Summer's Secret: The Vampire Sickness
I'm sitting in a hot bed delirious with a cold. If I could see my throat it would be burgundy red like a summer's sunset around 8 o'clock. I'm too sick to to play today.
A summer breeze is my sweet dream
when the season's shower is a monsoon bath
and I'd rather burn in nature's wrath than be dirty
so scorch me tan yeah I can live with that.
Got some breezers but this is getting worse. Anything on TV?
Find a cool anime reason,
this test is just a machine,
so skip the bad news season like
Dracula teasing a girl to eat her,
or maybe me hopefully
Hey I'd like to be that bat & an live eternally.
I can't even tell what movie this is? Maybe Blade with Snipes. It's hard to eat this sandwitch when I keep falling asleep.
Blood fume baths!
Give me a tsunami please!
Some other movie is on. I drag myself to the bathroom and splash freezing tap water on my face. I'm awake enough to watch this for a while.
Toxic mosquitoes swarmin' in
In My HeadIn My Head2 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
Memories in a pill are my encapsulated dreams
and I dream of you when I can get any sleep.
But these Egyptian cotton sheets are eaten by closet moths
and this world has to get dark but I don't have to be cold.
Dark days keep insomnia near my arrhythmic heart,
so keep me warm by leaning a little closer to me.
Wherever we are,
in the Milky Way Galaxy,
on a back road asphalt highway playing a beat.
You can drive but we're taking my car,
so tell me what you think and let me find out who you are.
I'd like to stay
and you know I'd like to play
but I'm going to Paris
and I'm going my own way.
I had a rough time in life
and I got stuck up a couple of times,
in muddy relationships and childhood trip ups
that weren't even my fault.
But you seem to listen
and you even seem to care
so if you're going my way
why don't you walk me there?
We walked together for a while.
No rhyme or reason, then they lost the beat when she moved away,
Does an Artist Have to Play the Popularity Game?You, as an artist, might think that exposure follows artistic success. But now I believe that artistic success follow exposure. Here is a short story illustrating this fickle process:Does an Artist Have to Play the Popularity Game?2 years ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
Daviantart Michael creates art that borders on genius. After a while Michael comes down from his artistic "in the zone" mania (he loves the feeling, feels like he's high) and collapses asleep onto a pink sofa. Next morning (if ten o'clock is morning) he sips espresso and checks his inbox: 2, maybe 3 favs.
The caffeine hits Michael's bloodstream just as the disappointing realization sags over his head like a storm cloud. Why don't they see what I did here! Can't they see how this is really something?
Michael thinks about this the whole day. Then he realizes that success precedes exposure so he adds over 9000 groups to all his submissions and now receives a continuous flush of favs and comments as reliable as OLD FAITHFUL GEYSER, YELLOWSTONE PARK 82190, WY.
NO RETURN ADDRESS! (stamps are too e
Feelings are Dust (even when ours are the same)Feelings are Dust (even when ours are the same)2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Dark chocolate & espresso
with Bic ink you're dust.
My stomach & your brain
makes dawn a twilight red dusk.
A couple of words
describe us two.
me & you.
Get the drift? Feel that draft?
That's an ozone aroma, a prelude to rain.
Nature's craft is my gift
and my gift is just a game.
I don't know how you feel now but if you'll have some dark chocolate and espresso with me we'll probably feel the same.
Whatever that's worth.
If I'm Alone Whose Shadows Are These?*If I'm Alone Whose Shadows Are These?2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Earth; our theatre.
Is it showtime already?
Where are our seats?
Popcorn is better
anticipated than ate.
Wow, I feel fuzzed.
Parking lot faces,
shadows of unknown people,
they bump against me.
Cold November nights
hold rogue opportunity;
dancing heat, or love?
SurvivalSurvival.Survival2 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
Give a man a fish he will eat for a day.
Teach a man to fish he will eat for a life time.
Give a man a gun he will rob a bank.
Give a man a bank he will rob the world.
We adapt and adjust.
Constantly dithering on the cusp
Of what is considered wrong and right,
Ensuring that our ambitions remain in sight.
We would be willing to do anything
In order to get what we truly desire.
We would be willing to risk everything
Even putting our friends in the line of fire.
We may share the bounty with others,
Allowing them to experience the fruitful taste.
Given the option we will even care for our brothers.
Just as long as we are well endowed with songs of praise.
We are opportunists.
We are convincing and ruthless.
We are the modern day Judas.
Unnatural Decay Under a Strange ChurchThere's a white shelled transvestite ladybug crawling across the word "Underwear" on a Craigslist browsing computer screen in the public library.Unnatural Decay Under a Strange Church2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Then it flew away into a bee's nest in the attic. Here is your epitaph: nettle tincture honey is a sweat curse and friendly lies are a pained dessert. Pretend that bee sting poison is an opium syringe, ladybug.
But the scarlet letter was her bloody joke when a gay social assassin posed as rogue busy bee named Ahab, crouched about to shatter a burgundy shelled secret like a harpoon through a stained glass window.
Across the library St. Asmodeus felt a chilled dagger through his lead filled heart when passing kids threw an iced snowball through the church's window. The summer before, a night creeping praying mantis had broken in and died. Now the glass fell with wet snow and crushed the dead mantis who had stood erect with patient lifelessness until then.
Then the raw moon beams shone down to melt the unnatural metal into a wood encased pool on
Reverse AlchemyReverse Alchemy2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
A bad chemist squeezes triethylamine into glass tubes hanging off latex white walls as her partner moves a black queen diagonally. The bad chemist takes off her gloves and moves to the board and thinks: "Eyes are made of blood jelly, though a slight of the hand will toast that optic nerve like staring at our butter hue sun."
Her partner, an older chemist surnamed Langer, once burnt an eye out years before in a lab where an accident happened back in the 1980s.
She moved a piece and thought; "A crisp eye is natures stale mate: a marriage to leave you singular in vision." Her move won her a rook but lost her the friendly game because Langer cheated when she wasn't watching.
"A single vision is a monotonous story, and an eye for opportunity is a sixth sense." So Langer mused as he walked out to his car for lunch. "I'll go to one bar and divide my money for absinthe, a supernatural drink."
Two detriments are but one vice as several ghouls and a succubus in a human body. Her hair's to die
Chemistry LivesChemistry Lives2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Our minds are glued to skin & bones
Attached to arbitrary forms
Souls borne through green and blue lives
Eyes colored, a chemistry like skies
At different times
PerfectionPerfection.Perfection2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
She lodges her fingers down her throat.
Clasping onto the wall as she recklessly chokes.
She reinserts her fingers back in forcibly.
Deliriously trying to make her body thinner.
She swoons and slumps to the floor nauseously
As she attempts to regurgitate her dinner.
Her throat aches as she screeches out coarsely,
With her hand covering the image in the mirror.
Her head now rests on the on the rim of the toilet seat.
She wants to eat but she just has not got in her.
She desperately begins to scream out inaudibly.
Her mouth now tastes of something pulpy and bitter.
She examines the red color of the fluid cautiously.
Realizing that she has become too focused on her figure.
Her friend then knocks on the door thoughtfully.
She shouts out, "I'm okay I don't need a baby sitter."
Her friend continues to knock and waits outside awkwardly
Replying, "You promised me, you said that you are not a quitter"
The tap begins to run as she disguises her cough distortedly.
She knows her friend
SteamPunk City: profile study of a new worldThe ancients who founded Geargrind City had carved the natural crystalline ground into a polished, glassy surface but it was later generations of engineers who had installed the unground clock which was centered at the town hall in the middle of the city and every minute the gargantuan second hand could be seen 6 centimeters under the crystal ground.SteamPunk City: profile study of a new world2 years ago in Profiles More Like This
Black grease clouds rained clear water and cooled the fiery engines that ran the outpost town. Their world was the size of our Jupiter and entire civilizations grew and died unknown to each other.
Garamond West, a chemist from the post-steam era, made use of helium and bulky steam fan powered blimps to send groups to explore the hard volcanic landscape which held pools of sweet smelling thick sludge which would later be used to fuel gas engines of the future.
Currency was crafted from polished gems that were mined in the volcanic plains. A family or group of fortune seekers sponsored by a&
The Lost PianistThe Lost PianistThe Lost Pianist2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Tears reminisce mahogany boxed memories,
Of ecstatic crescendos and tearful diminuendos.
For deep in eternal sadness lies the lost pianist,
Who once dreamt of glorious symphonies.
As he caresses the goddess of the piano,
She moans of rhythmic joy and pleasure,
Executing works that rival the Siren's song,
Echoing the lost voices of her past masters.
But in time's command, their hearts went astray.
Each lying in their own pool of heartfelt miseries.
While he walks asunder, away from melodic Eden,
She beckons to him, yearning to be loved.
Her sorrowful notes whisper his name,
When he contemplates sweet nostalgia.
They swore to eternity to unite in bliss.
A promise that surpasses a mere forevermore.<i>
Hunting Avalon's MoonBeneath a sky of Kings, mortal life quiveredHunting Avalon's Moon2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Warm rains spilled a fever of unborn dreams;
— like a silent song of golden pollen falling in
timeless reverie, seeding forests arcane
The dawn of enchantment crested ancient lands,
adorning the hunger of shadows and spirits
Long I stood in the flow of primeval rapture...
where unto the hallowed beckoned wild
I slept in the cradle of Nature's magick,
windswept in feasts of tongue & flame
Dreams and dreamers, in haste I did reap
And I thrusted my sword into the sky
Ever night's bequest, the stars shall not die
Thru seasons of fabled rhythms I roamed;
— my soul etched into the mists of time
O'er pastel fields, untamed memories seek
In a circle of Kings, I shimmered in ebon robes
Perfumed eyes gathered like nightingales
And I watched upon gossamer tides —
Merlin caught her gaze resting among
the promise of stars and beloved Moon
"Thou art heavenly clad in velvet starlight"
She fled upon his song & wept in quietude,
Whole Grain NirvanaWhole Grain Nirvana2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
A while ago when you were born you woke up into a world of doctored yellow lights reflecting off pale slime green puke pink tiles fuming with vapors of dried up lemon Lysol and would have shivered cold if your wrinkly hands hand had plopped down onto the floor instead of being wrapped into a blanket and weighed on a shiny metal machine mirroring artificial suns into your pupils.
Sometimes, after a shower, and it's winter now, with black mornings & blacker coffee, I really wonder if cologne covers that infant stink that I- that we- all still carry around like dandruff in hair it just keeps coming back. I take cold showers to keep my skin & hair from drying out but when I step dripping out of the shower and onto the bathroom scale there has got to be some Freudian unconscious psychoanalytic monster creeping around immobile memories in a place too dark to see. A place that gives off gut feelings instead of emotions. And that monster is tinkering back there waiting to do harm with t
Strange BeginningsPaul saw instantly that something had gone terribly wrong as soon as he turned down the street upon which the dry cleaners was located where he had dropped off his vomit stained trousers. It was a surreal feeling. Just moments ago he was here in this same spot and everything appeared perfectly normal, and now, he felt like he stepped into a movie. There were police cars, an ambulance, fire truck on the block and the building of the dry cleaners was taped off in police tape. Groups of officers were huddled together conversing. A barrier had been erected to keep civilians back.Strange Beginnings2 years ago in Writing More Like This
When he woke up this morning he felt almost as if he had spent a night of hard drinking (which he had not) and his head was still a bit groggy. It did not seem like it was shaping up to be a good day and it all begun with that troublesome train ride."What is going on here?" Paul asked one of the spectators. "No one is saying anything" The woman responded. "But I thought I saw them bring a body out, it looked all c
An Ode to the DreamerAn ode to the dreamer,An Ode to the Dreamer2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
who gave up the dream
I salute you
Don't worry, I understand
You see; I did it as well
So here's to the accountant,
who wanted to play basketball
An ode to the CEO,
who is really a dancer
Here's to the farmer,
who should have been on Broadway
Here's to you
Because I know
That when you gave it up
When you surrendered
You had your fingers
crossed behind your back
There's going to be a murderThere's going to be a murder in town todayThere's going to be a murder2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And everyone's decided to go.
No one knows who or how or even when
But they all want to know.
There's going to be a murder in town today
And everyone is on their toes.
Who will kill and who will be killed?
They'll all be at the show.
There's going to be a murder in town today
And everyone wants to see
Which of us will die and which of us will cry.
So will you go with me?
Reflected InspectionReflected InspectionReflected Inspection2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Here I am again examining my disfigured figure in the mirror.
Fondling my fat wishing I could trim it down with a pair of scissors.
Relentlessly poking, prodding and picking at my face.
Leaving behind nothing but a black, coarse and scabby trace.
Furiously patting down my cheeks begging them to be smaller.
Standing on the edge of my toes willfully imagining that I am taller.
Folding my ears inwards commanding them to decrease in size.
Hysterically trying to find the beauty they said existed in my eyes.
Scrutinizing my nose using my hands to mould it into my desired shape.
Impatiently withdrawing my stomach to wonder how I would look if I lost some weight.
Slapping my overlapping thighs repeatedly, persuading them to become firmer.
Grasping the pair of scissors at my throat with the intent of committing my own murder.
Thinking to myself how can anyone ever find me remotely attractive?
And how can I ever expect myself to be regularly sexually active.
With me looking