Black

The night is black,
Blacker than my heart.
The screams of my soul silenced,
The walls built high.

The only way to survive
Is to feel nothing.
Shove everything down inside,
The pain, the hurt, the rage.

A wooden golem with no feelings,
That is what the world wants,
Someone happy, so they can
Go about their lives.

An empty vessel is
What I have to become.
No emotions. No trust.
I have given up.

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Old man in the field

The old man wandered around the field. He was looking at the tree line. He could see that he needed to trim some limbs, to make it look presentable. He stood there for a minute looking at the trees, thinking about what materials he would need for the job. He would need a saw, the small chainsaw, some clippers, a ladder, a wheelbarrow. Somehow, what seemed a simple task at first, now became one of serious undertaking. 


He turned back towards the barn. Things just weren't what they were before. He remembered a time when He was young and there were no power tools. You had to do everything by hand. In some ways, those times seemed simpler to him. Today's world seemed so outlandish, like something out of a comic book. Power this, and power that. Phones that did the same thing as a small computer, computers that did the same thing as a phone, machines that did the work of three men, cars that got 30 to 40 miles per the gallon. Yes, the times were so different.


He opened the doors to the barn, gathering his tools slowly. He remembered growing up on this farm as a child, herding cows, picking corn, life had definitely been simpler then. He remembered cool summer eaves holding hands with his future wife, walking by the corn fields, wading in the streams. They had gotten married in this house years later, after he had finished college. 


His life had been happy, he had children, and made sure they were provided and cared for. He lived a good life, and had been well rewarded with many blessings and many grandchildren. Now, even his grandchildren had children, he had gotten very old in the process. 


As he laid the tools in the trailer, he looked at the "Mule" his son had bought him to help him get around. He had said then "What was wrong with his two feet?" But, it did make life easier on him. He couldn't walk as well anymore, and hadn't been back to the back field in a while. This made it easier for him to check on his property. 


Reaching the trees once more, he started methodically setting up. He could hear his son in the background, as a child, asking him, "Daddy, what are you doing? Can I help?" He missed his children and grandchildren. But they had their lives to live. They came to visit every so often, but they were so busy, those visits had gotten fewer and fewer. He almost didn't recongize their children anymore when they came by, the children had grown so much. 


He lead a lonely life, but it was all that was left to him. He had given up everything he had once dreamed to be a father and a husband, and the repayment for that was to be alone. He laughed to himself, "You die alone." The old woman had been right all those years ago. She had told him. 


Cranking the chainsaw, he started up the ladder. He might be old, but there was always work that needed to be done.




(more to come... not sure... not sure where this is going, or if it is. Just a thought that formed in my brain... needed to be put down in a story, but not sure if this is what I wanted to say.... we will see.)

Life never lead

Taking the corners at a moderate rate of speed, he was pressed into his seat. He loved the feel of driving. The flow of machine and man. He controlled a machine that could wreak havoc in the wrong hands and used it to its fullest extent. There was nothing like the acceleration of the car through a tight corner, of the rush of the wind on a long straight-away. 


His hands were grasped loosely on the wheel, responding to the subiminal information of his brain. He interepted what he saw on the road, and translated it to his body so that it could perform the necessary adjustments. 

He was supposed to be at his friends party. He was way late. Hours by now. He would do that reguarly, tell someone he was comning to the party, but then he never showed. It infuriated his friends, and soon the invitiations stopped coming, 


But here he was, home visiting with friends and family, driving the backroads, thinking of times gone by. For some reason, the memories surprised him. He couldn't believe some of the things he had done. People he once knew, places he once spent all of his free time. The memories of a mis-spent youth. 


As he drove, his mind was able to shut off the consocious control of the vehicle and go into a form of autopilot. his body moving on its own accord, responding to the information being absorbed by his brain. He started looking at houses, the subarbian jungle of small town life. The allusion of a big city with amenities, but the reality of a small town with nothing better to do than gossip. 


He thought about what life would have been like, if he had done what was expected of him. Would he have been married, with children, living the "American Dream", would his life had been any different? Would he have one of these houses with a white picketed fence, a swimming pool in the backyard, a dog and a cat? Would he have been any happier?


The choices he had made in his life had taken him to places he had never imagined was possible, but had also denied him the things he cherished. He had tried all his life to live with no regrets, only to find that he still had regrets. He regretted not having the wife, the kids, the life he missed everyday. But he wouldn't be who he was without it. And yet he found his life incomplete.


Soon he was at his friend's house. The party was going on inside of it. He knew he should go in. He parked his car. He sat there looking at the windows of the house, seeing the people move back and forth, having fun, talking. He should go in. But he didn't belong anymore, he had moved on, this was no longer home, he no longer wanted to be here anymore. He looked at the window again. 


No one heard him drive away.

Windows

I stared into your eyes,
The windows of your soul.
I looked beyond and saw
The beauty of your life.

I could gaze into them eternally,
Lost in the beauty of you.
I hold you in my arms
And drink the warmth of your love.

Life brings many choices,
Unexpected plans, and risks.
You can't control your heart,
And I can't control my mind.

Memories pass through my mind,
A life never lived,
desires never fulfilled.
What is real?

Through a fog
I spend my days,
Nothing is real,
I don't exist.





What is real?

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A prison comes in many forms

"Clank"


No matter how many nights he heard the same sound, he would never get used to that sound. It was the cold, dark, depressing sound of freedom being denied. There really was no other way to describe it. You knew that no matter how much you might wish otherwise, you were NOT going anywhere.


"So this is what is meant by lock-up" he had thought the first night. Two years later, he just laughed at his innocence. The jaded person that he was now would have never been so gullible.


He had never been a bad person. His life was just one of bad circumstances. An old friend of his father's once told him that he had the worst luck. He always seemed to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. He never really did anything majorly wrong, but he always seemed to get into trouble. 


He didn't fit in here, that had become apparent the first day. He had fought for his life, and somehow manage to knock his attacker out. Of course, he broke the man's jaw, his nose and three of the his ribs in the process, thus guaranteeing himself an addition six months onto his sentence. But he knew it was kill or be killed in the jungles. He wasn't going to just lie down and play dead. 


This belief in self-righteousness and justice was exactly why he was here. He hadn't done anything wrong. He just happened to have had a narcotic on him when it happened. He smoked pot, it calmed him down, and allowed him to dissipate his energy. But he didn't feel that was wrong. The courts didn't feel that way. It was an illegal substance. 


For months, he just existed. Day in, day out. He had been given a job, cleaning the halls with other inmates, sweeping and moping for a few hours every day. It helped break up the monotony, and it gave him time to get to know other people.Everyone had their story to tell, they were all innocent. Some might even have been. But he believed none of them. They would all throw him under the bus to save themselves. The people he encountered seemed to belong here, while he never felt he did. 


He had gone to get some groceries, minding his own business. He drove the speed limit, wore his seat belt, had insurance, everything was in proper working condition. He was a good driver. Conscientious and courteous, using turn signals, and driving safe distances. He never saw the little girl. She went running after her ball, her mother not paying attention - trying to attend to a pair of younger children. The little girl never looked. He never saw her. 


The sickening thunk echoed in his dreams for the first year. He cried himself to sleep most nights. Sobbing softly into his pillow. He never meant to kill anyone. There was no way he could have seen her, avoided her, stopped. Nothing. He had played the scenario out over and over and over and over in his mind. Nothing ever presented itself. He hadn't even been high when it happened. He was going to wait until he got home. But he had it on him when it happened. 


The D.A. had had a field day with the case. It was an easy open and shut case. Vehicular manslaughter. He would be sentenced 3 to 5 years, with early release possible after 18 months. He had argued until he was blue in the face. His lawyer wouldn't listen. He told him that this was his best offer. This was the best he could expect. He had broken the law. He had done wrong. He just didn't understand how. 


Two years into his sentence, he still didn't have any idea how what had happened had been his fault. There was nothing he could have done. He was coming up for parole soon. He knew that he would probably be released. The prisons were getting crowded, and they were releasing people for good behavior. He would soon have his chance.


He looked at his hands, as he sat outside the parole board room. It was going to be now or never. His next time would come in another year, his sentence would be up then. No probation, done. Finished. A free man. With a mark on his record that would keep him from finding gainful employment. It would keep him from serving in the military. It would keep him from owning a gun. It made him a second class citizen. 


And why? Why had he suffered this injustice? These problems? For something that was no fault of his own? 




Because he had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. 




He looked at his hands. It was time to go.....

Sleep

Oh I wish to be back asleep,
Eyes closed in slumber,
Body relaxed and resting,
Mind clouded with dreams.

Oh I wish to be back asleep,
Body pressed close to yours,
Arm holding you close,
Legs entwined so gently.

Oh I wish to be back asleep,
Where reality is a dream,
And dreams of us a reality.
Such is the world I seek.


But I am awake, so back to work I go.

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The Non-memory

Upon arriving in his hometown, he picked up his phone. He had a few calls to make as he made the last leg of his journey. He had driven this route so many times as a teenager, it was like he could drive on memory alone. This was the place where he had grown up. He once knew every crook and cranny. 


He had a few calls, calling friends he hadn't seen in years. "Hey, wassup, how you doing...." etc. Quick, edited amounts of history, where he had been, what he had been up to, how his life was going, he hadn't been home in a while.


The last time he had been home, he had vowed to never return. That was years ago, and that rebellious youth was long since pacified and contained. The system had won, and it had broken him, like it did so many others. But, oh, the fun he had had here as a youth. 


After making the first two calls, he scrolled down through his phone list. One more friend to call, and he was almost at his parent's house. He knew that he was going to have to visit for a while before he could head out to meet his friends, but he still needed to get in touch with all of them before night fell and the winds of chance caught hold of them. As he was scrolling down through the names, he saw it. Her name. He paused, looking out the window, lost in thought. A single tear rolled down his cheek. He missed her so much, but a life together was not meant to be. 


He thought about what it would be like bringing her home to his parent's house, introducing them to her. He knew his dad would have liked her, and his mom would love anyone who would put up with him. He smiled to himself, "No, she would have felt right at home with my parents." he thought. She would have loved them so much. He gazed out the window imagining how the evening would go with her there. 


Soon, he was brought out of his daydream by the crunch of gravel, it was almost time to make his turn. His thoughts turned away from her and back to the matter at hand. It was time to greet the parental units.


Later, as he was heading out to meet his friends, he once again thought about what it would have been like with her there with him. He drove the streets of his hometown, looking for the spots of distinct memories, pointing them out to her in his imagination. "There in front of that store, we used to hang out and drink. Yes, right there in the middle of town. The police weren't as strict then, as they are now. And this is where I met my first girlfriend....." 


Every spot he passed brought back more memories. The further around town, the more recent the memories got, leading up to that fateful day. The reason he left, swearing never to return. 


He sat in front of the church for a long while. He was way late to be meeting his friends. They had already called him several times. He hadn't answered, lost in thought. This was where his life had changed. He didn't know that what seemed like such a good decision at the time could have had such drastic effects on him. He hung in his head in sadness. He could almost feel her arms around him, her hand in his hair. She would comfort him instinctively, protecting him, showing him that she was there. He missed her so. 


Finally, shoving all the emotions deep inside him, he gathered himself and headed to meet his friends. As much as he missed her, life was what it was. And no amount of sadness was going to change this fact. As he drove away, he closed the doors to the walls, pushing every feeling inside. Memory time was over. The walls were firmly in place. He felt numb and devoid of life, but that was just how things were. 


Silently as he was driving away, he wondered what sort of memories he would have had.......

the song of the moment

LYRICS:
He can't put into words
Just how she made him melt
She molded folded, pasted and cut
His edited heart was her favorite work of art
And it surprised him every day
They way she made him obey

He can't see clearly
Through love tinted eyes
Her erotic, robotic bedroom lies
Paid off in a blur for the minute he was let inside her
He can't complain about he strain
Of her relationship games

He can't dream vividly
While nightmares run wild
She blocked, locked and mocked his smile
He's been destroyed
Tears come falling from her trained toy
And with a sigh he can't explain why
But he can't say "goodbye."

Caged Chapter 3

"Meow"

Phil froze in his tracks. There was a cat nearby. Phil had never experienced cats before a few days ago, but now he was an old hand at dealing with a dangerous feline. Sniffing the air, Phil didn't smell the cat, so it wasn't right on top of him. The first cat had almost killed him that way.


Phil hadn't been paying attention at first. He had been hoping merrily on his way, glad to be free of the hutch, enjoying the wind in his fur, the sun on his back, and the flow of his movements. Phil had been just hoping along blind to the world. That was until the cat had smacked into him. He still wasn't sure if the cat missed the kill shot because it was young, or because he had stopped at the last second. Phil had smelled the cat an instant before the attack, but was unsure what the smell actually was. 


The cat had clawed him pretty good, and bit him several times, but Phil wasn't without teeth of his own. In fear of his life, Phil bit the cat back and then thumped it good in the groin. It was enough to stun the cat so that Phil could break free and run for his life. The cat was in too much pain to give immediate chase, and by the time it decided to do so, Phil was long gone. He hid underneath a nearby house until the cat left. 


That attack had been enough to bring all of Phil's survival techniques back. He was hungry, so his nose guided him to a nearby produce company. There, he had found some needed food and shelter, and begin planning his next move. Phil had been there for 2 days now. He had seen trucks come in with lots of vegetables, and then leave empty, only to come back the next day to do the same thing. The farm was where Phil needed to be. He knew his home was on the edge of a large farm. There couldn't be that many, could there?


Phil soon figured out how to get on the back of the truck, all he had to do was get in one of the empty boxes, and he could catch a ride. Once in the back of the truck, he could get out of the box and then jump off when the truck stopped, before the humans saw him. "Getting out of the truck is going to be the easy part," Phil murmured to himself. "Getting past those large dogs to get to the boxes, that is going the hard part." He really wasn't sure if he wanted to risk life and limb, but he knew that this would be the best option, the quickest one, and maybe the safest. Well, the safest after he got past the dogs. 


Shaking his head, Phil started stretching, gearing himself up for the run of his life. It was do or die with this choice, but he wanted to be home. Phil wanted to be back with his family in the forest. It was worth dying for.


Just as Phil was getting ready to race out, the cat jumped out in front of him. It had crept up on him unawares and now thought it had lunch cornered. It didn't realize that Phil was on a mission. And no hungry cat was going to stop him. 


Unexpectedly for the cat, Phil launched himself straight at the snarling cat. The cat sat back, completely surprised and bewildered by this tactic from its prey. Phil ran straight by the cat, kicking it in the face as he passed. The cat howled in pain, and launched itself in pursuit. 


Phil raced straight for the dogs, they had heard the cats yelp and were searching for the culprit. Phil was on overdrive, the cat was faster than him, but the dogs were faster than the cat. Phil streaked around the corner of a box, the cat right on his tail, and straight through the legs of the first dog he saw. He ran right past the three dogs, startling them and confusing them. 


But Phil was just a momentary glance, because the cat rounded the corner right after him, and froze instantly. All the dogs attentions were now focused solely on the cat. A low growl emanated from the largest dog, a growl that began deep in its throat. Phil was of no more concern, they had better prey. The cat's eyes were huge as it took in the scenario, and then as quick as it came, the cat turned around and vanished back around the corner. The dogs let out a bark and set out in pursuit. 


Phil chuckled to himself, the gods were still smiling on him it seemed. Choosing a nice big box with plenty of holes so that he could escape, Phil settled down to wait for the truck to leave. He knew it wouldn't take them long. He was almost home-free.


Phil felt excited and nervous at the same time. He had never seen his kids before, and he missed them dearly. They would be all grown by now, but that didn't matter to Phil. He was bouncing the little tykes on his knees as he drifted off to sleep waiting.

Caged Chapter 2

Phil didn't know if it was the screams of the ducks, the cries of frightened hens and one very scared rooster, or the splintering of the boards that woke Phil up. But what he did know is that as soon as he opened his eyes the world dissolved into chaos, metal and wood flying around, zipping through the air. Phil had jumped up and then had to grab something to hold on to as the hutch was torn asunder and cast towards the ground. Phil hung on for dear life. 


Hitting the ground heavily, Phil was thrown violently forwards, tumbling over and over across the ground. The world was a blur of green and black, and screams of pain and distress. Finally coming to a rest, Phil looked up at the sky to see a whirling cloud passing overhead. It had all kinds of debris swirling in it, Phil thought he saw a cow, but couldn't be sure it was gone so fast. He could almost hear the echoes of a "Moo". 


Shaking his head in an attempt to gather his wits, Phil looked around. The "barnyard" was devastated. A huge limb had fallen out of the tree, smashing his hutch to smithereens, and flattening one side of the hen coop. The wire was intact, it had just collapsed on one side. Rising onto his back legs, Phil looked back towards the hutch. Molly and Frances had been in there. They had been separated, Molly was in heat, and the human beings didn't want Phil following Nature's course. 


Suddenly fearful of their fates, Phil hopped over to the mangled ruins of the hutch. As he got near, he saw blood all over. Sniffing around, he soon located the body of Frances. She would never make him laugh again. Phil felt his heart tear in half. He was going to miss her greatly. As the tears welled up in his eyes, Phil heard a slight cough nearby. 


Nudging a piece of board out of the way, he found Molly breathing heavily, hurt badly, laying beneath. "Molly," Phil began. "Shh," she said. "I'm hurt bad. I'm not going to make it." 
"Don't speak that way, Molly." Phil pleaded. He could see that her fur was matted with blood, and it was spreading every second, his eyes couldn't hide the truth from him. 
"Listen to me, Phil," she said, drawing strength to gather her breath, she continued, "Go Phil, be free. It is what you long for. Go home to your family. You can do it Phil, You MUST." And then she slumped down, the life leaving her eyes. 


Phil wasn't sure that he could take it any more. It was too much. Everything that had become his life had been taken from him, and in return he had been given the opportunity to pursue that which he really wanted. The crack of thunder brought Phil back to himself. He looked around, "It was time to leave." he thought. "There would never be a better time."


Hopping as fast as he could, Phil ignored the calls of help coming from the chickens. Apparently, Bubba had had a heart attack. Phil laughed to himself. "Equality all right. He was too fat to move out of the way. Hypocrites never win." 


Pausing at the fence, Phil looked back at his home of the past few years. He would miss parts of it, but was so glad to be free. 


"I'm coming home, baby." Phil spoke softly. Now to find his way home. 

Caged Chapter 1

"Bak bak bak bak" The chickens were at it again, having their daily meeting, plotting their escape. Or at least the ringleader, Bubba, was squawking about equality and the same amount of feed per animal. The story was always the same. How they should work for the betterment of the flock, putting the flocks needs before anything else. Of course, he never mentioned how he ate first, how he was the first to get water, how he was always given deferential treatment. Even by the stupid human guardians. He had preached equality and then lived the life of a dictator.





"Stupid chickens." Phil thought, and then rolled over and looked at the pool. The fish were laying at the bottom, enjoying the cool waters in the shade of the artificial lily-pads. Phil sighed deeply, his chest rising and falling noticeably, "Lucky fish" he thought. Got to swim all day, and didn't have to listen to this stupid barnyard rhetoric. "What I wouldn't give to roam free again," Phil mumbled aloud. 


He had once known the freedom of life without a cage, without bars. He knew what it felt like to roam the green grass looking for that tasty plant to eat, watching out for predators. He had been in the prime of his life. Now he was a fat lazy bunny trapped in a cage for the amusement of children who could care less about him. Phil dreaded the afternoons when they came out to feed him. He hated it when they picked him up, mangling his fur, squeezing him tight against their smelly, fleshy, hairless bodies. Phil hated the human race. They were so alien to nature, destroying everything they touched, capturing anything unusual, distorting the natural order of life. And now he was trapped like a rabbit in a cage. 


Phil chuckled wryly to himself, "What Irony." He longed for freedom. 


The squawking was reaching a crescendo, Bubba, as Phil thought of him, was reaching the end of his torrent. Phil was glad, he wanted some sleep. The heat was unbearable, and this fur didn't help anything. On days like this, you wanted to find a deep dark hole, and wait out the heat, only going out in the evening to feed and drink, then you tried to sleep during the day. It was dangerous then, that was when the owls were out, but that was life. It was the life that Phil dreamed of, longed for, and was dying to achieve. Being cooped up in this cage was slowly draining the life from him. He just couldn't take anymore. 


"Quack, quack, quack, quack". Now the ducks were chiming in their fare share. "Fuck!" Phil thought. Now this was going to get ugly. The stupid ducks never knew how to shut up and Bubba had all the chick-e-dees all riled up. There was going to be a fight. 


Phil watched the proceedings for a while, and then rolled over. One of the good things about being stuck living in the city, he could sleep through anything. As he was dozing off, Phil started once again dreaming of the life that got left behind. Floating through the clouds of sleep, Phil wondered about the friends and family he had left behind. He wondered if she was still waiting for him. He wondered what his kids looked like. He wondered if he would ever see them again?


As he faded off, the wind started to pick up. It felt good on his skin, and helped him to go to sleep. He didn't see the storm moving in.

Flesh

The flesh is weak, 
but the mind is strong.
The blood coursing and pounding,
the mind restless.


Snippets of song float through my skull,
words unknown and unbidden.
Stringing together incoherent thought,
making something from nothing.


With walls high, the emotions don't come.
A blank slate, blank mind, blank heart.
There is no starting again, no starting over.
Some things were just never meant to be.


I have cast my fortunes to the winds of fate,
I am no longer in control.
I chained the monster and killed the voice,
only to find the silence frightened me.


The path continues undeterred,
the footprints behind show the way forward. 
I'm scared of what's behind and what's before.