I lied ;~;

Not really.. I tried to post new stuff.. But I failed. I will have something new up for sure before Tuesday.. I promise.~

Rats in the Mattresses and Roaches in the Ceiling

I was literally told to "dumb it down" for this piece. Sorry, but it fricken sucks.. Instead of throwing my brain matter easily like I did for the last, I had to find baby words - which took hours. Hell, I didn't even see if autocorrect screwed me over or not. If you see anything out of place, tell me.

Anyway, this is the last time I don't just type.. I sat there for hours and got nothing done to advance my plans.. While I like how it began adding to a background for my character, it went nowhere fast.. hopefully part 3 will be much better.. Anyway, critics are always welcomed.



Rats in the Mattresses and Roaches in the Ceiling

In this town, runnin' from the 5.0 is about as commonplace as a junky out on the curb, crushing a used needle into his veins. Or rather, they are simply one in the same. And in this business, the girls' gotta learn to run in high heels. I sit here, on my own sullen doorstep, watching history's oldest surviving career work as it does best. Nearly every night, the girls get chased through the streets by the cops looking for a cheap thrill - a free one, rather. It's rather sickening.. the boys in blue are more worried about getting their rocks off for free, rather than cleaning up the streets. It's rather ironic, to see the whores pursued through the streets and then to hear their deafening cries as they are raped. To be perfectly honest, all of us do what we've got to do. I for one, don't do much of anything. I typically meander about the various backroads and alleyways, literally doing.. nothing. These girls allow themselves this torture, not on the condition that they simply loving being whores, but rather they are stuck in the same downward spiral everyone around is. They're hooked on drugs, they've got a baby, they can't afford the sandwich their lazy ass boyfriend can't prepare for himself - or maybe they are fighting for a roof and four walls.

I have a home. Albeit, it is nothing much to look at, nor live in and I'd be a lunatic to delude myself into thinking of it as anything nurturing. It was a one bedroom crap shack, a tiny built in kitchen, dining room combo and a disgusting bathroom with cracked tiling and peeling old wall paper that resembled some old hotel room's cheesy tapestry. It was infested with any manner of bugs, ranging from cockroaches to brown recluse spiders, and for the life of me, I can hear clawing beneath the walls during each night's pained respite. Hell, my god damned mattress was more like sleeping on crumbled pieces of cement stuffed inside of a body back, garnished with a hint of razorblades. The corners were ripped upward and the "fluff" was leaking out of the seams. It's a wonder bed bugs didn't nest there, but hell, maybe it was just too damned uncomfortable for even them. But I am thankful not to be in their shoes.

I stood upon the perch and stepped off onto the street. I wasn't much in the mood to watch the nightly round up of the workin' gals and simply sauntered down a nearby alley. There didn't seem to be any urchins banging rocks together behind the dumpsters, nor asking me for change - or worse, trying to gut me for the whole twenty bucks tucked in my jacket pocket. Maybe tonight would be significantly better than the usual meat grinder. I stuffed my hand into the tattered duster that adorned my shoulders, retrieving a crumpled pack of '100's. My hands gently flipped open the box to behold only a few strands of dried tobacco that slid against the corners of card board. You have got to be fucking kidding me.. I simply dropped the emptied container onto the pavement and continued onward, my foot crushing it beneath the heel.

*****

Tonight, I drank myself into a stupor. I sat amongst the dirty, haggard, and down right disgusting patrons of a bar that reeked of piss and body odor every night and was about as notorious for the smell as it was for bar fights and shootings. It was a dive in every sense of the word - a tiny slice of hell. The stink hole didn't even have a name, or rather no one around could even put a finger on what it was. It had been around since the early seventies, where a man named Earl T. Davis opened his doors for the first time. The old bastard still sat about the bar every night spinning tales of grandeur about the "pub's" glory days, where it would be considered "classy" to have a cocktail there. Bullshit. No sangfroid shithole that serves whiskey and Budweiser alone would have ever been called classy. Needless to say, he has alcohol, and that is more than enough to drown a man's sorrows. Down the hatch, and then blackness.

A Lament for the Slums

Well, this is the third post of the day, and it is looking like a fifth will be tough and impossible to do this evening.. I am getting tired.

I wrote this, as a plan for a series.. I enjoy the first part of it sooo much. I hope you do too.. I want to keep writing about this character, of which I have grown to refer to as, "The Smoker." He likes his cancer sticks.. and I think it is kinda cool too.. maybe I will introduce characters, and make a graphic novel.. Who knows? For now, we just have a lament. I hope you enjoy..

As always, comments and help with editing are great!


A Lament for the Slums


The cold metal case began to warm to my hand. Ironic. You'd think with the frigid pellets of condensed water haphazardly descending from the firmament, and the biting chill of a tumultuous gust would prevent my body heat from enveloping the damn thing. But such was the case of this curious venture and such was my fate, like a sense of luck. Oh please be a lady tonight. The tip of my thumbs nail rubbed across the gelid metallic lid. My hand reached into the folds of the weathered duster that adorned my shoulders. The tips of my fingers fondled about the inside right, breast pocket until a sharp, angled corner pressed softly into the skin of my index finger. The "corner" adjoined uncomfortably against the derma, irritating the grooves and texture of my finger print.

How impeccable!

The startling wail of a siren, followed by flittering pattern of red and blue hues against the brick walls of the decaying alleyway jolted me back to my senses. Shit. Already? So much for a quick break. My hand allowed the box of cigarettes to slip from my finger tips and fall back into their original resting place. I retracted that arm and promptly pushed the hand into its corresponding pocket, nesting it from the cold, then again, with the other. Off in the distance, I could hear cries and shouts of hookers attempting to run from the clutches of the squealing pigs that scurried after them. A typical night in this shit hole. With a solemn yield of my head, I hid my eyes from the hazy shroud of light that crackled from the near by street lamps.
"Get back 'ere bitch!" The sound of a hurried, panting voice rang in my ears immediately accompanied by the sound of heels slapping against the pavement. No doubt, those dissolute pigs were looking for something other than justice.
The ringing in my ears died out as I passed an open bar. Needless to even fathom that solace would find me. Loud, booming country music rang from the mandibles of pub whose doors were slightly ajar, a rather rough looking bald man standing in the pathway with his arms crossed menacingly about his chest. I saw my breath rise from my lips and I became aware that I was scoffing. Like his job was so goddamned important.

As I ventured onward, the grating scent of fresh urine enthralled my nostrils and felt as it was incinerating the lining of skin. I glared in the direction of the gaseous poison to behold an older man crouching behind a dumpster, scarcely illuminated by the more than inadequate street lamp. I had to question as to whether or not I stepped in a puddle of piss, or if it was the urchin's odor, traversing the distance and encircling him in an aura. Regardless, I had to force myself not to gag. Needless to say, I had to pass that living corpse in order to cross into the next street.

My feet thudded against the asphalt, splashing against the puddles that had now formed in the road. It was no longer raining, but the merciless cold was ever present. I stepped into the alleyway, so scarcely illuminated that shadows became so robust, they seemed to be devils dancing amongst the night, mocking those who dare traverse amongst them. Or maybe I am just crazy. It felt as if the walk way was barely roomy enough for three or four decent sized adults to walk side by side. On my right side, stretched a grate fence, quarantining the land of a run down "mom and pop's store"; it wasn't like the fence even deterred gangs from tagging the walls. On my other side, was a wall of brick and mortar, presumably some run down tenement infested with some manner of rabble.

"Where da fuck you think you goin' asshole!" My vision blacked for a moment as a searing pain inflamed my skull. As my mind granulated, as did my sight fading in and out steadily. My body caved, stumbling into the mesh of metal that comprised the entirety of the fence. It formed to my body, and I slid to one knee, my opposite leg trembling as it attempted to keep me upright. My arm fumbled foreword, feeling the darkness before me, my vision phasing in and out at a dizzying rate. A concussion, no doubt. A second blow struck behind my knee, the pain traveling down my calf. My body buckled over, my hand catching my body - the arm straightened and became rigid. Though I kept myself up, I could feel a myriad of rocks, glass, and dirt sediment dug into the palm of my hand, the skin tearing away. A warm and wet ooze dripped from my nose and onto my knuckles, probably caused some internal injury of sorts. My vision gradually began to steady and I found myself staring downward at the pavement. I began to slowly tilt my head upward..

"Eyy, looky here, this li'l bitch still tryin' ta move." This one's voice was much higher than the other man's, I could tell at least this much. Judging by the attitude, this was the guy that hit me. "Hurry up and waste thu bitch - grab his fucking cash and let's bail." This time, it was the other one, I think. Maybe their voices were just melting into one, or there really was only one other person here.

My lips began to move before my mind sanctioned them, my breathing had begun to mirror a pant and my voice cracked and gurgled a dry, "Fuck...you.." I felt a thick grip entwine itself through my hair, yanking me upward. Whichever this was, they were indeed quite large. My mind felt numb, and my only action was that of my hand reaching into the coat pocket. Curious. I had forgotten, that I kept a pocket knife on me, in the off chance I had been harmed. The blow to my head had left me so frazzled, that I had not thought of allowing myself a means of protection against my assailant. I lifted the blade from the pocket as I was raised to sit upon my knees. A blow landed onto my face, and I felt my cheek shake as a fist planted itself against my cheek bone. My body was flung back, and I twisted my body in order to catch myself on my forearms, skinning the elbows of the coat out. An ingenious plan. The scant amount of time allowed me to conceal my action of producing the blade.

"Stay da fuck down!" A bludgeon slammed into my ribs, it had to be one of their feet, it covered far too much surface area to be a fist. I heaved, a dry cough as I gasped for air - they knocked the air out of me. But, I remained upright. When the second, obligatory swing followed through, so did my arm, my body rose upward and my arm followed through in a stabbing motion. I forced my aching body to whirl toward him, the blade tucked in the corresponding side's hand and planted it into something soft, presumably the man's skin. As I pulled outward, my strength failed me and I yanked up and down to pull it out. No responses, maybe the bastard was stunned by my sudden action and could not find an adequate method of retaliation. I heard a yelp of pain and then the sound of something crashing nearby as the blade finally pulled clean. I fell foreword, all the while clutching the knife in my hand. By my guess, the man staggered before crashing into the fence just before me, indicating he had moved upward toward my head.

I felt a hand grip my neck, and instinctively, I clenched a fist and swung downward at the guy's gut. I could now detect the outlines of those before me, a large shadow laying prone upon the ground, gripping its leg. It was stuttering something incoherently, but I paid it no mind. Instead, my grip about the knife became more pronounced and I thrust it upward into the shadow's jaw. It gurgled and sputtered in surprise as it fell backward, hitting its head on the pavement with a rude, horrifying crack. Instead of joining the body, my body braced itself to stand. With a shuffle, my foot slid across the asphalt. The dim light of the alleyway, reflected the other man cowering and covering his hands on a rather serious wound in his upper thigh. On closer inspection, he was rather young, probably in the range of fifteen to sixteen years old. His skin was of a mahogany, and his eyes of a darker brown. His eyes. They were so terrified. His body was trembling, and I could not tell if it was fear or his body shutting down. In looking at the amount of blood pooling onto the pavement, I must have torn open the femoral artery. And as for the other man, I couldn't even bring myself to turn and look upon the corpse. No more than a minute since his injury and he had no strength to even speak. His eyes just stared into mine, as if pleading for mercy - but there was nothing I could do.

"Luck be a lady."

As I watched the boy's eyelids flutter before closing, I turned my head. It had begun to rain again, and this time quite heavily. Each and every precipitate felt like bullets showering my body. I wrapped my right arm securely around the battered waist. Laboriously, I shuffled from the entrapment into what would have been a bustling traffic jam in the late afternoon hours. My blood had dried and caked to my face, further demoralizing my appearance. Anyone who looked upon me now, would view me as a deranged junky or worse. The murderer I had become.
This night, I emerged from a town littered with cretins, vermin, drug abusers, and whores. Each building looked as if a resident mold had grown into the structures and rotted it from the inside out. The unrelenting winter that had taken root mirrored the true nature of the metropolis, a face of cruelty and brutality with no intention for remorse, no unrequited love for any one individual - no mercy. Even the steady downpour would be unable to wash away the indomitable terror it invokes upon its inhabitants. The bigoted pigs, the struggling whore looking for a fix, and even the man who is just down on his luck; the fear could swallow anyone whole. That's when the madness sets in. No one person is safe from being driven to invoke circumstances of chaos. Funny. A stinging sensation had begun to fester behind my eyes.. and soon a hot droplet of rain rolled down my cheeks. A tear shed for the innocence lost forever, and a tear shed for the fear of answering to what I've done.

The Sentinel

It's number two of the expected five posts tonight. Cool, eh? Yessir, Yessir.. I feel like I am announcing a new Magic set. But one no one will buy. xD. Regardless, I will keep it going until judgment day :D HAHAHA... This poem, I titled The Sentinel, in which, I wrote about a lone outsider who views events around him, but never really partake. Or maybe, I wrote it about my own creeping sense of loneliness and my attempts to shoulder that burden. Who knows. Maybe you all can decide. ^-^;


The Sentinel

My heart beats,
once, twice, and again - a fourth time.
Am I truly alive?
There was a cold feeling; my fingers.
Like pins and needles, and my breath-
smoky like the frost.


The clanging of the sirens in my head,
back to reality again.
A jump, like from the reaches of clifftops,
a staggering fall.
Back to the humdrum.


Ho hum.
Passers by are mere ghosts cloaked,
as if cel-shaded in the panels of graphics,
and yet, I am no super hero. I have no answers.
One beat, two beat, a third - and another.
Yep, alive, but a stranger in existence,
never belonging.


"Watching is the sentinel."
My own silent madness, resolute and stubborn -
treading a paralell road of which never ends.
The man coughs, the woman rushes, I am bustled over in the streets.
Never once, never does some trouble to question, to look.
Solitary as well.


But the curtain calls,
a mesh of water and color meld into black,
and comfort is met only when conscious thought
bleeds into the imaginary, the supernatural, the fantastic.
And in the world of my making, I matter.
In my mind's eye, I am inclusive - never alone, belonging.
Joined in arms by billions,
sanctuaries for one.

Kick off Post!!

Hiya Guys! I did note that I would be trying to update my old writings. This will take a little while.. So I decided to keep it moving by typing up some new writings and posting the few that were on mym facebook account here. Hopefully by the end of the evening, there will be a few new scribblings up.. There should be 2 poems and 2 short stories, that you have never read before. BOTH of these stories are soon to be edited. In addition, by the end of the night, I hope to have these four pieces of writing that no one outside of my facebook has seen before; in addition to adding a completely new composition(hopefully):

Without further ado, I present Salt in the Wounds. I like imagery, let's face it.. and this is where I went here. TRUE, I am not very "mature" as a writer, and true - I have work to do... but I like this piece, if only a little. I thought a lot about the crucifixion of Jesus, as well as the slave trade, and even the bombings of Japan in WWII... let's say, essentially, I wanted to convey the repeating evils of mankind as, sort of, a dance. OR: I could've written it about the fall of lovers as such.. and their subsequent hatred of one another.. I like leaving stuff open for people's thoughts. As always, I appreciate any and everyone's comments, and thoughts on how to get better.



Salt in your Wounds

I could swear that the air
hosts a prison about me -
your chilled breath the shackles.

My wrists lat pierced to the stone,
a reminder of one man's quest,
too soon to become crusade.


Your thoughts were like poison
dripping from your blade, a forked tongue.
Our acts were naught, but filler in the limelight,
vanishing when the wind blew to scatter the dust of your remnants.

You would hear that the stones
had smothered your withered heart -
the slabs were as my arms.

Drowning in a pool of oblivion,
you clawed in vain at the rippling waters,
my voice to swallow you.

Waltzing the barren moor,
as our ashes fell like snowflakes,
a matrimony in desecration.
And slowly as the mantle falls and the light fades,
our paradise can be found in the throes of desperation..

The Update

If anyone bothers taking a look at my blog, they will notice gradual changes. Indeed, I am in the middle of an update, and will most likely reposting some old writings. Hopefully, they will be better for you all's eyes..or brain. Haha.. Well, this stuff should be done soon. I hope you enjoy!

I should be updating some.