I don't know why or how it happened, but a few weeks ago, when I wasn't paying attention, life got away from me and took my words with it.
Now please, don't get the wrong idea.
(more) I'm not making excuses, I'm not trying to insinuate that something wacky or life-changing scared the words right out of me.
I just plain stopped writing.
Ok, let me back up just a tiny little bit.
It pretty much started around the time I got the flu, so I've come to the conclusion that the fever that had me in it's grip scorched every bit of creativity right out of me.
Apparently I don't drink enough water.
So what have I been doing all this while?
I'm ashamed to admit that I have become obsessed with the damn trial of that psycho-killer Jodie Arias.
Honestly, I've never been one to pay attention to this sort of thing but then again, I don't think this sort of thing has happened very often.
There is nothing in the scope of my imagination that could ever result in me or anyone I know stabbing someone 29 times, slitting someone's throat from ear-to-ear as well as shooting someone in the head.
If you're reading these words and you happen to be watching the trial, is this court-case a circus or what? Even the defense "expert" witness is a joke, stumbling and fumbling through his "notes" while obviously under the spell of this remorseless killer.
As I'm writing this I have the trial on.
No, you don't understand, I'm in Cape May for Mother/Daughter vacation-time,first time since Hurricane Irene knocked our house down and I'm watching this damn trial!
Well, at least my Mom and I are watching this train-wreck together.(less)
"Well," Said the man in the top hat,"That was inexplicable." The pair stared at the strange girl as she faded into the horizon.
"Hmm," Said the man in the bowler hat, "Yes, quite."
(more) With that, the men continued on their way riding purple unicycles with flashing lights and dazzling sparklers, juggling great big watermelons as they went. (less)
Chaos. Turmoil. This rush of feeling. It puts me on edge as if something is coming, something big, something bad. It is a prelude to emotion, one chance to change the fate that is racing my way. My one moment to run, get out of the way, before it(more) tramples me.
It is impossible to explain to you what exactly it is. I could throw out metaphors that would apply, but they only apply in hindsight. I could throw out vague words like sad or angry. I can explain to you what it means. But that is not what it is. I do not know what it is, other than inexplicable. All I know is that when it comes, I have to act. I don't have time to explain. One wrong move could cast me into a new form of hell filled with negative emotions that defy understanding. It's rough, answering to the call of something who's name you will never know and face you will never see. I may never understand it, but I dare not ignore it. (less)
Something really beautiful happened last summer. All the pain and the loneliness went away when I met you. I didn't believe in soul mates but something drew me to you.
I took it slow with you and that was a fresh change. From the first time my lips met(more) yours to me falling deeply in love with you. Everything was so textbook sit-com lovers with you. Perfect.
I had the in-laws that I didn't like and I was your bitter opposites from the bones in my core to my upbringings from birth. I found myself emerging more and more into your religious country-hick life style with my short dresses and my dorky orange scion. I always thought I was embarrassing you, but the only fights fought were over me not being by your side every second of my free minutes. How stupid, I thought. It seemed such a silly thing to fight over to me, but looking back now I wish I would have given you what you wanted or maybe it's what you needed.
I didn't know you for that long. Five months. After two I had this feeling hit me which made me know why I was drawn to you. You were my lobster. My better half. My soul mate I was cursed to spend my whole life searching for, but then I found you.
I told you I loved you and how much you meant to me. Maybe I should have listened to the other voices in my young, ditsy head because you broke up with me. You got over me, and I said I'd move on. All those deep feelings of love are still there months later, trapped in a bitter solitude of darkness.
How do you get over the feeling of forever? This heartbreak is...(less)
Jack rolled over to look upon the form of the sleeping stranger. It wasn't the same any more. Where there used to be inexplicable pleasure, he was now filled with a sinking emptiness and a chill that could not be warded off by any amount of warm blankets.
Moonligh(more)t skimmed across the foreign angles of the stranger's skin. The man looked as he had felt: sharp and unyielding with none of the softness that used to follow. When Jack had seen that heated gaze from across the room there was something so familiar about it that he couldn't help but be drawn in. And when they touched, he recognized the strength and firmness so much like that which he had felt so many times before. But the similarities ended there, leaving him now in a cold bed with an even colder stranger.(less)
Crows flew from the drain as Casey strode nearer to it. She heard the mewling cries of something below the grating as she jogged past and decided it was odd enough to investigate. Casey was permanently curious.
(more) Near the opening, she looked around the cul-de-sac for people. She was uncomfortable enough with the burbling thing below the culvert alone, less so for someone gawking at her round behind as she bent lower to inspect it.
She brought her face to the mouth of the dark, musty drain. "Hello?" she asked of the damp space, as if anything down there spoke English. The whimpering gurgle ceased.
Dropping prone, she let her eyes adjust to the dusk of the culvert. She saw the shimmer of black feathers at the bottom of the concrete cylinder. For a moment, she felt sorry for the bird trapped down there. She contemplated getting a stick to at least get it out so it could die in the sunlight, but was stopped from doing so by the creature's noise. There was no way that it was a crow. It was a laugh.
Casey scrambled up and away from the drain. She tripped once and sprained her wrist catching herself. The pain sung its song from her shoulder to her hand as the creature kept laughing and laughing. She struggled to catch her breath as whatever it was threw itself hard into the round, iron cover of the manhole. The rusted disc moved ajar. Casey turned to run, but the crows were back, threatening her steps away.
They made her watch as the black, feathered creature climbed out of the manhole. They sang as it unfolded its terrible form. They sang as Casey, bereft of the air to scream, leaped at the crow god.(less)
Jerry owns a cat. He purchased the cat a long time ago, and plays with the cat every day. They play tug-of-war, hide-and-seek, build-and-destroy, and other equally exciting games. Jerry always wins. Jerry's cat is athletic, but is not very bright. He tends to fall a lot, and slides(more) across Jerry's linoleum floor frequently. Jerry believes that his cat means well, but isn't smart enough to ever win any of the games. They run around Tom's house together, making messes and breaking dishes, but Jerry doesn't mind. He enjoys the time that he gets to spend with his cat. However, there are days where Jerry feels lonely. Days where Jerry asks himself, "Jerry, why don't you have any human friends?" He gets upset on days like these, but not terribly so. For, you see, Jerry is a mouse. Jerry's cat is named Tom. Why would a mouse have human friends, when he has a perfectly good cat to play with? Especially a cat that is so easy to beat in games like tug-of-war.(less)
The shot rang out. It hit me before I could hear it. A bullet to my chest. Clean shot. My legs collapsed underneath me. I was on my back and waiting for the world to close in around me. I felt no panic. I felt no pain. Only a(more) sense of curiosity. I was dying. What did it mean? My field of vision narrowed. I looked up at the sky and tried to soak in one last look at the world I was leaving behind. The end of my consciousness and with it the closing of my brief window into reality. A privilege I had taken for granted until now. What did it feel like to no longer exist? I wasn't going to be around long enough to find out.
My vision turned dark. I was about to experience what billions have experienced before me but have been unable to document. Through the darkness, I saw colours. Like the ones I used to see as a child when I'd press my hands firmly against my eyes. Soon the colours vanished and the image of a smiling woman appeared to me. A snapshot. A young beautiful woman that I didn't recognize. The image faded as it was consumed by light. I heard a gentle chime.
I awoke in the bed of another man. His wife had her arm wrapped around me tightly. Her naked body pressed against mine. I awoke in another man's home, in another man's life. I got up and walked to a nearby mirror. I didn't recognize myself staring back.
His wife calls me. "Mon Cheri, qu'est que tu fais? Return au lit." I understand French?
"Un moment, je reviens." I speak French?
Bon, je crois que je deviens fou. J'ai besoin de plus de sommeil. Bonne nuit.
Henry's world is tinged in yellow, a dark and disillusioned color in the darkness of Corbin's bedroom. It clashes with the deep azures and velvety reds draped everywhere. The Maddoxes' manor is the very picture of modern-day Aurorian decadence, and it would make Henry sick if he weren't so(more) invested in its lonely inhabitant.
Corbin looks tired, with his own rings around his eyes; they're black instead of yellow, however. He's sweating but he won't take off the thick velvet robe he clutches and picks at, won't let Henry rub his bent and sore back. What would Corbin hide from him? The younger boy is curled up in the corner of the cushioned windowsill, sleeping with his back to the air.
It doesn't look hunched or bent, but like something is protruding from it. Henry's curiousity gets the better of him and he reaches out, fingers brushing against soft fabric and finding something hard.
Corbin relaxes into the touch.
Henry dares to move closer and starts exploring Corbin's covered back, its dips and ridges. His observation seemed correct--it felt like there were two things protruding from Corbin's back. He rubs them, and they fold back, complex joints. His fingers find what feel like joints, hot and inflamed, at the base of these protrusions.
Mesmerized, Henry realizes that Corbin has wings. (less)
The flax-counter has eighteen minutes remaining, when it hits zero I will be dead. No time to think, only to act.
I knew that tripping the prox-sense would result in my immediate termination, it's common knowledge; but I have to warn them. They must know. They must be(more) told the truth.
I have about ten minutes until I arrive at Mulcern gate, about six minutes to herald a commune, and roughly two minutes afterwards my bracelet will be active, the toxin will perform a L3-Memwipe (wouldn't want them probing me for post-mort info.) resulting in a permanent cease and desist on all of my vital functions. I will forget how to breath, and I will cease to be.
Right now I need to hold on. I need to get to the Mulcern gate. I need to warn the others. They deserve to know the schemes of the schemers on future histories. They need to be exposed to immediate dangers and tribulations of their unborn children.
Getting here took too many precious minutes, dodging and weaving among the free-partitioners, catching the tri-delta to Mulcern under the guise of a High-Arbiter. I'll get there in time. Little time, but just enough.
The future has come: beautiful, inexplicable, prepackaged complexity. It is the fear of other, less apparent futures that fuel my desire to impart. Empathy for those not yet lost, and them that are to be exposed to the horrors of peace earned through war.
An end result achieved premature, without the need for blood not yet spilled. (less)
The whole situation was completely inexplicable, and even now I struggle to think about it without acquiring a sharp headache. Of all the people in the world, it still astonishes me that it was you, all along. I remember that overcast Tuesday evening by the bay as if it(more) were yesterday.
'If I ever find myself burdened with worries,' you had once told me, 'I throw them out to sea, a message in a bottle. It's the only thing that helps.'
Three years later, I found myself stood at the water's edge, watching a perfume bottle float on the tide. Inside, a tiny scrap of paper, on which I had scribbled:
'Forgiveness came too late; I am destined to be without you. And so my life crumbles slowly away, yet I shall not resist. Life without you is simply not worth living. - RW'
9500 miles, three oceans, and 7 days later, you found it. It was nothing short of a miracle. After a further 28 hours spent searching frantically for my contact details, you reached me. I can't even begin to describe the joy of hearing your voice at the end of the receiver. If you had rung one minute later, I never would have had that joy.
If there was one reason for religion to be around, it would be to answer that question. Any question that you think can be answered will always have a 'why' tagging along.
Why do colours exist? They exist because of how our eyes work. Why do(more) they work that way? Why are we so sure that this is the explication? Why, why, why?
It seems for every question that can be answered, there is always another questioning the answer. It's the endless circle of eternity. Why will always be a question, and there is always a question for every answer. So really, if you think about it, nothing is being answered.
It sometimes makes me wonder why we even bother. Why bother trying to solve everything all the time? Why bother looking for answers to questions without them? Why be so stressed out about it, when we can be perfectly stupid and content?
The answer to this, of course, is because an inexplicable answer is better than no answer at all. It's a complete causality dilemma. What came first, the question or the answer? How could we question something when there was no answer to a question to begin with?
There will one day be an answer to everything, one unquestionable and non-religious. It is doubtful, however, that anyone will live to know it. (less)
Imagine yourself as the glucose molecule floating within the extracelluar matrix. You find yourself drawn towards the cell wall of a prokaryotic cell, looks like a typical E.coli. You enter the cell wall with ease using one of of the various protein transport pumps that are made specifically for the t(more)he shape of your macromolecule. Within in the cytoplasm you begin to be ripped apart. First, you're reduced, then reused, then moved, then put back togther, then reduced a few more times and protons form and they are pumped back out of the cell. Where they push against the wall wanting to get in. They're want is what motivated you to go into the cell in the first place. They're need is what ripped you apart. Nature is nothing less than a roman holiday.(less)
Saline coats lips
like it floats ships
crisp the air is swift
silent down to the crickets
open the door to a monty hall
twisted the ghosts bedsheets
so we can stay modern
hunting the skulls of a favorite breed
stack em in egyptian pyramids so they can lay seed
and hide with the treasure
slip away in the pleasure
letter by letter we build till we get better
till i get mine
open the blinds let in the sunshine
let the dust settle
let the day break
let the pieces fall and all the animals escape
let em win the race
you can have first place
hope that shiny sticker
finds a special space
im done finished oh isnt it all well
smile on my face as i pave the road to hell
the church bells ring its dinner time she sings
and return to the table where we welcomed the spring
(dont forget your napkin honey!)
enter the Mondaze, tuesdaze, threesdaze, fridaze
we left in a daze wait wheres my day
youll get it when you see the sidewalks sideways
sidechained to societies silent hideaways
gyrating to Just Blaze
this is the hazin no explanation
no theres no frat basement
but art is just procrastination
see i built a world from these thoughts
just to see them got shot
it sounds like ripleys believe it or not
but i make no false promises
with my fingers twisted
so today may be the last day i get with it
not without the ides of march
living large quick to draw at the stars
and scoot under the carpet after
meeting the man in charge
Mysteries are solved every day, but we refuse to listen. People like to cling to the inexplicable, the unknown. Maybe this time it wasn't a gruesome murder. Maybe she faked her own death and is living a quiet and peaceful life somewhere and all her dreams have come true.(more) Maybe.
It's more comforting to cling to the unexplained than to listen to the cold, hard reason of answers. (less)