Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Is that your final guess?

'Thought you'd never ask,' murmured Jim from under his red full cap with a little flashy round logo sewn onto it. A glimmer of madness sparked in his eye as he raised his eyebrows and tilted his face pugnaciously towards T. 

'Well, I am asking. What you've done seems like a very odd thing to do. I'm just puzzled,' explained T, simultaneously scratching his flashy round head and eating a mat square apple. Or was it the other way around? 'And as far as puzzle go, I'm just trying to put the pieces together,' continued T, as he was trying to put the pieces together. 

'Hah!' Jim snorted. He was clearly entertained by the whole conundrum. 'This is entertaining. Tell you what, T. Let's play a game. I'm gonna call it... "Guess"', he proposed as a fiendish grin appeared firmly planted on his face like a nice green plant. 'And guess what: you're gonna have to guess.'

'Oh man. Not this shit again.' T knew what was coming. 'I guess I'm gonna have to guess,' he sighed with a resignation in his voice so heavy, it made a bird fall onto the ground as it reached the flying creature's well hidden ears. The bird dusted off its feathers and looked angrily at the two men. It seemed to weigh the pros and cons and the problems and consequences it would face after killing two people and it ultimately decided against it, then flew away.

'Okay, dude. Let's do this!' Attentive observers would have sworn they saw droplets of saliva jumping for life out of Jim's filthy, excited mouth. 'Welcome to our show! Tonight's contestant number one is almighty T! Hello, T! PLEASE STEP INTO THE GUESS ROOM!' shouted Jim with pride booming in his voice, echoing through canyons and any geographical terrain features with similar characteristics. The atmosphere bounced the sound back towards the planet as it was ashamed of letting this abomination venture into the outer space.

'Alright, Jim, I know the drill.' T was anxious to get the whole ceremony over with as soon as possible. 'I worked on an oil refinery for 3 goddamn years. Let's get this whole ceremony over with as soon as possible.' 

'This is the first and last question,' said Jim, building up the tension and excitement. In his own head. 'Are you ready?'


'Why???' asked Jim, and everyone around them stood in silent expectation. Well, everyone certainly would have if they were there instead of not being there.

'Let's think,' said T, thinking, 'Maybe because you're a fucking lunatic? An absolute asshole of the highest proportions? A humongous prick?' T's answer was well thought out. He didn't leave a stone unturned during the journey to his mental palace.  

'Never took you for much of a Mad Max 2 fan,' said Jim playfully, and quickly retreated to his role of a game show host. 'Are you sure? One hundred percent? Are those your final answers?'

'Yes,' responded T patiently, knowing there is no other way around it than to play along. 'Those are my final answers.'

Jim paused for a second. He could have sworn he could testify via Spotify before a grand jury that he could hear a sound of a beating heart with volume turned up a couple of notches for dramatic purposes. 'Well, T... I know it's been a dramatic show so far. I know you had to dig deep like a miner and you had to journey into the depths of your essence, you had to take a step inside your soul... Sole. Get it? Hah, hah!' said Jim with all the unhealthy arousal of an electrocuted hamster and all the dignity of an undignified but certified bastard.

'No, you get TO it. I'm tired and I need to know why you did it.' argued T, with a sense of anxiety and tiredness. 

'Well, ladies and gentlemen, the correct answers are...' paused Jim to, supposedly, become even more annoying, 'We'll let you know after a quick commercial break. Stay with us!'

'No,' T's face turned both purple and 360 degrees around it's axis. 'This shit won't do. WHY THE HELL DID YOU STEP ON MY CAT, YOU DICKHEAD?'

Tuesday, April 29, 2014

NOIR. 5. Farewell To The Former World

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.

"The Escape"

He knew he didn’t have much time left. He knew he had to hurry. Everything and everyone around him have already said their goodbyes and farewells and those who haven’t were no longer to be granted such an opportunity. He looked up in awe and if he hadn’t had to worry about his life being in mortal danger he would have certainly taken the time to marvel at the sheer beauty of the brutal events occurring in every direction possible. There was something extraordinary about it; an overwhelming feeling of superiority and inevitability. Every attempt, even a thought of an attempt of escaping or avoiding what was to come seemed doomed from the beginning and effortlessly created a staggering impression of futility.

There was a singing poetry to all this, ringing hollowly across acres of space, its dynamic sounds filled with immense vivacity were throwing themselves around while following their chaotic trajectories ultimately echoing throughout the atmosphere. A relentless cacophony of sounds was heard everywhere and nowhere. It was driving people of weaker minds mad to the point where they couldn’t tell what was real and what was just a figment of imagination. Reality eluded them with a devilish grin on its face. Would they have ever recovered from such a condemned state? If only there was time to find out…

As he continued to march briskly having found a sudden spring in his step he noticed something that pierced right through his mind. A gaping chasm has opened in the middle of the soon to be fallen city giving birth to a menacing vortex that quickly began to lay waste to its immediate surroundings. It seemed to devour everything within its grasp. Objects formerly grounded and bound by laws of gravity unwillingly started to defy their former masters. As he stood there stupefied he could have sworn he felt layers of unseen energy gathering around him, following the commands of the gigantic force that was consuming everything. He realized if there was ever a good moment to run, it was now.

He was sprinting past countless buildings all condensed into a set of continuous and undistinguishable grey walls. He felt dizzy and was gasping for breath but he knew he couldn’t stop. Everything was blurred. Every line, every corner, every shape or figure. Nothing seemed to be real anymore. It all looked as if it was warping from one dimension to another, lost and undecided where or whether to anchor or not. He could feel the enormous struggle his dying world had to endure. For how much longer will it hold on, clinging desperately to its last remnants of balance…? What will happen when it loses its ever weakening grip? Will everything just cease to exist or will it prevail in some kind of twisted and distorted basin of scorched earth and slow, agonizing death?

As he reached the end of the line of devastated buildings and structures he turned around to take a final look at his ravaged city he not long ago called his home. It was both a tremendous and terrifying sight. Beacons of light have appeared out of nowhere, consuming the burning heart of the city with no remorse. A massive cloud of smoke and anguish hovered over everything like a predator ready to pounce on its victim, sometimes spewing lightning and raining what seemed to be boiling lava… He knew if he was to survive all this there would be nothing for him back here. Nothing to come back to…

As he was about to disappear into the forest, he was struck by a white flash and an explosion that sent him flying through the bushes. Slowly picking himself up he had no idea what caused it. He found himself engulfed in a bright and flickering mist and noticed everything around him became silent and tranquil. An overwhelming sense of lightness and emptiness took control over his mind. He began to crawl desperately through mud and dirt, slowly beginning to feel an indescribable sense of calm and peace instead of dread and despair. It was as if his body was losing its density, particles he was made of bidding farewell to each other and going their separate ways. He realized he was about to gradually fade out and evaporate from the face of the earth. In his final moments he looked at his hands and right through them he could see tormented ground on the verge of falling apart… Seconds later everything ceased to be and he saw nothing and felt nothing… 

Previous entries:
4. To The Ends Of The World. "To Dream"

Sunday, April 27, 2014

NOIR. 4. To The Ends Of The Earth

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.

"To Dream"

To dream is to change my whereabouts. To use my mind is to create a safe passage over an endless chasm. To close my eyes is to open the gates to another world. To enshroud my surroundings in darkness is to light up another room.

It is to cross a bridge. It is to enter a portal. It is to walk through a door.

It only takes a simple step. A step forward.

To fully appreciate my own world I have to create different ones in my mind. One of the many uses of imagination is to learn and experience things we would never be able to find here. It enhances us in a way through mere acts of witnessing or participation. It helps us know more. It lets us understand many things clearer. Imagination, knowledge, experience and understanding are the four primary values I hold especially dear. Their absence would be devastating. Imagining alternate realities and visiting them is an experience in itself which grants me knowledge unattainable to others—at least my version of it—and allows me to understand what I’m faced with during the time spent in a fully conscious state. So I create worlds and I explore them.

I do it in my dreams.

They are not dreams by dictionary definitions. But how else would I call the state I’m in during blissful moments of drifting away? How would I call all the places, people and events I witness after closing my eyes and letting go of reality while still retaining a hint of consciousness? I’m well aware they aren’t *real* yet I lose myself in them wholly and willingly. How would you call them?

I’ve been to many places. I’ve met many people. I’ve seen many things take place. Perhaps more than I did in the so-called real life. Dreaming doesn’t cost a dime. I don’t have to move anywhere. I don’t have to book a ticket in advance only to have to reschedule last minute because my flight has been canceled. I can leap between places far removed from each other in an instant. I can jump between time and see and analyze situations from changing perspectives. I can meet people or... beings my mind created and breathed life into. I can witness abstract and magical events that I couldn't even begin to explain to someone who wasn't there by my side. I can experience and learn and understand. I can evolve.

I can create entire civilizations and mix and match them with various distinctive realities. I don’t have to write a book or make a movie to see things at their face value. I don't have to have words staring at me suggestively or have images thrown at my face relentlessly. I just have to be there and pay close attention. I just have to embrace the nature of dreaming and imagining and revel in it. I have to— I want to—take from it as much as I have given it. And I have given it everything I had. I propelled it and helped it go on its own way and in return it showed me what lies beyond my sight. It's extremely rare to strike a perfect balance. Yet here it is. I'm grateful.

I can do anything. I can be anyone, anywhere. I’m free to go and do as I please. It feels liberating. It feels right. It’s worth taking the step.

The cause and effect of pain

He felt disgusted with himself.

Suppressed self-loathing and revulsion at what he’s done came rushing in like a new synthetic drug. Quickly overwhelmed by shame and guilt he looked around searching for something desperately. It wasn’t an object or a person. It was a futile search for mercy and acquittal. They were not to be granted, not tonight. He was the only one who could forgive himself and move on. But in his eyes he didn’t deserve that.

An impasse.

He didn't mean any of this to happen. He got lost in a moment. Judgement became clouded and selfishness came to the fore. Words were spoken and the damage was done. Only after taking time to settle down his emotions he realized what happened.

It wasn’t the first time. Carbon copies of such situations happen time and again and are sewn into his life like a thread in a faulty carpet. He’s done it again. He promised it won’t be repeated but as usual the promise was broken. It further drove his disappointment with himself and added another layer of suffering. It was torture.

He blamed himself. Rightly so. The shameful acts he committed loomed over everything else. Their presence lurked in shadows of his mind and hid behind thoughts and ideas. It hampered his every move like a rusty iron chain wrapped around an abandoned dog's neck.

Going back and revising events which led to those unfortunate predicaments is often his undoing. He claims he tries to learn from past mistakes and wants to improve. But there is no solace to be found in going again through this knowledge and experience. There is nothing to be gained. Not anymore. Pain and torment are the only things left.

The sole remaining way to heal the mind is to forget. It takes time. Sometimes more. Sometimes less. Always too much. Remembering is often a lot easier than letting go of unwanted memories. That’s one of the very few things he’s learned.

He never forgets completely. A reflection of his conscience haunts him at night from time to time like a ghost carrying regret and remorse in its cold, transparent hands. He shoos it away with a burning candle. Clinging to its warmth and light helps him fight his demons and survive in the darkness.

Perhaps someday he can be free from all this. He wants to and needs to. For everyone's sake. Unexplained force that drives him to commit shameful acts might evaporate. He wakes up every morning with hope that through hard work and honest dedication he can better himself and get rid of his unwanted traits. Good days that now merely jump across his life's calendar may completely overtake it. He has to believe that. There can be no punishment when there is no offence.

Above all else, he hopes the patience of person he loves won't run out before that happens...

Friday, April 25, 2014

He left a note...

Dear Mr. Executive Director of Administration Management Office,

I hereby resign as the Head of the Department of Contentment Development.

I arrived at this decision on a cold Saturday morning with great regret in my heart after several minutes of careful consideration.

There are many reasons (at least 5) for me to hand in my resignation, and even though this is not Christmas, I will present them to you.

I realize we both started our working relationship on a wrong foot and often took steps we later wished we had not taken.

We all know working in the private sector can be very demanding and exhausting and I certainly feel tired even know as I write this letter while lying on a sofa.

It is known we work in a vicious industry where people elbow each other to gain an advantage over someone else’s disadvantage.

I myself have a nose (some say a 'big' one, for the sake of adjectivization) for that kind of thing.

I have looked at it and seen it with my own eyes what it can do to people.

I went knees deep, even though they are very bad, into the relentless fight that was required to dominate the market.

Even then, I sometimes felt I was being held by the ankles by the Board of Directors which certainly hampered my efforts on many separate occasions.

I often begged them to throw me a bone and tell me what is it that they want of me in some particular situations and cases.

I dedicated myself to this Company as I stood shoulder to shoulder with fellow employees during difficult periods… of recession.

I helped this Company rise and flex its financial muscles that lifted us to the top.

I was armed with knowledge, expertise and experience as I ventured into countless wars and bled, figuratively speaking, for our Company's benefit.

I was the brains behind many of our strategic and successful operations and strategies.

I busted my lungs on more than one occasion especially as there was air of pessimism surrounding our Company in its darkest and chilliest days.

I hope everyone can attest I was always standing on my toes, every time displaying vigilance and alertness to everything that was going on everywhere.

I stuck my neck out many times to battle bad situations for the good of the Company.

But with my excellent qualifications I was sincerely disappointed with the amount of leg work I have been assigned that seemed to stretch into eternity.

Moreover, there were certain ongoing things going on behind the scenes that I did not like and when I approached you about them, you did not even lift a finger.

Of course I do not deny I have made mistakes; I admit that openly and I also beat my chest but not very vigorously as not to suggest I am into that kind of thing.  

I unfortunately regret having to work with people who did not know how to keep their lips shut and ran to your office to place complaints about my methods.

Especially the memory of my altercation with Dick which ended in a dirty scrap is still something I remember.

I have also spent plenty of time pulling my hair out trying to figure out how our Company could have fallen so far away from its values and principles and steered into the deceptive territory of moral bankruptcy.

As a final straw, I have heard whispers being promoted among my employees about me being earmarked for demotion.

I am not one to name any names but it seems loyalty turned out to be my Achilles heel.

It did not sit well with me at all, so I decided to stand up for myself and not lie down before the inevitable, but at the same time I have enough decency to not resort to mouthing off.

I am no longer turning the other cheek to see how hard it’s going to be slapped; as I explicitly stated earlier I am not into that kind of thing.

I am finally done with putting my body on the line only to be persecuted by unjust judgement made by an inadequate jury.

Now the ball is firmly in your court and I expect you to return the courtesy of setting your personal opinions aside and accepting my resignation without hesitation.

My decision is final and there is no possibility of me ever coming back and I hope you understand that as soon as possible.

With regards,
Do not mind me,
Your mind

PS. Kiss my white ass, you asshole. 

Thursday, April 24, 2014

NOIR. 3. And Stars, Ringed

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.

"The Seeds"

A slow breeze was constantly finding its way into my relaxed nostrils. It patted my skin gently with generosity and grace. It was really nice of it, I thought, and I found myself quietly thanking it for such an attention and care. Not to mention it was keeping me alive as well. What have we ever done to deserve this selfless service? Probably nothing. Thanks anyway.

Having lain on the comfortable bed of grass for hours I could’ve sworn it was my favorite activity in the entire known universe. ‘Maybe because it doesn’t require any activity?’ I wondered while I continued to lie on my back, facing and staring into the endless ceiling of matter and antimatter above me. ‘And what about the unknown universe?’ my mind wasn’t to rest easily. ‘Perhaps there's a better activity waiting for me somewhere out there? Something better than lying on the grass? Something that hasn’t even been created yet in our planet's timeline or something that has seen its grand birth and glorious death millennia ago but people of this humble planet may learn of it only long after my death? I guess we couldn’t know,’ I pointed out to myself feeling proud of all the reasoning and logic on display. I’d have patted myself on the back if that part of my body wasn’t so firmly attached to the ground. ‘And it would have been useless to me anyway since I’d be dead already. Oh well.’ It was probably as good a moment as any to drop this deep and contemplative topic.

A small green bird flew not far away from my unsuspecting face. It seemed like a smudge painted lazily on sky’s canvass by an inspired artist. It was promptly followed by a gliding sea of dandelion seeds that felt startled by the sudden motion and decided to fly for their lives in a last ditch attempt to escape, a desperate act of survival. Little did they know, their destination was the exact opposite of living. I could have sworn I’ve heard their helpless cries ring out in funny, cartoon like, high pitched voices. ‘Aaaaaaaa!’ they yelled, while plummeting down to the ground and landing softly next to my hand. ‘Bet they’re pretty pissed off at the dandelion seed guy who told them to get the hell out of there,’ I thought to myself, as usual applying character feats to elements of nature and inanimate objects. It never really made any sense whatsoever. But making sense was rarely the sole purpose. It was the act of entertaining a hypothetical and abstract situation that always gave me a little thrill. ‘”General Taraxacum! You’ve lead us to our deaths, you bastard! The High Council will hear of this when they find our rotting corpses! Everyone knows you were appointed our military leader because your father was the famous and fearless Dan The Lion! Guess what! You’re nothing like him! You will die here with us, your name covered in eternal shame,”’ I suddenly felt engaged in the whole artificial affair, as lines of made up dialogue entered my silly head. I then imagined a violent scrap ensuing with dandelion seeds pushing each other into grass blades and other dandelion seeds breaking up the fight.

As I turned my head away from the suffering dandelion seeds I immediately forgot all about them. They are forever lost to memory. Nobody will cry for them. They'll get stamped on if they're lucky. Nobody will mourn them. Nobody except for their wives and children who stayed in other dandelion seed huts built on top of stalks across this green city. I'd absolutely hate to be the one to break the news to them.

‘If I was in a movie, a smart overhead camera shot would be circling into my direction right now, with its steady angle zooming in slowly but surely,’ I thought to myself, changing the subject. ‘It would focus on either the stark contrast between me and my surroundings or the seamless blending of said two. Depends on the script and scenography. It would then masterfully turn around and pan out up to the sky,’ I continued to contemplate. ‘As if there was a realization that I’m just a tiny force in the face of something much more vast and powerful,’ I theorized. ‘That’s a sweet bit of movie making right there. It tells you a great deal of things without saying a single word. Suggestive. I like it,’ I proclaimed, to the happiness of movie directors all across the world, I’m sure.

And that’s the way in which another entire afternoon flew by. Like a green bird. It seemed like a smudge painted lazily on time’s canvass by an inspired artist.

Other entries in the series

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Bosoms & Buttocks

All your dreams shall come to pass
If you grab some tits and ass
When you sometimes feel harassed
Fight off foes with tits and ass
When you’ve reached critical mass
Hold on tight to tits and ass
After you drank a seventh glass
You’ll sure love those tits and ass
If you’re acting very crass
You ain’t gettin’ tits and ass
When your head gets hit with brass
Heal it fast with tits and ass
You can guess she’s a good lass
If she’s more than tits and ass
If you’re known to let out gas
You can still get tits and ass

So don't give up

Monday, April 21, 2014

NOIR. 2. Sleeping Children Are Still Flying

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.

 "The Glow"

‘Where are we?’ asked Sarah amidst confusion. ‘What is this place?’
‘It looks safe. At least for now.’ replied Katherine with a false note of certainty in her voice. 
‘How can you tell? What does safe even mean anymore?’ Sarah questioned both her friend and herself not expecting neither a true nor a satisfying answer.

Both women began to look around, searching for clues in regards to their current location. Their messy hair, dirt covered faces and ragged clothes gave away a glimpse of their situation: they haven’t been home for quite some time. Moreover, they haven’t seen civilization in weeks. They’ve been out of touch with reality and their lives. They’ve had no rest. Their disheveled looks were telling a distressing story of desperate search for answers and a way back. 

‘I don’t know what to think anymore,’ said Sarah with a sense of resignation in her voice. ‘When will this end? What is the point? I don’t know if I can carry on for much longer.’
‘We have to hold on. We can’t give up. Do you want to just lie down and die?’ countered Katherine, the visibly stronger one of the two.
‘No… but we’ve been jumping between places and… realities… for too long.’ replied Sarah.
‘How long is too long? You speak like this has already happened to someone and there’s a point of reference out there somewhere. We're here now so we have to try and cope somehow.’ said Katherine, trying to reason with frightened Sarah. After the few weeks they’ve spent together she knew it was the best way to make Sarah calm down, if only for a moment.
‘I’m just saying… What if it never stops? Do we live off of scraps we can find and face uncertain future every time we jump?’ Sarah further voiced her concerns. 
‘For now we have to. I know it’s not easy. Do you think it’s easy for me? I’m telling myself things I never would have believed a couple of weeks ago. And I believe there is an end to this. Be patient. Let’s not lose our minds just yet.’ said Katherine as she tried to sound as convincing as she could, both for her and Sarah's sake.

The night was fast approaching. Chilly air surrounded the women, suddenly bringing even more doubt to their worried and tired minds. The sky began to fill itself with ever darkening blue color, quickly displaying its true nature: blackness. A few stars here and there were breaking the perfect black harmony of the sky. They seemed to be disinterested and brought no solace to the weary eyes of the stranded women.

‘We have to find shelter. Let’s head out to this grove.’ Katherine proposed after she noticed a set of strange white trees in the nearby valley. It was the only distinguishable place among the endless sea of land. In normal circumstances she would have stayed far away from such mysterious and eerie looking place but now she thought they need any cover they can get. After all, these weren’t ordinary circumstances.

‘What if we’re being punished?’ asked Sarah on the way to the grove, slowly getting more and more anxious. 
‘Punished for what?’ replied Katherine ‘I don’t think we deserve any more punishment than anyone else does.’
‘What if it happens to everyone? What if at some point we all have to go through this hell? Our own personal hell?’ Sarah was not one to drop the topic quickly.
‘I don’t think we’ll ever know for sure,’ said Katherine, carefully trying to find the right words. ‘We’re all capable of terrible things. Do you believe if we somehow avoid consequences of our actions the universe will eventually make us catch up with what we’ve done and face judgment?’ asked Katherine firmly. Sarah did not reply. She decided to think about it in silence. It's what they both did most of the time during their exile. Think. 

As they reached and entered the grove they felt a bit safer even though there was no particular reason to do so. Safer than ever before in the past few weeks, as they’ve both acknowledged to each other without saying any words. They headed into the center of the grove, as if some unseen force was pushing them there. The women stayed close to one another, treading slowly and carefully. They were feeling an immense fear of being left alone; stranded. For weeks they had to rely only on themselves. If they lost that, they thought, it's hard to imagine what would have happened. Certainly nothing good. As they proceeded ever deeper into the grove, passing through white trees they’ve never seen before, they noticed something in front of them. Sarah grabbed Katherine’s hand and they slowly made their way to the center of the grove. 

They arrived at a pool of pristine water, above which there was a tremendous glow which casted bright light upon both women and everything around them, resonating with certain restrained warmth and... kindness? In the middle of the oval shaped glow Sarah and Katherine noticed a slight shade of darkness, a dim patch, as if it was a padlock keeping the unseen door firmly sealed.

‘I’ve never seen anything like this,’ said Sarah in awe. ‘I think it’s… beautiful.’
‘It is… I have no idea what it is. But it feels different to anything we’ve seen so far.’ admitted Katherine, while examining the glow carefully.
‘It emanates warmth and…’ Sarah gathered her thoughts. ‘In a way it feels like something I recognize. Something from before our “journey”.’
‘All I know is I want to be here, I want to stay close to it. I feel safe here.’ said Katherine, this time without any hints of uncertainty in her voice. Women sat on the inviting grass and wondered what is so special and familiar about this eerie phenomenon in front of them.

‘You asked me earlier if I think we all have to go through our own personal hell at some point,’ said Katherine to now calm and collected Sarah. ‘Maybe. But this is not hell. It feels more like a purgatory.’
‘I think so too. We’ve been through a lot and it made me understand some things about myself,’ replied Sarah with unfamiliar to Katherine certainty in her voice. ‘I know I’ve done bad things in my life. I know I’m guilty of lies and neglect and deception. I hurt people who I care about and who care about me.’ 
‘There’s plenty of things I’m not proud of either,’ agreed Katherine. ‘If this has been a way of making me recognize my shortcomings I can’t argue with that,’ she continued: ‘We barely slept, barely ate, and barely kept our minds straight. But here we are. In front of this… shining light. Whatever it is.’ The amazement on her face whenever she looked upon the hovering beam of light was evident. 
‘I know what you are saying. And I don’t think we would have made it here if we haven’t had each other. I know I was the weaker one of us two and you kept me going. Thank you, Katherine.’ said Sarah, with all sincerity in her voice and look.
‘Don’t thank me. I needed you here as much as you needed me. I wish there was a way for us to fix our mistakes in our past lives. To do what’s right by people we love. No excuses.’ replied Katherine.
‘I fear it’s too late. I fear we wasted our lives and we deserve nothing.’ said Sarah with tone of regret in her voice.
‘Oh how I wish…’ Katherine started to say but was interrupted by something entirely unexpected.

Suddenly the glow became stronger and brighter. The darkness has unexplainably abandoned it without a flicker of emotion. No anger or disappointment. It was more of a relief as if it was saying ‘finally’. Sarah and Katherine had no idea what it meant and they observed the captivating event with uncertainty and confusion. The glow slowly began to emanate a humming noise, gently pulsating and taking its time to revel in its own harmonious arrangement. Women looked at each other and stepped closer with both hope and curiosity overtaking their minds. 

And then it struck them. They were presented with a set of distorted images inside the glow. The images of… their lives. The people they loved and cared about. Katherine saw her mother and Sarah saw her husband and children. As the glow grew larger and larger, expanding way above the grove of white trees they suddenly understood it all. They knew what they had to do. Lessons were learned. A second chance… For the last time they looked at each other and nodded to one another in recognition of their friendship and connection, with glimpses of optimism and hope in their eyes. Without hesitation they stepped through the glow...

Other entries in the series

Sunday, April 20, 2014

The cruel dual rule of the fool is a cool tool

I am using an amusing musing as I let out a mellow hello on a yellow cello to a bellowing fellow outside a bordello while I eat pork with a fork after work and I uncork the wine, not moonshine, as I wait in line to dine on divine bovine I smell pine; it’s past nine, where are you, Clementine?

She’s a duchess in her britches who draws sketches in batches, her face slightly twitches while it itches as she watches and scratches and snatches and fetches a peasant on crutches and switches the stitches while burning witches and throwing bitches into ditches or hatches with closed latches, that’s how she of people dispatches, no escaping her clutches.

Inside she is good slightly misunderstood although a bit prude sometimes can be rude and if I could then I should and I would *interlude* improve her mood, she makes great food and gives me wood.

We never fight; our love is bright as a light as we embark on a flight with Messrs. Wright in great height (higher than a kite), what a sight in the night I can’t quite feel right: it’s a fright, as we might explode like dynamite and we did, oh shite!, it wasn’t slight, what a plight, someone call Knight Dwight, as she and I our lips bite it’s our last rite, can’t write, hold on tight, who’s this wight, I see white…

Saturday, April 19, 2014

NOIR. 1. Our Hearts Of Ruin

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.

"The Hill"

They are walking slowly, hand in hand, their heads facing upward, on a hidden footpath that leads all the way to a gently lit hill. It's a captivating sight as the hill seems to be willfully overlooking everything there is with a tremendous sense of understanding and patience. Chilly grass that accepts the pair's footsteps on the path is bent down slightly, resting its blades among the vast sea of green as if it was a one great pillow. How long has it been since the last time someone treaded on the forgotten path? The hill is awaiting their arrival eagerly, having spent most of its life in perfect solitude. It seems to be inviting the pair, whose delicate steps now barely touch the enshrouded in gentle mist ground as they edge ever closer and closer to their desired destination. The distinguished night around them creates an impression of resting its mind, just for a bit, for a couple of seconds. Tiny yet significant seconds, droplets of time, falling down and forming lakes that surround the hill from all sides, connected both above and below the silent soil.

As soon as they enter the mysterious clearing atop of the peaceful hill, their surroundings start spinning suddenly yet seamlessly, making them look in awe at the dance of figures and shapes and colors. Trees joined in a grove have formed a circle around the clearing back in the times no one has any memories of anymore. Enormous trees with benevolent faces bow down and examine the pair keenly with hidden curiosity and silent kindness. Their gorgeous branches seem to be extending a warm welcome to the revered guests, at the same time expressing their joy caused by the unknown pair’s unexpected arrival. Or perhaps they were being expected? Marvelous leaves have sprung to life on the branches and began presenting their exquisite look of thousands of little mirrors with thousands of petite smiles reflected in each one of them.

Gentle summer breeze now fills the spaces between the pair and their welcoming hosts. Its silent whispers cannot be heard yet there is no denying their calming presence. The mellow air they breathe in has the taste of something grand yet something humble and modest and reserved exclusively for those two people in that exact place in their lives. A faint light shines shyly yet firmly upon the quiet clearing, leaving no room for unwanted shadows or doubt. It shows them what they need to see. It shows them who they need to see.

The moment they look up to the sky, facing the same direction, staring and observing the same space in time, the same place in the unknown universe makes them realize everything around them has slowed down to a crawl. They feel they opened a wonderful chamber of time beside time itself and they can carry it along with them wherever they desire. It’s their minuscule pocket of space they share where they can find each other whenever they want to. They become encompassed by tranquility and peace of mind as they feel an unbreakable connection, a profound bond.

They close their enamored eyes and open them again and look closely at each other. They can see delicate reflections of enchanting stars that circle slowly above them on the dark blue sea of a night sky. Their luminous faces are glowing with happiness and joy, mutual understanding and unmistakable sense of unity. Simple touch shared by their carefree hands becomes a subtle entity, standing both beside and inside of them. Simple touch they share makes them absorb the feeling they both share and the people they both are. They KNOW each other. They ARE each other.

They wish the beautiful night would never end. It won’t. It will live forever in their joined minds and it will calmly keep them and their hopeful worlds together in a caring embrace. They will never forget the hill and the hill will never forget them.

Other entries in the series

Friday, April 18, 2014

Hour arts of ruin


I don’t know a whole lot about hearts. Certainly not more than I know about spades, diamonds or clubs but on second thought I know more about hearts than about spades, diamonds or clubs. You can dig a hole with a spade. You can be a bad person and mine diamonds in Africa. You can party in clubs. But that's about it. I know a whole lot more about hearts than that. I stand corrected. Actually I’m sitting now but that’s the universally used phrase so I'll roll with that (I won't, I'm sitting. I'd have to lie down to roll). Who am I to tell you any different? I’m just me, myself and I, except when someone else is referring to me in second or third person, then I’m ‘you’ or ‘he’.

Anyway. I digress.

I know that hearts are red. It’s a solid choice of color. Red’s really rad. It’s a color highly concentrated on being focused. When you see red you see red; rest is just a background noise (sight) that you can hear (see) in the background, resting. There are things that are red and things that aren’t red. Red is such a superior color that it makes green jealous and blue sad. Hearts are red. They are pretty damn great.

I’m personally of an opinion that hearts are pretty damn great. I back this sentiment by an argument that hearts pump blood through your body and generally speaking keep you alive. They make you tick. They are of grave importance. Them and their pals: veins and arteries face an uphill battle every day. They are seasoned mountaineers. They climb the mountain of human existence for a living. If your heart was to stop, you would die. And trust me; there are better ways to spend your life than dying. At least up to the point where you just have to die. No escaping that one, brother. Until then; yeah.

Our hearts are excellent. Our hearts are like a heavy weight boxing champion. No, not a champion of putting things in a square container. Boxing. Sport. They hand out one hell of a beating, day in day out. Night in, night out. On the day the organ forms in our tiny little bodies hidden inside our mothers’ wombs, someone says something about rumbling and someone else puts red (see?!) boxing gloves on your heart and lets it loose in the ring. You can hear the bell. Round one.

Our hearts are filled with blood. Hot, red, red hot sticky blood that runs (actually, as it doesn’t seem to have developed lower limbs, it flows) through our body. I often wonder how is that possible, considering that blood consists heavily of iron. Can you make your favorite shirt look nice with blood? I don’t think so. You would have to wash your favorite shirt again after ironing. Which means you would have to iron it again. It's a vicious, bloody circle. If you want to iron clothes stick to that iron thing machine device and leave blood to do its primary job: keeping you alive. And try not to lose it, dude.

Anyway. I digress.

People who enjoy being alive should cherish their hearts and be grateful to them. People should take care of their hearts: eat well and sing them songs in a calming voice that calms the seawaves waves on sea. People should bake them a glorious cheesecake that has a distinguishable vanilla and lemon aroma (but only in reasonable amounts; you don't want to kill your heart) and say a couple of nice words like 'Hey heart, you're nice' from time to time. Else your hearts will be in ruins. That would come out as an undesirable outcome for all the parties and it would certainly ruin your weekend.

If I was living in Central America centuries before colonization of the continent I would gather up a group of like-minded folk: hearts enthusiasts. We would greet ourselves with hearty hellos and we would build shrines and altars to all the hearts. We would make sacrifices to them and chant chants. “Oh ye mighty Heart. Look kindly upon us for we bear you this gift of some description.” *slices the gift’s throat*

And now our civilization of prophets of hearts would be in ruins. The fading memory of our once great culture would be preserved merely in ancient ruins and skeletons. That kind of ruins it. Except it doesn’t, not really. We were there. We’ve seen some shit and we loved our hearts. Until other people came here and brought silly clothes, funny languages and guns and diseases.

As my final admission hear this: my heart was my favorite heart. Is that selfish? It’s not. It certainly isn't heartless. I don’t think so. Now another one is my favorite and it also became mine which is confusing. My previous heart was stolen from me some time ago. I know the perpetrator and I don’t mind. The perpetrator can keep it for as long as they wish. Just keep it warm and comfortable, okay? Give it a blanket and some cocoa, would you? I’ll do the same for yours (which is now mine; it's confusing). No ruins; no extinction; no fading; let’s keep our hearts alive and let them prosper. Let them pump that blood like a water pump that pumps blood and beat like Dr. Dre.

One day they will stop but at least we will get a good run. Or a good walk. Yeah, I prefer walks. They're a walk in the park. There's no running out of time.

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Genuine Investigator (2)

Genuine Investigator Season Two Excerpts, Part Two
Starring: Det. Matthews, Det. Barkley

M: “It’s been eight weeks, Barkley. You got done pretty good, huh? Comin' back soon?”
B: “If I known you for being a betting man, you’d bet. I feel like a comet circling back towards Earth. Been a long time. Those bastards are still out there.”
M: “They are.”
M: “We got a fresh lead. A relative of one of the previous victims, Barton Leslie, tipped us off about…”
B: “Wait, wait, wait. Leslie? Are you sure?”
M: “I am.”
B: “I heard someone say that name on the night I got shot.”
M: “And you’re only mentioning this now?!”
M: “You sure you up for this?”
B: “I’m up for this and I’m down with that, as the kids say these days.”
M: “You’re not a kid, Barkley.”
B: “We’ve been driving for six hours straight. Why do people live so far away from each other? They should all live in one place.”
M: “That would suck some major balls, Barkley.”
B: “You’re probably right. We wouldn’t have to drive for six fucking hours though.”
M: “Fair enough.”
M: “What the hell is this thing?!”
B: “Looks like a machine of doom, wreaking havoc upon this very world.”
M: “That wasn’t my first thought.”
M: “The Chief was pleased with our work there.”
B: “Feels like we’re flying through particularly dark clouds. The sun is behind them. I can feel it.”
M: “How so?”
B: “Gut feeling.”
M: “The same gut in which you got shot?”
M: “This runs deeper than we thought.”
B: “We’re gonna need a bigger shovel to dig through this mud.”
M: “My shovel is big enough.”
B: “Matthews.”
B: “Can’t believe he gave them up.”
M: “Told you I’m good at interrogations.”
B: “You did tell me that.”
M: “Told you. Let’s go.”
M: “This has been going on for too long. It ends here. Now.”
B: “We've got the area surrounded. No one is sneaking past the firm grip of law enforcement.”
M: “They’ve done it before.”
B: “Not tonight.”
M: “Great work there, buddy.”
B: “Indeed. We had each other’s backs.”
M: “We did. Think we deserve a medal or something.”
B: “If that something is a shot of whisky I’m all for it right now.”
B: “You know what I’ve learnt from all this?”
M: “What have you learnt, Barkley?”
B: “A lesson.”
M: “You’re like a fucking baby sometimes. What lesson?”
B: “That we can’t always win. We can’t prevent every bad thing from happening.”
M: “But?”
B: “But we can prevent some of them. We can catch those responsible and bring them to justice.”
M: “Sounds about right, Barkley.”
B: “And that’s exactly what we’ve accomplished here. We took down the sharks that were biting at society’s heels.”
M: “Sharks would bite your fucking legs off.”
B: “They would. But we shot them down with the harpoon of justice.”
M: “Did you really just say that? Fuck me.”
B: “What?”
M: “You’re even worse after scotch, my friend.”

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Genuine Investigator (1)

Genuine Investigator Season Two Excerpts, Part One
Starring: Det. Matthews, Det. Barkley

Matthews: “I’ve never seen anything like this, Barkley.”
Barkley: “I’ve seen something worse during my days back in the Chicago PD.”
M: “Yeah? How so? What was it?”
B: “Some teenagers got caught under a train that flew off the bridge.”
M: “Grim.”
B: “Yeah.”
B: “Well, what leads do we have? What are we thinking?” 
M: “I don’t know what you’re thinking, Barkley, but I’m pretty sure the world’s fucked up. We’ve got the evidence of that. Plenty of it.”
B: “Truer words never spoken. Well, there probably were truer words spoken before but I said that to indicate my agreement with your statement.”
M: “You’re a complicated fella.”
M: “Are you sure this is the place? This warehouse looks like any other warehouse.”
B: “That’s the point, Matthews. Camouflage.”
M: “Smart.”
B: “Okay. We got something here. Ready to go to the Chief with it? I say it could use some more seasoning and cooking.”
M: “I’m not a good cook, Barkley. Let’s go.”
M: “There’s more than one of them.”
B: “There are at least two of them.”
M: “That’s what I said.”
M: “Did you run down the plates?”
B: “Not yet. I was too busy marveling at the meticulousness of the crime. It’s like a piece of art and the authors aren’t understood.”
M: “Oh I understand them alright. 'We’re fucked up fucks' they’re saying.”
B: “Did you get him?”
M: “I think I hit his arm!”
B: “That was close. Let’s try to find the blood trail. He couldn’t get that far.”
M: “What’s on your mind, Barkley?”
B: “I often wonder what’s the point.”
M: “The point of what?”
B: “Everything.”
M: “That’s fucking specific. You're like the goddamn Specific Ocean.”
B: “Like when waves crash against the sand or when trees grow leaves and then drop them for winter only to grow them again in spring or when a person gets so mutilated you can only identify them by their teeth. Doesn’t that make you wonder?”
M: “Wonder what?”
B: “What’s the point of everything.”
M: “No.”
M: “We can’t be far off, Barkley. We gotta keep on pushin’.”
B: “Like we’re pregnant. I can see the head of the baby, let’s get the rest of it out in the open.”
M: “We’re dealing with a heinous crime, Barkley, not childbirth. You need to work on your analogies.”
B: “There’s no time. Actually, there is time and it’s of the essence.”
M: “We found some old bodies. Similar MO.”
B: “Damn. Let’s go through the old records. And I’m not talking Frank Sinatra.”
M: “Never been a fan anyway.”
M: “We should call this in. Get back up.”
B: “OK. But there’s no time to wait. Call it in and let’s go. They can jump the sinking ship if they notice the leaks.”
M: “What’s that mean?”
B: “They’ll run.”
M: “We know you’re here! Come the fuck out!"
M: “Barkley? Barkley???”

Hoe & Ale TV

Love is a phenomenon that occurs in human world. Humans love things. Humans love themselves. Humans love each other. Other humans love some humans but not every other human loves all the humans. Only some of them do and most of them love only a few humans. And each one of them is nice because loving is nice. It’s nice and loving. It’s nice and sweet and warm like a blueberry pancake on a Saturday morning.

Blueberry pancakes are very sweet and tasty irrespective of time and day of them being served. A lot of people love them. But blueberry pancakes do not love people because blueberry pancakes do not have sufficiently developed brains. Some scientists argue that pancakes do not have brains at all; that they are just a mixture of eggs, milk, flour and some more flour that flourishes in a frying pan. This tells us that only entities with brains can love. Can animals love? Maybe. But not as consciously as humans do.

Humans understand love but they don’t understand love. They love love and other people and things. It’s great that this exists because it’s nice and is not bad.

People claim that love can be unconditional. Especially in families. But what about abusive families? What about parents who do not shy away from a bottle? Parents who have a crisis of life which they try to remedy by sipping on Hennessy? It’s always children who suffer. Are they loved by their parents? Not enough. Imagine this situation:

Existential Crisis Alcoholic Parent: 'What is love?!!!'
Baby: 'Don’t hurt me!'

Do they love each other? Not enough. This is not good and it is sad and bad.

Sometimes you have to work on your love so it becomes beautiful like love and life and flowers. It smells nice when you breathe it in. Two people bound by love are beautiful people. Beautiful like love and life and flowers and freshly cut grass and a colorful bird. Love inspires, love binds, love hurts, love lives lives, dies deaths and is born again. Love is like a phoenix. It does not mean it originates from Arizona. It means it rises again. If you lost your love it can be found again among ashes because that's where phoenixes rise from. Keep your ashtrays close but don't take them on a motorcycle ride because they are useless there and make sure you don't smoke. Smoking kills and is uncool. Only pricks smoke and nobody should love them. Not even their parents. And if their parents smoke too then they deserve each other.

So as we can see love can be a very complicated subject. It can also be an object if it is acted upon by the subject in a sentence.

Love receives an ‘s’ added at the end when it is used in the third person singular form in present tense and a ‘d’ at the end when it is used in all the people forms in past tense. This part of love only adds to its overall complex complexity that is not simple by any stretch of the imagination.


Hate is a phenomenon which occurs in human world. Humans hate things. Humans hate themselves and they hate each other. Hating is not nice. Hating is bad. Hating is like a smashed up rotten grapefruit that had a really bad day: full of bitterness and anger and bad smell. Hate is fueled by anger and frustration and jealousy and makes you hate things becuase you are angry, frustrated and jealous.

Humans hate a lot of things but most of all they hate other humans. Hatred among humans is the most developed and cultivated type of hatred and a lot of people seem to take great care in taking care of their baby child hatred. They let it suck their tits and they give it toys and candy and pay for its education until it graduates and goes its own way with their parents' blessing and pride. Then they make a new hate becuase life without hate is empty for them like an empty basket or an empty jar of pickles eaten out by a person who really loves pickles or indeed any other empty container like an empty can or something emptied by binmen who hate their jobs on a misty and chilly morning.

Humans do not only hate humans. Humans hate events and things and abstract concepts like hate or love or unpunctuality. There is nothing more humans hate than someone not showing up on time or bus being late or Holocaust or slavery.

In contemporary vocabulary used in modern society by modern society well versed in contemporary vocabulary, someone who hates something is labelled a label: 'hater'. It's a concept of personification of a concept. You take hate, hate and that makes you a hater of the aforementioned something. There is a lot of haters not only out here but out there as well. They hate things like bad music and bananas and Denver Broncos. Which shows that haters are often unreasonable in their hatred because who would hate a banana? That's crazy. It's bananas.

Hate can be very similar to love in some cases. Primarly in the nominative but not only. Similarly to love, hate receives an ‘s’ added at the end when it is used in the third person singular form in present tense and a ‘d’ at the end when it is used in all the people forms in past tense. They are like brothers or sisters or twins from Thailand. But are they? They are not because love comes from Old English meatloaf lufu and hate comes from Old English Haitian hatian. So in a way they are brothers or sisters or twins but not from Thailand - they are from Anglo-Saxon areas which renders them Anglo-Saxon twins. So similar yet so different.

Hate is also a very strong emotion that often lurks in ventilation shafts of buildings that are actually human beings and not buildings (because it's only a metaphor) because people have to vent their hatred from one time to another time. Which is a good and not a bad thing because you don't want it piling up inside of you and make you burst like a bubble with your intestines falling on the faces of your relatives and loved ones making their favourite clothes dirty. They would hate that.

Friday, April 11, 2014

Better times (1)

There was a time when everything was great. Wild animals ruled the cities and we lived in forests and deserts. There were free blowjobs and painless deaths. We used to surf on sound waves and swim in sun beams. There was no war, no peace and no no. It was only yes. Yes, I remember. My memories of the past reach as far as my memory can remember memories.

Wind used to sing us songs about happiness and joy. There was plenty of happiness and joy so the wind had a lot to sing about. It had a very good voice. We did not know how the wind wound up with it. It was a gift. We did not question it; we embraced it. It made our lives swerve left and right, up and down on a stave of time and so we were creating a beautiful song. Together and apart. It felt like we were jumping from notes to notes like monkeys jump from branch to branch. 

Rain used to not rain. It was held in such high regard that a rain meeting ground was something truly terrible and frightening. It was sacrilege. We felt ashamed. So we made it our priority not to let the droplets drop. We suspended them mid-air with the collective force of mind waves. It was not always easy. It required a lot of mental strength. Sometimes it was exhausting. But it was worth it. 

Snow used to snow all year. It used to never snow. It snowed if you wanted it to and it did not if you did not want it to. How did that work? We did not know. Nobody knows snow. Snowflakes liked to land on lakes and mountains and trees. They loved being looked at in awe. Snow used to smile at us with its white smile and made us more relaxed, more chilled out. I miss snow. It was inspiring. 

Sun… Sun used to shine in many colors. It used to shine a bright shine unlike the shine of moon. It gave us warmth and shed light upon our paths. We did not wander into unknown: visibility was perfect. It was the opposite of pitch black. It was pitch white. It was pitch yellow, blue, red, green, purple and orange. It was pitch amazing. It was overwhelming. Indescribeable. Irreplaceable. Intimate in its relations with every one of us.