Gamers: Know Your Rights

2008/11/13

Cordially Dismissed

We’ll meet the way old friends do
Silent and pleasant
Ever the same
Strangely new
You’ll remember me classically
Preconceived notions
Expected actions, patterns
I’ll receive you as I am
And you as I’ve never imagined
Unexpected present and accounted for
I’ll smile serene
Intelligent on your design
Artifices
Remembering the you I thought you were
Wanted you to be
Everything
Nothing
Each wish and dream and hope
Destroyed and desiccated
Ashes upon the winds
All of it gone
Perished
Except for this hope
This wish
That fate may be kind enough
That I might know your face
In this new everafter
No more the admirer of your beauty
No more the singer of a song
No more the dancer of the blood rush
No more the slave to your master
No more the junkie to your fix
Tomorrow I am giving all of you away

2008/10/19

Velvet Lined

Velvet lined my mouth
Soft and crushing
Enfolding
All the secrets I’ve yet to spill
I scrambled to catch
And eagerly consume
All the embers
Glittering like rubies in the light
With great haste I
Filled my mouth to bursting
Inhale
Conflagration
Overwhelming this
Hell
Heaven
Sweet sensation cascading
Down and out
Fierce heat so long only
Soul strong
Erupting and devouring every
Inch of flesh
The way I sit and patiently wait
For your mouth
To fulfill

Curl Around

And you’ll curl around like you always do
Cardboard box
Escorting a velvet shrew
The eyes that slither
They slide
And I’m giving out pieces
Of my soul
Just like I always do
And I know for whom the bell tolls
And I know why the caged bird sings
And Edgar’s in the alley
Sucking the souls from the clouds
In his coffee
I saw your soul today

2008/09/13

The Lies You Uttered Still Whisper In The Trees

And the melodies spilling through my veins, myriads of symphonies time had yet to tell. Shining silver etchings, iridescent upon the milk pale surface. Myths and legends, warnings and prostrations of tales no poet had heart enough to breathe into words. Such sorrow, such agony; sweeter due the bitter. Vibrant and rich.

The lies you uttered still whisper in the trees, haunting me with all the blessings life has stolen. Everywhere and in everything they speak of a youth filled with love. Here am I, jaded in silk shadows. Grey blue, with tumultuous oceans for sight. Pallid and glowing amidst the shade, flowing darkness sparked to background sound; rumors you can’t quite catch but yearn so desperately to gorge upon.

Slip in. Slip out. Slide silent along the worn path, narrow and jagged, flitting just along the perimeter. A flash of pooled moonlight, anthropomorphic; breathtaking. Beauty a poor man’s lure, the mystery here is deeper. Torrid. Some Sidhe slithering, beguiling your indulgences. And if you have the courage, if you have the strength; the rewards ever outweigh the risk.

Violent and cruel, exactly what you’ve been warned away from. Yet the chance is thrilling, trilling the soul swimming along your highways; seeping into the furthest mundane edges of suburbia exposed. Nursed inward to your most audaciously brazen self and murmuring ever gently, things you never thought you would hear. Things you cannot quite comprehend. Things you cannot live without. Things you need. And all it takes is that one chance. But it’s all or nothing. The creation. The destruction. In the end the question is simple. Searing. Revolutionary.


How much of your soul are you willing to lose?

2008/09/10

Because It's Everything

And I might be beautiful if it weren’t for all these scars. This rot ridden soul. Putrid and hateful.
No matter how deep the razor goes it just can’t reach what’s wrong. Because it’s everything. Every breath, beat, lash, cell. Every day, hour, moment. Curling out, up, in.

The only way to get out is to break out for good. Break down. Decay. Big bright red Cheshire grin. Sloppy jagged hunks of flesh sickeningly remindful of teeth gushing crimson vomit. And it’s all tumbling out now.
Worthless
Wasteful
Wicked
Wrong
Wrong
Wrong
And if you ever did anything right they might love you.
If you cease. Cease to be. Think.

And if you could, please, just be a little less you. However, it really doesn’t seem to be worth my time, so why don’t you just continue on.

While you’re busy championing Jonathan Harker, I’m mourning Dracula.
And who is there to hold me while I lose control?
Who is there to ease the pain of loss?
Who is there to ease the heartache?
Who is there to tell me the sun will set and night will return once more?


Maybe they would be,
If you weren’t a Monster.

But then who would you be?

2008/07/29

Night

The hard packed sand gave way beneath her, cushioning her bare feet on this cool damp night. Sweet release from the tepid heat of the day, sweltering and dehydrating even as the humidity clung so voraciously. The soft blonde crystals clung greedily to her toes and arches; and the back of her ankles where the cadence of her walk flicked it. Even then, lost within herself, overwhelmed by the thousands of thoughts all cluttering to the fore and chattering for attention; she walked like a predator. Alone in the darkness where females were particularly cautioned against such wayward acts. Still she meandered. Solitary.

Yet this was no act of defiance. At least not conscionable. It was merely an escape. An interlude from all the burdens cloying her attention. The night was always sweeter. The sounds richer, the colors more vibrant in their subdued shades. She concentrated on the stretching and tension in the muscles. The flex of her toes to maintain balance, the subtle tremors in her abdomen and spine in response to her gait. The soft crushing sounds the earthen road made beneath her, the chittering insects and calling night birds. Drinking in the world the way she did her vodka. Deeply, as if reading the memories of each note.

2008/07/28

Some Summer Winds

Some summer winds
Have whispered saccharine promises
Sweetly ladened with their buried treasures
Alone the loon echoes weeping willows
Beneath strained sunsets
The sky stretched onward
Surging to envelop
The tender loves it cherished
Glittering brightly
In that fluid intensity
How they quiver
Graciously overwhelmed
By this display of intent

Bitter Hibernation

Twilight was silent. Seeming fit to burst with some token, some mote of wisdom to provide what little comfort was available. It, however, was crushed beneath the cacophonous silence.

Wearily she lay, staring through the verdant forest. The ferns, trees, the soil, the marching insects. The mind is alive with a thousand thoughts - but not now. Not this time. There is only the nothingness. The hollow ache. As if the body was a vein stripped of all it's glittering pieces. There was the endless expanse of time stretched out before her. How long had she been here. How long had twilight been hovering. Were there others? The hard packed earth was rich and soft beneath her, long since ingraining itself into her hair, bits of it clung furtively. Dust to dust, and it was intent upon pulling her back in. Her muscles had long since given up the fight to pull her out of the huddled mass she lay in. Had the fingers against her lips or the ones crushed beneath her belly gone numb first?

Piercing her to the forest floor, the agonizing lance burned its way into her spine. She was sure the scream ricocheting through her cranium had been physically uttered, yet the forest wielded no echo. The blinding white light split her skull apart, subsiding to the muscles being rent apart in her calf.

And suddenly the pain was pinging from one cell to the next. It was then the acid carved it's way down her face. Of it's own free will, she stared from her back into the canopy. Shuddering from the effort and wracking sobs. It was the rain, violently cold and furiously falling. Heaven crying to pushstart the body without the will to do so.

Every muscle was alive and hungry now. Awakened from it's bitter hibernation most hastily. Clutching and clinging to itself it cried. And in her mind there was only the acrid wasteland. Only wind and cracked, dead land for miles. Yet she wasn't alone. There was that one. Hovering over her. Unrelenting, however, undemanding. Seeming content to just be there. Voicing no queries, no motive, no comfort. Nothing.

The forest moved. And suddenly she was staring out again. It was then she noticed the curled claw of a hand clutching the wet earth. Sliding over it as the legs behind her pushed. Content to watch the dragging, she huddled into herself observing until she was lost to unconsciousness.

2008/07/20

Asmodel

He was looking at her. That was it. No emotion in the gaze, mere observation.
The bile rose thick in the back of her throat following the cold sensation creeping up her spine, setting fire to the nerves in its wake. It spread slowly, seeping into her bones. She kept herself tightly wound, breathing deep slow breaths subtly to subdue the rage. This had happened before, suppression was an automatic symptom now. And it might have worked like the cherry it was, if he had stopped staring.

It was the sharp trembling of her feet along the outer edges. Like someone who had pushed themselves to far during a workout or in marathon runs. At least that's how it had always been in the beginning when they had been trying to induce the storm that erupted from within, those furious frenzies where the devil hisownself took a sick day to avoid.

She remembered gasping.

Lunging across the table she had time to analyze several possibilities of action he might take. He was slight, so physically no match for her unless he could fully pin her in a vulnerable position and then use the full strength of his upper body as well as every ounce of weight on his skeleton. The guards coming in the door were more of a challenge, being specifically bulked up to be dogs of war. Well bred and well trained. Arching herself mid-leap her right hand shot down to his weapon, her left catching his shoulder and using it as a gymnast might use a bar to turn.

Shoving him into the table and landing herself in a crouch behind him in the fractions of a second it had taken the two guards to enter, and in another she had angled his frame against her to the guards. They could not see her from beneath and behind the furniture and body, yet she could see their feet and shadows. Calculating their moves and the time she had left, she slid the gun beneath his right ear. And pulled the trigger.


Cowering from the shot, even though he had turned to avoid the blowout thus saving him his hearing, he had provided the opportunity to be used as a weapon. And she took it. Hurling him at the first guard and taking out the second as they collided. Landing to his right she fired on the first guard while yanking him up and across her body.

"Time for you to be useful again, Asmodel."

The terror ripping her from what ever subconscious state she had been was almost as painful as the blinding lance radiating from her side. Sweat broke out and she huddled fetal to ease the shock waves into something manageable until her body responded appropriately. Sighing hesitantly she counted the breaks. Whatever had happened, her ribs and shoulders had taken the brunt of the beating. Numerous rib fractures and breaks, as well as a shoulder out and collarbone floating. Hell, her whole right arm was out. Which was such a shame, she had always favored that hand for shooting and at heart she was still a gun-bunny greaser.

Pulling herself upward she took in her surroundings. That shame stopped dead in the tracks of a frozen heart. He was here in this place with her.

2008/05/27

Extraction

The words that are written are memories traveling through time. An existence as magnanimous as the sun, yet as all consuming as the hungriest black hole.


The stars are spilling melodies
I simmer down below
Sweet symphonies explode
I want a million
Summer nights
Swept up in your monsoon


Extraction. I'm thinking of you now. An exile reversed. I'd carve it out on a silver spoon.
We mill in the twilight, the sticky air clings. I refrain. The longing is there. As are the hours and gallons of unspilled words. It's not that I don't know what to say. It's that the words I reach seem all wrong, or not enough meaning. And you know that.
Lost in translation.

2008/05/26

Scions Sing the Summer Winds

The fire that burns. Opalescent words cascade vivaciously.
Cinders spread flames, winds that singe. Stars tumbling down broken dark paths. Where wicked words lull them into faiths of madness.
The cascade that pools. Claret depths sickly swirling, rich and thick as syrup.
The scions sing the summer winds. Rich fury, lush whispers. Beguiling. Ever enticing, roils the form forbidden, igniting conflagration soul consuming.

2008/04/17

On Being A Vampire

I suppose I have been rather cantankerous of late... And-Or rather morose and encumbered with malaise. Stunted I lie lethargically recumbent. Bent on doing nothing - or rather sleeping the life I'm with away. Trapped in a memory, I'm sleeping with ghosts again. And maybe avoiding being my usual self.
It's almost like I'm hiding from something. But I have nothing to hide. However, maybe it is my lack of being so precociously blatent in my nature. Although it is something I find as natural to myself as breathing or taking a piss. Vampirism. The state of being and indulgence.

For some reason I'm drawn to memories of my coming out as wiccan. Declaring proudly with determination as I clutched that candle staring into the mirror in the middle of the night. "I Am A Witch." Stating:

I Am A Vampire

brings that rush back. That sweet symphony adrenaline ignites your body to humming. For some reason, as of late, I have been filled with a burning need to randomly meet people - shaking their hands the way those within the lifestyle have become accustomed to - and stating. "Hello. My name's Miranda, I'm a vampire. Nice to meet you." The want to climb fire-escapes to the rooftops of local buildings and shout it to the heavens.
I find it strange in that I have never denied I was. Nor have I ever not answered the questions about my consumption/desire/arousal around blood or biting. Quite forthcoming I generally tend to overwhelm. I come on strong.
You're thinking cup of coffee when it's more like Tsunami, a mile high and climbing.

I miss the shitty group of friends I had when still in the camarilla. When I still dealt with camarilla's. It was fun. And yes, we were kids and stupid. And we did a lot of things you REALLY should NOT do, or try, or even consider when you're high out of your mind on narcotics even hard core addicts avoid - but they were good times. They were fun. For all the wrong reasons - and a few right ones. We were like a family. Just as fucked up as your average, and less crazy than your Springer types.
The nights were wild and illegal. Sharing was especially casual, insanely so as not a one I know of practiced safe sex if they were getting any. And while not convinced of our mortality we were still smart enough to know better, and crazy enough not to give a damn anyway. Of all bodily fluids swapped, blood was probably the wisest choice we were making. It was definitely the one we traded on with most reverence.

And I do not advocate the young vampire scene we were living, it's not as though we had any role models. Or any real idea of what we were doing. Like most things at that stage, some of us lost touch with the scene while others went off the hairy edge into Crazy Town with it.
But as friends go, they were right fine and I miss them. And most of them weren't douchebags. I really only remember getting hurt over one or two. The rest just grew away. And maybe there were more bad times than good, but I cannot remember them. Only the hazy golden glow of a by-gone era and memories of being emboldened and content in my nature. In our nature. Celebrated as it was, if only for a little while.

I'm not too sure I want to attempt to enter the lifestyle given my current location. My metro is growing, but insofar as acceptance of differences, we're still living a Leave It To Beaver state-of-mind. The thoughts are crowding my mind, I'm just not sure I can swing the freight.
I'm not looking for a husband, a significant other, or lover.
But it would be nice to find a friend. To connect with others who's ideas of love and passion and romance run among the darker hues of the spectrum. Logically, I rationalize that given my position it is an unlikely and overly ideal dream.
Still, when the night is full and the moon is high I wish and dream...


Come out, come out - where ever you are.

2008/04/13

Infinity Flowers

Infinity flowers on. Cursed corpses of bees pollinate vast expanses of wasteland. New ash for bitter days. Harsh and tepid. An open mouth pours the viscous sangoire fount. Memories of golden years. Cool lethargy throws waves. Rivers congeal, ice with a vice grip. Sink slowly down. Twist, reveal, rent asunder. Hot stone cracks, crumbles, breaking away. Winter has come home with steel talons.

2008/04/02

Ripe Forbiddance

Sweet melancholy, rich plum; ripe forbiddance. How sweet, I taste the tongues of a thousand years - whispers as gentle as lovers touching - honeyed and rich, thick saccharine. The clarity of an endless sea of words, as oppressive as it is freeing.

Arterial Life

If you were water flowering into wine I could flow through you like a butterfly; flitting over an endless ocean of rotting flowers, effusing their death unto the air like the songs of Sirens. Harpies crushing and rending, bitterly ravaging. The cadence a sweet-sour mourning song; the rending of flesh, the crushing of bone, the spurting gushes of arterial life sprayed into the sky and flowing from their necks - fountain of life.

2008/02/19

Burn

My mouth a cup
Overflowing with saccharine
Sugared life
Riotous crimson lies
I turn
Observe a vicious star
Open the tongued portal
Exhale
Ash spilled on bitter winds
Burn

Warm Dreams

Sink lover
Sink down
Where breezes bring warm dreams
Thoughts
Sense memory
I feel you
I fill you
Wasting
We're wasting this
We're wasting away
All the things I want
I push away.

2008/02/17

Every night
You wrote another line
With a bloody, broken, bottle
And every day
You wish it away
Why don't you pull the pin
On that grenade
You cuddle

I wanted to believe
Bodies swinging from trees
Struggling to stand
With your head in your hands
A stoic last stand
Of a dying man

I wanted to believe
As I watched your world
Crumble in your hands
I wanted to believe
As you raised your glass
To your last stand
And I wanted to believe
You would win
The war in your head
That I did not understand...
I did not understand...

Every night
The questions poured out
Of your wounded eyes
Damn dark things
Every day
You used to pray
Listen to the black raven sing
You wanted to believe
As you were falling to your knees
Struggling to stand
With your life in your hand
The sad last stand
Of a broken man

I wanted to believe
As I watched your world
Crumble in your hands
I wanted to believe
As you raised your glass
To your last stand
And I wanted to believe
You would win
The war in your head
That I did not understand...
I did not understand...

I wanted to believe
As I watched your world
Crumble in your hands
I wanted to believe
As you raised your glass
To your last stand
I wanted to believe
You would win
The war in your head
That I did not understand
I did not understand

And the questions poured out
And the questions pour out
I did not understand
I did not understand
I did not understand
I did not understand
The sound of you falling
I did not understand
As the trembling heart of a dying man
Did not understand
The sound of a trembling heart



I wonder why there is such stigma with suicide. Or with death in general. I often think about killing myself. And it's not that I am unhappy - because I am in fact Happy. I really like my life and who I am - and don't get me wrong it seems to be going on a bender hard and fast. However, above all things, I know who I am. And I don't worry. Something that seems to be swiftly maddening to those whom I choose to surround myself with. Especially my kittens.

I don't know. Sometimes it just seems that Death is the last Great Adventure I have waiting for me.
I am in Need of an adventure.
So desperately so that when I think of it I cannot breathe and my body is frozen in some silent prison, shaking with the need to explode violently into it.

Perhaps it's not my suicide that's bizarre. But the fact that when I picture it, I'm never caught. If I'm found at all. Sometimes I think I'll just wink out like a star, silent and lost among the thousands that capture your eyes. Overlooked or maybe misplaced and forgotten. And while I think I should feel sad at being forgotten, I rarely am. At worst I'm empty and at best I'm amused. But never sad. Never down.
Maybe it's because I believe that I will be here long after this body and earth has gone from existence. That I am me because I am the soul, the god I have spent so long looking for. I am the burning need that gets me through the bad days, and lifts me to flight on the good.
Empty because I don't need you.
Amused because I loved you and wanted you with me regardless of your concerns.

I don't need you. Any of you. And that should mean something great to you. Something wonderful and fantastic. Because you shouldn't need me either. Ferociously Independent. I want to be like the sea. Like the earth. Completely capable of severing you from myself at any and all costs.
So you will know how precious it is that
I Want You