piercing spears.
Fleeing down to fomenting clouds, to cower in that sleeting shroud.
In here all shadows loom, and towers tremble on their bases.

Beware!
Upward the vapors beckon and howl, casting shining knives upon the land!
And the forest comes ablaze with fire, and emerald is made copper and bronze.

There then comes a terrible torrent, that courses in the hollows of the earth.
This the nascence of reflexion, and mostly we are aghast at what is beheld.
Beyond, a mean eidolon that moues and leers.

Solar lances withdraw to a platinum nimbus.
The rasping wind is now gelid, and it rakes our skin with it's nails.
Look below, harrowed wayfarer, to the drear valley that awaits.

Alas!
Sovereign pillars in ruination!
And all that was is idle snow.

The path we'd taken mounts up to the vaulted heaven.
And the road is a boding precipice.
So threnody soars on a screaming gale.

As each of the senses fade to echoes.
And our blood grows ever still.
The colours all become as one.

Just as it was, inside the sun.

Penitence

2009-01-05T15:29:00.000-08:00

Extolment to the hale penitent
Forever bearing cerise oblations
All praise to the just repentant
And all their sacred mutilations

Ever to plaint the tortured beast
And deafened by the wailing child
At commiseration's acrid feast
The disciples of ruth will sit beguiled

For each sanguinary cup collected
But further wrong to be detected
For the heart that bleeds is thereby bereft
It's piquant essence all vainly squandered
And betwixt will and mind a riven cleft
Let evermore the martyr maunder

If there is anything that is endless
It is not other than injustice
And cruelty and enormity
It is not other than repulsive

What is compassion in aberrance
When pain is thy familiar
When only in death lay redemption
And pain is thy familiar

Frozen, kneeling and obeisant
Before the vicious cataract
Posed and pained but not complacent
In every scorn a pious act

A pogrom of morals
Is all that remains
Of moribund laurels
And unhallowed fanes

And from the fell cathedral bell
The spurn in it's peal, the guilt of it's knell
A tolling echo vaults the years
Chanting paeans of dismay
Glory to shame, glory to fear
Till the true and final day

The rose disease
The grief procured
Your fleur-de-lis
Your cri de coeur

Your fleur-de-lis
Your cri de coeur
Your fleur-de-lis
Your cri de coeur...

Demesne Dolor

2008-12-10T18:14:00.000-08:00

Shall we renounce the day's first light
Having fled taboo elations
And so too senescent night
And forever flee our bacchanal stations

To the sea of the stills
Where the eye keenly browses
A dreary view from the hills
On which rest our houses

All else no further minded
This gaze so fixed and blinded
Upon waves of turning murk
Upon nascent detritus
The odd shapes that irk
And hurt and benight us

Is this our lucent lake
Is this our azure sky
No further will we wake
No farther shall we pry

The new kingdom of ditches
Atop our forfeit libations
All heathens and witches
The true catholic nation

You will lock away the days gone past
Unfold the map of those to come
The binding spells have all been cast
The savage senses safely numbed

Now sing your fortress coronation
While you don that sober gown
And so lament all dream's cremation
And there receive your leaden crown

Scan in vain an endless script
Yet find no ordered word
So far submersed the vernal crypt
And the child that you interred

This asylum they praise in refectory ritual
And in what all is ceded, forgotten, or traded
For insipid liqueurs and ashes thought victual
A mere spirit defeated, downcast and degraded

The colours depart though the heritor stays
The impervious house now a darkening maze
In certainties not sought but sewn
There are but doubts to reap
Assurances as walls of stone
Here shall the faithless go to sleep

Is this our lucent lake
Is this our azure sky
No further will we wake
No farther shall we pry

Public Enemy

2008-11-27T13:36:00.000-08:00

The other night I was unfortunately reacquainted with a face I sincerely wished I'd never have to look upon again, the snarling simian physiognomy of perhaps my least favorite person in the world. This would be none other than the immensely embittered ex-boyfriend of a girl with whom I held a relationship perhaps two or so years ago. For some reason the girl had born a child of this nasty little man, a daughter which was the age of four when I met her. Upon first meeting the child's father years ago (The mother's last boyfriend [Which this man had also hated and pestered] had recently left the province and so the kid's father wanted to capitalize on his absence to conciliate his defunct relationship with her, and was less than impressed when I appeared, thereby dashing whatever minimal chance he had at success) we immediately began a strong mutual dislike for eachother which only worsened as time progressed, and evidently nothing has changed since my departure from Vancouver Island where all of this transpired. In fact, it appears to have worsened, with my tenacious detractor perpetuating rumours that I had sexually abused his daughter while she was in the custody of her mother.

These allegations are nothing new, they first surfaced after I unfortunately ended up having the child seized by the police after I was arrested for public intoxication inside a restaurant where I had (Admittedly very carelessly) taken her to eat. When police went to the child's home to speak with her mother, they found strong evidence of consistent binge drinking and contacted the Ministry of Children and Families, and this served as a springboard for the calumnies then launched against me. Frankly speaking, it was a witch hunt on part of the little girl's father and that of her grandmother, the father seemingly obsessed with my destruction and her busybody half-wit grandparent apparently having nothing better to do. These assertions went positively nowhere, the physical examination came up negative and the police, without any sustainable evidence to substantiate these venomous claims, took no action whatsoever.

But that didn't stop this spiteful bastard, as I found out a few months ago while I was visiting Victoria to see a concert. A brief questioning by strangers outside the nightclub lead to my being shoved and berated by a young blonde gentleman vociferously insisting that I had drawn a knife on him a year ago. I was later informed by a friend that it was apparently his intention to stab me, but he was thwarted when I was escorted back inside the bar by some acquaintances of mine. As is turns out, he was acting on the behalf of his friend, none other than the kid's dad.

I'm not sure if this psychotic individual actually believes I'm guilty of what he says, or if he simply hates me so much he's willing to use his own daughter as a pawn in his hellbent campaign of vengeance against the person who dispossessed him of any chance of reconciling with the child's mother, with which he remained enamored throughout my relationship with her. According to him, his daughter has corroborated his accusations, which is entirely possible, it's not difficult to condition the responses of a child, especially when you're their parent. It would be only too obvious to the kid which response her father wanted from her, and having no idea of the dire significance of affirming it, it's not surprising that she would produce the desired answer. In fact, last we spoke the girl's father himself related that it had apparently come to light that her grandmother had been trying to instill those very ideas in her head when this whole thing had first started, though he adamantly maintained that I was guilty anyway.

So what kind of a person deigns to the level of such destructive slander? Well, to give you an idea of my dealings with this man, over the course of my affair with his ex-girlfriend, he dedicated a truly impressive measure of effort to ensure I was consistently harassed, with a fondness for showing up randomly at the my then-girlfriend's home to hurl obscenities and threats from outside. He was actually arrested briefly at one point while walking home from one such visit, considerably intoxicated and carrying a baseball bat or some similar bludgeoning instrument. Oh, and he also by his own negligence sent his beloved daughter through the windshield of his car months later in a traffic accident.

And what kind of a person believes a person like that? In short, most everybody. People absolutely adore the idea of the child molester, there is nothing that unites them more effectively in that hysterical righteous fury which obscures so efficiently their own moral shortcomings. Sure, you might be an ugly, stupid, petty, violent loser, but you need only point your finger and scream "monster" and you become the glorious champion of a holy crusade against an abomination which adjures to be mercilessly annihilated. Often enough the confirmation of genuine guilt is entirely secondary to the fervor incited by the accusal, and I find it rather frightening that these would-be purveyors of justice typically don't stop to question whether or not their scapegoat is actually the demon they so enjoy believing it is, perhaps they should take a look in the mirror to see who's actually playing the monster, or is brutality justified on accusation alone when it comes to the phantom of pedophilia?

It's worth noting that during our last encounter he also mentioned that during one of his many surprise visits at the girl's house, he overheard me talking about killing him but ultimately staying behind locked doors, and thereby accusing me of cowardice. I'll give him that, I'm not a combative person, I was just a scared kid being persistently tormented by a despicable bully who was sour that the object of his affection had fallen for someone infinitely superior to himself. What's interesting is that his reasoning in wanting to attack me the other night had vacillated from his initially stated allegation of abusing his daughter, which is strange considering that if someone had actually abused your child you would think the severity of that motivation would render those kind of trivial grievances entirely irrelevant in your desire for revenge.

So what does it ultimately all come to? The extremely specious and quite possibly wholly non-existent testimony of a child environed in vindictive hostility toward the accused versus a total lack of evidence, the child's own mother's insistence of the falsity of the accusations, and an extremely probable motivation for the father's formulation of bogus charges. Have I mentioned the police have never so much as contacted me about this? Not a fucking word. If there was ANY possibility of that I was guilty, I would have AT LEAST been routinely questioned.

I'd like the people who so readily subscribe to this dangerous mob mentality to stop and think how easily it could happen to them, in truth all that needs to occur is pissing off a parent willing to use their child as a weapon. Whatever I am, I am not a god-damned child-molester, and being falsely accused of being one is one of the most seriously fucked up things that can happen to someone. Try to imagine what it's like to be painted as the most universally detested of criminals only because you made enemies with somebody so intrinsically vile they would lower themselves to something so atrocious.

So fuck you Joe (I mean Norman), you say I touched your daughter only because I fucked her mom like you never could, and you say I'm a coward but you hide behind a sickening pretense of heroism created by exploiting your own kid. This isn't Sin City and you're no knight in fucking shining armor, so go ahead and shove that righteous fury up your Neanderthal ass you lowlife piece of shit.

The Extraordinary Occurences on the Morning of October 5th - Part Three

2008-10-22T15:47:00.002-07:00

I hesitated to enter the hall, almost as if I feared being assaulted by some horrible creatures I had somehow released into the apartment. "Who's there!?" I shouted, "Identify yourself!", but again my vociferations went unanswered. I surmised that I now dealt directly with what are called demons, of which I knew to respond only to orders which carried strong authority. Steeling myself, I cried something to the effect of "You! Yes you! Begone from this place and do not return!", with an even greater severity than I noticed previously when addressing these apparitions. I saw something move rapidly past me from the direction of the store room into either the bathroom or the kitchen entryway. It appeared like a blackish red blur, though I recall meeting eyes with it's baleful grinning face. It looked distinctly demoniac.

I closed the door, attempting a figurative gesture of sealing out whatever I felt was in the apartment with me. Once inside I again yelled for the phone. Gabriella responded and said she would search for it, but she returned minutes later and said that she didn't know where it was. I was approaching the verge of panic when I spotted a cellular device on my desk. I opened the phone and looked for the contact listing, however finding it was proving difficult. I struggled with the contrivance for a short while before realizing that it didn't belong to me. My next thought was to go through a list of telephone numbers I had written down nearby, but I was thwarted again when I couldn't find the one I was looking for. I did notice however that there were certain numbers dispersed randomly over the page which seemed to be somehow emphasized, which lead me to believe that if I dialed those numbers, beginning from the top of the page and moving downward, the call would reach it's intended destination.

I entered the numbers and was momentarily answered by the automated response of the operator, which seemed to possess a malevolent raspiness not unlike that I had first heard from beyond the bathroom door, and to which I returned a barrage of obscenities. My desperation was now immense. The lyrics from the music were still describing explictly what was happening, though the words had now become a narrative of my torture. I sank to my knees and held my head in my hands, beseeching God to deliver me from the growing turmoil erupting all around me, but there was nothing there. Nevertheless, my groveling continued along with my torment for what seemed to be a very long time until I took notice of the indignance present in my appeals. I realized that the error I made now was directing blame at what was without fault, and so I surrendered too my anger that I may be saved.

My misery was suddenly halted, and after a minute or so I carefully stood up. With slow, deliberate caution I opened the door and crept down the hall into the kitchenette, where I found Gabriella. "I ... want to see Camille", I stuttered. She nodded and went into the living room, returning with a small tortoiseshell cat which she handed to me before I walked back down the hall and disappeared in my room again. I am unsure of what exactly motivated my request, but I think I probably wanted to take advantage of the paranormal circumstances to somehow designate my pet cat as my "familiar", which is an attendant spirit fabled to assist magicians in their mystical endeavors. I sat on the bed cradling the tiny mammal, and for a moment nothing happened. Suddenly, the cat's fur stood on end and she started mewing in a weird way that I've never heard before. She began to struggle frenziedly to break free, indeed she seemed to be aware to some extent of what was happening in the room or within my general proximity. With some difficulty I managed to restrain and finally placate the little beast, and, feeling that we came to some kind of understanding, set her free in the hallway.

And then things began to really get out of hand. The malignant presence around me was unabated, and I now felt basically powerless before it. Whatever song was playing portrayed in terrible vividness the legions of Hell encircling me, complete with the ominous beating of military drums and blaring calls of all manner of cornets and horns. This was greatly substantiated by the light in the room, which is mostly orange and red, and so became the leaping, roaring flames of perdition (If the reader should desire a visual depiction in keeping with what I then beheld, I would refer them to the images of the underworld rendered by Hieronymus Bosch, which should provide a good delineation of the general scene).

Despairing and anguished, my mind raced nonetheless with incredible acuity over and through the details of the present situation. The underlaying premise, I thought, seemed to be whether or not I would be able to overcome my pride or mortal arrogance in order to emerge victorious from the nightmarish deeps I now navigated. While I did this the vocals resonating throughout the room were as a funeral lamentation, a sinister lullaby that beckoned the darkness of destruction into my mind, bedimming my acumen and powers of perception as the dusk devours the evening sun. I battled furiously to remain afloat in the blackness flooding in around me, but it was not enough, and eventually the diligence of mind on which I had relied thus far faltered catastrophically like a train that had come off it's tracks, and I was dragged violently downward into a sea of chaos and diabolical shadows.

There I writhed in the grip of agony, my intellectual modules shattered and swept away in a roiling abysm of vascillating cosmic terror. I equate the experience to being raped repeatedly by gibbering hordes of grotesque, sadistic monsters. The only thing I was capable of was to iterate impassioned invocations to God, which I made again and again as I was made subject to the infinite machinations of Hell. It eventually occured to me, through the midst of my pain and sorrow, that the abandonment of my pride was yet incomplete, and despite the throes of my damnation I removed my bracelets and threw them into the seat of a nearby chair. After that I surrendered my rings, and subsequently the prosthetic eyelashes I was wearing. The items lay in a pile on the chair, yet clemency was still denied me. I got up and took hold of the gauze canopy fastened to my bedroom ceiling (Which I then saw as obnubilating the presence of truth) and tore it down in sections, littering the floor and the surface of the bed in a hail of tacks by which the canopy was formerly suspended. Finally I began tearing away the posters and pages I had adorning my walls, but only managed to snatch a few of them before ultimately losing my balance on part of my penitent fervor and falling to the ground where I thrashed and rolled about in the tacks I had just erstwhile pulled from the ceiling.

My sacrifices seemed unavailing, and though my supplications continued my pain and fear and abasement only intensified. I languished in this profound state of wretchedness, degrading myself further and further in with humiliating admissions to the Divine that I cannot even bring myself to include within this record of events. As I demissed myself in every way I could conceive, my suffering expanded in my mind until it started to obstruct even the faintest limen or stimulus. The objurgations of the song lyrics waned out, my tactile, ocular, and olfactory senses seemed to disappear. My consciousness was removed entirely from the sensate realm and positioned in the center of a sphere of metaphysical pain, in which there was only suffering. In this place I knew but the hope that I would be delivered therefrom, and in that moment, for I was immersed within this state for an immeasurably miniscule duration of time, I believe I experienced what is known as the Second Death, the complete separation from the presence of God. This culminated my tribulations, and upon bearing witness to it my torments were ended, immediately and without traumatic consequence.

I awoke on the floor of my disheveled bedroom, exhausted and awestruck but otherwise fine. I got up and walked across the room to the stereo console and shut off the music, so ending the account of my experiences on the morning of October 5th, 2008.

The Extraordinary Occurences on the Morning of October 5th - Part Two

2008-10-22T15:47:00.001-07:00

The bathroom is lit with green light which seemed to bestow even greater exaltation to the reflection grinning back at me from the mirrored door of the medicine cabinet. I stood there for some time, studying my decisive movements and elocuting to myself as if addressing the entire world. I concluded that my latent though burgeoning interest in mysticism had reacted with the elucidating effect of the drug, and had now been dramatically excavated much to my insidious delight. I carried on this way for awhile when suddenly I began to detect the presence of my certain symbolic entities all around me. There were few at first, but the few quickly became several, and the several became scores. It was not long before I envisioned within a panoramic white sphere surrounding me and spanning all creation a host of spirits both virtuous and wicked, assembled perfectly at various points within the sphere, as if awaiting my every postulation.

I could not refrain from laughing ecstatically, for what wonders had been made possible this day! I kneeled in genuflection before God, and instinctively my hands moved upward toward my neck. I grasped something resting upon my shoulders, something heavy and encumbering, and tore it free of my body and cast it onto the floor. My hands then moved to my torso and took hold of some chainlike restraints by which I was enfettered and wrenched them away, feeling them snap under the strain of my power and clatter to the ground. I then got up and ripped from my wrists a pair of shackles and threw them away. I knew that I was removing onuses and bondages by which I was previously limited, and it felt incredible.

I heard voices emanating from beyond the closed door, it appears my guests had become concerned as to what was transpiring within the bathroom. I heard the doorknob move and I slammed my fist against the door and shouted "Do not enter! I forbid you to come in here!" with a stentorian authority of which was previously unknown to me. The voices became more louder and more serious, and an air of tension began to build within the bathroom. It occurred to me that the disconcerting atmosphere had to have meant that I was being tested to determine whether or not I was worthy of the proficiencies placed recently at my command. I stood undaunted in the face of this growing asperity, and continued to repel all attempts to gain access to the bathroom, barking dictations and making sensible entreatments with equal eloquence.

The adversity which beset me grew increasingly severe as the voices became less familiar, degenerating into a litany of monstrous hostility. I can still remember the fiendish and serpentine tones that hissed out wheedling cajoleries and cacophonic ultimatums like "Let us in! We want to come in! Open the door!" and in a moment of weakness I looked up at the green light on the ceiling (That which is above you) in imploration to guide me from this dark place into the light once more. For a moment the viciousness of the voices subsided, and I could hear Gabriella request in an innocuous tone if she could open the door. I was about to turn the doorknob when I felt again the presence evil around me. I suddenly looked past the lightbulb, which was mounted on ceiling but also positioned in front of me, directly upward and saw the filthiness of the bathroom vent, which I interpreted having been lead into the abyss by my own mortal faults. I was no longer in the presence of God.

I knew what must be done, and I again genuflected, before prostrating myself completely. I relinquished all of my power to God, in the understanding that all power of mortals is illusory. With this forfeiture I felt again some measure of the protection of the Almighty, and without conscious intent I rose up and assumed the pose of crucifixion. For the next however long I was twisted and bent as if by a supernatural force into a number of bizarre and mostly exceedingly uncomfortable positions. I noted that when the awkwardness of a given position would become unbearable, I would make some kind of spiritual recognition and gracefully slip free of it.

I regained control of my body and stood up. I looked into the mirror at the beautiful creature contained therein, and I realized that the medicine cabinet was the tabernacle I had erected in veneration of my own vanity. I knew it had to be destroyed if I were to prevail in my tribulations, but I was apprehensive. I pondered this for a moment before hearing in my head a verse of a song that had a singular relevance to exactly that moment. Ever since I first heard it I always wondered if I would find myself in the circumstances so described, and that was exactly where I was. With the recitation of "When you do ... find it right in front of you ... now ... do fucking take it" I seized the cabinet and ripped it from the wall. The door swung open and inundated the bathroom with a deluge of cosmetics and toiletries, and I threw the cumbersome object halfway into the shower.

I was elated, though my victory was short lived as the commotion had seemingly renewed the curiosity of the people outside of the bathroom. I heard the door come open and I spun around and slammed it shut forcibly, castigating whomever it was on the other side. The voices from outside again grew insistent as the noise from the suite above my own became phrenetic and jarring. I began to feel the chill of fear enter my heart as I excogitated the situation, when was this going to end? And what was at stake? I thought immediately of my friend Paul, whom I knew to have a thorough understanding of the kind of things with which I was dealing. It almost felt like he was there, or at least had experience within these critical spaces, in fact I felt almost as though I was being observed by everyone who had completed (In some fashion) the trial I now faced. "This is happening too fast" I told them, "You cannot expect me to do all of this at once, this is a lifetime of travails thrust onto me in a single day! What the fuck is your fucking problem!?"

A sort of calmness took the room, and, thinking my trials had come to an end, I opened the door and lurched into the hallway. At this point I realize that I was naked, I must have stipped off my clothes when I had cast myself in abjection before God. I looked down the hall into the kitchenette, were Keeko was staring at me perplexedly. I said something to her that I cannot recall, and made my way back into my bedroom. The room was bathed in a fiery incandescence from the varicoloured lights, the music had become dark and somber, and it was not long before my unease returned. I called out into the hall for someone to bring me my cellular phone so I could call Paul, who's counsel I felt I desperately needed, but alas there was no reply, but only a pernicious silence.

The Extraordinary Occurences on the Morning of October 5th - Part One

2008-10-22T15:46:00.001-07:00

The morning of Sunday October 5th began in the same fashion as do most of my Sundays, with a bracing trek back home in vengeful daylight following the dissipated expenditure of yesterday's final hours of darkness. There were five of us, myself, Denyss, Billy, Gabriella, and Keeko. The general consensus was to finish the diversions of the previous night in a more lackadaisical setting, and upon reaching my basement suite we gathered in my bedroom for that purpose. We listened to sedated music and some of us made use of some lesser anodynes I had on hand, and prattled away the next hour or so.

During the walk home I had toyed with the idea of taking a dose of LSD, as I had serendipitously discovered some a few days previous. The idea was illogical, as the vim one effuses in the city lights is typically depleted with the coming of these langorous hours, and lysergic acid diethylamide usually assures an experience which is not undemanding, however the thought held an odd appeal with me for some reason, and shortly after our arrival I resolved to take the drug despite the potential hazards. My friends declined from joining me in my venture, though I hardly expected them to and in all truth each active participant can present their own possibility of danger (To themselves and others) when one is working so intimately with the mechanics of the mind.

Denyss was the first to turn in, who retired to Stephanie's bedroom (As she was visiting her family on Vancouver Island at the time), and then Keeko, who passed out in the living room, and eventually Billy, though I forget where he actually went. That left Gabriella and myself alone when the drug began to take effect. I've always found LSD interesting in that when it's truly effective it eclipses whatever other substances you might have taken completely, and that though it's effects are hardly comparable to that of any kind of stimulant, it's genuinely antihypnotic in a far more compelling way. I reflected on this as the enervated torpor of the glass crash began to ripple out to the melodic phrases of the music and gradually transform into a kind of tranquil quiescence that filled the room as if to separate it from the rest of the universe.

I should say that I've carefully appointed my bedroom with just this sort of occasion in mind, knowing what a key role is played by environment in any situation, but especially those to do with the Dionysian Mysteries. The walls are papered completely with a montage of posters, leaflets, aimless drawings, and the pages of foreign comic books, a miscellany of tokens of the sordid, esoteric, and macabre can be found on most every available surface, and everything is lit in a calico diffusion of various multicoloured lights. I even went so far as to hastily tidy up the the room, snatching little bits of rubbish from the floor and arranging the haphazard items strewn about my desks and the tops of drawers, for you can never be too careful in this line of work.

At some point I felt the characteristic contentedness of the drug had sufficiently sharpened so that the air took on a special lucidity I knew from past experience to herald the splendid disintegration of those tempestuous curtains so necessary for the lives we lead within the veil of what is called sobriety. I watched my gestures grow dreamy and fluid as I quietly sang along to songs of which I could hear then with such magnificent clarity it is as though they were otherwise but stifled whispers. Every nuance of every note flowed out in such immaculate form that the individual subtleties of the songs began to take shape in the air, crashing about the bed as starry liquid waves and rising up in spectacular gyres and whorls that danced in the flexures of the gauze canopy I had suspended from the ceiling before precipitating gracefully downward once more.

While this was happening I couldn't help but whisper a certain name every minute or so, as it was my ardent wish to make this person aware of the miracles beginning to manifest all around me. Suddenly the name was abstracted from my memory, and the individual became an array of symbols, representations of how I regarded them and why, though I was ultimately unable to reach a conclusion on this as my ability to focus was under constant siege by the grandeur made visible by my rapidly expanding percipience. To this day I cannot remember that name.

I soon realized that it was not the music itself which had gained visible structure, rather it was acting as a catalyst within an omnipresent medium of which I had only then become aware, or that I had previously known in a limited capacity. It became apparent that I could, through the emphatic gracility in the motions of my hands, conduct this wondrous quintessence, as the maestro of some divine orchestra, with masterful precision and to truly awesome effect. I lolled about on my bed rendering colour and contour to the beautiful reveries that drifted so serenely through my mind, tracing out Empyrean clouds from behind which penetrated great shafts of platinum light, before moving on to the conjuration of a gleaming marble archway which I draped in winding, flowering ivies. In this fashion I continued for an unknown duration of time, for surely time had no place within the heavenly plane I then dwelt, and all that occured did so without effort or forethought.

There was a gentle pulse to the way in which the ether moved, indeed I could equate it in some way to the tides of the ocean, and though it seemed to be in every material state at the same time, it's predominant appearance was that of water. This was corroborated by the tactility of aery wetness which the substance possessed, by which I was reminded of both semen and it's female equivalent, or perhaps the fluid contained within the womb. The place in which I then resided contained the gentle repose of death as well as the blossoming splendor of everlasting life, and on many occasions I felt the will to live slip blissfully away only to feel myself pass once more from that placid uterine oblivion into the realm of light, and all of this was being described to me in profound intricacy by the lyrics of the songs which played continually all the while.

It is my belief that I had attained the rarefied Beatific Vision, the immediate sight of God in heaven. It remains to be questioned whether I had beheld the Divine or actually gained apotheosis in that moment. However, it would appear the insinuations of the power evident in what I witnessed began to stir terrestrial ambitions within my soul, as I eventually rose to my feet and extended my arm outward causing the miraculous ether I previously described to swirl in streams of rainbow fire around my hands and between my fingers. Never before had I felt such strength, such tremendous efficacy, as I did then, and I could not help but smirk (Likely in a rather sinister fashion) as I contemplated the implications of what I had been imparted.

My friend Gabriella had been silent for much of the experience thus far, and I remember turning to her and saying something, I believe I asked her a question of some kind, but in response she only stammered. I believe that in observing my remarkable behavior she had entered some manner of hypnosis or mesmerization, and this is noteworthy because as I mentioned previously I was the only one who was under the effect of the drug. I know not how long she remained this way, if in fact that was what was happening, as my attention had began to wander inevitably toward what I beheld in the reflections presented by my bedroom's many mirrors.

It was perfect beauty, it was omnipotence, to look upon what I had become was to swoon in reverence. At every angle angels and demons lent me their immortality, and the arrogance and pride for which I am likely known was wholly insignificant by comparison. For once I will resign myself to the inability to describe in words what it is I mean to relate, for the infinitely resplendent image that postured swathed in raptures before me, would demand at least a million of them. It was this ravishing visage that lured me from the bedroom into the bathroom, as to consider it from a more advantageous point of view.

Scorn the Wretched

2008-10-10T12:19:00.000-07:00

Ours is a culture obsessed with beauty yet characterized by ugliness. See how with pudgy, sebaceous fingers the unworthy admass of contemporary civilization grasp and claw frenziedly at a beclouded projection, the despicable image of a collective ideal wholly unaware of itself. Could we with any certitude ascribe our cecity for aesthetic, the supreme achievement of nature, solely to the septic demerits of our purportedly inculpable social contract, that inevitably fallible foundation upon which we've erected cities and conducted our lives? Is it the relentless gears of that sovereign schematic, the imperial legacy of our ancestors, that have so mutilated the minds and hearts of it's own oblivious inheritors? As our incursive presence encroaches ever further across the great Earth, so too does the shadow of anomie inspissate within the human experience, and from this darkness emerges the new face of man, the corpulent, gibbering visage of an animal defiant of it's own sentience, its odious form a symbol of the churning excremental morass into which it's mind has degenerated.

Does our disdain lay rightfully with the failure of our progenitors? Was it their blameworthy negligence that plotted the disastrous course into this nefarious age of alienation, of automation, and of perpetual abeyance? The inimical prescriptions of the past may seem almost consolatory when you consider the alternative. Could it be the glistening copper-tone flesh, callipygously proportioned somatotype, and winsomely ardent while ultimately non-threatening countenance of poolside models writhing on the covers of risque magazines, or the modish yet militantly conventional and unmistakably athletic poster child of modern virility, are naturally representative of the aesthetic paragons of their respective genders?

It cannot be argued that all is preference, for preference is the mandate of nature. The insipid creatures offered up to us as exemplars by the despotic conductors of culture stand insolently in rebellion of that divine imperative, icons of an puerile idea of success that is at once arresting and equivocal, and thus perfectly profitable. The merchantability of beauty is preordained, but like anything else it's inherent virtue is systematically stripped away in the corruptive processes necessary to ensure commercial success in a market characterized by stupidity and wretchedness. Beauty is made a product in an age of mass-production, it's spectrum of appeal must be vast, and so it becomes so greatly unspecific as to lose all meaning.

Exoteric beauty is a priori, and adherence to it's jejune insinuations displays a contemptible ignorance collimating that of the Christian church or it's equipotent theocracies. Is it not the same credulousness and malleability of the vacuous common mind that has trivialized the magnificence of Creation's paramount accomplishment, as it has so grossly misapprehended the signification of it's own holy texts? Whether this execrable volge is the true perpetrator of it's own obscene condition, the victim of mortmain, or merely an unfortunate pawn in the machinations of superordinate oppressors is in the end irrelevant, for reason itself is but an engineer of the will of nature, and that is the superlative ultimatum of selection.

The indelible mechanisms of existence are not confined to the solitary manifestations by which they are generally qualified, they recur infinitely and forever within the kaleidoscopic facets of circumstance. Just as the inferior animal is denied the advantages of evoltionary transcendence, so to is the benighted eye bereft of true grandeur. The unique induement of consciousness has placed upon us the full province of our own experience, and those who would blaspheme with complacency and compromise the preternatural gift imparted to them deserve neither compassion nor respect.

The premier priority of aesthetic discernment is the collective attribute of the distinguished minority possessed of the essential percipience required to behold the implicit purpose of life. In absence of this crucial aptitude man is relegated to the level of a chattering beast, and his lallation has become a magnificent blare, yet he is spared the diluvian judgement of his ancient predecessors. Instead we have become environed in the filth of his fallacy, forced to excogitate the vulgar suggestions of the inadequacy that is presented to us every day. We have created purgatory upon the antipodean pillars of avarice and the cloying sentiments of philanthropy, and this itself presents a corporate diagram of the desolation of the plebeian heart. The lowly are as myriad as they are loathsome, and their rehabilitation is not our responsibility.

Behold the Philistine host with despite, take heed of the barbarism in their physiognomy, and perceive the martial percussion in their slavering drawl.

Your enemy is here.

Chevals

2008-09-29T19:09:00.000-07:00

Prowl the drag, scour the slum
Beast of the field and criminal son
Amused in their envy
Spurring on the chagrin
Ascension’s a game where the brutes play to win

Cheval do you know
The hate you inspire?
It’s fathered an army of hectors and liars
You show them the weapons
The cant and the vestures
Watch as they mimic your extravagant gestures

All this for glamour
In your mercenary mode
What’s more for the prey
As her defenses erode

For what whore can lament
The brigand’s comraderie
While spitted on sabers of bestial sodomy
To that equinal force
Which drives each demand
A score is no more than holes to expand

Is it the cuckolded princelings
Of despots long dead
That inaugurates blackamoor wolves in their stead?
Abducting affaires
From deposed fingertips
That no longer menace when divested of whips

So give vent your ardour
Your abhorrence, your uprise
You do it so much harder
Having shed the servant’s guise
Find them, fuck them, forget them all
Oh Nessian thane
My dear Cheval

Dollmaker

2008-09-21T12:22:00.000-07:00

Creeping in the cradle, across the mystery stains

To rouse a sleeping princess, in no place to complain

Or plead with plaintive cries, with pleading pain-wrought eyes

That lament an intention, so loathed to mention

A slaughter wry and wan, borne a crimson swan

Weeps the course of a journey, from which there's no returning

And in the dark mouths goodbyes, to the wasps and the flies

In confiding this pellucid rose, into the calm of soft repose

Then come rushing in the morning light, that spurs a demon's hasted flight

From the howling siren sound, into the blackness underground

There gazing up for the sight, the falling of night

To cloak a monster's path, till the gruesome aftermath

Before the riling thirst then rouses, death oncemore into their houses

Can she hear it in the bedsit maze, shrouded in that squalid haze?

Their appointment duly mortal, just beyond a shattered portal

Where it leaves it's somber quarry, on her eighteenth year, not to worry

Facing down, asleep, is baby's bath too deep?

And awake would she deign, the invaded Christian fanes

Were a devil's designs, of a prurient kind

Though as the funerary pleasantry, conciliates the peasantry

Criminations miss their mark, now succoured in the dark

With it's trinkets and it's tresses, it kisses and caresses

Cherished phylacteries, completed abstract stories

Send out a specter, that triumphant affector

Slowly up the altar stairs, to the lamb and halter there

A princess, a witch

A lesion, a stitch

The final postulation

And concluding ululation

To end a whisper lachrymose

In the arms of Thanatos

Lowlife In Lowlight

2008-08-15T12:04:00.000-07:00

Jump in the shower, and put on a face
And hop in the auto, because you've got a place
To trade malcontent and hard-earned wages
For designer drugs and lewd exchanges
You'll find scandal and glamor and maybe love of some kind
Everything missing from the world outside

So come with us
Won't you come with us?

And meet the lowlife in the lowlight

Everyone's smiling and they're all your friends
With granted means to rapacious ends
Carousing under mirror balls
And kneeling down in bathroom stalls
These rainbow tiles on weekend nights
Of wolfish lads and tarts in white
Beckon sleaze from dirty streets
To sordid, seamy, seedy feats
Of consumption, coercion, all manner of vice
With piss by the pitcher or solvent on ice

So come with us
Won't you come with us?

And see the lowlife in the lowlight

You got an itch and they've got the scratch
So make your pitch and hope they catch
A slob nine to five, and a creep in the dark
One more set of teeth at the banquet for sharks
Well you're drunk by now so why refrain
There's street grade X and dross cocaine
So dance like mad, and have your fill
Of every powder, drink, and pill
The night is young, the meat as well
You've come this far, so what the hell?

So come with us
Won't you come with us?

To switch that toad for a prince
Or a dreg for a doll
With slick cantrips like rohypnol
Or rub shoulders with boars
Feeding queer drinks to whores
With HIV or genital sores
You can play hero, you can feign debonaire
For a prize with a price, and copper streaks in their hair
Who laughs at your jokes, while she paws at your collar
She'd be kissing your friends if they upped it a dollar
But you may just luck out, and drag her back home
Where she drinks all your liquor, while she talks on her phone
But that's how it goes, just a roll of the dice
And that's just what you get, when you try to play nice
But before you start thinking
Your expectations are sinking
Take heart little darling, despite all seems so bleak
She was a tramp anyway, and there's always next week

...Right?

So come with us
Won't you come with us?

And meet the lowlife in the lowlight

Vex Murder

2008-08-08T18:15:00.000-07:00

Halloween has never attained such irrefutable significance as when you're wearing an outfit made of your own guts. They're going to love this, I find myself in this little basement room attached to a wall-mounted meat grinder just above me by a sinewy rope of anatomic human melange. The stuff crawls all over me like the evil living costumes in comic books, maybe I'm overdressed, in fact this might actually be a birthday party. Let me take a moment to talk about this demonic carnivorous machine in the room with me, it's an angular lead-gray bucket affixed to the wall about one half meter from the ceiling. The ceiling itself is interesting in that it's more of a gloomy canopy of ancient plywood rafters in a pitch-black vacuum of dust and cobwebs. Anyway, as I said I'm attached to the bucket by these hanging and shivering scraps of carnage, which I implicitly accept as my own which is unusual considering upon preliminary inspection I appear to have so far suffered no apparent trauma, however it's difficult to tell when you're swaddled in gore. Click.

It's a shame nobody seems to even notice I'm here, all emphasis is directed toward the birthday-boy's triumphant return from the hospital. Maybe it's not his birthday at all, everybody seems perfectly pleased just to see him alive. The enthusiasm is short-lived however, dying with the announcement that the neighborhood's been rocked with another murder. There's no information about this crime besides the fact that it happened, and even that seems doubtful somehow, it lacked all detail, and what an idiotic declaration to make in the midst of someone's Halloween or birthday or celebrated recovery or whatever this was supposed to be. Click.

I've been in this house for what seems like days, and I like it less with each moment passed, there's something more unwholesome here than a simple meat costume and an enchanted flesh-reconstituting device. Click.

I realize I'm on LSD, and so is everyone else, things start getting more disturbing here. I should mention that in the duration of my stay at the house I could not help but make note of it's very peculiar qualities. You see, the house apparently contained three separate floors, however if someone were to find themselves on any given floor, they'd soon discover that the other floors cannot be accessed by the stairwell, nor can they been reached by climbing out a window. The stairwell is unique in the way that whether you try to ascend or descend to another floor by using it, you will ultimately find yourself on the same floor you were on previously. The windows simply do not open and appear to be unbreakable by any means available to you on the floor. I've been on my floor since the party, I'm pretty sure this is the middle one. Click.

Nightfall finds me inexplicably divested of my grisly costume, sitting on the rooftop of the house in some of my usual clothes taking in the vulgar scenery of an unnervingly stereotypical suburb. Everything looks like it's made out of thin plastic, even the trees and the grass. A nervous din in the ambiance becomes a sickly familiar braying which directs my attention to a white rotary telephone perhaps five meters away from me. For an unclear duration of time I simply stare, I don't want to answer it but it won't stop ringing. I gradually stand up and make a hesitant pace over to the shrieking contrivance and pick up the receiver. My quivering formality is answered by what I can only describe as the worst phone call I could ever imagine.

An almost inaudible yet distinctly plebeian female voice like an automated operator drones monotonously past faint splashing noises as if reciting blasphemous verse from some forbidden occult tome, except I know it's addressing me directly, telling me something horrible, telling me everything horrible, but without legible words or relevant sequence. The call itself communicates but a single equivocal yet unquestionably horrid idea. I slowly lower the receiver away from my ear down to my waist before dropping it entirely. An acute displeasure then courses abruptly through me like the jolting pangs in the extended wake of a severe stimulant overdose, it feels like I'm being electrocuted or experiencing some kind of inverted orgasm of horror and agony. No sooner do I collapse in a paroxsym of crippling discomfort than I hear what sounds like a fusillade of automatic gunfire erupting all around me and waxing to such a magnificent clamour I barely notice the roof beneath me give way and precipitate me down what had to be an elevator shaft.

It's a short trip to the bottom, maybe six seconds, and a moment after impacting the ground I'm quite startled to be alive, indeed I'm not injured at all, I actually seem to have strangely recovered a bit since the devastating message of the terrible white telephone. I've descended into what appears to be bath house or a changeroom for a public swimming pool. The walls were tiled halfway to the ceiling with royal blue, and the rest of the room and two visible hallways were gray. The air was very humid and everything was wet, and drops of water occasionally fell from the ceiling and landed with a resonant splatter. Mounted on the wall between the two halls is what would be a larger version of the fleshgrinder with which I was already acquainted, were it not for the flickering images of the glass screen situated in it's center which made it appear more as a television.

Whatever was transpiring onscreen was definitely pornographic, but there was something inimical or criminal about it, the cast being comprised almost entirely of doll-like Japanese girls who most certainly weren't enjoying themselves. Some of them were being confined to cruel glass boxes which so barely accommodated their bodies that they couldn't move at all, others were being force-fed something indiscernible but doubtlessly vile. All of this seemed to be happening in what seemed to be the otherwise vacant freight space of an eighteen wheel transfer truck, and was illuminated in a suitably horrific turquoise glare.

The single fiend perpetrating these sadistic acts had yet to show his face on screen, but there was something distinctly familiar about him, in fact there was something very familiar about the whole scene. The recognition of these diabolic deeds was so alarming that I'd suddenly realized the rogue's identity before the camera finally panned to his eminent visage, indeed it was no other than myself.

I was aghast, why would I choose Japanese girls? I've never known any special preference for them which would merit the complexity of the machinations I'd concocted here, it simply doesn't make sense. My mystification however is shattered abruptly by the blaring ululation of some unspeakable thing emanating from the right hallway. The petrifying yet somehow plaintive howl wanes out for a moment before sounding again in verbatim intensity, causing me to scan frantically and unsuccessfully around the room for some form of makeshift weapon. By the time I look up from my futile search the creature had loped into the entranceway of the hall, and I recoil against the rear wall paralyzed with revulsion.

It could have been human if it had a face, however it was definitely male as it was totally naked and equipped with the sex organ of a stallion. The detestable humanoid was hunched forward and leaning to one side, with it's right arm positioned as if in some pointless attempt at modesty. It then came toward me, moving quickly on it's toes in rapid, tiny steps. I don't think I've ever ran as fast as I did as I tore down the opposite hall. During my frenzied flight the moist tiles of the changeroom were at some point replaced by a long corridor of yellowing white walls and dusty hardwood floors. At the terminus of the hall was an open closet filled with custodial items, most notably a spade, presumably for grounds keeping assuming this place even had an exterior.

I seize the shovel tightly with both hands, and spin around to be confronted with only the silent darkness of the corridor. A few extraordinarily tense seconds pass before I hear the vague pitter-patter of the monster's gait effusing from the wicked blackness, and every attempt I make to steel myself is at once dispelled in the impendence of the encroaching monstrosity. It seemed an hour could have passed before the fleshy pink form of my nightmarish pursuer came into sight, but even then it looked minuscule, as if it were a mile away.

I stare in dread as the creature gradually gains size as it minces toward me, and only mere moments before certain doom some divinely imparted spark of courage guides the shovel solemnly back over my head before bringing it valorously forward in a perfect arch, effectively riving open the beast's faceless head and showering myself and my immediate surroundings in whatever displeasing matter previously resided in it's cranium. The slain monster drops instantly to the floor in spite of the spirited momentum of it's charge, and it's corpse is immediately beset with disturbingly violent death-spasms entirely appropriate for such an abomination.

When the shock of the encounter subsides perhaps a minute later I notice a door to my right. Doused in blood and still clutching my trusty shovel I cautiously turn the dull bronze doorknob and slowly open the door, and I'm truly bewildered to what I saw on the other side. Policemen, four of them standing around a telltale chalk outline saturated in blood, looking fixedly downward with the kind of subdued repugnance deemed professionally acceptable for the scene of a grisly murder. I step out of the hall and one of the policemen looks up at me with a stern authoritarian glare. At this time I realize the truly impressive amount of carnage with which I was covered, and I glance nervously back at the door I'd just exited which was now suddenly boarded up completely as if it had been for ages, the word "condemned" was scrawled across the centermost horizontal board in red paint. "You're under arrest" one of the policemen dourly declares. For a moment I am at a complete loss for words. "Oh", I then reply, "Well fuck you".

End.

aSolNwe

2008-07-30T14:26:00.000-07:00

I guide four friends through a monochrome playground pogrom and our pleasures bring death to the children and animals there. At the swing set before the muddy trenches and holes a little girl dies while anally birthing the corpse of a cat. One of us is to remark that film is only true to form in black and white.

Zipperface

2008-07-24T00:14:00.000-07:00

I think I was some manner of detective or police inspector, driving down a pinkish sepia back country gravel road in a two-toned mint green classic car with someone who I presume was my police partner however I remember nothing else about them. We were solemnly en route to investigate the scene of an account of child abuse of a most abnormal nature, however how anything that transpired in this desolate place could reach any bastion of civilized justice is beyond me, and for some reason I felt that investigation would have very little to do with what was going to happen when we arrived. The bristly straw fields of the passing periphery rile and smudge into rugged low-slung spiny hills forming a dislocated half circle around a depression filled with tenacious weeds dotted with small and unpretty pastel flowerets. This is where the road ends, as a driveway for a distinctly unfinished looking two-story house largely plated with corrugated aluminum siding and tapestried with windblown clear plastic sheets, surrounded by a three meter high chain link fence. We have arrived.

Exiting the auto we pass through the fence doorway and enter the house to be greeted with the fetid odor of an evil indigenous to the stagnant backwood pits where mankind seems to conceal it's most abominable failings . I know there are two culprits in this place, and two victims, and though the house is so dark as to permit next to no visibility I know all of them are very close. A short ways down the hall and to the right is the door to a bedroom which is bleach white and spotlessly clean with the exception of a twin bed which has collapsed under the weight of a pile of ambiguous black refuse of likely organic origin. At the head of the bed is a closet which my partner then enters and closes the door behind himself, apparently intending to ambush one or more of the captors when they next enter the bedroom which makes little sense considering the situation however for some reason I dismiss him entirely and proceed alone.

I leave the bedroom to scour the rest of the house and it's then that I notice the faint din of an unintelligible dialogue that I now realize must have been carrying on since we first entered. The voices do not seem to be attached to any tangible body and continue to gurgle and sputter in absence of any human utterance in the darkness of these feculent walls. Suddenly the voices take a distinctly human, or should I say subhuman tone, the culprits are quarreling over something further down the hall. From what I can piece together one of them is demanding to be allowed at one of the victims but his accomplice is complaining that his brutality had already cost them the other one. I guess we were too late.

I move toward the end of the hall and come upon a seemingly pointless salmon-pink stairway consisting of three steps and crude vermiculated railings that continue outward to touch either side of the wall of yet another hallway. It's then I notice something slumped over next to the base of the stairs, something that's breathing. I crouch down and upon further inspection I realize that I'm looking at the remaining victim, but how I drew such a conclusion upon looking at the mutilated inhuman creature propped up in front of me I do not know. It's skin was sticky and mostly transparent, the visible musculature beneath was black and white and beset with sporadic tremors and spasms which made the monster hiss and shudder as it raspily hyperventilated as if desperately trying to keep itself alive. It was then I regret that my sight had adjusted well enough to the darkness to make an accurate picture of the creature's face. A misshapen skeletal visage absent of lips or any recognizable nose, with protuberant milk-white eyes beneath a slimy protective film, and sparse projections of wiry hair haphazardly strewn across a fleshy, pitted cranium. The most horrific aspect of this execrable thing was it's mouth, which had been slashed open and pursed back together with metal zippers which continued down it's neck and along it's back, terminating at the waist.

The abomination stares at me silently, and I put my hands on it's shoulders and try to help it to it's feet, telling it to follow me into the white bedroom. Somehow I know the other occupants of the house will come looking for it in there, and when they do, I'm going to kill them. Inside the bedroom I set the wretched thing up against the wall which is visible from the hallway as I position myself just in front the twin bed and draw a revolver from my coat. The closet in which my partner had hidden himself was silent and I somehow simply accepted his assumed disappearance, as if the house itself had swallowed him up it all of it's blackness and horror. I don't even remember what his face looked like, or if he even had one, it didn't matter now anyway.

Moments later I hear a sickeningly mawkish beckoning emanating from the hallway, the residents had come looking for their captive. It was both of them, I could tell because they were still arguing with each other. I cannot help but wonder what manner of being could create what I'd already encountered in this accursed house. Now they are right outside of the bedroom, trying to cajole their victim out into the hall instead of coming into the bedroom to fetch it themselves. It crosses my mind that they were probably aware of me to some extent that was why they were hesitating. The tension abruptly snaps as one of the culprits suddenly lurches forward into the room and spins around to face me. The first shot strikes it in the trachea and exits from the base of the skull splattering the bleach white walls in a curtain of blood and splintered spine. It collapses backward and I shoot it twice more in the chest. When the clamor of the revolver fades away I can hear the other culprit moving up the hall further into the house. Before giving chase I turn my attention to the corpse I just made, which bears a passing but no less repulsive resemblance to what I'd come to identify as the victim. It looked more human, indeed it was wearing clothes, an undershirt and brown pants mottled with semen and piss stains. It's head was the most similarily malformed, with the same swollen white eyes and lacking a nose, however it had leathery, florid lips and hair more akin to a humans. It's skin was mostly opaque, but there were some spots where a sinewy muscle-mass could be observed beneath it.

I leave the bedroom and walk down the hall, and the idiotic babbling din I noted earlier waxes and wanes rapidly as if responding to the asperity of the situation. When I clear the length of the hallway I find myself in what looks a dilapidated living room, and this guess would be corroborated by a smashed ancient television set lying face up in the center of the room. In the middle of of the left wall is the entryway to the next hallway and I know whatever fled this way is poised just beyond it. I stand where I am for a moment and I hear the beast's heavy footsteps coming closer toward the room. When it could have been no further than two meters away from me the dark of the place suddenly took on a density or opacity which encompassed me completely within a tenebrose veil which stole utterly whatever limited visibility I had before. The flare of the revolver muzzle projects a split second illumination upon a hideous face which then comes apart in an sanguinary inundation of it's component parts. The flash fades in unison with an eerie thump and subsequent splash, and I stand motionless for what could have been ten seconds before I turn around and slowly make my way back to the bedroom.

When I arrive I stare silently at the sutured thing I'd endeavored to rescue and I wonder why I'd ever assumed it was a victim in the first place, something tells me that it used to be a child but what could ever be done for this tortured, miserable, undeniably awful humanoid? When I thought on it, I didn't even remember who sent me to this hellish place to begin with. The more I tried to remember the more confused I became, and eventually my equilibrium began to blur and melt gently away, and then I was gone.

I was jolted awake outside of the house, sitting alone in the same mint-green car and wearing the same clothes I'd had on before I'd blacked out. It was the same time of day, the fence door was closed, and the house looked exactly as I'd remembered it. Something, however, told me that a very long while had passed since my last memory of anything. Without thinking, I leave the car and once again pass through the fence door and enter the house. Everything looks much as it did, however the house is now lit with dim, flickering overhead globular lights which effused an unnerving buzz not dissimilar from the disembodied exchanges of gibberish I remembered from before. I walk purposefully but apprehensively down the hall into the living room where I had killed the second of the culprits, and from there proceeded down the next hall and up a flight of creaking wooden stairs into a room which had every appearance of a very old attic.

At the opposite corner of the room I can see the creature I had apparently rescued sitting on the plywood floor staring into the glare of an archaic computer monitor displaying a white text console on a black background, and something tells me it has been here ever since I'd killed it's supposed captors. It's hair had grown into a hanging matted mess, and it's deformations had grown more severe.

I approach it to say something and as it turns it's head up at me I can see the cumulated hatred of the last ten years in it's bulbous, hideous eyes, and I get a very insistant feeling that there was some kind of mistake, something that I was responsible for. Perhaps it was my inability to save the life of the other "victim", or could the creatures I'd destroyed have been this pitiful child's parents? It didn't matter who they were because after what this child had become, if it was ever anything else, it knew that it's torturers and executioners were the only other sentient entities it could ever know. It was absurd to think this tormented monstrosity could ever survive in civilization, to look upon it was to cringe in disgust and abhorrence. Then I drew the redoubtable conclusion that I had no recollection of a civilization to begin with, that my entire memory was comprised of the dirt road and the straw fields, the leprous hills and this abysmal house.

I felt something, clawing it's way upward from my stomach, a murderous odium which seemed to seize my body completely. I reached into my coat and drew my revolver, which I slowly and deliberately aimed toward the creature's head. It looks up at me and hisses "There are only monsters in here", which I can only believe was an insinuation that all I had to offer after depriving it of whatever agonizing existence it had was a painless death, this after ten years of utter isolation within what I'd come to understand as Hell.

I stare at the demon and make special note of the salient boils that had begun to devour one side of it's body and as I pull the trigger I forget there was ever a difference, whether real or imaginary, between what I'd deemed victim and culprit. Leaving the horrible cadaver in the cold glow of the monitor I make my way down the stairs, trying to convince myself what had just happened did so only in my imagination and that in fact I'd found the house completely abandoned upon my return, however I can feel the infinite bleakness of the house and the hills and the pink-sepia dirt road all over my skin. I get in the car and pull away from the house, and as it shrinks into the distance I can feel my perception begin to ripple and dissipate in that familiar way as the fields slowly disintegrate to the sound of evaporating rain.

Unfortunate Zoe

2008-07-14T17:03:00.000-07:00

The thirteenth of March
Young Miss Read
Left her parents bereaved
For what was thought to be water
Has stolen their daughter

But no one heard your travails?
While friends caroused and cut rails?
As you fluttered and shailed
Could they not tell you'd flailed?

But they blame a mere mistake, quite the dreadful thirst to slake...

Boundless energy
And so bright a smile
How is a respected university
Replete with such perversity?

Think of poor mum
What of poor dad?
Dismayed at the knowledge
Of what kids do in college

Did three days make it clear to you
That death too, is something we all have to do?

For surely you must have sensed something
We don't call it disgusting for nothing
And did not anyone see her
Drinking their floor cleaner?

Poor unfortunate Zoe
No one ever will see you again
And I'd miss you, if I knew you
But I didn't, so goodbye

Moral Market

2008-07-11T17:31:00.000-07:00

righter of the wrong what do you owe a child a woman a gender retribution is a crime of another kind or don't you see yourself in the witches you demand burned you are a pedophile a rapist immoral and unclean pointing fingers with shit on your hands so quick to throw the same accusations that haunt you that permeate your mind adulterer racist only human predator base only human shouting diversions over your hard prick

TELEVISION LOVES A PEDOPHILE

TELEVISION LOVES A PEDOPHILE

TELEVISION LOVES A PEDOPHILE

your mores are not your own truth is inexplicable murder as glamour murder within reason murder as a means to sex do you know about sex do you really fucking know about sex tell me what you see in barely legal magazines schoolgirl outfits and pink ribbons around pigtails holiness is illusory holiness is the loser's game lick off the innocent shit idiot who asked you anyway

WHAT DO YOU OWE A CHILD?

TELEVISION LOVES A PEDOPHILE

YOU ARE THE PREDATOR

TELEVISION NEEDS A VICTIM

moral market morality sells vigilant hypocrite virtuous protector of the young virtue is fear who crosses your mind when you fuck yourself there's no room for guilt in vehemence but secrets fit perfectly and place you so close to them don't they look but don't touch touch but don't tell don't tell anyone or i'll fucking kill you i swear i'll fucking kill you because this is special this is between us and mommy doesn't have to know

Precursor

2008-06-26T17:04:00.000-07:00

Ousted from the adjacent room for my characteristic bad behavior, I find myself in this one. Exactly the same size, but seemingly vacant, with a fragile silence and illuminated in the euphemistic telescreen amber-gold glow of that implicit stage of the late afternoon. Alphabet scrolls line the upper edge of a blackboard scrawled with illegible academic cacography, and powder-blue waist-high shelves of heavy, boring textbooks huddle beneath the enormous and brilliant square portals on the far side of the room. I click along the shiny laminated floor of mottled turquoise in a slow straight line down the right wall, and then across the front of the room in the space between the blackboard and the row of desks closest to it. Then I walk past the powder-blue shelves where I glance over the classroom and notice that some of the desks seem to be occupied. The occupants themselves are camouflaged in auric lambency of the evening sun.

Closer inspection designates these apparitional attendants as children, and the eerily imparted antecedent knowledge of their undeath clashes clamantly with vacillating trepidation as I wonder if they are even aware of me, as their grossly swollen, milky pearl-like eyes remain transfixed toward the rear wall (Indeed, the desks in this room do not face the blackboard at all). In proximate space the saffron husk of a small boy suddenly turns to me in acknowledgment and as his mouth moves to say something, water trickles out and plashes onto the surface of the desk. The boy sputters and pauses and makes a gesture that is both awkward and innocuous.

"What happened to you?" I ask of him. The boy places his right hand on a damaged rebreathing device secured around his neck.
"Was it an accident in the water?". The boy smiles at me.
"It will be all right" I tell him.

I turn and my vision pierces past the lucent glass and diffuses out along the spanning scabrous hills that I didn't remember, and as if the windowpane were an impossible mirror I swear to have seen myself just outside. I feel the observance of another presence behind me and I look back around to meet the eyes of what used to be a little girl, and it takes me a moment to recall what I was going to say.

"The teacher isn't coming back, is he?".

Blemish

2008-06-09T15:05:00.000-07:00

your imperfections are not beautiful

your flaws are imperfect

your imperfections ar e not made acceptable by their singularity

your flaws are not perfect;

your imperfections- are every bit as evident as you suspeCt

your flaws destroy you - they beset you - drag you doWN and penetrate you - they grip you fast and cover you - you can't ecsape them - you are trapped in

your person.al intransigent inadequacy[

and vanity? pretention? what do YOU mean by that!? is there fleshh in a photo graph? a lying tribute= to a moment so lost, so GONE so

far away from the mocking mir.ror, sunken Skin, and cos.metic residue every passingh momentt it's> own conrtibution to your ultlmate ruiNation and there;''s real fucki\ng

inso:?lence in that halfhearted angst You need to feign individuallity - even more in your hesitnant and tenta_tive deNouncement of sham.e

your ImPerfeCtions are DISGUSTING;.'.

your flaws GLARE

you A re rev olting - your inclussions are everPreseT, inescapable - it's saturating, asph7yxiating, disperseds oVer your every weak glistening fIbre of inflam_mation

and the rec-ognition that Harsh reality is_ itself just an other : coNvinc]ing falsity changes abSolutely N07HING tHere is NO THING, no reDemption,, no a bsolluTion fr o m the spots .

and the _lines_ and ^the slipping' yo u*

so traesurre th+e s ola ce in forced_ighnorance Whiel youcan beecauSe this eNtroppic direction is -etched in yuor unWorthy flesh and termin=ates in hell

blemish
BLEMISH
BLEMISH___

Sililoquy (There Is Nothing Outside Of This Room)

2008-06-06T19:45:00.000-07:00

In this room there is but a familiar and central glaring square and in my periphery a blue pinpoint, a prescription, three pines on paper, and a very old book. By assumption if I were to glance to the right I'd find a delicate black meshing above a sweat-laden bed, but now only a corner of that has ever been. And a leftward view would with no greater certainty yield mirrors and a door clung with darkness with absolutely nothing behind it. Above the bed and past a thick black drape nothing postures as a passing vehicle on a road that is invariably but another recollection in a world constituted entirely by memory and physical stimulus.

I live in a constellate of spaces in a structure on a way in a city of dreams. This is an idea of a place who's inhabitants are themselves but ideas and somehow so far exempted from the machinations of desire or a preconception of what perhaps they should be - which is confusing due to the absence of the egocentric verification of their legitimacy as sentient entities sharing the environs so afforded by my own sensate experience. To attain the discovery of absolute solitude is to simultaneously unearth the fulgent and complete abjuration of all things beyond the sum of the stimuli made available by the perceived moment, bestowing renewed gravitas to what I understand as the inviolable denial of elemental truth.

This is an insight which presents two solemn vistas, liberty and condemnation, and in the presumption I will remain torn in this equivocal limbo of circumstance it is clear I have made my choice which resonates through time as permanent, evanescent, committed to memory, and something forgotten.

The path of subjectivity arrives at a place that we of broader intellect can identify as our point of origin, and this place issues an imperative which when acknowledged draws the realization that there is in fact no path and we have indeed been here all along.

There is nothing outside of this room.

Mortmain

2008-06-04T23:12:00.000-07:00

to you dearest...

endeavor to place labels to the years basking in cathode
the infinite discarded collections and stop, listen, shiver to the picturing
how many screaming spats and concessions to self prostitution
desex - the reward for your hentai expectation
tethered to the bedroom - affixed to windows into haebophilia and death on video piecing together a passable composite of the desensitizations so awarded
enter a penchant for the precious but don't exclude the ten minute mirror reports that boy could be slipping - sequentially post-actualization that it's suspicions were justified
right.

EVEN YOU WOULD SHUDDER TO THINK THAT YOUR SO-VERY-CLEVER JADED QUIPS WERE NEVER ANYTHING MORE THAN A WEAK ARTICULATION ON RENOVATED COWARDICE, YOUR RIDICULOUS DALLIANCES WITH DRUGS JUST ANOTHER PHOTOGRAPH, A SPECIFIC SCREEN, ANOTHER MOMENTARY PRESERVATION OF IDEAS THAT COULDN'T POSSIBLY SURVIVE YOUR UNFORTUNATE MATURITY - WAKE THE FUCK UP - TWO TRANSPLANTS LATER BOY'S STILL CHOKING ON THE LEASH COLLAR AND SUCKING EVERY LAST DROP OF GRATIFICATION THAT CAN BE DRAINED FROM THE IMAGE OF A DAMAGED POETIC ANIMAL CONSTERNATED OVER THE ONE FUCKING THING THAT'S STILL WORTH HONEST PAIN - SOMEHOW ASSURED IN THE REALIZATION THAT PROMISES ARE AFTER ALL NOTHING BUT WORDS AND DESPITE UTTER INCOMPETENCE THERE'S STILL PRIDE IN SUFFERING - AND STILL SO QUICK TO MAKE NO SECRET OF HIS OWN SEVENTY TWO HOUR EPIPHANIES - WHAT YOU WOULDN'T TRADE ONLY TO REMEMBER WHAT MADE WAKING LIFE SO SIMPLE - SO FINALLY COHERENT, AT LAST, AT LONG FUCKING LAST, WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO KNOW IDENTITY.

and then,

spent and left only to ponder the pliantness of dejection
it's fleshtone tint of failure and the complete pervasion thereof
the ultraviolet saturation of the real - the compulsion of it's message

you are not depressed, chemically imbalanced, tormented...
there is nothing behind what you perceive, no greater meaning or capacity for interpretation

stop crying and accept the objectiveness of your ultimate encirclement
there's a great big ugly word in wait beyond this terminating curtain

wake
the
fuck
up

The Precipice

2008-06-02T21:49:00.000-07:00

August was red, the fields, hills, and mountains were blanketed in a layer of choking scarlet dust that has pervaded the atmosphere of this world since the sudden and inexplicable destruction of it's sister planet, the name of which has been denied recollection. The dust was omnipresent, casting it's cochineal glare through the sky and blowing downward to bluster the ground before rising again in fantastic vanishing whorls. In a few short days this had caused any verdant plant life to vanish, leaving mainly bristly ecru grasses and curious, decrepitly immobile tumbleweeds. I was behind what I think was a school as I thought I remembered seeing children through it's ugly windows, and I was staring upward toward the rugged skyline of a spanning scabrous hill situated directly in front of me. Set up in the middle of the hillside was a rectangular series of posts which supported a black sheet or net, as one would see on a ginseng farm. I made my way from the base of the hill, and upon reaching the rectangle found there was netting strung between the posts which reached the ground, as to inhibit access into the unusual arrangement. I lifted the net and continued my trek up the slope. Inside the tent was unremarkable, bearing no obvious variance from what was outside, and I gave little thought to the intention of this seemingly useless erection as I forged upward toward my singular and wholly unknown destination.

Upon reaching the other side I thought I heard a noise behind me, and as I had seen somebody across the valley before I began up the hill I turned around to see a vague silhouette through the mesh of the rear wall. I made haste upward along the brae. Nearing the crest of the hill, I could see a parched and lonely dirt road of which purpose or terminus I could only guess, but I didn't. Passing a few small clusters of brittle and thirsty coniferous trees, I reached the summit where my vision plummeted downward into a yawning gorge even more desolate and red than it's encompassing terrain.I saw what I thought was a large semicircular outcropping on the declivity of the canyon, and residing upon that was a vehicle which easily dwarfed a common house in sheer immensity. Beside that and through thin red haze I could see the adumbrated figures of three humans, and I made my awkward descent toward them.

The figures grew closer, and I recognized them as the people I knew. There was a bellicose acquaintance of mine, and his girlfriend, a plain girl utterly devoid of the slightest spark of eccentricity or intellect. The shadowy man from the netted enclosure was there as well, and I then made special note of his ungainly appearance and distasteful clothing. We took some time to climb on the gargantuan vehicle, and I rested briefly in it's front-right wheel-well. Looking down I was horrified to realize the colossal conveyance was perched capriciously half-over the edge, and I stared petrified into a brobdingnagian arroyo of endless red and grey. With shivering and deliberate caution I crawled out of the machine and barely noticed the slope of the ravine was growing steeper, making standing difficult and dangerous and threatening to plunge the monstrous metal carrier into that terrifying lithic void.

Breaking away from the doomed giant I somehow found myself in an alcove directly beneath the ledge, and looking up I could see the pugilist, who's movements and mannerisms were suggestive of inebriation as he maundered precariously close to the brink of horrible death. The shadowed man noticed this as well, and he reluctantly drew closer to the edge as to withdraw his acquaintance away from the danger to which he seemed so oblivious. For whatever reason, the besotted barbarian seemed determined to fend off his would-be rescuer, and I heard the scuffling of phrenetic footsteps on unsound ground above my head. My muscles grew tense, and in my mind I screamed "Get back! Get away from the edge!", my heart then froze as I saw them both fall past me as an entangled mass of limbs. Peering out of the alcove to the best of my ability I saw their shrinking forms suddenly release parachutes, which I did not see either of them wearing earlier. In the subsequent moment, and for before even the initial shock had subsided I saw their parachutes malfunction somehow, and they both vanished with piercing screams that mingled almost musically with that of the brutish one's wailing girlfriend, who I now realized had been screaming the entire time.

Shaken, my foremost concern was now escaping this place, but I realized the severely limited space within the alcove made climbing out extremely difficult and even more perilous ... I'm not even sure how I managed to get inside it in the first place. I mustered some fractured words with the newly bereft slattern and the shadowed man (now alive and back on the slope for some reason) as I tried timorously to escape the accursed hole in which I had inexplicably ensconced myself.

Reaver Reversion

2008-04-23T19:59:00.000-07:00

(10:34) any time (11:14) you'll show up (11:33) i can barely wait (11:52) except it's getting late (12:03 ) staring at a time (12:03) it's a touch unnerving (12:18) you're probably caught up (12:22) so like her (12:49) well - what the hell (1:05) still here (1:17) but no sign (1:38) explain this (1:50) imagination is a harrowing thing (2:00) seconds ... minutes (2:06) ask slit about this (2:20) i know slit (2:21) no slit (2:21) i didn't say that (2:25) you worthless fucking piece of shit! (2:26) fat fucking pig! (2:26) fucking piece of trash!
(10:22) another pig yes pig i know pig thank you too pig (12:00) more waiting more fucking wanting (2:13) pigs on the telephone - pigs on paper - fill out this form (6:47) "we're so sorry but" (9:19) "we wish we could help you" (10:19) "when did you see her last?" (10:24) no, she's not answering her cellular
(3:56) "what's cunt look like?" (7:47) rjksdgfsdjkpgbfkadfgadf (8:16) all of this is your fault (9:58) you mean you can't walk, can't telephone, i'll go outside if you scream
(8:07) i'll take betrayal now slut (9:11) i'll take your lying, pitiful addictions (10:20) another rape incident (10:-=) don't leave me here (1^;/?) alone (~2:4*) you fucking cunt... (2:Æ0) i'll always hate you 10) you........................fucking ...stupid ..whore.. (??:??) ..... (??:??) ... .............................. .......... ................. .. . . ..
....................................................................................................
.........i know that you're dead, and i know death didn't spare any sordid aspects of it's prologue - i can't even blame them because they have my envy, they have you and they had you and how they must have awed in the taking, the balling and the blood, the drugs and thoughts of me while I thought on you while they showed you force i could only insinuate, and I bet you thought they were your friends because it's so absurd for pretty little cunts to question generosity. my heart is in my stomach and it's blood is like vitriol, i've smelt death on you for so long. surrounded and alone i can only take a knife in my hand and reacquaint myself with who i was, because you are dead and so am i, and i've things to do.

Rape The Willing

2008-04-17T02:31:00.001-07:00

All sex is simulated murder in the male mind, with each of the three orificial penetrations situated at further points of distance from this murderous force. Respectively, that is coital sex (Having the greatest distance and limited to heterosexual encounters), oral sex (Middle ground), and anal sex (Closest and most destructively expressive).

From an acquisitive perspective, the phallus is an implement to propagate one's own bloodline, however it's purpose has (Especially within the last one-hundred years or so) become entirely secondary to the reward mechanism, the empowering effect of penetration. Sexual conquest is impossible without elements of rape, for the glamor of success from a male perspective lies in acknowledge amongst his peers of his predatory sexual instincts (The power to persuade or force a target initially unknown). In this way, sexual success is comparable to the killing of an enemy in that it is a demonstration of the individual's power to survive. Just as early males hunted to eat or fought to kill an enemy, even now they must employ that same aptitude to procreate (fornicate). Even though the battlefield and the weapons change, so to speak, the rules remain essentially the same.

Abjectly pornographic utterances or discourse used during sex are indicative of assertion of power, and there is no greater power than that of life and death over another living being. This is especially evident in sexual bondage, the restrained individual is intended to be entirely at the mercy of their captor. Even if not consciously acknowledged, the subliminal insinuation of murder in these situations is perhaps the core point of arousal which is derived from this kind of activity.

Anomie is not responsible for the increasingly explicit and debasing themes expressed in pornography, because pornography itself is a dark omen of a dire sexual awakening of the human race.

Coital Sex

Coital sex is typically the most impersonal and innocuous form of penetration. The act of procreation, coitus is easily interpreted as a gesture of love, a collaboration between two individuals to create a third composite being. Despite this, coitus is the original expression of heterosexual male dominance in the way of global recognition. By assumption, coitus is the most common goal among rapists.

Oral Sex

The primary allure of sexual entry through the mouth is in that the mouth is the most communicatory part of the body, in this way we fuck the words, the thoughts, of the sucker. Fellation is doubly empowering in the way it is typically performed with those filling the role of the conquest on their knees, or if not, in other subconsciously compromising positions. The back and forth motion of the head is suggestive of prayer, and subsequently worship. This creates an inference of total power, which is inclusive of life and death.

Anal Sex

From a heterosexual viewpoint, anal sex is an act of degradation constituted by the momentary rejection of coital sex (The characteristic offering). This attraction is equaled by the perceived abuse of the "intended" function of the anus, as an excretory orifice. The simultaneous mystique (Taboo) and stigma (That the process and it's participants are unclean and immoral) surrounding sodomy lend greater accomplishment to the image of the aggressor than the other forms of penetration, because the reputation of the act gives it's execution more gravitas and thus is less likely to gain the acquiescence of the individual which would be fucked in this way.
The destructive appeal of anal sex lies partly it's discerned inimical nature, the potential for injury is present pushing the demand for deeper submission. In taking what is consented, it is subtly understood that responsibility for the girl's safety is being imparted to the aggressor, and although this can be seen in other penetrations, it takes on a much more tangible significance in this case. In a sexual assault, sodomy is clearly symbolic of hatred that could easily enter the territory of homicidal intention.
Representing the last orificial frontier, the inroad of one's asshole is presumably a subliminal precursor to the ultimate sexual triumph, murder.

Heroes

2008-04-10T12:41:00.001-07:00

The typical male response to the assault of an attractive female is to offer to kill or injure the offending person or persons, often with help from the hero's friends, heroes just like him. Of course there's next to no chance the hero will follow through with his, or take any action at all, because that's not the point. The point is to paint himself as an honorable and admirable person so the victim will be favorably inclined toward him. This sexually-motivated strategy is sometimes entirely contrived, but often more subliminal, the male may actually believe to some small extent what he is saying. Regardless, this kind of bravado is nothing more than an attempt to exploit an unfortunate situation in order to take further advantage of the victim.

When you consider how often this tactic is employed (Essentially whenever a pretty young woman is attacked), you must conclude that some percentage of these would-be righters of the wrong have committed sexual assaults themselves. This point is substantiated in that roughly one in four females in North America have reported being sexually victimized, and it is widely believed that the majority of sexual assaults indeed go unreported.

Monsters are often enough concealed behind shining armor.

House By The Hospital

2008-04-09T16:09:00.000-07:00

And every day your life continues to rot. Do us a favor - acclimate yourself to abraded knees and runny noses, by forty three you've ceased to be perceived as an addict trophy and now they keep you around only for crude amusement. Woman, mother, professional, all of these things are but faint memories - the mirror provides a likeness which is not yours and mocks you just like everyone else. Do you think those clothes are hardly appropriate for somebody your age? By now they're no longer interested in why you dress like that, or who you knew when. Even the transition houses are sick of your face, black eye after busted lip, relapse after domestic thrashing - nobody has loved you in years, before you know it your children stop answering your calls - when you remember to call. And you strain to think when you stopped considering yourself beautiful, and wonder why nobody uses your name anymore - people don't recognize things weren't always this way and that those who could have meant so much to somebody once wind up as vulgar caricatures in ugly towns, glaring memorials to tragedy and loss to all who behold them. Trying to save someone can be so draining, I wished so ardently to be the one to extricate you from this... I just want you to know that I think about you, and I'm sorry there are no happy endings.

Seven Days of Durance - Part Three (Coda)

2008-04-08T15:32:00.000-07:00

December 25th - Christmas Day - Death

the female subject awoke perhaps ten hours later, no longer equipped with the headpiece and no longer strapped to the chair. the needles had been removed, the doors were open and the guards were gone, taking all of their implements with them save a single scalpel resting on the steel tray which was now positioned beside her. the male subject was still on the examination slab, though his restraints had been removed - he was not moving. the female subject sat in the chair for a period of ten minutes. she then picked up the scalpel and pushed it through her jugular vein.

Seven Days of Durance - Part Two

2008-04-07T11:45:00.000-07:00

December 22nd - Enervation

both subjects slept for approximately eight hours - when the male subject awoke he defecated in the rightmost front corner - the farthest distance from where the subjects spend most of their time - the female subject did thirty minutes later in the same corner - they both used their socks to clean themselves afterward. both subjects have ceased any vocal protest though the female subject still murmurs to into the closed feeding slot. The floors of both holding cells have become covered with rancid blood and piss, and to a lesser extent - shit - the subjects seem to have acclimated themselves to the odor given thereof. the female subject has difficulty standing since her knee injury - her movements having receded to crawling across the waste-caked floor from the door to the leftmost back-corner and back again. another bottle of spring water was dropped into each holding area when subjects urine had taken a gold brown cast and started coming out in awkward spurts which caused both subjects to spasm slightly and whimper. male subject drank most of the bottle immediately whereas the female still continues to take small sips, nursing the bottle between her breasts which have now shrunk visibly even beneath her filthy shirt. the male subject's abscess has continued to spread, now downward onto the stomach, though the colour of the infection has recessed into it's original shade of yellow.

December 23rd - Humiliation

both subjects were fed eight hours after the spring water was issued - the raw steak again - neither subject vomited then though it was clear both subjects experienced severe abdominal pain - belching hoarsely and occasionally voiding their bowels of the amounting pressure - both acts caused them great pain - especially in the female subject who reverted to her characteristic dry sobbing while eating and continued afterwards for the better part of the hour. no water was issued and as such the male subject turned to urinating in the plastic spring water bottles, cutting the flow when one was filled and partially filling the other, when was finished he screwed on the cap of one of the bottles - he stared at the partially full bottle for some time before trying to drink it - he spat out his urine three times before managing to swallow any. female subject followed suit three hours later - filling a bottle halfway and drinking it immediately while she pissed - she then convulsed, backed into a corner and began screaming, her voice gave out almost immediately. The consumption of urine continued at a reluctant pace over the six hours before both subjects, one after the other, turned their attention to their shit - picking at the older deposits first as those had hardened to an extent during the incarceration which somehow made the disgusting stuff more comestible to them. both subjects ate of their shit extremely sparingly, each attempt to swallow it was followed by an intense retching and expulsions of feces and bile that shot out their hanging mouths with a force that landed it several feet away. the incredible stress of the coprophagia caused the male subject to fall over sideways and he has yet to right himself - his eyes are open. female subject has returned to her position in front of the feeding slot, she resumed whispering into the slot as though talking to someone.

December 24th - Torture & Realization

lights were shut off in both holding areas - two guards with flashlights entered each holding area and moved both subjects - neither offered any significant resistance. subjects were moved to the shower area and washed off with a hose - it was the first time they had seen each other in six days - subjects attempted physical contact but were corrected by a guard brandishing a baton - subjects were forbidden to speak during the cleaning but disregarded this instruction on three separate occasions, each occasion was rectified by clubbing subject's knees or elbows - when the female subject was struck on the knee - previously injured - there was a resonant crack signifying the shattering of the joint - the female subject then fainted but regained consciousness when kicked in the stomach which caused a mixture of blood and spittle to issue forth from her mouth, the violence to which the female was subjected caused the male subject to enter a kind of quivering trance. this occurred after his initial reaction was forcibly subdued. the male subject was then strapped to a stretcher and moved into the adjacent corridor so his infection could be treated and dressed with bandages. when the treatment was completed the subjects were taken from the shower area and moved into the stockade, where they were both strapped into specially prepared chairs which were positioned as to allow plain view of the other fixtures of the room which consisted of a concrete examination slab equipped with hand and foot restraints, beside which was a steel tray containing a set of tarnished surgical tools, on the other side of the room was a cardboard box, an electric prod which could be recognized from the abduction, and a rat in a glass cage. The subjects were left alone in this room for a period of four hours, during this time they took turns offering reassurance, declaring their love, and trying to rationalize their hypothetical survival. the last hour they were silent, at the end of which three guards entered the stockade. two of the guards removed the male subject from the chair and strapped him to the examination slab - the third guard then made six small incisions on the subject's body - two of the upper chest, one on each leg, and two directly above the groin area - the incisions caused the male subject only to wince slightly - the female subject however began pleading with the tormentors - a syringe was taken from the cardboard box and filled with a transparent fluid from a small brown bottle - this fluid was injected into the areola of her right breast and then again into the left - the female subject ceased pleading for her partner and asked repeatedly of her captors what was in the syringe - a guard then procured from the cardboard box a meter device equipped with long wires terminating in small plastic probes, these probes were inserted into each of the six incisions on the male subject - the meter was placed on the steel tray - a guard then picked up the electric prod as another produced a ledger and a ballpoint pen - they began applying the prod to the male subject, each application resulted in a violent spasm followed by deep rhythmic hyperventilation - each time the prod was applied, the second guard would look at the meter before recording something on the ledger. this continued for approximately ten minutes before the female subject began panting like a dog and squirming in her restraints, her skin became flushed and her head lolled back and forth on her shoulders. the third guard then took several long needles - ten inches or so - from the cardboard box and seated himself in front of the female subject - the girl seemed to barely notice in her chemically augmented state. the guard pushed the first needle through the outer side of the female subject's upper right arm, and then another needle in the same spot on her left - she screamed and bit down on her lower lip, biting through it and causing blood to stream down chin and collect in the depression at the base of her neck. over the course of the next thirty minutes eighteen needles were pushed through the girl's arms, thighs, labia, and the sides of the face,during this time the male subject was administered a shock every five minutes, each successive shock was of higher voltage than that before it. At one point the female subject fainted again but was roused by another, though smaller, dose of stimulants -this time to the right carotid artery. when the female subject awoke the final shock was administered to the male subject, the subject emitted a guttural crepitation and shuddered on the examination slab for approximately five minutes. the third guard then rose from his position in front of the female subject and took from the box a plastic headpiece fitted with a peripheral chamber and a tube that ended in an opening flanked by two leather straps. this device was secured to the female subject's head by means of the straps and the tube was inserted into her mouth. another guard then removed the rat from it's glass cage and placed into the chamber of the headpiece and locked the opening, which only provided one means of escape for the creature - through the cheek of the female subject. the female subject thrashed in her chair and emitted a series of shrill screams which were largely muffled by the tube inserted into her mouth. the rat then began to make it's journey through the tube - the female subject fainted again with the creature inches away from her tongue.

Seven Days of Durance - Part One

2008-04-06T14:44:00.001-07:00

December 19th - Abduction

male and female subjects acquired twelve hours previous - confined to respective holding areas. male resisted abductors - sustained head trauma and was electrocuted briefly, burns to lower torso were treated prior to confinement to prevent infection. female subject offered little resistance, two of her teeth were knocked out during capture to prevent her from screaming. confinement began six hours ago, there are no toilets in the cells and the male subject has urinated on the floor. both subjects have tried to contact each other by shouting but failed - the cells are spaced to prevent any contact. all heating to the cells has been cut-off, subjects were stripped of their shoes and personal effects, but they still have their clothes. male subject has noticed the protected camera and has made pleas, inquiries, hurled profanity and spat as well. female subject has not noticed the camera in her holding area. both subjects spend most of their time in the leftmost back-corner beneath the camera - male subject does not think he is visible there, and has assumedly deducted that if he cannot be seen somebody will enter their holding areas to correct this behavior. male subject has twice risen to pace the holding area, pausing periodically and exhibiting signs of distress - typically running the hands over the face or pulling out hair. female subject has been crying since the beginning of incarceration, emission of tears gave way to dry paroxysms two and a half hours ago.

December 20th - Isolation

neither subject has slept - frequency of activity has not decreased though actions are considerably less animated. temperature has dropped eight degrees overnight, causing the subject's feet to stick to the concrete floor and peel away in layers, blood foot-prints literally cover the cell floors. this caused female subject to collapse at one point, cracking her knee - at that point she had stopped crying for forty five minutes but then resumed once again for a period of about ten minutes before emitting a series of screams that ended when the subject's voice gave out. this was followed by a kind of gentle shivering that has yet to cease. despite preventive measures the electric burn on male subject's torso has developed an infection causing the flesh around the burn to swell and turn yellow. male subject has removed his shirt to prevent further irritation to this abscess, and the skin can be seen coming off in large flakes. the removal of the shirt caused a subsequent increased vulnerability to the temperature in the holding cell, the male subject does not have the energy to wipe away a thick stream of spittle running from his mouth, though the subject alters it's semi-fetal body position more than once every minute.

December 21st - Abjection

subjects were fed when signs of malnutrition escalated to the point of possible expiration. chemically treated raw steak and bottled spring water. the temperature had subsided since yesterday and both subjects were growing more active despite very severe hunger. when food arrived the male subject shouted through the slot of the steel door for a period of four minutes - he ate while he did this. male subject poured a portion of the spring water onto his abscess which had since expanded into his armpit and putrefied into an icterus pallor. when he finished his water bottle, he tried to lick the water he used on the infection off the floor. after that he stared at the camera for several minutes. female subject had serious difficulty eating her meal, and she vomited halfway through eating. It had taken female subject over one hour to finish her meal, forty minutes after that she resorted to picking at the pile of vomit she'd made earlier, she had trouble keeping this in her stomach, and ate some pieces of expelled meat in excess of four times. male subject exhibited clear signs of nausea but did not regurgitate. after eating male subject renewed his attempt to contact the female subject by screaming, to the best of his ability, at the slot in the door, though it was now closed. female subject does not scream but sits by the door with one hand on the slot, she says something every few minutes but it is not audible to the camera.

Waste Box

2008-04-04T15:00:00.000-07:00

it's only been three hours and i can still hear it trying to embarrass me. it's one in the box, silly thing. sound comes in by way of a brown button on the "lid" but doesn't come out in any coherent structure, muffled whispers are an uplifting mutation from the testicular streetway vulgarisms i'd become accustomed to in our knowing each other. i'm ecstatic to think i don't have to look at your face anymore, caricature, although it was always tops for a harsh giggle or comical comparison. features worn so far beyond their mere twenty-something years, the face of a working man. like an effigy of a despised political figure, deep oily creases outlining that permanent scowl of disapproval you must have worn since you first found out how homely and unspecial you were. ugly, ugly mirror. i compliment you on the realization, though we know you'd never admit to it. it's not that you disgust me so much individually, but i continually stumble with the fact anybody let you have your tepid, self-abasing way with them, pearls among swine and moreso common rubbish in a pit of suppurating medical refuse offending even glancing observation, any affection you managed to extract is depressing. is it comfortable in there? of course it's not, you're biological baggage, i stop and think if your current situation is any more wretched and piteous than anything else you've accomplished for yourself but i am too distracted to think on that now. it would be a good time to ask if you've ever been raped, it would certainly clarify things. that intolerable intolerant male bravado and vengeful disposition could so easily stem from the jarring memories of being made an impermanent female or like passive receptor - you spoke so little of your family.

ReCEiver

2008-04-04T00:01:00.000-07:00

SWALLOW IT !
CHOKE IT DOWN !
your skin
YOUR SKIN
your fucking mouth
YOUR FUCKING MOUTH
BEG - i fuck
I FUCK
YOUR PERISTALSIS
feel it
FEEL IT
ALL THAT WAY
skewer your mind
SKEWER YOUR MIND
CHOKED THOUGHT
mindfuck
MINDFUCK
take it
TAKE IT
SUCK
LOVE IT
RECEIVE

I FUCKING HATE YOU
NOBODY
OBJECT - UNPERSON
remember
REMEMBER
REMEMBER THAT
FLESH TOILET
flush
FLUSH - SWALLOW
MY PISS
SWALLOW MY PISS
MY SHIT
VOMIT
SWALLOW
TAKE
WHORE
RECEIVE
RECEIVER .';'.;';.;';';.;';.;;...;.....;..

Wasteplough

2008-04-01T18:24:00.001-07:00

1.5) This process of self-alienation is especially pronounced
4.1) anal area 2.66) which often is the bodily symbol of all
that is unclean and disgusting. 0.05)
It is understandably confusing that part
of the body 5) which is so unsavory 8) also simultaneously 17% reported extremely sensitive and potentially
Especially for a child, the discovery
1.5)anus is considered bad and repulsive
must be confusing idea 85% reported the experience in Respondents102Mean Age34.1yearsAgeRange22-54years
Favorable to 7.1) ecstatic terms SHITPLAGUE)
was steel and it was cold is in direct contradiction to his or her pleasurable experience 1.8) escape
END/ENDWASTE)Fecal waste material 12)
33.9) forced contractions force convulsion not a sexual stimulant 7.3) and it may be difficult for some too disassociate the anus XII)
from its excretory function 4) KVSGQIUBEG13RGBQFPYDBFGVFDQ FG
peritonitis from perforation careless poses a risk to others 33.357) appear to be neutral 3.1) ones open to being subjectively interpreted 500) as either pleasurable or not by the individual FORCEHABIT/DISCOMFORT)

Gynesanguine

2008-03-31T21:03:00.000-07:00

Little lady
Special girl
Is it everything you imagined?
Everything it was promised to be?

Are you so far from the midnight hush
The boding stairs and little crack beneath the door
Frantic apologies seem so sincere between that stale reek of sentiment and spit solvent

Say about familiar spots
The heat on the back of your neck
Their hands in your hair

Wrap it all up
Set it away for the next in line
Your first time
The blurry lines of consent

Just say no
You could have said no
Stop
Don't

You're another meatliquor Langford pig
Another kneescab doxycycline case
Straight slimesex - the aluminum punch

Cotton gash needs a little affection
Please
Say please
Gynesanguine

Piledriver

2008-03-30T17:45:00.000-07:00

Spit out
Spit it out
Spittle out before you say

Lazy sobbing mingles tears with piss drenched hair
It's sticky film permeates the skin

I still can't hear you
Spit out
Baby spit out

So tell me what worrying does
What about bedtime hesitation
And regret triggered spasms

Get it on the floor
Mouth on the floor
Ass on the floor

Come on
Show it
Doll show it

We paid for the gag - runny make-up
We'd gone in for tears
Let's see you look up this time

Come on
Spit out

Intimate

2008-03-29T10:20:00.001-07:00

I grab your pretty hair
Scream in your face
I try not laugh as you cry so profusely
Your pathetic sniveling is my favorite song

Feeling your soft skin giving way under my fists
Pulling you on to your knees
As you scream just like a cunt
Always ignorant to the reality that you brought this upon yourself

Guttural sounds now
Hardly befitting somebody as pretty as you were
As you are when you aren't like this
Which is not often anymore

Stupid girl
Stupid girl stupid silly girl
I feel like when we first met
With my hands around your neck

Reclamation of power
Manifests in your screams
Your tears and your bruises
Your cellophane explanations to your family and friends

You stare at me with those beautiful watery eyes
Utter stupidity on the tip of your tongue
As your lips quiver with terrified hesitation
All illusions of innocence so explicitly and forever shattered

It will never happen again
I love you and I'm different
You stupid fucking bitch
I'll teach you a fucking lesson...

Odium Opiate

2008-03-28T15:16:00.000-07:00

I love hate. I love everything about it. I love the way it sounds, the way it rolls off of my tongue. I love the way it makes my body tingle when it really gets going. I love to hate girls, and trends, TV commercials, movie previews. I love to see something that is made in such a way to appeal to as many bromide peasants as possible and just HATE the shit out of it. I hate men's magazines, I hate the vapid cunts done up for your profitable and socially acceptable erection, I hate the plaid-clad pencil dick shits with their uxorious vacant expressions of media-male stupidity that we're supposed to emulate.

I just fucking hate, I hate the fact you comb your hair over your eyes, I hate the fact you think your ostentations are defensible, you don't even know what the fuck that is. I hate your internet shorthand, your braindead online monicker, I hate your eclectic taste in music, the fact you think you're different for eating meat. I hate their shit lesbian mystique, the constant emasculation, I hate my girlfriend and I DEFINATELY hate yours. I hate the kind of misanthropy that vanishes when it's no longer fashionable, the make-believe surnames and their contrived violent implications.

I hate your friends, I detest your core, don't fucking start me on your scene -- Sometimes I hate so much my breathing slows and my knees shake, that's it, when it swells up through my diaphragm and I'm so totally consumed I have to hold my mouth and cough, my eyes water and I get dizzy as if rapt by some wonderful drug. I am ultimately saturated with what becomes fuel for this furnace of my own condemnation. Ever-present and never enough, this is not a means to an end and only it's inherent value is significant, hate is as much muse as it is a medium.

Curvaceous Sebaceous

2008-03-27T11:33:00.000-07:00

TAKE A LOOK AT YOURSELF SHIT
YOU'RE DISGUSTING
PONDEROUS REVULSIVE GASTROPOD

CHOLESTEROL HAS NEVER BEEN SO GLAMOROUS!

YOU FUCKING SLUG
YOU'RE AN UTTER DISGRACE
WITH BLOATED BRIGHTNESS AND CORPULENT FUCKING CONTRAST

FEELING REJECTED?

THE CAMERA AND THE MIRROR TELL VERY DIFFERENT STORIES DON'T THEY?
IT'S FUNNY HOW THE TRANSPERANT PAPER-THIN VANITY VANISHES
FASTER THAN THE VILE DISGUSTING UNPERISHABLE SHIT YOU CRAM INTO YOUR BULBOUS DISTENDED STOMACH

NOBODY MADE YOU THIS FAT
NOBODY MADE YOU THIS UGLY
NOISOME

NO MORE HOLLOW PRAISE OR FLATTERING INSINCERITY
NO MORE GREASE SLICKED "HEY PIG, YEAH YOU" ON SLIMY REPULSIVE LIPS
KIND OF IRONIC IS IT NOT?

HOW OFTEN DO YOU "NEED" TO EAT?

HOW ABOUT A SHOT OF THOSE PIERCINGS?
IT'S A WONDER YOU DON'T BURST
LIKE A CELLULITE FILLED DISGUSTING BALLOON

NEVER FORGET HOW INADEQUATE YOU ARE
TRY A FISTFUL OF SLEEPING CAPSULES NEXT TIME
INSTEAD OF THE SALT LADEN STAPLES OF YOUR MISERABLE FUCKING LIFE

Pathos

2008-03-26T20:18:00.001-07:00

CAN YOU THINK FOR YOURSELF?
ARE YOU CAPABLE OF A LUCID THOUGHT?
PARASITE
DO YOU NEED ASSURANCE SO MUCH YOU'RE WILLING TO HUMILIATE YOURSELF?
ANSWER ME
INFERIOR
DO YOU LIKE IT DOWN THERE?
SPIT
YOU HAVE ALOT TO LEARN
IF YOU'RE CAPABLE OF THAT
YOU'LL LEARN ABOUT RESPECT
AND YOU'LL LEARN ABOUT DRINKING PISS AND EATING SHIT
AND YOU'LL LEARN ABOUT SUCKING COCK WITH A GUN TO YOUR HEAD
GET ACQUAINTED THE END OF MY TOLERANCE
FOR YOU AND THOSE LIKE YOU
BLOODSUCKER
SPEAK
IS IT CLEAR NOW?
OR WILL IT BECOME SO?
WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
WHAT DID YOU WANT THEN?
SHUT UP
SHOULD I FEEL SORRY FOR YOU?
SHOULD I BANDAGE YOUR PATHETIC SLASHED WRISTS?
AND SHOULD I DRY YOUR SULLEN FUCKING TEARS?
STEREOTYPE
GET USED TO SCAB-KNEES AND SCISSORCUTS
TO SEMEN STAINS AND BANDAIDS
ONE DAY YOU'LL THANK ME
THIS IS THE BEGINNING OF THE REST OF YOUR LIFE