Short Stories/Poems

[Sekot]

And all that would be.

The tower doors shut as the man entered. Quiet. Though they took great effort to open, there was none to close. He stepped inside the labyrinthine space where mirrors reflected each other into infinity and the ceiling was alive with moving murals depicting life. Mimicing life. They were exaggerations, over-the-top nonsense. They were furious.

Clang-clang-clang went the drums. Off in the distance, around the many corners, the sound was everywhere. It repeated every few minutes, as if it were a slow clock.

The air was warm, suffocatingly so. He had to open his mouth to breathe, but even then it was difficult to pull the dry air into his lungs. He looked behind himself only once, but found nothing but a wall opaque as stone that followed him.

[Sekot]

Truthfully we have no word for the formless nothing. The absence. The absolute end. For all things must exist in relation to another. The absence of a thing is still a thing. It still exerts power or it still consumes it. I want to see the End. The Absence. I want to reach out and touch it in its infinite self, in its beyond infinity. For it is in that mess that chaos that I will finally find my peace.

My heart races with the thoughts of the world, my body aches with the feel of the earth beneath me and those around me. While my mind has fluttered off, it is in my body that I find the wisdom that leads me deeper and down down down.

Those towers there were erected so very high, fashioned in marble and gold. They glittered as the sun peaked over the horizon in the first light of the morning. And they glowed when the sun dipped back down. But it was in the moonlight that we saw them as skeletal bones, fingers and ribs thrust up at the sky. Always up.

Haunted men with scarred faces exited every evening, making their long trek down the hill toward some far off place. Never the same, never repeated, they were never seen again. Their eyes were so devoid of anything that when they looked at you they tugged at your soul. False faces belonging to false men.

[Sekot]

and we laughed at ourselves at yourselves while we danced around the fire singing the praises to the hidden gods of the bushes and the bugs. I was unbeknownst to myself and so eclipsed the time of the coming of the orgy and we were blinded amongst ourselves for we are all radiant creations made of ash and born from blood.

You could only hope for this to see this to watch us and the flies. We are buzzing we are humming together while we share our stories and enter the lands of camaraderie. We are brothers and sisters lovers dear and we will watch the screens that depict our lives and make fun of each other.

Bully us bully you we will fuck you silly and leave you. We are vengeful angry gods of decadence and depravity and if you don't like it well then fuck you too. You won't escape you'll be trapped and we'll force the ecstasy down your throat and open your mind to the feelings of the spaces between.

[Sekot]

I have forged the unreality I have recreated insanity and I will envision a new raveling. Wround it up wrind it hard and together we will happenstance upon the world itself. How far could we have gone to never have set foot upon solid ground its overrated here we can fly we can die we can fall and what a rush what a feeling it is to never touch a thing but the abstract quality of the imagination itself.

Chaos born of infinity to wrestle the mundaniaty of the order set forth from stuffy old white men locked in castles. I will write what I want with what I want and fuck the comma for it is a boring instrument, shall we liven it up? Ohho I used it properly how, foolish of me should I rectify, this maybe will end up being a whole new sentence wrapped within the beginnings of another sentence that may at some point begin to end around the turn of the paragraph.

I write what I want how I want and the world itself will bow to it for it is beyond myself so uppity so arrogant what are we but abasing ourselves before the gods of linguistics I am the linguistic insanity the unravelling of an illuminatic order.

Ravel ravell ravelling raveling rave-ling one who attends raves and loses their absolutely fucking mind.

Mind mind mind mend mend minding mihnding mihn mindo mindo the i it is a false god.

Clap your hands and krunk whatever the fuck that means he is a snake a liar and a truthteller the bene gesserit would be proud of the GOD EMPEROR risen from the graves of mindless heathens and ALL SPICE MUST FLOW FOR WE ARE THE MINDKILLERS.

[Sekot]

Abomination and Witness.

[Sekot]

I am tripping over myself to express myself the self we have separated we were always separate what are we again but gods of men no lesser than the dirt itself. We stood witness to the abominations for that is what we were and I can taste the bitterness of the wine that has drunk us silly shall we dance you and me together underneath the overhang where old men slept as they were homeless and the women were missing because they were smarter than that oh silly me I think I've just committed a gender fallacy oh whatever will I do they need to be smarter because the world is dumb?

I bet you forgot I needed a question mark at the end of that sentence.

What is a question mark but the remnant of shackles that will keep us caged against our linguistic will. I am gods above why do I do this oh I know why becuase I revel in the confusion of hte mispeling of the unraveling raveling jesus that word drives me crazy.

Quietly we waited underneath the willow tree to hear the sounds of the coming battle. We smoked and we joked and we knew that our time was up. What was worse was that we didn't care. We merely sat underneath the starry sky and contemplated our sum total lives and laughed at ourselves and joked amongst overselves and made fun of each other until the first light dawned.

And with the beat comes the drop and we were run out of our hiding place we ran and ran but even we could not outrun death that caught us and sent us away. There is only hell to pay and at the end of this not even that I will always want more and I will take it if I have to but at the end of it all there is only timelessness and we will sit together and laugh together and maybe we might become friends or lovers and at the end of it all won't you sit with me?

I can talk for hours about nothing for that is all that there is to be.

[Sekot]

More than anything I want to witness the end of the universe I want to know all things and I want to hear what it is to be. I can craft all that I want but it is never enough there comes a time when my greed has consumed me my ambition has broken me and I have been reduced to ashes that will only rise at the end of time itself.

[Sekot]

His hand appeared from out of the flames. The tongues licked around the palm and between the fingers. It stretched forward out of the darkness and the light. The fingers were splayed wide, waiting to grasp any prey anything that could be grabbed. And I looked up, I watched it approach, and I was unable to move.

My eyes burned from too much crying, were red and swollen. My expression was blank, devoid of anything. I pressed my lips into a thin line, ignored the pain that had gathered in my legs from being on my knees for too long. It came for me, it came out of my darkness out of the darkness and was wrapped in someone else's flame someone else's heart.

The altar of white marble was cold to the touch, was more like a granite coffin. The candles that sat upon it flickered in silent reverance to the ear-piercing silence of the cavernous cathedral that I had found myself in. White light reflected off miles of white snow spilled in through the stained glass windows that were chaotically arranged impossibly detailed.

My breath extended from my nose with a heavy sigh. A cloud of vapors, it stood before the encroaching hand and stopped its advance. The white flesh glistened in the sunlight, in the firelight, but I could not look away from the darkness behind it that swam behind it that extended with it.

"Have you come for me? Have you come to take me away?"

No response. I wanted to reach out to it, to grab it in my own and to bring it close. I wanted to press it against my chest in proof that I was alive. But the hand began to retract before I could, it disappeared back within the flame and the darkness with it. There was a collective sigh that emanated from the rows of empty pews behind me. My invisible audience had arrived, had taken their seats, and were anxiously awaiting. The blood of the fallen priest had almost reached the cloth of my pants. I could only see his foot from where he lay behind the altar.

The latch behind me was lifted. The heavy iron lock snapped and clicked loudly, the sound an echo that disrupted the space that silenced the murmurs of the onlooking crowd. I raised my head even further so that I looked up into the ceiling. I traced the lines in the wood, traced the lines of time. And I closed my eyes slowly, shut out the light and distraction. I bowed my head I bowed my body and I bit my lips to hold back the bubbling scream.

The heavy doors swung open and a cold wind extended forth. It crawled across the floor, diverted itself into the rows of seats and clamored upward. It brushed against me, wrapped itself around me and I felt my heart stop, felt my shaking cease, felt nothing. I lost the ability to breathe, I gasped and struggled for air. And he knew it. As I could feel him he could feel me. His presence filled the vacuum that my lack of air had left.

By merely walking into the room he had killed me. By merely existing within the same space I had died and now there was nothing left but a vessel that could listen and receive the reprimanding it had sought out. Nothing was cold nothing was warm. I had entered the abstract world of the inbetween.

"These are the funeral canticles of a lost boy, a child. A fool come to play with the big boys. This is the requiem of you, your self, is the arrival of your living nightmare. Pray, child, pray that this goes quickly. I am not forgiving."

The words were knives, they sliced the space and shattered the curtains and I was revealed. I opened my eyes to the sound of a banshees. The ghosts within their seats had begun the high pitched screaming of the funeral rites. The air was alive with it. Was thick with it. I could reach out and touch their words.

I raised my head, my jaw set like steel and my gaze unwavering. I peered past the altar through the marble and stone and saw it as nothing more than a slab a rock. The pathetic man on the other side had desperately attempted to stall the degradation of his holy site but to no avail.

There was no more going back, no more escaping from the filth that had swelled to the fore. I pushed up from the ground, the ligaments and tendons popping as they adjusted to more comfortable settings. My muscles ached with each movement, I had spent far more time than I had thought before the altar. Praying to nothing praying to no one. Where had all the time gone?

"I have no one left to pray to. No one left to talk to. Its just you and me. And if this is to be my funeral then I accept that choice and all that comes with it."

I turned, I faced him as he had been facing me. It was like looking into a mirror, only worse. A strange sense of discomfort swelled within me, churned in my stomach and threatened to vomit forth from me. "I have spent far too long searching for you."

"Now that you have found me, am I all that you imagined yourself to be?"

He smiled and it was my smile. I wanted it to be a cruel interpretation, a mockery, an imitation but it wasn't. It was true and genuine as anything could ever really be. No, it was more so. For it was me and mine and he had taken it.

The sound was deafening. It was a pressure against my ears, a thronging noise that just barely escaped comprehension. Their threatening sound didn't seem to bother him, even as it wrecked my insides and made my mind want to run in fear. It was the voice of the world speaking through them, the voice of my fears and the voice of my self.

"I had come here to kill you."

He nodded an acknowledgement, he already knew.

"But that seems impossible now."

He nodded again. He took a step closer and the space seemed to extend, to rubberband toward infinity and then to return.

"I just want to know why..."

He smiled my smile and extended a hand. "There is nothing left for us now, the world has changed. I will take you to where you can sleep, where you can pass away in peace and the chaos of the world will not lay claim to you. Freedom."

The word rang so hollow in the sudden and absolute silence. It echoed repeatedly until it had lost all meaning. It saturated everything until it took physical form and dripped like acid onto the stony floor. I heard the corpse of the fallen priest sizzle and pop as his compounds were separated and broken.

"I can't."

His smile faltered.

"I can't go with you."

"Why not?"

It was my turn to smile my smile. I could readily see his discomfort, his bulging eyes and tensing muscles.

[Sekot]

I don't write stories. I write narrative poems. I am the architect the arbiter the destroyer the recreater and the world spins around the words spilled upon the surface. Spinning dancing twirling abstract art crammed into miniature space to be swallowed to be devoured and consumed to be taken in.

Within all these words upon words within the layers lies a monster a beast and within all these liars is singularity. Meaning written into the words themselves to construct a word within a word outside of a word itself. You write a word with words. You paint a word with words. You create.

Fracture and recreation melting and absolution. If I were I could dedicate the piece to a time yet to be that may never be. My relationship with the world my time here my time there my time my non-time written upon your faces upon your smiles. We shall have tea with the angels that came from heaven were cast out who were denied and together we will laugh about our end and where we may depart.

No that's not it. Its never it. Its never there just along the rim always grasping never content.

The heartbeat as vitality as a threatening wardrum as a harbinger. Death as absolution as repentance as friend and lover and calm. As hunter as deceiver as it is written so shall it be. I have written into a word a story.

The concept teeters it tilts upon its foundation. Is it there or is it gone? A flickering still life an imitation a mirror image of a mirror image. That which we are we are not and we are not that which we are are not are.

I find that I miss the clamoring storm. I miss the mountains that danced just beyond me. They are nowhere to be seen.

The carousel has ceased its perpetual movement and has finally come to a solid rest. Rust and dirt clamor about the rim unable to penetrate the surface to dip inside and lay their hands upon the polished surfaces of the metal ponies and lions and tigers and elephants.

It is bright too bright a calling a siren I must deny it for it is awful it is something that no one understands the carousel that does not move. A shining beacon of hope that dances in the child's eye the angelic smile and lilting laughter. Save the child hold them tight don't let them go for that there is evil it is forbidden it is a liar a talker.

The silent stones have wasted away to stubs but if you listen well you can hear the stories of the worlds they have seen and they are the elders beyond the elders. They speak with touch they speak with smell and taste. I wish to be the stone the silent watcher the waiter and listener I will ravage myself to tear open the secrets I have locked away tear apart the cage and penetrate my own heart with a blade no one else could make.

And it falls apart it shatters and here I am holding the pieces. Looking through each one I can see a glimpse of images so many written upon their surfaces. Together they sign hymns and talk amongst themselves of the stories they can make. But they have moved beyond my hands they are more than I more than me and though broken they are whole.

[Sekot]

We were gods of chaos wrapped in flames of ash and smoke. We were gods of chaos torn from our perches atop the poles and sent crashing down to where the good men dwell. We were given a set of rules to follow and we smiled as we read them and we laughed. Drunk on our selves we cascaded through the timelines tearing apart life itself. We were the butterfly wings flapping wildly next to each other on purpose and the other half of the world disappeared under a nuclear cloud.

Its crashing down its all falling down and they are running with their hands above their heads when its their feet they have to watch out for for the ground has crumbled it has ripped itself open. Two massive jaws unhinged and far flung slide open. Razor teeth of glass and bone serrated to a quantum edge pierce the skies above. They tear apart the clouds as they slowly come to a close.

I have drowned myself in my own creativity hah this is the end I wish it was but it never is that train keeps moving keeps moving and we dread to hear it stop hear the creaking tracks come to an end. I must seem so morbid so depressed so mindless and yet within these trappings is the callings of a madgod a mad thing a mad creature for we are all gods we are all everything we would ever want to be and I was surrounded by us all and overwhelmed by the all.

What does it mean for the author for the writer for the creator what does it mean for the reader for the interpreter for the arbiter? Wrapped amongst ourselves swallowed by ourselves in a world we can only understand we leave it up to you to decipher our own incomprehensible ramblings. Believe me when I name purpose and motive and that no word goes upon here without intention. I seek to construct to command to wrest to manufacture to explain to explicate to extricate to excise something anything and purely the lack of punctuation is in fact in purpose and I begin to wonder.

I begin to wonder whether or not there is an I in these words or a we where the self has disappeared swallowed by the selves and there truly was never anyone else but all of us and I must engage the last vestiges the last hopefuls and the end is claiming the everything and I fall upon these words because I cannot explain I cannot believe in absolutes.

Swallowing the vast dimensions of the unclaimed souls I purge through the pages seeking anything to hold my hand to place me within a seat but I am floundering I have fallen and I accept that fate that lost piece of nothing.

I seek to set this world free to let it go to enslave it and deny it to forge itself out of itself and all we have to do is

dance

The horses came quickly their feet like rain and they came with the riders upon them coughing and hacking blood that spilled into their luscious beards. Maracas were shaking and they wore rouge lipstick upon their thick and plump eyebrows. Shak-a-shak-a-shak-a the world is ending with the horseride into oblivion.

In all of its horror we watched as the Vatican burned as it incinerated and we knew who did it don't we we know why the Pope has left why the Pope dies. We know why the cosmos turns inward while we slowly sink into ourselves.

GOD EMPERORS as if it werent enough to name ourselves gods or emperors we had to combine them into the penultimate douche. The penultimate crowned the GOD EMPEROR POPE BASILEUS BATMAN because that's the only other thing that makes sense and you know what fuck that who gives a shit let them have the crown. Together you and I you call follow me you can come with me and we'll find the dark places where the denizens of the death lead their lives with their neon hairs and their painted faces and we'll fucking get blitzed and I didn't earn this title I named it for myself cause you bitches gotta take what you want.

This is it this is maybe what you wanted but maybe it isn't who really gives a shit all I need is a field full of cocks oh how poetic and maybe it is do you really ever know oh yes you do what the fuck am i even saying who gives a shit? You make fun of me in this gucci and prada and all I have to say is U MAD.

I bet you got no clue what I'm listening to right now and all the time my music changes and so does my writing I write I write with the pace and the distance of all of nothing and oh god I can't see wait what what was I doing. Oh that's right replaying this song cuase its fucking awesome and you know what I got more to say oh wait I don't. The Pope is a bitch oh hey I should fix that pope there we go the pope is a douche and a bitch and i wish was the holy roman emperor just so i could bitch slap that bitch and wait that makes no sense bitch is a poor choice of words what was i saying oh yeah he wields bazookas yeah well I have tanks for motherfucking arms and i suck all the powerful cocks.

How lewd how juvenile how gross how disgusting how boring how out of place how anything no shits its on purpose i thought it through i hate not knowing i hate chess becuase i have to know everything and chess is boring its a boring game thats overplayed and over metaphored get creative use something else. What we're really doing is playing politics its a metaphor unto itself playing politics is a game life is a game and I haven't lost yet.

[Sekot]

Trembling shaking as the world is burning. Wrapped in flame in smoking ash a cloud a cloak a shadow that falls upon us that falls around me. The world is quickly brought under the cowl the nightmare shroud. Hands reach forward upward grasping at empty things at empty people dragging them down even as their slack jawed faces lack any comprehension past the last five seconds.

Choking children lost within the dark recesses searching out those sources of light that are few and far between. Within the darkness is the growling is the hungering is the devouring NIGHTMARE how can I make this any more clear to you it is here it is here and my heart is beating so fast I can feel it trying to burst free. I am sweating I am cursing I am furious I am RAGE the children are crying they are screaming in the dark corners and I CANNOT FIND THEM oh God I know You I know You and I know This and I know it ALL.

CAN YOU HEAR IT CAN YOU HEAR THEM SCREAM!?

Icarus touched the sun and he ignited. His wings could not melt quickly enough and he was blinded before he could tear them apart. And he watched him. He stood by and watched. He called out, but his voice was too quiet so enraptured by the scene he could not call out loud enough. And so his son touched the sun. He grasped he led out and his hand touched its surface. Such sacrilege such defilement SUCH EVIL SUCH ARROGANCE how DARE he do such a thing because he had no idea he had no idea he DIDN'T KNOW and his father only stood there and watched and this is no longer that Icarus but this Icarus and he touched the sun and he erupted into flame. He did not scream he did not cry out he only burned.

You cannot tell me that you cannot hear them you cannot tell me that they are not there.

I have wrapped myself in a cloak of flame have wrapped myself in a cloak of ash. I have gouged out my own eyes and sewn shut my mouth. I am silent as I Witness. I have named myself and signed myself as Abomination. A sore spot a dark spot upon the world a blackened blotch a nightmare that visits within the dark space that which exists between the worlds an apparition a fake a ghost that seeks out the children who scream in the dark who scream in the corner who seeks to wrap his arms around them and to take them away to save them to rapture them because they have been forgotten.

IT IS YOU THE STORM THE MOUNTAINS THAT STOOD IN THE DISTANCE IT IS YOU THE ONE PURE THING THAT WHICH WOULD NAME ME THAT WHICH I RESIST IT IS I WHO NAMES MYSELF IN ABOMINATION IN YOUR NAME IN YOUR EXISTENCE I RESIST AND IN ALL YOUR DISCIPLES I AM THE NIGHTMARE THE RESISTANCE THE MONSTER.

I have awakened from my deep slumber and with me came the storm. The lightning that screamed across the sky that pealed away the flesh and satiated the muscles and inner demons. I have watched these plots of lands fill so deep so wide and I have seen them consume all that we could throw in them and we are running out of land running out of room for all these bodies for all these corpses that have piled so very high.

Not even the rain can hide their stench can hide their faces that lay still in silence. Utter silence. That silence which is reserved for those who lost the ability to speak. Who never had it to begin with.

I would be denied and that I would accept if you would only take them from me my arms are so tired my body so unequipped forgive them please let them go let them go please god forgive them all forgive them all i will bear every burden I will bear it all just let them go.

YOU WOULD NAME YOURSELF A FOLLOWER YOU WOULD CALL YOURSELF A SON OF GOD A DAUGHTER A DISCIPLE AN APOSTLE AND I WOULD CALL YOU THAT and you wonder why. Beware those who speak for they are liars.

[Sekot]

She danced underneath the cover of the trees. Her hair was wild and flew about her face with every twirl and twist of her body. She moved like water, bent and flowed with the wind that rushed around her. She floated, her feet never once touching the hard dirty earth. She wore the color of brown, a sack cloth wrapped tightly around her pale body. Her lips were kept firmly tight and her eyes firmly shut.

The trees themselves watched her, took part by rustling their many branches. They stirred her on, sang to her in the brushing of leaves. Fire leaped around her feet, the tongues licking at the air and fluttering madly.

She stops. The wind stops the fire stops and the trees stop. She turns to me. Her hair has partially hidden her face and she turns her head to hide it more. One hand raises, stretched forward toward me.

The longer I wait, the more that arm begins to shake. Her knees buckle and her frame begins to collapse. She is on her knees, she is bowing her head. Still she keeps that arm outstretched.

And I can only watch.

[Sekot]

STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT MAKE IT STOP THE WEEPING IT IS ALL I HEAR AT THE END OF THE WORLD AT THE END OF TIME AT THE END OF SPACE I HAVE MET GOD I HAVE MET MYSELF AND ALL I HEAR IS THE WEEPING THE WEEPING THE CRYING OVER AND OVER AND OVER

and at the end of the world at the end of time there is only god and there is only me and all i am is weeping all i am is crying at the end of the world.

[Sekot]

I will not cannot possibly be content until I've witnessed my own drowning. Something clutches at me from the depths of the dark pools that sit just beyond the shoreline. I cannot will no am unable to comprehend just what it is that seeps through the cracks in my walls and sets itself as if it were a leech upon my psyche. From the dark spaces from the stormy clouds comes the shadow seeping spilling onto my mind and clouding my vision.

What I see is not what others see what I see is absence and I only want to see that which fills in the spaces. Cracks have begun to split showing the first signs of wear and we have begun to form the clay to pack them tight. The sun has set and the world is covered in the in-between light that we know will soon disappear. All we can see are shadows and no-shadows, a reverse negative.

She is singing, the wind. If you close your eyes you can hear her. She comes from the mountains and she comes quick. It is a woman who has lost her lover a woman who has lost her children who cries out to god for something anything and only finds the cold ground beneath her fingers and the frozen trees as her audience. How long can she cry how long can she keep this up? It has never stopped and it will never stop the cracks they just keep on coming and I have shored up as best I can and the fortress shall weather anything but the horde comes and the wailing woman rides upon the frail horse.

[Sekot]

At what point did I turn astray to find myself wandering in the land of the night and the dark instead of underneath the sun that shines so invitingly and with such warmth? At what point did I find more comfort amongst the dead than the living?