Created sick, commanded to be sound.
Born lost and promised you'll be found -
Raised by chains and told that you are free,
I do not believe that your god is for me.
What vanity to mold us in a vein,
And expect that from impulse, refrain.
One would call that pointless work insane!
The product of a clearly broken brain.
And you seek to convince me with a book?
Your holy writ, your pack of lies, your hook?
Words are a -
You know what, fuck it, I can't finish this one.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Loyalties
A box full of memories thrown in the sea.
A gun, with blood on the trigger. How did this happen?
A hood and a smile and proud words to a murderer.
A black heart, red lips and a shadow to hide in.
The mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.
Your solution, morally dubious.
Take the plunge and don't sleep nights.
Poisoned blood, blooded poison, keeping us safe.
A daughter who kills with a sway of her hips.
A son who seeks to kill as you do, and must be stopped.
A virus that can change the way you see the world,
A father slain by machines he sought to control.
Utopia, surrounded by the weakened and dying.
You are king, hale by design.
But whose design? Your creator's whim?
Wombless, adrift, purposeless purpose.
Vengeance. All that remains, vengeance.
Take the shot, a clean death. Blood for blood.
Dead cells, empty cells, a bomb in a ruin.
Unnatural perfection bound up in rage.
A pair of legs that don't work.
A doctor who drinks brandy and severs ties, limbs.
A chipper young woman dragged away screaming.
A voice with no soul who makes you laugh.
A box of memories, thrown in the sky.
A gun, with blood on the trigger. How did this happen?
A hood and a smile and proud words to a murderer.
A black heart, red lips and a shadow to hide in.
The mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.
Your solution, morally dubious.
Take the plunge and don't sleep nights.
Poisoned blood, blooded poison, keeping us safe.
A daughter who kills with a sway of her hips.
A son who seeks to kill as you do, and must be stopped.
A virus that can change the way you see the world,
A father slain by machines he sought to control.
Utopia, surrounded by the weakened and dying.
You are king, hale by design.
But whose design? Your creator's whim?
Wombless, adrift, purposeless purpose.
Vengeance. All that remains, vengeance.
Take the shot, a clean death. Blood for blood.
Dead cells, empty cells, a bomb in a ruin.
Unnatural perfection bound up in rage.
A pair of legs that don't work.
A doctor who drinks brandy and severs ties, limbs.
A chipper young woman dragged away screaming.
A voice with no soul who makes you laugh.
A box of memories, thrown in the sky.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Winking Out
All across the universe, the stars are winking out.
So we set off in spaceships, to see what that's about.
We fought across the galaxy, to bring them back the light,
But we didn't tread carefully, swallowed up by the night.
And all across the sky, they yet burn, they yet hunger.
All across the sky, they yet seek, they yet fight, they drag under.
No more dreaming of a world free from war, free from slaughter.
No more hunting like a hound for a torch, for a beacon in the water.
No more fighting like a fiend, like a god, like a sword -
Like a bow, like a beast, like a fist,
Like a man, so alive with the bloodshed.
All across the universe, the voices raise in horror,
For the stars are winking out, the light is fading from them.
We tried to save them from it, tried to keep their fires glowing,
But as they fade our fires are the only ones worth knowing.
No more dreaming of a world free from fear, free from chaos.
No more cutting like a knife through the sky, like a bullet from the madness.
No more praying like a fool, for a god, for a sword -
For a fiend, for a bow, for a beast,
For a fist, of a man in the darkness.
Hope is slipping through an open door,
treading where no life has gone before.
Hope is slipping through an open door,
so let's all cry, as there's no hope no more.
So we set off in spaceships, to see what that's about.
We fought across the galaxy, to bring them back the light,
But we didn't tread carefully, swallowed up by the night.
And all across the sky, they yet burn, they yet hunger.
All across the sky, they yet seek, they yet fight, they drag under.
No more dreaming of a world free from war, free from slaughter.
No more hunting like a hound for a torch, for a beacon in the water.
No more fighting like a fiend, like a god, like a sword -
Like a bow, like a beast, like a fist,
Like a man, so alive with the bloodshed.
All across the universe, the voices raise in horror,
For the stars are winking out, the light is fading from them.
We tried to save them from it, tried to keep their fires glowing,
But as they fade our fires are the only ones worth knowing.
No more dreaming of a world free from fear, free from chaos.
No more cutting like a knife through the sky, like a bullet from the madness.
No more praying like a fool, for a god, for a sword -
For a fiend, for a bow, for a beast,
For a fist, of a man in the darkness.
Hope is slipping through an open door,
treading where no life has gone before.
Hope is slipping through an open door,
so let's all cry, as there's no hope no more.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
The Case 2
The scene is a chamber, draped with thick red curtains. The air is smoky and the lighting seductive - the atmosphere is that of a sordid little bordello. Reclining on a couch in the centre of the room is L, a whore. She is arrayed in a manner and garb that suggests but doesn't reveal. Enter S.
L: Well hello -
She eyes him up and down with distaste.
L: ...love. What's your pleasure?
S: Huh. This isn't the men's room.
L: Oh, like that is it? I swear, they always send the jokers to me. And by the smell of you, you're some kind of joke yourself. A joking joke, how about that? Are you one of M's? She's been trying to get back at me ever since I left her to handle those two Scots. She couldn't walk straight for a week, you know.
She eyes him up and down again, lips pursing.
L: Pretty poor joke, even for her. Look, love - I don't fuck punters with lice. No offence or anything, but it's hard enough to avoid things like that in a place like this. And if M sent you along, tell her she'll have to do better than that.
S finds his tongue.
S: You've got it all wrong, madam.
L: I'm no madam. Not yet, anyway.
S: Right, miss. Whatever you like. Fact is, I'm here on business.
L (laughing): Business, is it? Instead of pleasure? In here, they're one and the same, love. Though you'll be needing a wash before you get to do the business with anyone.
S pats himself down.
S: Not that kind of business. Do you think I just strolled in here, looking like this? As you've so charmingly put it, I reek. I stink of the gutter and I look like I've been living in it to boot. And as a matter of fact, I have been. Too many people in this world'll turn their noses up at a nice, cosy gutter. At least you don't have to share a gutter. That bed looks pretty comfy. How often do you have to share?
L: Often enough. Okay, I'll bite. What's a walking garbage dump like you doing in a place like this? More to the point, how did you get in?
S: One crisp banknote to the gorilla on the door, three crisp banknotes to the lovely woman at the front desk, and asking for you by name. You're quite famous, you know. In the gutters. Is it true that a man died in your arms, and your kiss stole his soul?
L: I wouldn't know about my kiss stealing his soul. He was over sixty, though. What can I say? He got overexcited. You'd be surprised how often that kind of thing happens in a place like this.
S: Yes, I'm sure you've seen it before. After all, you've lived in places like this since you were fourteen, haven't you? Do you know what they call you?
L: Don't say it.
S: The Nun, isn't it? Funny nickname for a whore. I suppose it must have to do with all the time you spend on your -
L: What do they call you? And more to the point, what the hell do you want? You're not interested in fucking me, despite the fact that you can't keep your eyes off me. You pay rather a lot of money to get into a room alone with me and then all you do is insult me and natter on about gutters. State your business or I'll call the matron. There are rules, you know.
S: Very well, we'll get down to it then. What would you do if I told you that the sun was rising at midnight?
L: That the moon would wax at midday. But wait a second -
S: Would you really? Well, in that case, I suppose I should inform you that the contest is over.
L: The victor the loser and the loser the victor. And the whores shall inherit the earth and take all the pleasure from it.
S: And with that pleasure they will hold the pleasured to ransom.
L: Taking all that was taken from them.
S: Withholding that which they were given.
L: Reclaiming what they gave! And then, when everything belongs for those who served for coin, they will make an end of it. No longer will man be slave to the orgasm.
S: No longer will women be slave to the orgasm.
L: The whole world's an orgasm.
S looks taken aback.
S: That isn't part of the script.
L: Fuck the script. I know what you're here for now, and you know that I'm who you were looking for. So fuck it. Fuck everything. Everything fucks and everything is fucked. The whole world's just one big orgasm.
S: Really? I always thought the world was a gigantic shit.
L: You're wrong. Working in a place like this, you figure out a few things. The world's what we call a screamer. The build-up is long, tough, hard. You might even bruise a bit, and you won't be good for walking much afterwards. But when the actual moment comes...
S: They scream?
L: That's one word for it. Have you ever heard a screamer? You stand there and smell like a dungheap, but I reckon you've been around the block a few times. You've probably had some pretty good sex, right?
S: My cock works the same as everyone else's.
L: I bet it does. Working here...living here...you get to see the ultimate in sex. A screamer is like nothing else on this planet. When the moment comes, you can't hold back. And I don't just mean you come. I don't even just mean you moan and your toes curl and you pant afterwards. A real screamer is one in a million. A real screamer is where everything that you are, every part of your soul, every bit of strength in your body is pushed out.. So much pleasure that there isn't room inside you for anything else, and everything that you are is forced out of you.
S: Out of your...
L: No. There's already stuff coming out there, if you're a man. And stuff coming in, if you're a woman. Didn't you pay attention in sex ed? So everything else has to come out of your mouth. It's more than a scream. It's everything. And then you take a huge, juddering breath right afterwards and pull it all back inside you.
S: And that's life, is it? A screamer?
L: It's a screamer without the breath, drawn out over years and years and years. You fill yourself up with pleasure until you don't have room to be you anymore, and then when your body's rotted away by all that pleasure and it can't take anymore, you go to take that huge breath to draw yourself back in, and you fall apart. That's life. You're either coming, or you're dead.
S: One time, I saw a man slit another man's throat for the change in his pocket. He had three silver coins, and he had his throat slit over it. He wasn't coming. Neither was the man who killed him. In fact, I'm pretty sure there was a distinct lack of orgasms in the area. There was plenty of shit though.
L laughs.
L: Love, that's not life. Life is here -
She fondles her breasts.
L: And here -
She indicates her crotch.
L: And if you're not with them, you're thinking about them, missing them, wondering when you can feel them next. That man with the coins? He was dead before the knife touched his throat. The man who did the killing? Dead hands on the blade. Everyone is dead unless they're fucking. Fucking is life.
S: I can see why they call you The Nun. This is practically religion.
L: Better. It's real. Now, you've got something to give me. Hand it over and get out. You've ruined my evening.
S: Sorry. Is it the smell? I'll do something about it next time I feel like being alive. Before I hand it over, you've got to say the last line. Orders are orders.
L rolls her eyes and gets up, crossing the floor to S. She puts a hand against his chest.
L: The end will come when dead men do.
S takes her hand and plants a kiss on it. From behind him, he presents a briefcase. L takes it calmly.
Lights down.
L: Well hello -
She eyes him up and down with distaste.
L: ...love. What's your pleasure?
S: Huh. This isn't the men's room.
L: Oh, like that is it? I swear, they always send the jokers to me. And by the smell of you, you're some kind of joke yourself. A joking joke, how about that? Are you one of M's? She's been trying to get back at me ever since I left her to handle those two Scots. She couldn't walk straight for a week, you know.
She eyes him up and down again, lips pursing.
L: Pretty poor joke, even for her. Look, love - I don't fuck punters with lice. No offence or anything, but it's hard enough to avoid things like that in a place like this. And if M sent you along, tell her she'll have to do better than that.
S finds his tongue.
S: You've got it all wrong, madam.
L: I'm no madam. Not yet, anyway.
S: Right, miss. Whatever you like. Fact is, I'm here on business.
L (laughing): Business, is it? Instead of pleasure? In here, they're one and the same, love. Though you'll be needing a wash before you get to do the business with anyone.
S pats himself down.
S: Not that kind of business. Do you think I just strolled in here, looking like this? As you've so charmingly put it, I reek. I stink of the gutter and I look like I've been living in it to boot. And as a matter of fact, I have been. Too many people in this world'll turn their noses up at a nice, cosy gutter. At least you don't have to share a gutter. That bed looks pretty comfy. How often do you have to share?
L: Often enough. Okay, I'll bite. What's a walking garbage dump like you doing in a place like this? More to the point, how did you get in?
S: One crisp banknote to the gorilla on the door, three crisp banknotes to the lovely woman at the front desk, and asking for you by name. You're quite famous, you know. In the gutters. Is it true that a man died in your arms, and your kiss stole his soul?
L: I wouldn't know about my kiss stealing his soul. He was over sixty, though. What can I say? He got overexcited. You'd be surprised how often that kind of thing happens in a place like this.
S: Yes, I'm sure you've seen it before. After all, you've lived in places like this since you were fourteen, haven't you? Do you know what they call you?
L: Don't say it.
S: The Nun, isn't it? Funny nickname for a whore. I suppose it must have to do with all the time you spend on your -
L: What do they call you? And more to the point, what the hell do you want? You're not interested in fucking me, despite the fact that you can't keep your eyes off me. You pay rather a lot of money to get into a room alone with me and then all you do is insult me and natter on about gutters. State your business or I'll call the matron. There are rules, you know.
S: Very well, we'll get down to it then. What would you do if I told you that the sun was rising at midnight?
L: That the moon would wax at midday. But wait a second -
S: Would you really? Well, in that case, I suppose I should inform you that the contest is over.
L: The victor the loser and the loser the victor. And the whores shall inherit the earth and take all the pleasure from it.
S: And with that pleasure they will hold the pleasured to ransom.
L: Taking all that was taken from them.
S: Withholding that which they were given.
L: Reclaiming what they gave! And then, when everything belongs for those who served for coin, they will make an end of it. No longer will man be slave to the orgasm.
S: No longer will women be slave to the orgasm.
L: The whole world's an orgasm.
S looks taken aback.
S: That isn't part of the script.
L: Fuck the script. I know what you're here for now, and you know that I'm who you were looking for. So fuck it. Fuck everything. Everything fucks and everything is fucked. The whole world's just one big orgasm.
S: Really? I always thought the world was a gigantic shit.
L: You're wrong. Working in a place like this, you figure out a few things. The world's what we call a screamer. The build-up is long, tough, hard. You might even bruise a bit, and you won't be good for walking much afterwards. But when the actual moment comes...
S: They scream?
L: That's one word for it. Have you ever heard a screamer? You stand there and smell like a dungheap, but I reckon you've been around the block a few times. You've probably had some pretty good sex, right?
S: My cock works the same as everyone else's.
L: I bet it does. Working here...living here...you get to see the ultimate in sex. A screamer is like nothing else on this planet. When the moment comes, you can't hold back. And I don't just mean you come. I don't even just mean you moan and your toes curl and you pant afterwards. A real screamer is one in a million. A real screamer is where everything that you are, every part of your soul, every bit of strength in your body is pushed out.. So much pleasure that there isn't room inside you for anything else, and everything that you are is forced out of you.
S: Out of your...
L: No. There's already stuff coming out there, if you're a man. And stuff coming in, if you're a woman. Didn't you pay attention in sex ed? So everything else has to come out of your mouth. It's more than a scream. It's everything. And then you take a huge, juddering breath right afterwards and pull it all back inside you.
S: And that's life, is it? A screamer?
L: It's a screamer without the breath, drawn out over years and years and years. You fill yourself up with pleasure until you don't have room to be you anymore, and then when your body's rotted away by all that pleasure and it can't take anymore, you go to take that huge breath to draw yourself back in, and you fall apart. That's life. You're either coming, or you're dead.
S: One time, I saw a man slit another man's throat for the change in his pocket. He had three silver coins, and he had his throat slit over it. He wasn't coming. Neither was the man who killed him. In fact, I'm pretty sure there was a distinct lack of orgasms in the area. There was plenty of shit though.
L laughs.
L: Love, that's not life. Life is here -
She fondles her breasts.
L: And here -
She indicates her crotch.
L: And if you're not with them, you're thinking about them, missing them, wondering when you can feel them next. That man with the coins? He was dead before the knife touched his throat. The man who did the killing? Dead hands on the blade. Everyone is dead unless they're fucking. Fucking is life.
S: I can see why they call you The Nun. This is practically religion.
L: Better. It's real. Now, you've got something to give me. Hand it over and get out. You've ruined my evening.
S: Sorry. Is it the smell? I'll do something about it next time I feel like being alive. Before I hand it over, you've got to say the last line. Orders are orders.
L rolls her eyes and gets up, crossing the floor to S. She puts a hand against his chest.
L: The end will come when dead men do.
S takes her hand and plants a kiss on it. From behind him, he presents a briefcase. L takes it calmly.
Lights down.
Mind Vomit
There's a towering heart that blots out the sun,
And there's a footsore runner whose race is won,
And there's a mighty king whose time is done,
And there's one, there's only one.
And there's this dreadful noise inside my thoughts,
Rolling around my head -
How can nobody hear it?
It's enough to wake the dead.
And there are bells that chime,
And there's a man that rhymes,
And we're all out of time,
Time, time, time!
And as I move my body towards you,
As your fingers grasp the air,
As I move my hands, my face, my feet,
To catch you unaware.
There's nothing left inside my mind,
There's nothing that there is to find,
There's nothing but this hellish grind,
Take mind, take mind, take mind.
For gods will weep, and beggars rule,
Wise men laugh and act the fool,
The sun will wax, the moon will wane,
And nothing will ever be the same.
And there's a footsore runner whose race is won,
And there's a mighty king whose time is done,
And there's one, there's only one.
And there's this dreadful noise inside my thoughts,
Rolling around my head -
How can nobody hear it?
It's enough to wake the dead.
And there are bells that chime,
And there's a man that rhymes,
And we're all out of time,
Time, time, time!
And as I move my body towards you,
As your fingers grasp the air,
As I move my hands, my face, my feet,
To catch you unaware.
There's nothing left inside my mind,
There's nothing that there is to find,
There's nothing but this hellish grind,
Take mind, take mind, take mind.
For gods will weep, and beggars rule,
Wise men laugh and act the fool,
The sun will wax, the moon will wane,
And nothing will ever be the same.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Birthdays, Freedom, Chains.
Oh thank god, the internet here is strong enough to blog.
So! Hi! Hello! It's been a little while! I probably need to catalogue a LOT of things. And then I'm going to write a bit of prose because I promised myself that I would. So, there's that to look forward to at the end, lovely.
Jeez, how far back to go?
The Witches ended. I don't think I did a post about The Witches ending, good lord, we've got a lot of ground to cover. So The Witches ended - phenomenal show, phenomenal people. The poster is on my wall, the cast photo is on my wall, the lines WON'T GET OUT OF MY HEAD and every now and then I sit for a bit and sigh and realise that the whole she-bang is over and I don't get to do it anymore. I met some amazing people. I did some amazing things. There were some amazing in-jokes (Millie's ready for dinner! Diagon Alley! Honey badger don't give a shit! Ah, in a year's time I'm going to look back and think I'm insane!) and all in all I was a part of a show that I'm insanely proud of.
So! Hi! Hello! It's been a little while! I probably need to catalogue a LOT of things. And then I'm going to write a bit of prose because I promised myself that I would. So, there's that to look forward to at the end, lovely.
Jeez, how far back to go?
The Witches ended. I don't think I did a post about The Witches ending, good lord, we've got a lot of ground to cover. So The Witches ended - phenomenal show, phenomenal people. The poster is on my wall, the cast photo is on my wall, the lines WON'T GET OUT OF MY HEAD and every now and then I sit for a bit and sigh and realise that the whole she-bang is over and I don't get to do it anymore. I met some amazing people. I did some amazing things. There were some amazing in-jokes (Millie's ready for dinner! Diagon Alley! Honey badger don't give a shit! Ah, in a year's time I'm going to look back and think I'm insane!) and all in all I was a part of a show that I'm insanely proud of.
"It doesn't matter who you are, or what you look like, as long as somebody loves you."
So. There's that. What happened next? My birthday happened! Yes, I'm now 19. That isn't going to get a special post to itself this year because I don't have a long list of gifts to catalogue and a whole lot of insane expectations this year. I'm 19. 19 is a number. I recieved one very amazing gift and I went out to dinner with friends. It was a good time. I spent the actual birthday alone in my room feeling morbid, which I think is the proper way to spend a birthday, but the dinner on the following day was very good. Let's move on from that. I'm 19, hurrah, hurrah. /throws paper streamers around the place.
Now on to less lovely things. Last week I had to move out of the Team Galactic house and into a sharehouse. I had to do this incredibly quickly, because I was being threatened with physical violence. I'm not going to go into the why and the how of it all because that's just going to make me feel bitter about everything (which I am, oh so very bitter - I mean, seriously? Over a fucking toilet? Did you just wake up and decide that being a cunt would be fun that da - okay, yeah, let's not go over it) but I will mention it here because this is a very abrupt end to something that I dedicated a very large portion of my life to. I loved Baesty, Jennifer, whatever you want to call her. I loved her like I've never loved anybody else on this planet; unconditionally, completely, utterly, with every inch of me. And in the end that was a bad, bad, bad thing, because for whatever reason she decided that I wasn't worth respect, and when somebody that you love that much won't treat you with respect, how can you respect yourself? So I no longer love her, just like that. I loved her for almost three years with everything I had and over the past two weeks I've had to shut that off like a tap. And somehow I've managed it. My self-preservation instinct is very strong. I suppose in a way it's a shame that she never had any interest in my blog, but then again, this probably isn't saying anything she didn't already conclude. Oh well.
Oh, and as an endnote on that whole situation - Brans, you're a cunt, and I'm a cunt, and for a while we were each other's cunts. At the end of it all, you were the only reason I was still living there, and although when I actually left you were the only person who abused me on the way out, I can't bring myself to mind. Sorry. You shouldn't have taken the side against me.
Right, enough of that, let's move on to something fantastic.
I have a boyfriend.
Me. A boyfriend. One that I want to be with and want to be monogamous with and do all of those lovely things. It's infatuation and romance and sheer, incredible lust and everything that's emotional and lovely and all those things that I didn't think I could feel for another person just erupting out of me in horrifying explosions of happiness and gay.
Keep your distance, people. Things could get messy.
Now I'm going to write a bit of prose.
Chained.
Threads of silk,
Stronger than steel,
Bound me to feel.
Marked your skin,
Marked my soul,
Swallow me whole.
Tie your binds to the foot of my bed,
Tie your face to the dreams in my head,
Tie my hands as my heart runs red -
I'm not dead.
Take my life, out into the night.
Take my eyes, for you're all in my sight.
Take my strength, take all of my might -
You blaze bright.
Collared neck,
And trusting eyes,
Pierce my lies.
Willing hands,
And smoothest skin,
Draw me in.
There. That'll do for the evening.
So. There's that. What happened next? My birthday happened! Yes, I'm now 19. That isn't going to get a special post to itself this year because I don't have a long list of gifts to catalogue and a whole lot of insane expectations this year. I'm 19. 19 is a number. I recieved one very amazing gift and I went out to dinner with friends. It was a good time. I spent the actual birthday alone in my room feeling morbid, which I think is the proper way to spend a birthday, but the dinner on the following day was very good. Let's move on from that. I'm 19, hurrah, hurrah. /throws paper streamers around the place.
Now on to less lovely things. Last week I had to move out of the Team Galactic house and into a sharehouse. I had to do this incredibly quickly, because I was being threatened with physical violence. I'm not going to go into the why and the how of it all because that's just going to make me feel bitter about everything (which I am, oh so very bitter - I mean, seriously? Over a fucking toilet? Did you just wake up and decide that being a cunt would be fun that da - okay, yeah, let's not go over it) but I will mention it here because this is a very abrupt end to something that I dedicated a very large portion of my life to. I loved Baesty, Jennifer, whatever you want to call her. I loved her like I've never loved anybody else on this planet; unconditionally, completely, utterly, with every inch of me. And in the end that was a bad, bad, bad thing, because for whatever reason she decided that I wasn't worth respect, and when somebody that you love that much won't treat you with respect, how can you respect yourself? So I no longer love her, just like that. I loved her for almost three years with everything I had and over the past two weeks I've had to shut that off like a tap. And somehow I've managed it. My self-preservation instinct is very strong. I suppose in a way it's a shame that she never had any interest in my blog, but then again, this probably isn't saying anything she didn't already conclude. Oh well.
Oh, and as an endnote on that whole situation - Brans, you're a cunt, and I'm a cunt, and for a while we were each other's cunts. At the end of it all, you were the only reason I was still living there, and although when I actually left you were the only person who abused me on the way out, I can't bring myself to mind. Sorry. You shouldn't have taken the side against me.
Right, enough of that, let's move on to something fantastic.
I have a boyfriend.
Me. A boyfriend. One that I want to be with and want to be monogamous with and do all of those lovely things. It's infatuation and romance and sheer, incredible lust and everything that's emotional and lovely and all those things that I didn't think I could feel for another person just erupting out of me in horrifying explosions of happiness and gay.
Keep your distance, people. Things could get messy.
Now I'm going to write a bit of prose.
Chained.
Threads of silk,
Stronger than steel,
Bound me to feel.
Marked your skin,
Marked my soul,
Swallow me whole.
Tie your binds to the foot of my bed,
Tie your face to the dreams in my head,
Tie my hands as my heart runs red -
I'm not dead.
Take my life, out into the night.
Take my eyes, for you're all in my sight.
Take my strength, take all of my might -
You blaze bright.
Collared neck,
And trusting eyes,
Pierce my lies.
Willing hands,
And smoothest skin,
Draw me in.
There. That'll do for the evening.
Friday, May 27, 2011
The Case
J, a dapper looking gentleman in a suit, and S, a bedraggled, smelly man in torn clothes, collide in an alleyway.
J: Do watch where you're going!
S: Oh! Apologies, apologies, forgiveness, good master, forgiveness. I can barely see straight, what with the clouds covered by the moon. Or is the moon covered by the clouds? Ah, does it matter? Apologies again, good sir. I'm not right in my head. Why, just last week I was sitting to myself and thinking about how daughters should marry their fathers, and fathers their daughters, and the sun should explode and burn us all away as we bury the sun! I'm not worth worrying about, truly I'm not. I'll let you get on your way.
J has been listening to all of this with an expression of increasing horror.
J: Say that again...sir. All of that about the clouds, and the moon, and -
S: Clouds cover moon, moon covers clouds, daughters marry fathers, fathers daughters, sun exploding, bury the sun. I'm pretty sure I covered it all. Was anything unclear to you? Should I repeat myself? I would really rather not repeat myself.
His manner and bearing gradually become regal until he stands upright and looks upon J contemptously.
J: Alright. Alright, you needn't make such a fuss about it.
S immediately hunches over, the bedraggled begger once more.
S: Right you are, sir, right you are. So, if that's all that there is, then, I suppose you'll be wanting to hand it over.
J: Just a minute, just a minute. I'm not sure I understand exactly what's going on here. I'm supposed to hand it over to...a fine gentleman...such as yourself? I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation...
He pats his briefcase.
J: This briefcase has passed through the hands of a council that sit on the highest reaches of power in this city. It has been held by men who could kill - or at least, have someone killed - at the blink of an eye. It has been poured over, delivered, transported and locked away by gentleman who could cause wars at a whim, could tear babies from their mothers, could choke the life from schoolchildren, could burn down hospitals and execute nuns -
S: Well they don't sound very much like gentleman to me.
J: Yes, well. Be that as it may, the point I am trying to make to you, sir, is that this briefcase has been in the hands of powerful, incredible men, and now I am expected to hand it over to a smelly peasant! It boggles the mind, it really does. It makes no sense! Why, I should just open it and be done, here and now. Better that then to put it into YOUR hands. You'd probably palm it off for a bottle of cheap hooch!
S: I wouldn't do that if I were you. You don't know where it's been.
J: Yes I do, I told you. In the hands of powerful people.
S: All the more reason not to open it. It's probably swarming with powerful germs. Why, every moment you hold it you could be contaminated! Quickly! Quickly! Power is contagious, and it doesn't come out of clothes! Hand it over for your own safety!
He makes a grab for the briefcase, but J fends him off. He falls back, whimpering.
J: Idiot. If you had any idea who you were laying hands on...
S: Idiot? I'M the idiot? Oh, very polite, yes, very nice. You're the one considering opening the damn thing. You know, there could be anything in there? There could be codes to a nuclear device - or a beacon to one right under our feet. You open that case and you could blow us all sky-high, wha-hey, nuclear holocaust at your fingertips! There's power for you. All of that capability, and what most people need to do is spend all their time stopping it from blowing up in your big ugly face. Of course, it could be a treasure map. Or a deadly neurotoxin. Or full of candy! Or booby-trapped. Did I mention the clouds covering the moon?
J: Yes, yes. And you're right...in a way. I don't dare open it. But to pass it on to you? I'm not so sure.
S: Why? What makes me so different from all of those fine, upstanding gentleman?
J: Well, you're wearing less clothes.
S: And clothes maketh the man?
J: Well, they certainly make him better to look at.
S: And yet he chokes nuns and starts wars. Why make him prettier to look at? Why not, say, smear him with dirt, or let him roll about in the street? That's more suited to his nature. You'll have to do better than that.
J: Well, I don't mean to offend -
S: Oh, you've gone and offended.
J: ...but you smell.
Mock horror from S
J: And you have a certain...unsavoury air to you. Almost...subhuman, really.
S: Subhuman? You wound me, sir. I am the essence of humanity. Do you require proof?
He fumbles with his fly. J averts his gaze.
J: That really won't be required, I'm sure.
S: Well, just so's you know. I'm just as much man as those gentleman you seem to love so much. Probably more, in some ways.
He grasps his crotch.
J: Be that as it may...
S: Look, I don't have all day. I gave the words. I gave them quite well, really. I've done the little monkey dance and I've sat through about as much of your posturing as I can take - and besides, this place isn't exactly secure, you know? I don't know how they do things in your ivory tower, but around here, lingering around looking suspicious is a good way to get knifed.
J: Are you threatening me? You know our instructions are to go unarmed.
S: Sure, sure. And I am. But do you think the locals got those instructions? So hurry it up, hand it over!
J: Just one more thing...
S: There's always something...
J: What do you get out of this? I'm going to go home and look in my bank account and there's going to be a lovely six-figure deposit in there for this. What on earth could you be recieving? I got the distinct impression you'll be taking care of this for longer than I will, and I know that means the reward is greater. What could you possibly be rewarded with?
S: Piss.
J: Piss?!
S: Piss. And perhaps a bag of horse shit for afters.
J: I do not appreciate being made sport of.
S: Sir, look at me. Do I look like I'm kidding? To each man according to his desire, from each man according to our demands. Isn't that the motto?
J: Nobody desires a bag of horse shit.
S: Sure they do. It's all a matter of perspective, people want shit all the time. You've eaten an egg, haven't you?
J: That's an entirely different situation!
S: Whatever helps you sleep at night. What are you going to spend your lovely six figure sum on? Whores? A new house? Caviar? It's all shit in the end. In fact, caviar's practically shit beforehand. I'm just a little more aware of how everything else ends up. I'm well acquainted with shit. You could say I'm the other end of the spectrum. All you fine gentleman, making your vaunted, important choices, starting your wars, buying your whores, dancing that political dance - well, what you've really got is a lot of shit. And I'm the king of shit. So, I suppose you could say I'm the most powerful of the lot!
J: Fascinating. Well, time is ticking on. I really must be off.
S: Off to take a shit, are you?
J: I really wish you'd leave that subject alone.
S: Why? Nobody can, you know. Everybody shits. Everybody eats and everybody shits. Even your powerful friends. Shitters, the lot of them!
J: Look, just take the damn case and be on your way.
S: What's the matter? Getting the shits? I'm not shitting you, you know. Oh well, best be off. The weather looks like it'll turn shitty soon.
J draws himself up.
J: I fervently hope we never meet again.
He exits.
S: And I, sir, fervently await the day that you shits get what's coming to you.
J: Do watch where you're going!
S: Oh! Apologies, apologies, forgiveness, good master, forgiveness. I can barely see straight, what with the clouds covered by the moon. Or is the moon covered by the clouds? Ah, does it matter? Apologies again, good sir. I'm not right in my head. Why, just last week I was sitting to myself and thinking about how daughters should marry their fathers, and fathers their daughters, and the sun should explode and burn us all away as we bury the sun! I'm not worth worrying about, truly I'm not. I'll let you get on your way.
J has been listening to all of this with an expression of increasing horror.
J: Say that again...sir. All of that about the clouds, and the moon, and -
S: Clouds cover moon, moon covers clouds, daughters marry fathers, fathers daughters, sun exploding, bury the sun. I'm pretty sure I covered it all. Was anything unclear to you? Should I repeat myself? I would really rather not repeat myself.
His manner and bearing gradually become regal until he stands upright and looks upon J contemptously.
J: Alright. Alright, you needn't make such a fuss about it.
S immediately hunches over, the bedraggled begger once more.
S: Right you are, sir, right you are. So, if that's all that there is, then, I suppose you'll be wanting to hand it over.
J: Just a minute, just a minute. I'm not sure I understand exactly what's going on here. I'm supposed to hand it over to...a fine gentleman...such as yourself? I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation...
He pats his briefcase.
J: This briefcase has passed through the hands of a council that sit on the highest reaches of power in this city. It has been held by men who could kill - or at least, have someone killed - at the blink of an eye. It has been poured over, delivered, transported and locked away by gentleman who could cause wars at a whim, could tear babies from their mothers, could choke the life from schoolchildren, could burn down hospitals and execute nuns -
S: Well they don't sound very much like gentleman to me.
J: Yes, well. Be that as it may, the point I am trying to make to you, sir, is that this briefcase has been in the hands of powerful, incredible men, and now I am expected to hand it over to a smelly peasant! It boggles the mind, it really does. It makes no sense! Why, I should just open it and be done, here and now. Better that then to put it into YOUR hands. You'd probably palm it off for a bottle of cheap hooch!
S: I wouldn't do that if I were you. You don't know where it's been.
J: Yes I do, I told you. In the hands of powerful people.
S: All the more reason not to open it. It's probably swarming with powerful germs. Why, every moment you hold it you could be contaminated! Quickly! Quickly! Power is contagious, and it doesn't come out of clothes! Hand it over for your own safety!
He makes a grab for the briefcase, but J fends him off. He falls back, whimpering.
J: Idiot. If you had any idea who you were laying hands on...
S: Idiot? I'M the idiot? Oh, very polite, yes, very nice. You're the one considering opening the damn thing. You know, there could be anything in there? There could be codes to a nuclear device - or a beacon to one right under our feet. You open that case and you could blow us all sky-high, wha-hey, nuclear holocaust at your fingertips! There's power for you. All of that capability, and what most people need to do is spend all their time stopping it from blowing up in your big ugly face. Of course, it could be a treasure map. Or a deadly neurotoxin. Or full of candy! Or booby-trapped. Did I mention the clouds covering the moon?
J: Yes, yes. And you're right...in a way. I don't dare open it. But to pass it on to you? I'm not so sure.
S: Why? What makes me so different from all of those fine, upstanding gentleman?
J: Well, you're wearing less clothes.
S: And clothes maketh the man?
J: Well, they certainly make him better to look at.
S: And yet he chokes nuns and starts wars. Why make him prettier to look at? Why not, say, smear him with dirt, or let him roll about in the street? That's more suited to his nature. You'll have to do better than that.
J: Well, I don't mean to offend -
S: Oh, you've gone and offended.
J: ...but you smell.
Mock horror from S
J: And you have a certain...unsavoury air to you. Almost...subhuman, really.
S: Subhuman? You wound me, sir. I am the essence of humanity. Do you require proof?
He fumbles with his fly. J averts his gaze.
J: That really won't be required, I'm sure.
S: Well, just so's you know. I'm just as much man as those gentleman you seem to love so much. Probably more, in some ways.
He grasps his crotch.
J: Be that as it may...
S: Look, I don't have all day. I gave the words. I gave them quite well, really. I've done the little monkey dance and I've sat through about as much of your posturing as I can take - and besides, this place isn't exactly secure, you know? I don't know how they do things in your ivory tower, but around here, lingering around looking suspicious is a good way to get knifed.
J: Are you threatening me? You know our instructions are to go unarmed.
S: Sure, sure. And I am. But do you think the locals got those instructions? So hurry it up, hand it over!
J: Just one more thing...
S: There's always something...
J: What do you get out of this? I'm going to go home and look in my bank account and there's going to be a lovely six-figure deposit in there for this. What on earth could you be recieving? I got the distinct impression you'll be taking care of this for longer than I will, and I know that means the reward is greater. What could you possibly be rewarded with?
S: Piss.
J: Piss?!
S: Piss. And perhaps a bag of horse shit for afters.
J: I do not appreciate being made sport of.
S: Sir, look at me. Do I look like I'm kidding? To each man according to his desire, from each man according to our demands. Isn't that the motto?
J: Nobody desires a bag of horse shit.
S: Sure they do. It's all a matter of perspective, people want shit all the time. You've eaten an egg, haven't you?
J: That's an entirely different situation!
S: Whatever helps you sleep at night. What are you going to spend your lovely six figure sum on? Whores? A new house? Caviar? It's all shit in the end. In fact, caviar's practically shit beforehand. I'm just a little more aware of how everything else ends up. I'm well acquainted with shit. You could say I'm the other end of the spectrum. All you fine gentleman, making your vaunted, important choices, starting your wars, buying your whores, dancing that political dance - well, what you've really got is a lot of shit. And I'm the king of shit. So, I suppose you could say I'm the most powerful of the lot!
J: Fascinating. Well, time is ticking on. I really must be off.
S: Off to take a shit, are you?
J: I really wish you'd leave that subject alone.
S: Why? Nobody can, you know. Everybody shits. Everybody eats and everybody shits. Even your powerful friends. Shitters, the lot of them!
J: Look, just take the damn case and be on your way.
S: What's the matter? Getting the shits? I'm not shitting you, you know. Oh well, best be off. The weather looks like it'll turn shitty soon.
J draws himself up.
J: I fervently hope we never meet again.
He exits.
S: And I, sir, fervently await the day that you shits get what's coming to you.
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