Short Stories/Poems

[Sekot]

If I am not God I am the Devil. If I am not HOLY I am DAMNED. If I am Alive then I am Dead. And the swarm has been awoken become alive. I am become. I am aware. I am assumed. Consumed. Obliterated. Devastated. Manipulated manipulator I am the cruelest the most impossible nightmare. And what's worse is that I do not recognize it.

Vapor and viper and destructive forces sent from some far off place to claim my own the mountains themselves a cage and the clouds my only watchers. I am vomiting everything every part of my insides every thing that I can until I have emptied myself on the floor in front of me on my pants and on my hands. I have torn out my heart and I am looking at it and I am gazing into it searching for something for someone for my self that has gone missing that has become lost beyond itself.

Can you hear them crying can you listen long enough for they are quiet and they are shy. Or rather have I gone insane and all I hear is the voices the crying voices and all I hear is the world devouring itself. I am not a lie but a liar I am true amongst the falsity of life itself.

You attempted to chain me and you attempted to envelope me but I have gone stupid I have gone limp and my body is prostrate before you and you don't know how to handle this new situation.

He smiles at me and I am grown weak he smiles at me and I know him he smiles at me and I am destroyer destroying that smile destroying that face consuming it in my ravished mouth my teeth gnashing and crunching on bone and flesh. The earth tremors beneath us the world itself is scared it is frightened and it screams with tears of rain and peals of thunder.

The twisting nightmare tornadoes stretch their fingers to dance upon the piano calling out us to battle our weapons weary. Our fists clenched together we meet one another on the fields of never before where we sit and smoke each other blind and laugh about all those times we did that thing. Incredible fury mixed with the flames of death shall purge us of our sins and set free our burdened souls.

Clawing at me within me is the beasts the beats and the world the universe everything I have never encountered a thing that I would not want and I want it all and I care too much for the world itself that would wrap me in this weak sense of being and send me forth only to crash and crumble and burn.

And I can speak forever of my wandering of my meandering I have gone meta I have gone forever and I could speak forever of nothing becuase i have never found a thing. The real tragedy of this failing is that I cannot unlock these doors without pure intoxication. That maybe I could find somethign taht would lead me here that could assuage my nonsense mind but I have found the entrance to be thick and covered in ash and fire and we must brave it together you and I and I have let you in now wont you please have a drink with me.

And before me stretches infinity and I wish you could see it with me could taste it with me could feel it on my breath could feel it on my hands. I would show it to you but I don't think you'd like it. I can see it and I can feel it on you within you against me against you and together I can show you I can tear apart the curtain and I can reveal it the lie that it is.

There is no infinity there never was an infinity there is only the separation of finities the collection of impossible beings packed together within the sensibilities. We can say that there is an infinity that we search for that infinity but it is not my infinity and I fear that no one may know what it is that I mean. There is an infinity amongst the finites amongst the people amongst ourselves that is captured and encapsulated and it is that which I see that which I know I know you and I see you.

Repeating meandering wandering what is it that I'm looking for I was so certain before but now what is this that I have found what is this that I have desired what is it all but nothing itself the end the delight upon the world the denier within itself and I am a liar a destroyer and I will have itself cleansed of within by my own hand of itself and therein lies waht is it you say nothing but only i can understnad the special tongue and you are arrogant and arrogance begets teh nightmare.

[Sekot]

I can feel those claws closing around my face, around my head. I can feel their digits digging in, separating flesh from muscle. I can feel it peel away my face, peel away my skin. I can feel him tearing apart myself and grinning madly. I can see him take my face and stitch it onto his. He has stolen it, my face. He is grinning he is laughing while wearing my face like a mask like his own.

What am I but a horror a vestige of lost faith a monster with exposed muscle and bone. My eyes are wide they are open and they are never closing. Clamoring splitting hairs seep through delicate underflesh and separate the divides to pierce the skies and they are blowing quietly in the darkest hours during the setting suns.

Hands and feet and limbs and bones and growling mouths seeking tongues to devour and enslave. Dancing fingers to create music out of the mundane visited upon me. Greedy bastards greedy motherfuckers what am I but gods tearing apart the heavens separating lives from birth and separating my own self to visit creation.

Clapping your hands like you just don't care and I know that lie I know that sound I have visited and will return to where the grass never grows and the sunlight is hidden behind the shade of ultraviolet. We are hungry we are ravenous we are devouring the land and tearing it apart to seek the riches underneath such delicate things to see to touch and caress.

[Sekot]

Aspiration. Respiration. Consummation. Convocation. Twitching fingers tapping quickly upon the marble surfaces. Dripping saliva from a slack mouth, brown eyes that gaze into the future beyond a brick wall. Electric ecstatic exquisite exception crashing upon the glass ridden shores of yestermorrow. My chest burns as I breathe, something seeping through into my lungs where it sits and dwells and refuses to let me forget it.

The tightening and loosening of muscle fibers as my fingers flex and extend. The pop of tendons sliding across bones and I am made aware of my vitality. Blood dripping through sliding through arteries, climbing and lumbering through veins. A heart that craves and desires the world and everything in it and wants for nothing itself.

Requiem. Snow falls quietly in droves to cover myself to cover us. It erases the shadows in its pure crusade, it disfigures the contours and emanates light. Bitter and frightening, wind slices through me like so many knives.

[Sekot]

I struggle to describe this. It is more than just a scene as all things are but the signification of the scene the meaning wrapped amongst the colors and language meant to evoke less of an imagining of a sequence and more of an imagining of experience.

A tree with its countless fingers curled in a final gesture of arrogant declaration of eventual retribution.

The inability to see down the street for the white veil has laid itself upon you and between you. There is no street. There is nothing. There is oblivion itself just waiting for you to step through.

God was written in the sky. It was written in the snow that covered the ground. Whispers raged through the crackling branches of lost angels who had fallen in limbo. Tracing them over and over with the tip of my shoe it loses all meaning and all I see is the tracings of the world written upon flesh and bone.

It is the knowledge of the absence of sight and the lack of words that separates the street. As nothing more than apocalypse come with the crashing of the stars. The wind itself chooses to devour you, to crawl upon you with its invisible hands and separate from you your warmth. It touches you, it cleanses you and leaves you dry and brittle.

[Sekot]

There is only an insipid desire a creature dwelling within the confines of a lost and powerless lover. Trembling hands dictate loss and fatigue as they are splayed across the absent piano keys. She is screaming at the top of her ephemeral lungs screaming to an audience she cannot see collapsing to her knees and begging for something.

We were lost, wanderers. We were drowning, sailors. We were enraptured, incensed. Desperate we clung to the cliffs where the waters black as hearts churned and swallowed the land beneath. Ravaging pillaging hordes clamor but are unable to find purchase upon the enlightened territory of a blaspheming old man and his childish wife. We hung for life only to give it away in a breath. An exhalation of an exaltation.

We pray to God we pray to you that you give us life within ourselves even as we devour us. We are not crazy we swear. We are whole we are here we are present we demand it of ourselves. We seek to command the uncommandable. To arrange for ourselves the splitting of the world of my world.

For that is all that there is. All that there ever was. Just me myself and I sitting down for tea for food for anything and seeking to talk to procure a conversation out of the ethos of being. Clamoring hands clapping hands seeking flesh to tear they gnash their teeth and bite their tongues while blood spills from their mouths. Their empty eyes seek bliss amongst the starless skies. Hungrily gripping at the tearing of the loss of everything.

Such extravagance written into the mountain side such absence wrought from the horror of the monster whose head was devoured. We were a hungry vicious group who could not stand the presence of gods so we went through democratic process and stole their thrones.

Do you understand the gravity? We dethroned gods. We dethroned ourselves. Delightful delicious depravity sought by our wicked deeds we are absent ourselves absent the splitting of atoms tearing through the veils to wreak and ravage.

[Sekot]

Skittering clawing fingers wripping at the seams tearing at the world sipping and satiating the hungry masses of the black maw. Oblivion swims along the coast of the forgotten sound and I watched the lightning dance until I went blind. Time stops and I am witness I am gone into the oblivion

the words have wripped themselves free and have wrung themselves free of the nightmare queen upon her stolen throne made of coal. it was never enough to claim heaven i had to claim hell and so I wrapped myself in a cloak of flame and proclaimed myself a god amongst gods.

bow down bitches

[Sekot]

We sat underneath the stars where her skin was like ice. I brushed against her and retracted, she was so cold. Those pale green eyes just stared upward pondering the depths of the reality that was beyond me. I wanted, just for a second, to peer through her window and be let loose upon the mental meadow she had collected.

Cold hearts danced across the steely stage and I wondered why we were here. Caught within the abstract dreams of an unkind prince we smiled at one another along the beach where the blood waters lapped. Trees bent and splayed their fingers wide into the wind to catch it and lap up the energy it promised. The stars above looked so peaceful so quiet as if they were sleeping birds. Soon they would come to life, a twitter and a twatter and they would flap their wings and flood the sky in their ever-changing fluid patterns.

Incomprehensible. Inconceivable. These are her secret words her secret thoughts that I am not privy to. Where the sky meets the earth she is moving. Where I am she is not. A ghost an apparition a spirit meant to proclaim and herald the future. I can see her lips moving to ask a question, a parting of the ways and the seas and she is raising her hand out to me. But much like the waves she fades and she slips beyond me. Until she is nothing more than a living corpse where her eyes pierce an invisible unattainable heaven.

The heaviest burden is to never know. To watch as they writhe and spin their tales and their webs and to never know the inner workings. While we whisper and scratch they are singing and writing epitaphs to the futility of the world we had created they are laughing at you can't you hear it?

Hearts missing. Minds running. And they lay in the sand cold as ice and their eyes stare upward to realities we cannot comprehend and we wonder why we were left behind. Abandoned.

Let me go with you, just this time.

[Sekot]

Whosoever reads the words written upon my face shall be witness to a story lost. My breath shakes as it passes across my chapped lips. A heavy sigh, a weary explosion of air that pushes the dust that has gathered away. My back aches and my legs are cold. My toes have gone numb and I can feel the weight of the bones in my fingers.

I have neglected myself so instead I could listen to the world. So entranced by the whispers I have become unable to unravel myself from the webs of tongues that lash and lacerate and separate me further from the physical world.

Fields that are empty of all but amber grass stretch toward a charcoal horizon. There are no clouds, the sky is empty. Truly empty except for the flickering appearance of a temporary falling star. The emerald light flashes quickly, blinking rapidly before consuming itself. The grass bends with the rushing wind, rolls like waves.

Heat lightning flickers in the distance. Flashes across the sky without a sound.

[Sekot]

Bells ring in the distance. Their clear purity sounds across the expanse. A whisper is passed down the line, from mouth to mouth and ear to ear. The witch is dead. The King has toppled. And they rejoice.

From out of the ground they rise. They dig themselves out of their coffins, if they were lucky enough to have them, and part the earth to glimpse at the sky. A radiant sun beams down upon them, those who have not seen light in decades. Condemned to rot, they return to rejoice.

Never having known quiet rest, we can only join them in their celebration. The witch is dead, countless others precede. They wait. They will welcome her in that special way the unquiet dead only know.

The church bells toll they ring aloud. White clad men and women bow their heads in reverent obedience, bile slipping across their lips and spilling onto their laps. Their chant is poison as it siphons the air out of our lungs. They smile and their teeth have turned green. They chant and we are rendered deaf by their noise. They trample one another as they run to her grave, ready to feast upon her bones and fetid flesh.

All while the dead celebrate behind them.

[Sekot]

She patted her weave and strutted onto that stage. She clapped her hands and the crowd stood on their feet. She checked her nails and her lipstick. And clapped her hands again and they were all seated. She smiled at them, laughed.

He clapped his hands and the sky went to black. He shook his fist and the dice were rolled. Lightning snapped like cobras and the world turned upside down. He patted his weave and strutted onto the stage. They applauded they guffawed but neverhteless they were struck with awe.

We danced to the sounds of the world caught away by the tides of nothing. We laughed together underneath the canopy of intertwined arms of the lovers caught unawares. We sang to the heavens about a time when gods were queens and we were kings and we talked about our lives and all the years wrapped within them.

A farce a lie a mistake we never understood for we merely lived as we were. I could artifice a life a lie and I could make out of nothing a something but what was the point? I could call that something nothing and I could call that nothing a something and I would have returned to the primordial ooze but I would still be I.

We write of nothing of things difficult to understand for a purpose for that is the mockery of life. Mockery? Or truth? Who knows who cares we merely write to write to express itself within to express ourselves without and to recreate the world as we see fit for we have established ourselves as gods and kings and queens and divas and hustlers and clappers and weavers and mind numbing boringers.

Pat that weave pat that hair and strut onto that stage one foot in front of the other. We're going to have a kiki we're going to have a party and we will drink to ourselves the gods themselves while the world around continues to spin endlessly. We have dug our own graves and willingly lie within them, shouting stories to one another within our graveyard. We care not for the spinning for the living for we are already dead and we are just waiting for you to join us.

You think you've found it you think you've won you think you think but we know. We know the world turns we know that life goes we know we breathe we know we multiply but if that's life then we want no part of it. Take it. Have it.

We give no shits.

[Sekot]

The shadow of the tower colors the countryside. It extends further and further toward the mountainsides that rise in antagonistic glee. The sun itself hangs low, fearing to come too close lest it set ablaze that which it would watch in great anticipation. The moon too has come out to see, to cheer on her champions. The stars hide behind hydrogen curtains.

The red stone of the tower glitters underneath the radiant light, displayed in all its beauty and devouring the eagerly awaited attention. The blue mountains sit with a measure of lifeless peace, stoic and cold amongst the clouds that dance about their crowns. And yellow flowers grow between, waving amongst the tall reeds and dying grass that languishes underneath the shadow.

She sang atop the tower and he answered from atop the mountains. Their echoing cries were the sounds of the world, were the upheavals of land and water and the cresting of waves of mud as they became islands. They pointed fingers at one another and with fire in their soulless eyes they brought about foul condemnation. All while blind to their own damning in the tombs that circled beneath where eventual things must come to rest.

[Sekot]

Dancin prancin we are kings and queens all of us the plurality the proletariat the self crowned while we stand on the floor throwing our hands up in the air lettin it rain diamonds and gold. We are struttin down the stage in our fine minx coats our fine blood ropes and our golden strokes sent to entrance the crowd the thronging hordes the gourds rattled and we are prancin dancin and saying that we are gods and queens and we are drunk on our selves.

Keep on marchin keep on you shining diva you shining crazy diamond until the last the little bit that still sits on your shoulders that craves for you for your ear and you will eventually let it go.

Sippin on that wine on that fine wine that flows from the veins of the seductress demons chained to our glass throne made of shattered ice. The fires rage behind us leaping forward upward to escape and ensconce upon the random bits of sand that spill from the desert that lies above us as our roof. Always forged constantly made the throne it hums and pulses like a heartbeat.

[Sekot]

I can smell him. His scent wafts against me, thrives upon me, and I am enraptured with it. It is not me who moves, who takes that step forward, who opens the door.

An empty bed an empty room. The sheets have been tousled, have been fought within, a great struggle. Bloody handprints dot them, dot the walls, dot the floor. Smears and stains and misplaced lights with shattered bulbs.

What is that? A whisper? A silent prayer that sways amongst the black bushes just beyond the windowless window. A language opaque as oblivion sends forth the snaking tendrils of never-escaping ecstasy. And I am trapped. Where was he gone? Where is he?

His smell fades, replaced with the smell of the sheets of staleness and bitterness. He has run, he has escaped me and I must turn but rooted my feet have become and I cannot. Never happy until I have become more unto themselves. Split from within me my lover and I shall name you as my own.

I can feel the blood drip from my hands. I can feel it hit the floor and my own feet. I can feel my heart race, feel it pulse within my chest. My other hand with its fingers taps upon the surface just above the ribs. Tup-tap-tip-tap.

Grin spreads wide. Pupils dilate. Hunger. Seeping forth from the depths of my bowels. Tiptaptiptaptiptap. Tippitytappitytippitytappity.

Fingers clench, flex. Dig. And I'm in, through my chest hearing the sound of cracking bones. I can feel it, I can feel it race and I pull. Pericardium snaps and pulmonary veins struggle. Gushing and flowing rivers of crimson joy spill down my torso as I extend my arm with my own pulsing heart sitting in the palm.

[Sekot]

His face is crafted out of the swirling debris, of the leaves and grass and sticks and stones. But as quickly as it comes, it fades away only to fall back onto the dry ground. Constant taunt, with every gust it rears and with every pull it dies.

The sun is against me, pressing down upon me. I can feel its breath against my neck where the hairs have grown far too tired to stand on edge. Articulating digits prance upon the keys of an imaginary piano, belting out a piece a song that the mountains hear and them alone.

[Sekot]

He has slammed his piano shut and the hall went silent. The crowd was stunned into silence, mannequins so carefully arranged in their wooden seats with waxy eyes gazing toward the stage. He pushed himself away, his hands jerked from the polished wood. They could all hear his heart beating, pumping loudly and their hearts beat with his. A rolling wave of opening valves and tightening ventricles.

Snap went the synapse and the whole world came crashing down. He stood, his hands shaking. His mouth moved but nothing came forth. The audience sat, enraptured without comprehension. He wanted to warn them, to bade them farewell so that he may slip away. But all their eyes were upon him and he could not leave.

He opened his mouth one more time, and a solitary note rang forth. But to his dismay it was not his voice that sang so purely. Each of their eyes rotated in their individual sockets without a twitch of their heads. Another hollow note resonated in their bones.

A monster, dressed in silk and wearing a bow tie, stepped out from behind the curtain. He smiled as he opened his arms in a welcome embrace. His eyes were vibrant blue and his hair was not a touch out of place. He appeared delicate and well-aged, an animated fine wine. But when he opened his mouth and sang, their tragedies were laid bare before them.

With every step he took closer to the center, the more sunken their faces appeared. With every note, their eyes lost focus. Their attention waned as they began to float away. And the redness swallowed them in their seats. Wrapped around their feet and roamed upward until it climbed into their waiting mouths.

Swallowed them whole.