Monday, December 22, 2014

Bar Fi...Party!

Walked into a bar and sat down
Said "I'll have a drink"
They looked at me like something was not right
'Spose they knew my deal
"What you can have is a fist to the face"
They said and gathered 'round
Guess they haven't forgotten the last time
Blood stilly dry under heels
Still dry under their heels

Had to do it all over again
Pulled a switchblade from my shoe
The tall one charged at me, furiously
I dodged and turned and cut his cheek

Bored I sighed and let my guard down
Fat one caught my arm
"What happened, boy, I thought you were faster"
He hissed through missing teeth
I said, "No, my friend, I'm just getting started"
And I broke his fucking wrist
Swear everyone else joined in after that one
Welcome back, Miss Deja Vu

Guess I wasn't gonna get my drink

Sunday, November 9, 2014

Concrete Vigilantism Ain't Gotta Be A Bad Thing If The Reasons Are Right

I want to be the real deal.

I want to do some good for this world.

If that means driving over bad people in a cement truck, count me in.

See, I thought about this.

Just me, The Cause, concrete, horsepower. United to take a stand.

A giant, orange concrete mixer with a big "HAVE A NICE FUCKING DAY" written on it.

Breezing through streets, fighting crime and injustice.

Settling scores with the bad guys, battling demons of the night.

Sheding light into dark corners of The City.

Fresh concrete sloshing around, turning dicks into statues.

Combined superpowers of cement, gravel and water; harbingers of peace.

Stuff of legends.

What glory. Man.

Give me a truck and enough concrete and I'll save the galaxy.

Gonna need a driver's license too while we're at it.

Streets will be safe again. Lives of many will be preserved.

You'd want that, wouldn't you?

Unless you're a bad guy, in which case I hope you like the taste of CONCRETE FURY.

Monday, September 15, 2014


I've missed things when I was away. Things you take for granted. Things I used to take for granted.

I had plenty of time. All the time in the world. Seconds were hours that felt like days. There was nothing else to do but miss things and shift my mind into imagination. So there I was, thinking and breathing and forgetting myself time and time again. Stepping outside of myself and venturing. 

I pictured myself in a field when I closed my eyes. I could see myself walking among wheats, touching them with my fingertips. The sun was shining. It was blinding. A solar flare was ever-present in my sight. I didn't mind. I liked it. It gave me a sensation of warmth. Something I've missed so much. One of many things. Tip of the iceberg.

Now that I'm back I don't feel it the same way. I always knew deep inside me that it would be different. I thought it would be better. That's the truth. When I felt it again, really felt it, I was left wanting. Wanting more from it, demanding it to match my expectations.

It's not its fault. I guess my expectations were skewed by years of solitude. My imagination added certain features, enhanced the picture. It helped at the time. It allowed me to fight off desperation and hopelesness. For that I'll forever be greatful.

But as I lay down now, back here, I close my eyes yet again and drift...

Seconds become hours that feel like days.

There's the familiar warmth. Not the real one. The one that's exclusive to me.

It's not leaving me anytime soon.

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

At Night

Broken silence fills the void
Recites the words from a grimoire
A damning poem, stricken down with grief
Fallen short, fallen short, yet again

A smolder of hope gets beaten
Down with rain

Palms still clenched, though vaguely
Rest resigned on wet ground

Should've seen it coming from afar
Haven't learnt from past mistakes

It's all in the head
Fucking empty space
Winds inside whistle still, every night

All dark
All dark
My eyes can't see
A thing
A thing
My ears can't hear
A sound
A sound
It's all just gone away
For good
For good
Or till the next time, the next day

Tuesday, September 2, 2014

Try again

I didn't mind the rain that night. I didn't even feel it on me. I just saw it with my eyes as I was making my way through it.

When you walk in a trance, your mind fixed on the goal, you lose connection with your nerve endings. They go numb. They hide, dulled, they know it's not their time.

You can walk for miles and not feel anything. No pain in your body, no fatigue, no distractions.

Time slows down when you're walking like that. Slow motion and blurriness take over. A filter is applied to your screen. Your eyes. You see things you normally don't pay attention to. Things you're unable to see because your mind's wanderin'. You're looking at a film reel, frame by frame. I could see raindrops descending onto my face. I could see reflections of myself in falling water.

That didn't matter one bit. It only added to the theme. A mere decoration.

I kept making my way through the tunnel. A tunnel of focused thoughts that rearranged the surroundings, morphed them into a unified block of colors and shapes. Trees, buildings, people, air, life, every atom, every particle were more or less one entity. A collage.

They made for a border. A perimeter. If you would ever get distracted and breached it, you would fall.

You would lose. Kind of. You would lose the sight of your goal. For a brief moment you would see it being swept away. A result of your carelessness.

I've been there.

I've fallen.

Many times. Down the abyss.

It hurts more when you're falling down than when you finally hit the ground. It's when you see the path through your desperately outstretched palm, it hurts the most. You see it slipping away. Fading in the distance.

At least when you hit the bottom you know you've reached the low point. A point from which you can only build up. So you gather yourself. You can curse under your nose all you want. I know I have. It's a long fucking journey. You dust off your clothes and start the climb. Make your way back up again. Take a deep breath. Enter the tunnel. Try again.

It's not easy. I takes an insurmountable toll. But it's all there is. You try again. I try again.

Focus on the goal. Give it all you've got. No matter the cost. Make your way through the rain. 

Monday, August 18, 2014

Apocalypse Is Now, Through Social Media

It was year 2015. I was already running late to see a friend of mine. We'd always create an event of meeting each other in Goggle Foods restaurant on Thursday afternoon to reminisce about old times. Particularly events that have occurred on Thursdays.

I finally made my way to the restaurant where my friend was waiting for me. He had an impatient look on his face and was ready to use a messenger to message me.

"What is app, dude!" I greeted him.

"Hi. Finally. I was beginning to think you wouldn't even make it in time for the #FFs tomorrow," he joked.

"Sorry, got a bit caught up in an argument. Someone's been tagging me and I didn't like it. No #comment. I've unfriended and blocked them now so I hope it's gonna be alright."

A waitress approached. She was wearing cool glasses even though her sight was perfect.

"#Greetings, can I take your order? Currently trending are #PancakesReportedForSpam, ten times shared #InstaRisotto, and our speciality, #Kim'sLard," she offered.

"No, #ThankYou. I'd like this 140 character #sushi with a brightened up Valencia filter on it, an #AppleJuice, looped ten times, and a glass of loved #redvino," I said.

"And for you, #sir?" she asked my friend.

"Let's see... I'll take a #decent #spaghetti, twice reblogged, an eyeOS salad with the recent 11.1 update and a cheeky DM to drink."

The waitress wrote it all down on her tablet and disappeared behind a corner.

"Man, this is my favourite place. Loved it ever since I've stumbled upon it five years ago. I would give it a thousand likes if I could. But the #prices have gone way up recently. Food's cheaper on #Nile now."

"Tell me about it. It gives me a sad emoji. Economy's gone to shit since @improvidentgareth55 became President. I regret retweeting him during the elections. I've pinned my hopes on him. I would have retweeted @damien_shrewd now if I could."

"Oh well, his #selfies and #programme were convincing, AND he was advertising the newest 5.4 GreenRobot software," I gasped and we both dived into our phones to check BassFeet news. 

Wednesday, August 13, 2014


A scruffy and jaded looking man asked for another shot of whiskey.

"You sure you want more of those, Jim?" asked the barman with an intonation of a man who has grown accustomed to repeating this phrase over and over again.

Jim just motioned with his hand towards the empty glass in front of him with an equally trained gesture. It was more of a reflex, really.

If you woke him up in the middle of the night he could still order a shot of whiskey flawlessly.

"You haven't told me why you came back," said the barman. It was a late Thursday afternoon and the crowd was sparse. Lack of better options convinced the barman to pick up the conversation again.

"What?" asked Jim. He almost looked up from his glass. He was in his fourties and he was tired. His neck was muscular from looking up from his glass and asking for another shot of whiskey.

"You've told me you left this place 20 years ago. You said you traveled a lot. But you came back here. Why?"

"I don't know. Who the fuck cares?" Jim asked as he played with his glass of whiskey. If he was a glass he'd be filled with bitterness.

Jim wasn't a wordsmith. He wasn't even a wordsmith's apprentice. Not anymore, anyway.

He emptied the glass and asked for another. The barman complied.

"Besides," Jim continued, "Like I said, I don't know. I guess maybe I wanted to see what changed here over the years."

"And what do you think? 20 years is a lot of time."

"No shit," Jim replied as he was adjusting himself on the bar stool. "Barely recognize this old shithole. Coffee shops and whatnot everywhere. Who the fuck drinks so much coffee?"

"Young people and hipsters. And young hipsters," said the barman as he was drying up glasses with a towel.

"What the fuck is a hipster? There's more coffee shops than bars or food stores."

Jim had no time for the youth. He knew exactly how much of a twat he was in his day.

"Those young pricks never change. They stay the same, just go different ways about their twatishness," he said, "World around them changes. Circumstances change. But at their core they're always tedious little prats until they grow up and see shit in different light. Get some perspective, you know. That doesn't happen till they walk out of that coffee shops and stop wearing stupid clothes and sitting with their faces stuck in a fucking phone and whatever that fucking silver plank is. It's got an apple logo on it."

Jim now hated coffee, stupid clothes, technology and apples. He had a great capacity for hating things. You couldn't beat him at a game of hate. Disdain and contempt were his forté.

"Pour me another round," he said to the barman. "Probably my last one for tonight. Life's tiring when you have to deal with so much shit around you. I think I came back here 'cause I remembered it to be a quiet place. You could fucking think here. And now? Strange noises and commotion and those," he clenched his fist slightly, "fucking coffee shops on every damn corner. This town has got like everywhere else. Looks like them, is like them. Fuck originality, huh?"

He received his whiskey and downed it instantly. He put down his final empty glass for tonight with an expertise of a seasoned drinker. He threw a bill on the counter and left without saying a word.

He'll probably be back tomorrow. If not in this bar, then another one. If not in this town, then somewhere else. It's all the same now, anyway.

Wednesday, August 6, 2014

Jack Slink's Untimely Departure From The Land Of The Living

"What happened to the poor bastard?" a woman in a black dress asked a man standing next to her among a crowd of people wearing black clothes.

It was a funeral. A dozen of men and women have gathered around a freshly-dug ditch.  

"They say young Jack 'Slinky' Slink had an accident," he replied, without raising his eyes from the coffin that was being brought inside the cemetery.

"Died of severe head trauma, or something," his friend standing to the right pitched in with further explanation.

"And his intestines got tangled up, or something," a man standing to the left added. 

They haven't said anything else for a few moments. The coffin was being slowly placed inside the ditch by three men – six feet in total. 

"He was reckless, no two ways about it," one of the men said after the pause. "Used to toy with danger. Sooner or later it would catch up with him."

"Nah, I heard he got mixed up in some shady business," another woman approached the conversing group. "You know, drugs and alcohol. I saw him tripping a few times. It finally got to him. He was feeling empty inside, he once told me. He wanted out. Some mobsters chased him down and pushed him down the stairs. He couldn't handle it. They made it look like an accident," she said.

Nobody replied. They didn't know Slinky that well. Most of them only made a passing acquaintance as they saw him rolling up and down the streets, trying to get by. Slinky, a stunt performer, played in many low-key movies where the paycheck wasn't overly fat.

"Pretty ironic he died in spring, huh?" a man offered, to relieve the awkward silence.

"What's ironic about that?" the first woman asked as she adjusted her hat.

"It's Slinky we're talking about here." 

The coffin was finally put inside the ditch. Bruce Springsteen's song stopped playing. The priest said some things nobody listened to and they left, grieving for another half an hour.

Helen's Goulash Sunday In Danger?

"Listen, Helen. I can't let you do that," he said, while removing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt's cuffs. He put his suitcase against the wall. He had just returned from work. He was going to sit in front of a dinner that she made for him. It was a huge pile of meat of some description. He was hungry and, after all, he was a dinosaur.

"Why not, Terrence?" she asked, while putting on a pink tracksuit, ready to go out.

"Remember what happened last time you took 'em out for a walk?" he asked his wife, while examining his delicious meal.

"I remember, I do. It doesn't mean it will happen again!" she tried to convince her husband while plugging in the earphones into her iPod.

"What if it meets another one if its kind again? You want a war? You know how they are. Just killin' each other all the time. Gotta keep them in check," he reasoned while munching on a huge piece of thigh with a bone sticking out.

"Okay, Terrence, you're right. I just wanted them to get some workout before we invite Tawney and Richard for Sunday dinner. I want my goulash to be the best ever," she said, and looked at a dozen of humans sleeping in separate cages.

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Oh (Ant)Man, Not The Bloody Colonialism Again

"Gerald, would you please pass me the pickaxe," said one ant in a top hat with a perfect Received Pronunciation accent to another ant in a top hat. "This is the right way," Victor said, while receiving a pickaxe from Gerald.

Victor adjusted his glasses and looked at a map once again, just to be sure. This party of ants has been digging a tunnel from Europe to Africa for months now.

"Are you sure? If this goes south it is all on you," warned Gerald, as he pointed at Victor and twirled his exquisite mustache. His own mustache, not Victor's. It would be considered improper had Gerald twirled Victor's almost equally exquisite mustache.

"We WANT to go south, Gerald, that's where Africa is. I would appreciate it if you reconsidered your anti-everything attitude," said Victor as he swung his pickaxe at the ground in front of him. It didn't yield much in terms of result though.

They had struggled for a week now after they hit a particularly hard ground.

"Where is young Titus?" asked Victor as he lifted his eyebrows and adjusted his glasses.

"I'm here, sir!" said a very eager young ant, who was sporting a very poor beard and a naïve smile.

"Did you bring the drill? Good lad. I cannot do it with the pickaxe anymore. Do you know how to operate the drill, young ant?"

"Yes, Mr Victor, I know the drill!" he asked and his eyes lit up. This was the moment he's been waiting for. "Oh yeah… Come to papa!" he shouted and nearly charged at the wall.

"Hey, hey, hey, don't be so antsy, young Titus. Stay calm and do it right or we will never make it to Africa," said Victor as he put his hands on Titus' shoulders. Gerald was lightning up a cigarette in the background.

"But Mr Victor! I can't wait for us to have a colony!"

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Trevor The Fly Peacemaker

"Don't do it, Francis!" one fly pleaded to another.

The other fly was waving and pointing a gun at something.

"I have to, Trevor. I'm done with her shit. Every day is the same," he ranted, fuming, intoxicated. "She won't even look at me. All I'm left to do is deal with her crap. At first I didn't mind, I was trying not to get too attached. But now I want something more from her and she... she just doesn't care, the fat cow," said Francis, clearly unhinged when discussing her. She was a real cow.

"If you think killing her will solve anything then you're wrong. I know the place you're in right now stinks. You feel like you're up against a wall. Carrying a disease. I used to be like you. Angry, frustrated, getting shitfaced. But then I opened my eyes. I went places and I was always buzzing to meet someone new," said Trevor, "As we flies say, there's plenty more cows in the fields."

"Is that really true?" asked Francis, as he seemed to calm down a bit. "Do you think I can land someone right for me? Should I just meet new people and see what sticks?"

"You're what... a day old? Still young. You don't have to swat away your dreams, dude," said Trevor, a very wise fly. "I know it hurts right now but the wounds will heal soon. Time flies when you meet someone new. Now put the gun down, Francis."

Francis reluctantly put the gun down, looked at her for the last time, turned around and said,

"Thanks, Trevor. You're a great wingman. I know I can count on you whenever shit hits the fan. What do you say," he started, with a smirk on his face, "let's go visit the neighboring field. I think I saw a fine piece of ass over there," he suggested and they both laughed.

Friday, July 11, 2014

The Morning After (1)

I opened my eyes and waited for the blurriness to wear off. Flickering lights were dancing on my face as if someone with an impish grin on his face was playing with ON/OFF switch. Ouch. "Easy," I gasped. "I'm gonna get ya." When I regained clear vision I realized those were actually sunbeams that managed to get past tree branches. Wind was blowing hard, causing trees to lean back and forth like a drunk on a rocking chair which allowed sunbeams to peek through once in a while contributing greatly to much of my initial annoyance.

I elevated my upper body, using elbows as support, and took a quick look around with my barely functioning eyes. It seemed as if I woke up in a dense forest composed mainly of high pines, with solitary birches growing here and there. There was nothing out of ordinary about the forest. There were trees, and um, forest cover littered with dried and broken branches and pine cones everywhere.

The ground felt a bit damp and my clothes were slightly wet like laundry hanging in the sun for ten minutes. The air was unusually fresh. It must have been raining here not so long ago. I stood up and removed some of the dirt from my clothes. It was just a tip of the iceberg. I looked up to see a jaybird looking at me with a pitiful expression on its cocky bird face. "I don't think I'm at my best look wise. That must have been a rough night," I thought. I haven't had much in terms of last night's events recollection. I decided to try and postpone this issue for the time being. The bird flew away but not before dropping a nice little gift right next to my feet. "Thanks." I said, rather insincerely.

As I was elevating myself to a position that was vaguely similar to the default homo sapiens stance, I felt a surge of pain go through my things and calves. "Whoa," I mumbled as I stumbled onto the nearest tree to stop myself from falling. I hugged the tree like I used to hug a teddy bear when I was a kid.

I didn't drink as much back then, though.

I collected myself after a dozen seconds and proceeded to switch my body to a more distinguish 'hooker-at-a-lamppost' pose. I tried to think how much I would charge for a cheeky handjob, especially with the financial crisis and the ever-weakening dollar, but I had to cast those thoughts away mainly because they were ridiculous. "Come on, man," I reasoned. "If you're not paying for this kinda stuff then you shouldn't charge either. Out of principle. You are a man of principle, aren't you?" There was an awkward silence in my head following that question.

It turned out that attempting to formulate thoughts, however half-witted they were, caused a headache to wake up from its stupor. "Dammit," left my mouth as I grimaced over and over again. "My face will have wrinkles like an old dog's ball sack before I even hit 30 if I keep this up," I thought. My head felt like a wooden plank being nailed to something by a particularly clumsy carpenter.

After a few moments of fighting a losing battle against the pain I went through my pockets to see if I had a phone or at least some painkillers. I had neither of those items which was extremely unfortunate because I had to both contact somebody and get rid of the headache. "Life won't even give me any lemons," I mused philosophically, in what was probably my best moment since waking up on that morning.

Rummaging through pockets didn't yield much in terms of results as I only had spare change in my pants and a piece of baguette in my hoody. My first thought was to buy some water because I was as thirsty as a dry tomato (my face must have looked similar) and also purchase painkillers. Unfortunately, after looking around, checking to be absolutely sure, I was one hundred percent certain there were no shops in my vicinity. It was a forest, after all. I decided to eat the baguette so as not to impair my movements with unnecessary burden. It was stale but it was something. And I was as hungry as a cannibal stranded on an island with no people.

Fueled by those superb nutrients I slowly began to make my way in an unspecified direction. It was there and then that I gathered my first experience in sailing as I was carried and pushed mainly by the wind. Wherever possible I supported myself with trees which I started to consider to be my friends because they were always there for me. "Thanks, trees. You're all invited to my birthday next month. You don't have to bring anything," I said. "There will be a cake and a barbecue and hopefully sun, 'cause that what you trees eat, eh?"

At one point, after wandering aimlessly for some odd twenty minutes, I finally heard something in the distance. I had no idea what it was except that it was a sound. I quickly gathered that there were no other reasonable options but to follow that noise so I began to walk in its general direction. It grew louder and louder and after a few minutes I saw what looked like a huge ball of poo rolled up and left there by a ridiculously large scarab.

The ball of poo started to move. I began approaching it carefully when suddenly I recognized it! That ball of poo was my friend Mark, and the noise he let out was one of his stomach's contents leaving his mouth.

"Mark! Hey, Mark!" I yelled and jogged to him. He somehow managed to pull up his head and looked at me. His face suggested he just left the filming set of a zombie movie after being given a role as an extra. He groaned and growled at me. It freaked me out at first, but as I did not have my sawed-off shotgun with me, I had to try to talk to him.

"You okay, buddy?" I asked as I looked into his red eyes and pale face. I glanced underneath him to see a pool of what was his last night's meal remix that looked like an old, moldy pizza. I hoped he wouldn't fall into it, in case I had to carry him back.

"Wh... huh? R... Rod?" he muttered as his eyes started to register something other than a ground full of vomit. He scratched his head carelessly and with all his strength he flexed his rather wimpy brain muscles and put together a question that pierced right through my mind, placing in doubt my take on philosophy of humanity and existence. "Whe... where is my hat?"

To be continued...

Thursday, June 26, 2014

NOIR. 9. In The Quiet Absence Of God

This is a series concering the Blue Sky Black Death's music album NOIR.
It ties in with the happiest moments of my life as it was there to witness them.
I would like you to see the images I see whenever I hear the songs.

Some of them feel very real, some of them are more abstract.


Everything is in slow motion.

Rains of arrows are falling down on the battlefield. Flaming arrows are dancing a deadly tango with heavy water drops. You can hear the rain slowly hitting pools of water and blood as men are clashing in the dark, damp mud. Thumping sounds of their swords and spears colliding in a ferocious battle reverberate in the open field, under the dome of black clouds.

As you're approaching closer to the battle, slow and agonizing screams of wounded men can be heard louder and more intensely. A sense of dread is a mist engulfing everything in its reach. Someone is cursing. Someone is taunting. Others are dying.

Zoom in on the faces. Faces covered in mud and dirt, blood and sweat. Expressions of anger, hatred, determination, pain. Teeth are showing, wounds are bleeding. Eyes have no colors, no soul is present inside. No glimmer of humanity. Berserker's trance.

Shattered shields are lying everywhere. Armor pieces are flying in all directions as cold steel is cutting their life short. It doesn't matter if something is standing or lying down, it's being peppered with flaming arrows and unstoppable spears. Rain is bringing no solace to those who fell. It only adds to the desperation.

It's all a field where dead corpses are flowers and spears stuck in the ground are trees.

Day doesn't care anymore. Only the night remains. It's watching us and wondering.

So do we, the ones who don't want to be here. We are forced to. When we lift our heads and look around we see destruction, death, mayhem everywhere. We caused it. We always do. But why?

Our numbers are dwindling but come next battle, new men will take place of the fallen.

But what for?

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

NOIR. 8. Where Do We Go

This is a series concering the Blue Sky Black Death's music album NOIR.
It ties in with the happiest moments of my life as it was there to witness them.
I would like to help you see the images I see whenever I hear the songs.
Some of them feel very real, some of them are more abstract.


There were two wooden benches at the riverbank. They were resting below a shade cast by a single tree that was growing right between them. I was sitting on one of the benches. The sun was shining again. When I turned my eyes to the ground, the shade looked like clouds covering the ground which was now sky, as if the world was reversed. My feet were placed on those 'clouds' and I stepped on them carefully, trying not to fall into the 'sun'.

It was a good, simple fun. In those peaceful moments you have for yourself you can do simple things and enjoy them. Make them up as you go and be creative and open-minded. Use your senses and be interested. Observe and take part. I can find plenty of interesting things to see around me. Even a patch of grass blowing in the wind can stop my thoughts in that moment in time, seemingly taking a picture of my mind.

As I sat there for a bit longer, now looking at a flock of birds flying over the river, I heard someone coming over and sitting on the other bench. I glanced in that direction and the person did so in my direction. We did not exchange any words but we acknowledged our presence. Slight nod of head can express many words. It's beautiful sometimes how people can talk without saying anything. There is something that fascinates me in this kind of communication. It seems to have a deeper sense of mutual understanding and connection.

Words can be deceptive. Words can lie a lot more often than the eyes. You can use many words to say many things but rarely all of them carry any significance to anything, or worse, they hurt other people a lot of the time. People should use words carefully. The world would benefit if people used words more sparingly, leaving out those insignificant words in meaningless sentences, used to make small talk or conveying thoughts that don't amount to anything.

Careful consideration and proper choice of words would help everyone get on better with each other. It would enable us to communicate in a deeper and more profound way. No deception, no lies, no meaningless babble.

Like that simple look in the eyes. When two people are open to see the other person, see them as an equal and are willing to share just a fraction of second in time to learn about each other, it creates something special.

We sat there for an hour. A big tree between our benches shifted the 'clouds' on the ground as time went by. We were always in the shade. It was a nice feeling, as gentle breeze was constantly finding its way from over the river to the benches. Weather was perfect and nature was marvelous.

We sat there on our own benches, in our own worlds. It felt like two planets of equal size and significance coexisting in a perfect manner. Even though we were separate beings, we were both part of the same universe. We built our own homes and our own realities and there was never any conflict. I wished it always was that simple.

There was no point dwelling on that. Instead, I opted to just enjoy this moment fully. Just take part in sharing a view and air with a stranger with whom I already had more of a connection than with many people I know well.

I was observing the nature and so was my neighbor, I felt. It was most likely the reason that that person came here. It's a perfect place for observing the nature and clearing your head. Sometimes I wondered how many times we both looked at the exact same thing in the exact same time. Like those birds. Not all of them, a particular one. It had to be a particular one for this game to work. To capture the exact same still frame in our minds seemed like an interesting phenomenon to me. It was an endless sea of possibilites with ever changing variables and us being the only constants in that reality. Yet again, simple fun.

At other times, my mind drifted toward more serious matters. We were both sitting in a perfect place for working out our problems and we were both aware of that. While I was trying to solve mine, I also knew the other person was most likely doing the same. I didn't want to know their issues, I'm not nosy. But I knew one thing: I wished them well. It was a strange type of kindness, a pure and unbiased hope that someone fares well. You can often find it in yourself without being aware of its presence. It's a great thing to be caught like that. Being able to feel it is one of the things that make you a decent person. You can see that in someone's eyes too. "I wish you well" are just plain words without honesty glowing from within the eyes.

Some time later I noticed it was starting to get late. The tree seemed to be done for the day, a good day of work and pleasure at the same time. It was a good moment to leave. We stood up from the benches almost at the same time. A coincidence, we both thought, as we exchanged looks for a second time and nodded again, this time with a glimmer of smile visible in the eyes. I knew we thanked each other for sharing that place and that time. We went our separate ways but I kept hoping that maybe we will cross our paths again. If not with that person, then with another one, much sooner than you'd think.

Previous entries:
5. Farewell To The Former World. "The Escape"
6. Falling Short. "Fear"

7. Gold In Gold Out. "Now Or Never"

Monday, June 16, 2014


Among trees

Fleeting peace

Darts away


Startled deer

Out of fear

Turns its head

Runs in dread

Full of distrust

Escape must

Never inert

It's been hurt

Burnt before

Was ignored

Listen, gem

I'm not them

It'll know

It'll let go

One day

It's okay

Friday, June 13, 2014

Ray Cyst's Musical

(Man #1)
I love to wear a flowing white robe…
My infamy has spread across the globe…
(Man #2)
My eyes are glowing behind two holes…
I know I ain't winnin' popularity polls…
(Man #1)
They're saying about us things mean and rude…
That we're robbin' decency hidden behind a hood…
(Man #2)
Those accusations wound us very hard and deep…
Sometimes I wanna quit but I got vows to keep…

But as we jump around
Hand in hand
Feeling white pride
You gotta understand
People, people, PEOPLE!
Never too late to hate!
Never too late to hate!

(Man #2)
If you are a member of an ethnic group…
Your friendship would be for us quite a coup…
Just follow me closely to this alleyway…
It will be even better if you're gay…
(Man #1)
Listen to him, he is always right…
He will set you free toward the light…
Can you see it? A view to admire…
Don't worry; it's just a bit of fire…

Ridin' horseback in unisex dressing
Flaming hearts, burning crosses
We'll count our blessings
You count your losses!
We'll count our blessings
You count your losses!

(Both) (Choir)
And as we jump around
Hand in hand
Feeling white pride
You gotta understand
People, people, PEOPLE!
Never too late to hate!
Never too late to hate!

(Man #2)
But after the sun rises again in the dawn…
(Man #1)
The dawn?
(Man #2)
Gotta clean up this mess from our front lawns…
(Man #1)
Front lawns?
(Man #2)
Nobody wants to pay us a single dollar…
(Man #1)
A single dollar?
(Man #2)
They only buy copper, not dead men of color…
(Man #1)
What shame!

(Man #2)
So we have to put our most prized possession…
In our pure white hearts, despite your aggression...
(Man #1)
See, we are our own masters, we decide our fate...
Now we race to a parade to exhibit our hate...
Hate, hate!
Heil, heil!
Hate, hate!
Heil, heil!

(Both) (Choir)
Still we jump around
Hand in hand
Feeling white pride
You gotta understand
People, people, PEOPLE!
Never too late to hate!
Never too late to hate!

(Man #2)
But wait, wait, wait
(Man #1)
What is it?
(Man #2)
A realization struck me after all our stunts
(Man #1)
A what?
(Man #2)
There's no way to say it without being blunt
(Man #1)
Tell me!
(Man #2)
We might be by our brothers forever shunned
(Man #1)
Come on!
(Man #2)
Hey, hey, hey, we are racist cunts!
(Both) (Choir)
We are racist cunts!
We are twats in spiky hats!
Homophobic cunts!
We are twats in spiky hats!

Tuesday, June 10, 2014


Strawberries are outstanding. They definitely stand out and are infinitely tasty. Their taste is sweet like a sweet fruit and makes your body shiver in spasms of pleasure. It massages the erogenous zones of the palate giving orgasms with its quality texture and vast experience in the field. The field is a place where they grow up and through experience they acquire a texture so nice and sweet and pleasurable and warm like a sun.

Sun is very important to strawberries and strawberries are trying to be best pals with it. They smile at the sun and bask in its glow sunbathing and reaching their ultimate color - red. Red's not dead, it's still one of the best colors and strawberries are very happy to wear it. They try green and white first but, come on, red is the way to go.

Red, ripe, beautiful strawberries are wonderful and lovely like a balcony with a view of the ocean. An ocean of strawberries, no less, as they are consumed in large quantities all over the world. World loves strawberries and eats them a lot making itself a better place. That's just the way it should be.

There are many ways to eat a strawberry. You can eat them fresh like a pair of new sneakers, 'raw' because you can't say strawberry without 'raw' or you can prepare them like a boxing champion before facing a challenger to the title. Kick-ass strawberries kick ass and knock people out unconscious with their flavor and style. World Fruit Council champions. World's Tastiest Fruit, now official. Respect.

There are many other respectable ways to utilize strawberries in fruit industry. You can make a tasty strawberry juice and drink it through a straw and it is berry tasty, if you pardon the pun. Pardon is a french word and strawberries were first bred in France, in the XVIII century which is a long time ago unless you are a titan and have lived forever then it might not seem a long time ago. Many people aren't titans though and are happy to enjoy strawberries also in pies and ice creams and milkshakes and chocolates. Strawberry milkshakes are better than others and they bring clients to ice cream parlors and restaurants.

Strawberries are beautiful like a woman and have all the curves in right places. They are far superior to butterflies who first have to become caterpillars. Strawberries are born as flowers! How wonderful would it be to be born a flower and not a screaming baby covered in blood and vernix caseosa. Once I wished I was born a strawberry but then I remember I'd get eaten, no lie.

Lying and deception is possibly the only flaw of strawberries but it is justifiable by circumstances. The lie here is that strawberries aren't actually berries, they are an accessory fruit. But such were the circumstances in XVIII century France and the French Revolution that strawberries were forced to change their name to avoid prosecution which is justifiable. Strawberries as accessory fruit serve as necklaces, bracelets, earrings and purses. Strawberries are no longer pursued by French Revolution and now live happily like a puppy at bitch's tit.

The conclusion is that strawberries are stellar like stars and fantastic like fantasy while remaining real like reality. They're not good, they're not better, they're the best. Better than the rest and all that jazz, blues and progressive rock. Strawberries rock my world and yours as well. Well played, strawberries, well played.

Saturday, June 7, 2014

Sullivan Spliff

Casting a long fuckin' shadow over masculinity worldwide
Lazily setting trendy trends and fiery fires alight
He don't need to shit, don't need to sleep at night
Always poking everywhere it's warm and tight

He's Sullivan Spliff
Sullivan Spliff

In his vicinity bitches be removin' their bras
Swarmin' all around him and fawning en masse
Other fellas are jealous, have their faces stuck to glass
Groaning and bemoaning the fact they're simply outclassed

By Sullivan Spliff
That's right: Sullivan Spliff

His feet are carried by air; his path is lit by morning sun
As he breezes past diseases and pleases everyone
Couldn't count the amount of awesome things he's done
A legend that deflowered at least one Italian nun

That's Sullivan Spliff
The mighty Sullivan Spliff

He rules over kingdoms, endless seas of lands
A crown on a noble head and people's lives in manly hands
Most important of all is a fact that always stands
He be doin' all this shit without wearing any pants

Oh, Sullivan Spliff
Pantless Sullivan Spliff

Wednesday, June 4, 2014


There's just fucking NOTHING.

Only mountain tops in the distance. Never to be reached, EVER.

This is how it WORKS.

Tried many things but I CAN'T do it any longer.

Can't even SEE those mountain tops anymore.

I am lost in a dark forest. WHERE am I going?

IS THIS the right way?

I can't see SHIT.

There's nothing good GOING on.

I'LL let my head HANG in shame.

Is it time to give up MY DREAMS?

Or should I carry ON?

There are only BLACK TREES.

Everything seems to be ending, if it's not already OVER.

I'll never be THERE.

BECAUSE I lost my way.


Nobody cares about MY LIFE.

Even I don't and it's all there IS to say.

Might just lie down and be consumed by NOTHINGNESS.

Leaving only nightmares AND fading memories.


How CAN someone continue to live like this.

Why would YOU pay attention?

PLEASE go on your own way.

It's too late for me to cry out for HELP.

Can't ask FOR THE final lifeline.

This is my LAST goodbye.

Soon I'll be forgotten by TIME.

Found It

I was looking for a way to put my pen to paper
I was walking all the roads just to find that place, huh
My boots all worn out, my mind couldn’t be made up
When I thought I reached the goal, it told me “see ya later”
The sun didn’t help, always shining in my eyes
The wind was a snag, slowing movement of my thighs
But I kept on moving, I never stopped walking
Stumbled many times and drank oceans of coffee
I was lost in a maze, I was lost, often fazed
Blind alleys in my head, I created such a space
My mind’s creativity was misdirected
Misconstrued, often defected
Now I’m trying to get my style perfected
Get inside ya head and make ya brain infected
Can see the statue of my rhymes being erected
With your votes for the presidency elected.

Back up to the moment when I finally found the Grail
A sight for sore eyes after numerous derails
Found the right track to follow without fail
Fire burning hot, free to tell my tale.
No more pain, no more grief, a sigh of relief
No longer oxygen's thief I embraced the belief
First step to my dreams, reached and achieved
But it's just the beginning, you'll quickly see
As I develop and nurture the almighty skill
Obtain ancient techniques of operatin' the quill
Wranglin' between my rhymes like a crafty eel
Testing strength of mind and power of will
Constructin' collages of images of rhyming syllables
Piecing together things both explosive and beautiful
Climbing towers effusive all the way to the ceiling
Bursting through, experiencing unforgettable feelings.

Follow me on this journey, it's an invitation
A never-ending grand ball, call off your vacation
Wear a nice dress, you know the address
Let's dance a tango of rhymes, relax, no stress
Forget all the pains of your everyday life
This is a room of joy, not fields of strife
Strike a match, ignite, and fly so high
Embrace the light of the day and the darkness of night
Revel in the moment, be a part of the style
A pioneer of the art, it really ain't hard
Once you open your eyes and open your heart
Open your ears and hear sounds from afar
Distant noises that at first don't make much sense
I'll help you understand, give me a chance
Lemme guide you on the path, with creation romance
Make it the way in which the world we'll enhance.

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

The Duel

With a sudden movement of his right fist he struck it with a fierce blow. A splatter of glowing, purple blood crossed the air in slow motion and landed on a nearby, demolished wall. Without questioning the gift, weary and thirsty concrete soaked up the substance with all enthusiasm it could muster. Steel rods growing out of the grey mass were flowers planted in a crashed clay pot. The liquid wasn't enough to bring them back to life. It was too late for that.

Soon after blood, a full body followed. It came in flying, having lost its balance and stopped at the concrete wall, tearing a portion of it in the process. The hit to the jaw was so clean it sent a few of the creature's many fangs plummeting down onto the floor like heavy raindrops before a storm.

Standing high at seven feet the creature's body was covered in dark grey husk with two insect-like arms arched downward growing out of its chest and another two connected to what humans refer to as shoulder blades, arched upward, creating a look similar to pincers. Such set of limbs had a considerable reach but limited maneuverability. The creature's head was darker than its arms and torso, looking almost black and similarly to its back it was covered with numerous small horns growing out of the skin. The head boasted a terrifying, elliptical jaw filled with fangs all around it, soaked in a mixture of saliva and purple blood. Above it, a set of three obsidian eyes formed a menacing triangle. The eyes were capable of looking in different directions giving the creature a certain advantage during combat. Possibly the only flaw in the creature's physique was its ability to maintain balance, which was connected to its unimpressive lower body. The torso was prolonged almost all the way down to the floor where a dozen feet was responsible for balancing out the stature and moving in a fluent manner. It caused the creature to possess a somewhat restricted pliability.

He knew about it and decided to take advantage of that fact. Throughout the duel he tried to outmaneuver the creature using dodging techniques and his innate celerity. He had to depend on his wits and use the knowledge of his surroundings well if he was to have any success in battle.

As the creature recovered its senses it let out sounds of modulated panting filled with anger and hate. It began to spew saliva all over the floor. Using its upper strength it stood up ready to charge at its opponent again. It focused its eyes at the man who was feeling signs of fatigue and suffered from fractured bones in his body. His ragged clothes were torn to shreds and fabrics were glued to his skin like leeches wherever there was an open wound.

The man reared back a bit awaiting the charge and preparing another swift and decisive strike. The creature's mad rage was unstoppable if it wasn't met with quick thinking and great agility. Fortunately for the man, he possessed both and as soon as the charge commenced, he jumped onto a pile of rubble and launched himself above creature's arms and drove his foot straight between its eyes. The creature lost its balance again and the man tumbled over broken furniture. Such maneuvers were starting to take its toll and he knew if he was to be victorious he had to end the fight sooner than later.

The creature sensed the man's vulnerable position and rolled over dealing a strike with its left arms piercing through his thigh. The man let out a terrifying scream, followed it by a stream of curse words. He managed to wrangle himself from underneath the creature's pin. He rolled over a few times gaining some distance and quickly torn his sleeve away in desperate attempt to close the wound. He tied a lousy knot and hid behind what was left of a wall. The creature shook its head and stood up leaving a pool of dense, purple blood on the ground right next to the dark red pool of the man's blood.

The man looked around and found one of the steel rods to be lying around separately from the concrete wall. At that moment in time, it looked like a blessed ancient sword forged to fight evil powers. He took it in his hands and sprinted, although heavily limited by his limp, toward ruined staircase. To his fortune, it was possible to jump over the gaps and climb onto another floor. The creature noticed his escape and looked up through the massive hole in the ceiling. It saw the man gasping for air and trying to recover what was left of his strength. The creature seemed to taunt the man angrily, inviting his attack. It clawed at the ceiling's edge trying to reach up. The man was preparing his next attack.

He could feel burning pain in all his muscles. He felt like he was going to boil and explode in millions of pieces, painting the ruined building like a mad impressionist. He examined his wounds and patched up some of them to stop as much blood loss as he was able to.

After a few minutes he was ready to strike again. Without taking much of a run he jumped onto the creature's shoulders, somehow avoiding claws and arms and in an instant stabbed the creature three times in the head, piercing through its armor. The creature let out a terrifying screech, a high-pitched sonic explosion that shattered remaining glass pieces and completely deafened the man. While the man struggled to remove the rod from the creature's head in order to plunge it again, he found himself fighting for balance. The creature began to whirlwind desperately and furiously filled with pain and blood craze, flailing its arms, cutting the man's flesh. Both of them were screaming in their own voices creating a dreadful song. The man was torn between clinging onto the steel rod, risking further injuries or letting go and facing unexpected outcome. The steel rod was glowing purple from the creature's blood and it finally slid out causing the man to be sent flying on the wall. The breaking of bones was audible and the man fell onto the floor, face in the ground. He coughed up blood and shook his head in attempt to remove mist and dizziness from his sight. He was covered in a mixture of dust and blood, both purple and red.

Meanwhile, the creature was still screeching, clawing at its own eyes, ineffectually covering the holes where the rod pierced its husk like a sailor trying to stop the leaking in his ship. It was rocking back and forth, side to side, being close to falling and then regaining balance. It wasn't fully aware of its surroundings as it neared the edge of the building ever closer and closer.

The man looked up and noticed the creature facing him and having a long distance down due to the lack of a wall behind it. It was now or never for both of them. The creature almost overcame the pain but still looked confused and was blinded by severe blood flow like a purple curtain over a window. The man held onto the remnants of his strength and managed to recover himself. He was barely standing up, leaning on over his knees with tremendous effort he took a deep breath and filled with adrenaline rushed forward without feeling any pain. The creature noticed him and tried to defend itself but just before facing the creature's outstretched arms the man slid onto the floor and with all his power and momentum he pierced the creature's torso, pushing it over the edge. He was unable to stop himself from following the creature's trajectory and was now descending toward their demise. He wasn't losing hope yet as he clung onto the steel rod, thinking he could still be saved by falling onto the creature's body.

A hollow sound of a heavy drop hitting the surface filled the air for a prolonged second. A cloud of dust rose up atop of a pile of rubble like wild animals flushed out into the open. After a long while it slowly began to thin its ranks, calming down and lying down politely, revealing two bodies stacked on top of each other. A pool of red and purple joined like yin and yang served as a grim floor bed. There were no signs of life, no movement, no hope, until something, someone let out a quiet groan…

Thursday, May 29, 2014

NOIR. 7. Gold In Gold Out

This is a series concering the Blue Sky Black Death's music album NOIR.
It ties in with the happiest moments of my life as it was there to witness them.
I would like to help you see the images I see whenever I hear the songs.
Some of them feel very real, some of them are more abstract.


I woke up. My head felt absent and it took some blinking and eyebrow tilting before I was able to collect my sight and align it with other senses. As my touch returned I noticed my hands were pressed against a cold stone surface. It was of rectangular shape and took up around 15 square feet of space. I was sitting on top of a solitary tower, I soon discovered, as I looked around in confusion. There was nothing to be seen with bare eyes. Endless oceans of clouds and mist in every direction possible. Even if there were any paths to cross I wouldn't know where to go.

A wave of cold, fresh air gently brushed against my skin. It was very calming yet struck me with a sense of urgency. Like I was supposed to do something and do it fast.

I crawled carefully to one of the edges of the tower and quickly jumped back as dizziness caused by my fear of heights set in instantly. A scenario of me falling to a gruesome death crossed my mind like it always does when faced with a sight of a long distance below me. I couldn’t even guess how far down it was. In the brief moment I laid my eyes onto the depths I noticed flashes of light reflected in a liquid surface. 'Must have been water,' I thought. It was pierced with sharp edges resembling tree tops of giant pines. An underwater forest? I didn't know. I knew it wasn't looking very inviting. If I was to fall down I would end up spiked and drowned at the same time.

As I slowly made my way back to the center of the tower top I noticed a loose stone beneath my feet. After further inspection I saw multiple cracks running along the surface forming a tile that could be lifted up. Not wasting any time I began the excavation process. I struggled to grasp the tile. There was no place to maneuver the object and it was very heavy. But after a great effort and persistence it gave in, revealing a pocket of space. In this pocket of space I found a chest. If I wasn't feeling confused and slightly uneasy I'd probably have felt like a true treasure finder who just put his hands on a golden relic.

Filled with excitement and hope I lifted the chest on the surface, placed it next to me and began closer examination. The chest wasn't heavy. It was red, sturdy, well preserved and had no lock on it. It seemed to invite the lucky finder to open it. So I did.

After lifting the lid I saw four objects placed carefully onto a red velvet pillow. First item that drawn my eyes was a gold coated brass telescope. The second object was a compass. The third and fourth items were a torch and a single match. What was their purpose?

I took out the brass telescope. It was an old school nautical instrument. I couldn't tell if it was ever used; it seemed fairly new. It looked like a gift waiting to be unwrapped by someone. Me?

Bereft of any better ideas I decided to look through the telescope. The lens was dusty so I had to wipe it with my sleeve. When I put the telescope to my eyes I was astonished. Wow! I had to double check if what I was seeing was 'real', whatever that meant. I looked again without the telescope and through it again. What I saw was two different things. Two different worlds, separate realities. First world was the one without the telescope. It has not changed. Filled with dense mist it was impossible to see anything. It made me feel lost and unsafe. The second world, even though much darker, was making an impression of warm, delicate and vivid place. The contrast felt far sterner and the vision felt far clearer. I could see lights flickering steadily on the horizon. They formed a ring around the tower. For a brief moment it seemed the ring started to move towards the tower slowly and then it stopped. I had a better view now. I still couldn't make out what exactly was there but I felt a sudden urge to head out towards it. I was faced with two problems. I didn't know in what direction should I venture. There were endless possibilities. I was also separated from the lights by a black sea, impenetrable to human eyes. What is beneath it? No idea. It looked dangerous.

After several long minutes of looking around trying to find a clue that would help me consider my next move I remembered the existence of other items in the chest.

I picked up the compass. It seemed fairly new and unused much like the telescope but it did not seem to work. I tried to poke it from all sides and shake it a bit but to no avail. I sat around with it for a while and began to worry. Fear of the unknown started sinking in. It was getting colder and colder, wind was blowing harder and harder. Will I be okay?

Staring hopelessly at the compass I began thinking about my past. I realized how much time I've wasted living in the moment, not paying any attention to the future. Only now I envisaged my possible fates. I suddenly became a customer looking at shelves in a store, trying to make the right choice and willing to pay the price.

As my thoughts were unveiling one after another I felt a sense of purpose. In that exact moment, to my great surprise, the compass needle started to spin. It kept spinning and spinning and my palms began to sweat in anticipation. I waited quite some time but the needle wouldn't stop spinning. Hope has abandoned me again. It was then when my eyes met with the telescope. 'Wait a minute,' I thought as my mind was suddenly hit with an idea. I rolled over to my left and picked up the telescope. I looked through it at the compass… The needle stopped. It was now showing one place with all its certainty, staring forward like a hunting dog. I looked up.

It was pointing towards the brightest spot in the entire ring. I haven't noticed it before. How have I missed it? I need to go there. But how? A black sea was making for an unpleasant carpet, riddled with uncertainty and danger. I couldn't just step onto it. First I had to be sure it's safe.

So I stood there weighing my options. Or bemoaning the lack of them, come to think of it. Was there something I wasn't getting? Wait, what about the torch and the match? I almost ran towards the chest and picked up said items. There was only one match. I had only one chance.

I struck the match against my shoe and to my joy it lit itself up. I quickly put it to the torch lightning it up as well. Warm fire brought me some calm and filled me with renewed exhiliration. With one hand yielding the torch and the telescope in the other I approached the tower's edge. It was almost freezing now, I was afraid of being blown away by relentless winds.

It was now or never. I put the torch toward the black sea and to my happiness several paths appeared before me. Some of them looked broken and unsafe. Some of them looked dangerous and deceptive. There was one of them, though… It seemed to lead towards the brightest spot in the ring. Yes, that was the one.

There was no time to think anymore. I knew I had to take this path whatever the consequences. It felt right. So I took a deep breath and moved my foot outside the tower's safety… It worked! I put my second foot on the path and slowly made my way through darkness, towards light.

As I continued to walk slowly, winds seemed to have stopped and temperature was becoming ever warmer. I did it. I made the right decision at the right moment. It paid off. A personal victory. Just in time.  

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

I can Phil it Collins' underwear is tight

I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh lord

Is it oxygen and nitrogen and other genes? Pathogens and allergens and genes from a bottle and hallucinogens. That's right. You're trippin', dude. Lay off it. Seriously. I know you wanted some sea food and ordered shrimps but you mumble so inarticulately they thought you wanted shrooms. And what's with the last part? Are you such a big fan of fat that you call out for lard?

I've been waiting for this moment, all my life, oh lord

Patience is a virtue. Waiting all your life for one moment is silly though. You could've done some cool shit in the meantime like petting a panda or water skiing naked or sleeping in a bathtub filled with hot water and warm women. 

Can you feel it coming in the air tonight, oh lord, oh lord 

*sniffs air* You pig. Stop laughing out loud. Twice. Ain't funny.

Well, if you told me you were drowning

Couldn't, I was drowning. Had water in my mouth and nose and lungs and other vital organs such as urethra and biceps. We're mostly water so we're drowning all the time anyway. Blrbrlblrblr.

I would not lend a hand

Cheapskate. What about a foot? I'd pay you back in the footure. Honest.

I've seen your face before, my friend

*looks around* lay off the Pornhub. Not healthy.

But I don't know if you know who I am

I know who you are. You have your name written on the thing. But if you ask whether I looked into your soul to know your true self or not… then nah.

Well, I was there and I saw what you did

Shiiiiiiet. Appreciate not calling the cops! You done did me a solid. Maybe I misjudged you.

I saw it with my own two eyes

Glad you specified the amount of eyes. Wouldn't want to give yourself out as a cyclops, what with the hunting season in full swing. Cyclops eyes are more expensive than you realize, see.

So you can wipe off the grin, I know where you've been

Can't a man just be happy he had a nice poo? And I wiped it well. Wait, what?

It's all been a pack of lies

I love Lie's. Especially paprika and onion flavoured. Lie's are the best. Always getting a few packs myself. 

And I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh lord

Yeah, you can.

I've been waiting for this moment for all my life, oh lord

You have.

I can feel it in the air tonight, oh lord, oh lord

You can. You are repeating yourself. Are you OK?

And I've been waiting for this moment all my life, oh lord, oh lord

You have. You are repeating yourself. Are you OK?

Well I remember, I remember don't worry

Oh, alright. Had me going there for a moment, fella.

How could I ever forget, it's the first time, the last time we ever met

When was that exactly? I think I remember that but we haven't really spoken then have we? I'm not one to talk much. I wonder--do you know the reason why I keep my silence up? Do I fool you?

But I know the reason why you keep your silence up, no you don't fool me

Dammit. Smart bastard.

The hurt doesn't show; but the pain still grows

What happened? Hit your toe? I know the pain but it will pass like a gas. 

It's no stranger to you or me

True, we're both familiar to it. I'm WhatsApping it sometimes. It helped me out a lot when I had no money. If it wasn't there I'd still be broke. No pain, no gain.

And I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh lord

So you claim. I hope it came. Holding it in for too long can have negative effects. 

Friday, May 23, 2014


We're all descending
No control
Walking into spaces
Beneath all

Carried by selfishness
Spiraling down
All the good men
Left town

Civilization in ruin
Once so great
Some trying to flee
Too late

End times are nigh
Nothing left
Everything of hope
Equally bereft

No time for goodbyes
Tears shed
Pain and regret over
Lives led

No one will remember
Drown in lakes
As the new generation
Repeats mistakes


No longer pent up inside stood there and watched the chaos It caused. Having its dormant state disrupted by yet another incident It meant nothing else but staying true to its essence. Most of the time It takes a back seat and patiently waits. Lurks on the edges and passes through shadows. Gathers its resources and builds up the strength to make a move.

A soldier that awaits the order to fire. Bullets held back in magazines leave the chamber one by one at relentless pace and fury. They pierce through everything on their path causing irreversible trauma. Rain of fire.

A dam that suddenly finds its rusty steel gates to be wide open. Tides of water that hugged the cold stone walls make their way leaving a calamity in their wake. Tides with foam at their mouths like rabid dogs. A gigantic flood.

A single word or a phrase causes the release. A trigger pulled in a split second. A valve turned in an instant.

What follows is the unmasked face of horrid. Scars from the past cover the grey skin. Veins bulge on the wrinkled and bloodied forehead. The eyes are terrifying. Their obsidian color reflects the time of repression and heavy shackles. A mad laughter leaves the mouth and turns into a vicious roar. It charges through planes without fear or remorse turning the ground into lava with its fiery steps. It emanates uncontrollable rage, waves of which bend and pull out everything in a thousand mile radius. Annihilation.

When It is done It crawls into hiding and goes back to its nest. There It revels in the destruction It caused and looks upon shame that takes its vacant place on the surface. It can bide its time again and rest in the knowledge It will be unleashed soon enough.

As for everything else... The aftermath sees the casings no longer dance on the floor and the stream of water seemingly dried out. Now that the dust has settled the scorched earth sizzles out and pillars of smoke grow thinner and thinner. Heavy rain cuts the still image of a grey sky shortly after. A distorted frame settles in and pans out revealing the tormented scape. Pain and blame can be heard stroking the strings of their sad harps in the distance. Wailing sounds invade the atmosphere, echoing through empty spaces pushing the cold air across the world. Something has to find the strength to plant the seeds of will again...



heavy burden

keep hoping

stops hurtin'

goes away

Monday, May 19, 2014

Mikkelson's Band

"I've no idea. What should we do? Sir?" All eyes were turned to a towering man with a scar running across his face. His scar wasn't actually running across his face as it was mostly stationary. It only moved when the towering man produced facial expressions, like he did just now. And now again.

"Split up. Posen, you go north. Leez, you head south. Oph, check east. Mikkelson, head west. I'll stay here and finish my roasted chicken before those pesky rats claim it," the towering man said and threw a towel over his shoulder.

"Yes, sir! What should we do when we find him?" asked a male man named Mikkelson who was a blond Swede with yellow hair and loved folk music, sweets and expressionism.

"Bring him back, Mikkelson. And be careful. Browser can be dangerous. As dangerous as a volcano or a gun or an angry velociraptor," the towering man who had a towel thrown over his shoulder as he prepared to eat roasted chicken warned everyone who wasn't Mikkelson and he warned Mikkelson as well.

Mikkelson was a Swede. He was of considerable size as his diet was composed mainly of sugar. That's why they called him a Swede and because he was born in Sweden as well. He wasn't a good composer neither of music nor of diet. He was prone to mass food consumption and he was a highway in a sense that he had no limits. His daily calories intake was someone else's weekly calories intake and his outtake was even larger, without needlessly getting into specifics. Needless to say he was prone to clogging up the toilet and causing people to experience the experience of exasperation. He explained that he couldn't control his excrement production standards because the remote to his bowels had fallen behind a sofa. Remote was a great location to be in after Mikkelson had visited the toilet. Toilets absolutely hated Mikkelson. They were crying their porcelain tears and flooded their surroundings making all the tiles around them wet and angry and sad like a worn out umbrella.

Mikkelson had a voice as deep as a very deep well or a hole or Deep Purple. His voice used to echo wherever there was space and circumstances for such phenomenon to occur. Back in his day he was able to sing songs and let his calm voice spread over the room like jam on a slice of bread. He loved jam sandwiches and he loved singing. Back in his day he would perform at nights in bars and small local festivals with his band of equally blonde Swedes who had a penchant for exposing their naked chests and singing songs whilst playing on musical instruments. They were good folk and used to play decent Swedish folk and enjoyed their lives like a human baby would if its brain was developed enough to understand that it is being fed food for free and has its butt cleaned up for it.

Mikkelson's band was almost successful. They were once approached by a small corpulent man who was as tall as small women and turned out to be a record company executive. He was impressed with their performance at the Malmo Music Festival festival.

"I am very impressed with your performance, boys," he told them in Swedish because they were in Sweden, before telling them his name is Erik. "My name is Erik."

"Thanks, Erik," one of the band members, a drummer, replied whilst playing with drumsticks like a ninja with knives or a porn star with someone's anus.

"Seriously, boys, that was impressive. What was your band's name again?" he asked nonchalantly without chaloir.

"Jarl Jam."

"Hmm," Erik mused, "Swear I've heard it somewhere. Weren't you popular back in the day? Heh, heh," he attempted a joke but failed as nobody laughed. Not even his family, who admittedly weren't there at the time.

"We wanted to reflect our Scandinavian roots by incorporating such an important title to our culture as 'Jarl'. As for the second part, our lead singer Mikkelson really loves jam. He wouldn't have it any other way," the bass player explained while nodding his head towards Mikkelson who was making sandwiches with a jelly looking substance in the attic. "You have to reach compromise sometimes. Especially with Mikkelson."

"What was the name of the song that you played? Girls certainly loved it or maybe it was the naked chests. Still a good piece of music," Erik complimented while sitting down on a dark chair that had a long, tiresome life.

"It's called 'Wake Me Uppsala'. It's a song about loss and grief. Sven here," the drummer pointed at a napping blond Swede who fell asleep with a bowl of pudding on his lap and a flute next to his knee. "He realized he lost his wallet when he woke up after a very busy night in Uppsala and was overcome with sadness. When he told us what happened we immediately started writing a song and after we were done we went out looking for the wallet."

"Did you find it?"

Mikkelson's band was almost successful because they were about to sign a big contract with Erik's record company. They were about to make big money, huge piles of cash and hookers and a generous insurance package. They were already planning to spend their newly acquired wealth to help poor people like themselves – themselves. All was going well except for the bass player's diagnosis of leukemia but suddenly they split. They split in a split second as the conflict between the members escalated quicker than an escalator as the latter is rather slow. Mikkelson had a very violent argument with the drummer after which he saw no other option but to leave the group and travel with his parents to America.

"That's it. I've had enough. I'm leaving Jarl Jam and I'm going to travel with my parents to America," he said, as he was massaging his bruised knuckles still sore after the violent disagreement.

"Fine," said the drummer who was still limping a bit even though he wasn't walking right now. "I'm not going to miss you and your crap. We will find another lead singer and will send you postcards from Jarl Jam's world tour."

"You won't know my address," Mikkelson rightly observed.

"Write it here," the drummer pulled down his pants and displayed his bare backside to Mikkelson who was very hungry and had to hurry because he had a dentist appointment. He left without leaving an address on the drummer's naked butt.

Mikkelson hasn't pursued a career in show business ever since. Initially, he felt very upset about the band's collapse and even jam stopped tasting the same. He was sad and disappointed that he failed to fulfill his dream and bemoaned the amount of money he was never going to earn while doing something he loved. This state lasted over three weeks. After he arrived in Seattle he was well over it and began earning plenty of money in his father import-export company which he absolutely loved doing.

Mikkelson has always been an avid enthusiast of timber, hydropower, and iron ore and the fact that his father's company was importing precisely those goods from Sweden to United States made him very happy and reasonably wealthy and almost made him forget Jarl Jam. He can still be heard by his neighbors or burglars humming 'Wake Me Uppsala' in the shower.

As for the rest of the band, they were still looking for a new lead singer when the bass player died aged 20. Shortly after that the pudding loving band member was sent to jail for two years after beating a man half to death with a flute. The drummer put his pants back on and became a mechanic playing with wrenches like a ninja with knives but lost his right arm a year later. The dream of Jarl Jam died and was no longer alive.

Previous chapter:
Browser's Childhood