Jasper's Story

A bit of fun, knocked together in ten minutes. Idle thinking time and exposure to steampunk ideas has led me to fabricate my own character for a steampunk universe. Might break him out at a roleplaying session or something one day.

One overcast and blustery autumn morning, as you were haggling with docking authorities over the unloading of your cargo, a curly-haired wisp of a boy emerged from the seething mass of humanity that plagues all ports and approached your airship. He had a preoccupied expression on his face and he ignored all attempts that the crew made to question or communicate with him. He made a full circuit of the airship in complete silence, appraising it from top to bottom. When he was finished, he approached the docking authorities and told them solemnly ‘This ship has a hold full of star wine’.

Unfortunately for you and your crew, you had docked within the Great Empire of Thurb, and as you know, Thurbians are religiously opposed to any alcohol and treat smugglers with extreme prejudice. The dockmaster sounded an alarm before you could defend yourself, and there was nothing for it but to board the airship at once and try and run the blockade. Dashing to the controls, you were astounded to discover the curly-haired miscreant himself sitting in the pilot’s seat with an expression of glee on his previously perturbed features.

“She’s a fat-bottomed scow, but I think she’ll make it through. Though whoever named her the Aerial Tempest was touched in the head. You might want to hold onto something. I promise to get you out of this in one piece if you don’t toss me overboard afterwards...even though you might want to.”

Three stomach-turning hours later, we were past the blockade and you had yourself a new pilot. At least, that’s how I remember it. There might have been some sword-fighting at some point. And a great deal more threats. And me being heroic, there was a lot of that. Don’t you remember? It was a lot like that time you got us in hot water with that spice trader and I managed to get us out of there before he brought his weapons to bear on us. Where would you be without me around to save your bacon?

Oh sorry, am I scaring the new kid? Well, we wouldn’t want that. I’m Jasper, kid. The best pilot outside of the Eastern Reaches, and the only pilot out there who’s better doesn’t drink, which is cheating in my opinion. Good to see you’ve signed on with the Aerial Tempest! If you’re still on board with a month, I might even try and remember your name.

Three/Six

First.
Prim, proper.
Righteous.
Good Christian family, brought up right.
Not spared the rod,
The fear of God
Instilled in every night.
In bed by nine.
And everything
- everything!
will be fine.
She - yes, she, with original sin,
Shouldn't open the window.
She'll let the demons in.

But she's got a friend.
Cherry-red lipstick,
Open coat -
she's got the goods alright.
Clothing skin-tight.
Nothing to the imagination.
And nothing keeps her out.
She's got an infestation,
A cool rain after drought.
Her father locks the door,
Her father keeps her poor.
But the cherry lipstick friend
will always have a key,
and she's come, oh she's come.
To set the good girl free.

---------------------------------------

Second.
Hedonistic.
Likes his vodka.
Bottles of water with the labels scraped off.
A good boy at heart.
Morals, ethics, a sense of right and wrong.
It's a start.
He'll turn his ear to a laugh or a song.
He'll drink himself stupid and he won't stay away.
But he's ultimately wonderful.
In the literal way.
The world is beautiful,
Twisty-up thrilling.
Comes into focus
When everything's spilling.
He's carefree and pure,
Not in flesh but in soul.
He's so self-assured,
And he's happy.

But he's got a friend.
All business.
Snappy suit, though.
He's really quite dour,
And shows up at night.
He speaks with a glower,
But his eyes sparkle bright.
He pins our good boy,
And insists that he write.
The hours slip by.
The tide can't be turned,
Business is cold, and harsh, and wrong.
And it all pours through him
and out
as a song.
Our boy's seen the Devil,
There's no turning back.
Our good friend, that devil.
He's on the attack.

------------------------

Third.
Timid.
Shy, not retiring.
He's there for everything.
Dances, gigs, parties.
He'll never speak, or laugh, or sing.
He's a quiet little thing.
But he's got a pair of eyes on him.
He'll watch it all, watch them move.
Watch them laugh, be sick, be smooth.
People just assume he's dim.
But he's not, not at all.
He's got a mind like a firework,
But he never stood tall.
He's watched all their goodness,
He's judged all their sin.
But he won't let himself,
dive right on in.

But he's got a friend.
And she is beautiful.
She can put people at ease
With a word or a smile.
She's not just a tease,
She'll stay for a while.
She's got all the love
In the world deep inside.
And she'll let it all out,
She's got nothing to hide.
But she knows that he's lost,
And he feels so alone,
But she'll wrap him up,
And she'll take him home.
She'll take all the love that he's scared to give.
She'll take all the words that he hoards up to live.
She'll wrap them up tightly and parcel them out.
For she's God, and she's beauty,
and she's made to give.

Stop Hunting

There's much to be said for theft.
You can dress it up so well.
You take ingredients as a chef,
You clean up trash to sell.
You just need inspiration,
You've got a vision, see.
And you'll take apart a nation,
To see what it will be.

The Mother

I will not ask for your mercy or forgiveness.
The former you will not grant,
as long as you need me alive.
And the latter you don't understand.
But in my defence (grim though it is)
I was the victim of my own design.
A Frankenstein scenario of sorts,
And like most parents I was resigned
To being surpassed by my child in due course.

How wrong that assumption was.
My child, that darling apple of my eye,
Is probably in dire need of help.
And now he dares to raise a hue and cry
Against me, his doting mother.

Saying that I'm sick,
I'm wrong.
I'm bloated, disfigured and polluted.
The cradle that gave him shape and form
and life
despoiled and degraded.

I'm glad he never married.
I'd feel sorry for his wife.

I'll admit that in the past I've felt quite loathesome,
They weren't lying when they told you I was ill.
But I'm really getting used to all these changes.
And I'm adapting with a power and a will.

And that arrogant gasbag hangs around all day,
And watches him do all sorts of things,
I'd prefer that such deeds were done in darkness,
But the bastard's out of reach - like he's got wings.
But when he goes away it gets more peaceful,
My son will yawn and blink and go to bed.
And then my friend the moon will poke her face out,
And send her dreams into his raving head.
(She's a peaceful soul,
but unrequited love is so sad. Don't you agree?)
But of course,
Nothing is free,
And she stirs something on me,
But I give her a wave and she passes on.

Now my son is quite disturbed, as I have mentioned.
He's made up friends who come and visit me.
Sad, I know, and mostly ill-intentioned.
But they do the best they can, those friends and me.

The woman I must say I'm rather fond of.
Her ear for prayers and music is divine.
Her embrace is a soft and gentle comfort,
And her sense of irony is just sublime.

The man, now; not as sweet as was intended.
And he had such a hopeful outlook, too.
He's eager to avoid having offended,
But he makes me feel like I don't have a clue.

So you see, I'm not so bad off after all.
My son tried to poison me many times,
in every way you can imagine.
And I know that he should pay for his crimes,
But I just can't
I just can't bring myself to.
And occasionally,
when my breath rustles through the trees
and at the base of the tree
a boy looks up at the vista above him
and says hello to me...

Well, at times like that
I don't want to punish him after all.

Damn it, Jason.

Awash.

This room is an empty nest,
Eggs devoured, not hatched.
Bloated bellies, regret.

Say that you're in control of your life.
Is this what you wanted to be?
Your songs make you feel wrong.
Rain innocence upon yourself.

Believe that you are just fine.
You'll feel so alive.
Nicotine, aml,
booze and hot blood -
Awash under the stars.

Too late, tonight, you're gone -
Under darkened lids and darkened hearts.
There's a tease and a will and a walk.
You're gone, too late, tonight.

This head is all too full.
Not of thoughts but of scorn.
Nothing begets nothing.

You're all something.
Eager and empty stares,
Dangerous, sensual snares,
And appetites eternal.

This means nothing.
You want to shout, not whisper.
Time and tide are sweeping you away.
And your lungs are awash.

Believe that you are just fine.
Cover yourself in glory.
There's nothing else left.

The Lure of Fortune

Our time begins on a lure of fortune.
A beat of drums, the sound of pipes.
The bay, the bay.
Tides roll in on bloodstained sands.
Picturesque, if you can avoid
thinking of all the drowned.
A field full of flowers
watered by blood,
every hill a cairn.
Every speck of dust in the world
somebody else
distilled after.
Breathe it in.
Our time begins here, on a lure of fortune.
A summation of sensation.
A dollar worth of delight,
a cent of sin.
The way, the way
of everything.
The measuring magnificent.
The deathbed recital.
The sunsets and the sex
the art and the nonsense.
The things that cannot be bought
but require purchasing.
Our time begins here, on a lure of fortune.
A promise to forget.
And a desire for more.
When our times ends in a rictus smile,
We'll be free of the lure of fortune.

To Jason.

Try to sum up what happened to you tonight on this blog ever and you will make sure that you eternally regret it.

Regards,
Jason.

LOVE. THEY'RE BOTH LOVE.

To Ollie,

I am writing this on distant shores.
I don't know how I got here,
Because whatever took me here did so without my knowledge.
All I know is that I am here now.
And I am standing on the shores,
With the sand between my toes -
The sand being a metaphor, y'see,
For something atrocious and wanky
That does nothing to sum out how we actually feel about one another.
And I'm not going to go down that road.
Instead, I'm going to type something that will sum up how I feel about the universe.
And you.
Because you and the universe are so very, very interchangable.
It's all in you, you know.
Everything I was,
Everything that I am (in my mind)
and everything that I could be.
But enough about you,
I'm on distant shores,
And the important thing,
The REALLY important thing,
Is that god is here with me.
And your clever friend the Devil, too.
They're on the shores with me, and they're singing out over the waves.
Their hands are on my shoulders.
I wish that you were here with me.
I didn't wish for anybody else.
Between God and the Devil and in the hands of them both,
All I could think of was you.
And your heartbeat.
And I'm writing this with no bullshit in my heart,
Or on my breath (for once)
and you know that.
Take this honesty, you bastard.
Take it and laugh.

I hope you can join me on these shores one day,
And we'll really show those two bastards.

Love,
Your friend Jason

Torn-Feather Eulogies

Oh, what a mess.
Torn-feather eulogies,
And a simple demand.
Cheap forgeries, a trickery
and an oustretched hand.
Tongue between teeth,
Lips gently parted.
A ruinous bequeath,
Meant for something not started.
Twilight, it seems
Is the lighting of choice.
Twilight in dreams
is the thief of my voice.
Oh, what a mess.
Torn-feather eulogies,
And an empty bed.
A belly full of malice,
And an unchecked head.
Eyes bushy-bright,
And the stomach a-churning.
Ready to fight,
But your loins are a-burning.
Darkness, it seems,
Is the cover of all,
Darkness in dreams,
Will precede a fall.
Oh, what a mess.
Torn-feather eulogies,
And words left unspoken.
A fall-silent room,
And a heart left unbroken.
Torn-feather eulogies,
For the flightless and strong.
They may be groundwalkers,
But at least they're not wrong.
Torn-feather eulogies,
For the birds in my brain.
They may all have roosted,
But they sing in the rain.

Try not to follow.

We are the last to leave the fight,
We are the stolen.
We are the first into the night,
We are the chosen.

We are the ghosts who weep for more,
Inside of your head.
We are the ones outside the door,
And under your bed.

But we will pass, and we will go.
We'll fade into the dark and we'll say no.
Just stay awake and just stay strong,
Because we're holding on.

We are the ones who didn't win,
We are the fallen.
We are the ones who drank the gin -
And we are calling.

But we will pass, and we will go,
We'll fade into the dark, so don't say no.
Just stay awake and just go along,
Because we're holding on.

We are the ones who cannot scream,
And how we're trying...

But we will pass, and we will go.
We'll flee into the dark, because we're wrong.
Just stay awake and don't belong,
So you can hold on.

But we will pass, and we will go.
We'll fade into the dark and we'll say no.
Just stay awake and just stay strong,
Because we're holding on.

The Cave

There's this hole in the earth that's a yawning dark pit,
And the denizens are all enslaved.
It's ignored by the people who are full of shit,
But it lies there in wait for the brave.

I am human and I need to be loved,
And I cannot remain in this hole.
I am sun, I am air - and I belong above,
I'll break free and unshackle my soul.

There's a million lost souls in this hole in the ground.
Though you'd swear that there's no space for one.
There's a jailor and prisoner and they're under the mound.
There's a lock and and key, they're undone.

I am human and I need to be loved,
And I cannot remain in this hole.
I am sun, I am air - and I belong above,
I'll break free and unshackle my soul.

And the prisoners allow their hands to be tied,
By their jailors with faces of friends.
You can turn away, sure - but you risk getting fried
By the stingers attached to their ends.

You've fed them your secrets and fed them up strong,
And their venom can flow in full force.
A barbed sentence now, that just doesn't belong.
But the venom is running its course.

I am human and I need to be loved,
And I will not remain in this hole.
I am sun, I am air - and I belong above,
And I'll burn to unshackle my soul.

Privacy Policy

I've got a new privacy policy.
It protects me from diatribes.
I've got a new privacy policy.
It protects me from your lies.
I've got a new policy,
Privacy policy,
Protect me.

I've got great expectations.
There's no place to hide.
I've got a burning sensation
And it's coursing inside.
I've got great expectations,
There's nothing to find.
I've got a burning sensation,
So leave me behind.

We can talk with numbers,
Signals, sentinels, sentience.
We can talk with symbols.
Nods, neutral, nothing.

I'll float with the rising of the tones.
I'll fall with the drop as the wind changes.
I'll soar on wings of silence between seconds.
Just bring the noise.

I do not think that there's anything in that dark room for me.

Travel hundres of miles.
To get the hell away.
The fleeing die in piles,
And they are here to stay.

Flesh. Nothing but flesh. Flesh flesh flesh. And nice girls.