Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Breaking the Mold
I read through some of my older posts and someone thought it'd be interesting to see the "what happens after" story behind the poem "And so the world burns." My ideal, was to say...what happens is what you want to happen, a throwback to the old Terminator line, "No fate but what we make." However, I tinkered and tried. Enjoy...maybe? Haha. I tried to keep it, largely simple...so ya know.
And so Light shown
And so the light shown,
hands had joined in unison.
The cinders and ash that fell,
no longer suffocated their hearts.
The permeation of greed,
filtered unnoticed between fingers
laced within others,
equally desperate for hope.
And so apologies were spared,
we all knew it was undeserved...
like a wrath that hanged heaven
upon splintered gallows.
The smoke was only so thick,
and it blew away with voices joined.
A song that rang in the skies,
mended the lives torn asunder.
And so flames licked at the wisps in the sky,
growing higher as guns were tossed to fire.
But for once history showed,
songs rang higher than scathing heat.
The craving for blood died with their fathers,
and follies no longer beget folly.
The pursuit of knowledge was a means to save themselves,
a beacon of the possibility of a future.
And so light began to shine,
the past was merely a blurred scar,
Their eyes stared brightly at the skies -
with faith, history doesn't repeat.
A Rainy City, and a Sad Man Muses
This is based off the same narrator from A Lament for the Slums, and Rats. Pretty much, this story focuses more on his thoughts on his surroundings and how he view them both ethically and philosophically. First story, detailed an outward progression of events. The second, explored coping mechanisms...this one, I hope to show his feelings. I mean to make it a bit more conversational...even if it is with himself.
**NOTE: This is not based on a real place...it's just the city of nightmares. For instance, you'll notice thunderstorms in the cold and such.
Again, I tried to simplify it...I don't want to alienate people
A Rainy City, and a Sad Man Muses
Jesus Christ. You'd think that the sirens would quit yapping in the dead of night. Or maybe, the 5.0 would finally tire of writing body lines in chalk upon the concrete. To be honest, I can't remember a day where the sounds of gunfire echoed the streets and the decrepit denizens didn't duck for cover. Personally, I didn't give a shit. If a stray bullet had my name on it, if my number was up... I'd be no more than another cadaver that lined the streets. Personally, if the pigs stepped up their game, there'd be far less bullshit to deal with around here. The riff-raff that littered the corners and alleyways were always looking for trouble; I'm sure the pigs would love that. Who wouldn't pass up the chance to see some young gang banger or crackhead's brain matter all over the masonry. I sure would.
My own internal thoughts were interrupted by a distant rumbling that signified a coming thunderstorm.. It was raining again.. I guess in a city of tears, all God can do is cry. But I never really cared for any of that philosophical shit. My hands fumbled about in my pockets, as they do desperately everyday. I thumbed over a cold metal casing and made the check that indeed, it was my lighter. "Great.." With my right hand, I found a coveted cigarette butt, and pulled it from the lint infused pocket lining, to my lips. A rather visible crease ran through the paper casing, and it twisted a bit; the entire damn thing seemed to ben bent nearly in half. But, if it smokes, it smokes. My finger flicked on the lighter... a spark. Again, my thumb flicked the gear to no more than a exhausted click. Just my luck..
With an angry flourish, that most likely marked me with as an infantile lunatic to passers by, I tossed the cigarette to the ground and stomped it. "Fuckin' piece of..." You sure learn to count your blessings in a place like this. Most of the time, you can be thankful for not catching a bullet to the chest...or being beaten to death in a back alley for twenty bucks. This was my blessing. One last cigarette, and God didn't even have the shred of decency to grant me a single spark to light it. So now, as my foot moved from the remains of the cigarette, shreds of tobacco clung to the soles of my tattered boot. It kinda reminded me of the bums, so strung out that they begged the pigs to arrest them just for a hot meal... that's to say they weren't too busy fucking each other to beg. But who am I to judge, everyone has to have some pleasure in the monotony of life.
My shoulders were stiff, and the rain had begun to cascade from sorrowful clouds with such an superfluity, it made my clothing more cumbersome. "Agh, just quit yer bitchin' already.." Of course, my odd curse at the heavens threatened to drown me. Giving up, I shrouded myself with a stained hood and ran down the side winding streets, even more drab among the orange hue of street lamps. At least the derelicts rarely drifted outward in the storms. It seemed to have a purifying effect on the slums...a kind of holy water against hookers, pimps, an dope fiends.
Click! One lock, then the padlock...and then a creak as the doorway opened before the tenement I called home opened. I thumbed about in the darkness, illuminated temporarily by a streak of lightning that danced about the window panes, to find the light switch. It wasn't much help. The light was a dim vomit color that flickered and buzzed, as if a thousand moths had crawled into the crevices to writhe in coffins before they died. Probably did, too. I can feel sorry for them, they'd be about as stuck as me. The water that dripped from the coat pattered against the floor in a slow hum drum before the incessant irritation caused me to simply drop the cloak to the linoleum floor with a damp thud. Admittedly, the burnished wet mass hid the cracks and stains on the tiling quite well.
Even as I dropped the last of the encumbrance from my body, the effects of the dampness still bore into my bones. The cold made everything stiff...almost as if rigor had set in. A roach scattered helplessly beneath the cabinets as the kitchen lighting flickered to life. I couldn't bring myself to stomp the life out of the poor thing...all it wants is a chance too. But like me, so long as it was here, it had a better chance against a can of Raid. Am I a cockroach, only fit to scrape by until inevitably being crushed underfoot?
The refrigerator was stained in the color of yellowing teeth and smelled much like rotten cheese. It had been here since before I got here, and it'd probably sit and continue to rot when I was gone. Looking into the icebox, was like staring into the void of space itself. If it weren't for a scrap of mold clinging to the plastic, it truly would be vacant. The frigid air and acrid smell had become almost unbearable, so I allowed the door to drop from my hands.
Sleep didn't find me tonight. Normally, the gentle rumble of thunder and the gently rolling thrumming against the windows lulled me to slumber. Odd. "All God can do is cry..." I wonder if he looked down upon his creations with pity or scorn. But, if we were made in its image, I am sure God is most likely in a corner somewhere, flat lining with a rusted needle stuck between his toes. A spring caught me between the ribs as I tossed to watch the water drip down the pains. Even the inane white noise produced by the monsoon outside failed to silence my thoughts and lull me to reprieve. Lying awake was a hell in of itself...but I can't help but be thankful, for whatever the fuck in was worth. In this world, one learns to count their blessings. Next time I get a chance, I'll count the rain as one of them. But to be realistic, I'd trade that damned water for a long drag from a cigarette anyway, at least that way I may be able to sleep a little better.
**NOTE: This is not based on a real place...it's just the city of nightmares. For instance, you'll notice thunderstorms in the cold and such.
Again, I tried to simplify it...I don't want to alienate people
A Rainy City, and a Sad Man Muses
Jesus Christ. You'd think that the sirens would quit yapping in the dead of night. Or maybe, the 5.0 would finally tire of writing body lines in chalk upon the concrete. To be honest, I can't remember a day where the sounds of gunfire echoed the streets and the decrepit denizens didn't duck for cover. Personally, I didn't give a shit. If a stray bullet had my name on it, if my number was up... I'd be no more than another cadaver that lined the streets. Personally, if the pigs stepped up their game, there'd be far less bullshit to deal with around here. The riff-raff that littered the corners and alleyways were always looking for trouble; I'm sure the pigs would love that. Who wouldn't pass up the chance to see some young gang banger or crackhead's brain matter all over the masonry. I sure would.
My own internal thoughts were interrupted by a distant rumbling that signified a coming thunderstorm.. It was raining again.. I guess in a city of tears, all God can do is cry. But I never really cared for any of that philosophical shit. My hands fumbled about in my pockets, as they do desperately everyday. I thumbed over a cold metal casing and made the check that indeed, it was my lighter. "Great.." With my right hand, I found a coveted cigarette butt, and pulled it from the lint infused pocket lining, to my lips. A rather visible crease ran through the paper casing, and it twisted a bit; the entire damn thing seemed to ben bent nearly in half. But, if it smokes, it smokes. My finger flicked on the lighter... a spark. Again, my thumb flicked the gear to no more than a exhausted click. Just my luck..
With an angry flourish, that most likely marked me with as an infantile lunatic to passers by, I tossed the cigarette to the ground and stomped it. "Fuckin' piece of..." You sure learn to count your blessings in a place like this. Most of the time, you can be thankful for not catching a bullet to the chest...or being beaten to death in a back alley for twenty bucks. This was my blessing. One last cigarette, and God didn't even have the shred of decency to grant me a single spark to light it. So now, as my foot moved from the remains of the cigarette, shreds of tobacco clung to the soles of my tattered boot. It kinda reminded me of the bums, so strung out that they begged the pigs to arrest them just for a hot meal... that's to say they weren't too busy fucking each other to beg. But who am I to judge, everyone has to have some pleasure in the monotony of life.
My shoulders were stiff, and the rain had begun to cascade from sorrowful clouds with such an superfluity, it made my clothing more cumbersome. "Agh, just quit yer bitchin' already.." Of course, my odd curse at the heavens threatened to drown me. Giving up, I shrouded myself with a stained hood and ran down the side winding streets, even more drab among the orange hue of street lamps. At least the derelicts rarely drifted outward in the storms. It seemed to have a purifying effect on the slums...a kind of holy water against hookers, pimps, an dope fiends.
Click! One lock, then the padlock...and then a creak as the doorway opened before the tenement I called home opened. I thumbed about in the darkness, illuminated temporarily by a streak of lightning that danced about the window panes, to find the light switch. It wasn't much help. The light was a dim vomit color that flickered and buzzed, as if a thousand moths had crawled into the crevices to writhe in coffins before they died. Probably did, too. I can feel sorry for them, they'd be about as stuck as me. The water that dripped from the coat pattered against the floor in a slow hum drum before the incessant irritation caused me to simply drop the cloak to the linoleum floor with a damp thud. Admittedly, the burnished wet mass hid the cracks and stains on the tiling quite well.
Even as I dropped the last of the encumbrance from my body, the effects of the dampness still bore into my bones. The cold made everything stiff...almost as if rigor had set in. A roach scattered helplessly beneath the cabinets as the kitchen lighting flickered to life. I couldn't bring myself to stomp the life out of the poor thing...all it wants is a chance too. But like me, so long as it was here, it had a better chance against a can of Raid. Am I a cockroach, only fit to scrape by until inevitably being crushed underfoot?
The refrigerator was stained in the color of yellowing teeth and smelled much like rotten cheese. It had been here since before I got here, and it'd probably sit and continue to rot when I was gone. Looking into the icebox, was like staring into the void of space itself. If it weren't for a scrap of mold clinging to the plastic, it truly would be vacant. The frigid air and acrid smell had become almost unbearable, so I allowed the door to drop from my hands.
Sleep didn't find me tonight. Normally, the gentle rumble of thunder and the gently rolling thrumming against the windows lulled me to slumber. Odd. "All God can do is cry..." I wonder if he looked down upon his creations with pity or scorn. But, if we were made in its image, I am sure God is most likely in a corner somewhere, flat lining with a rusted needle stuck between his toes. A spring caught me between the ribs as I tossed to watch the water drip down the pains. Even the inane white noise produced by the monsoon outside failed to silence my thoughts and lull me to reprieve. Lying awake was a hell in of itself...but I can't help but be thankful, for whatever the fuck in was worth. In this world, one learns to count their blessings. Next time I get a chance, I'll count the rain as one of them. But to be realistic, I'd trade that damned water for a long drag from a cigarette anyway, at least that way I may be able to sleep a little better.
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