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Had a dream, went like this:
Mar. 29th, 2007 | 06:48 pm
The bat slipped in the sweat on The Boy’s palms. With parched lips, he waited for the pitch. When it came, he was ready. Louder even than the thumping of his heart, the crack of the bat echoed out across the field. Silence followed the ball’s flight into the blue expanse. It tore apart the air, lanced through the clouds, and slammed into the sky.
Shattering into a million tiny shards, the sky fell from the heavens and sliced into the ground. Whispers of prayer and impossibility thrummed through the onlookers like a taught guitar string. No one moved until, with a few gasps from the assembled, a small girl stepped forward from the humming crowd to examine the fallen pieces of the sky. The buzz of chatter died. The girl alone moved on the field, and a hundred pairs of eyes followed after her. She bent down and stroked a shining sliver of blue. With a gasp she drew back. A slow river of crimson snaked a path down her finger and yielded a single drop that released itself from her body.
A muffled, bass thud announced the disappearance of The Boy’s world into black. All that was left to see was the falling scarlet tear that hung in front of The Boy’s nose. So slowly it fell, it seemed to stop, and while it floated down it began to change.
Much to The Boy’s amazement, the droplet flattened and curved until it was blood no longer. It had become the velvet petal of a rose. When the petal did stop its perpetual fall, ripples of glistening black jumped out from underneath. The Boy saw he was standing on a massive body of black water blanketed by the blackest sky. He could not discern the horizon for both the sky and the water melded together into one mass of darkness.
His gaze returned to the petal to find that tendrils of the dark ocean had reached up to consume it. At once a terrible emotion violated the sanctity of his mind. An unbridled fear ran rampant in The Boy’s soul. It gripped his heart and sucked the air from his lungs. He could not move. Soon The Boy was aware of a smell on the still, cold air. Within minutes everything smelled of decayed flesh. The Boy cried for help but the stench stifled his voice, muting his call. On his left the water began to ripple and tremble. Out from the depths rose a girl about The Boy’s age. Her name wrenched itself into his head, causing him to writhe and scream in pain.
Death. Death was her name and death stood from the black water. Her eyes were chasms of evil, drilled into her skull. Her bones were covered in loose, corporeal flesh. Black hair hung from her scalp like slime and glistened in the invisible light. Lurching forward, swollen joints screeching, Death stumbled toward the life she craved so much. The Boy screamed. No sound escaped his lips but the sea beneath his feet vibrated outward as if his silent plea had disturbed it. The water frothed and a crack of thunder was heard without the comfort of a lightening flash. Death quickened her pace and forced a hoarse shout from a mouth without a tongue. Leaping into the air she grabbed for the boy in an effort to consume him but froze, floating in the dead air.
Peace slipped onto his soul like a silk chemise. No longer afraid, The Boy peered over his shoulder and saw yet another girl. If not for her immeasurable beauty, she could have been Death’s identical twin. Preparing himself for another name to tear into his heart and mind, The Boy was surprised to feel this girl’s name trickle into his soul like warm sweet water. Life. Life was her name and she amazed The Boy.
She was clothed in a dress sewn from the softest rose petals and her neck was encircled with a simple necklace of dark red steel. Her lips were full and matched her clothing in color. She lowered her hand that had, until now, been held palm out toward Death. Death went limp and slowly sank to the water. Together the two girls moved to one another, Death lurching through the black and Life treading above it.
When they were within reaching distance of each other, they stopped. Holding his breath, The Boy watched Life and Death touch hands and heard as all things created and yet to be made gathered a voice and cried out. The sound rocked The Boy’s bones. Voices older than time rumbled in his chest. They spoke a language that reeked of knowledge, each word more powerful than the last. The Boy thought it would never end and he would die from the power coursing through his veins when, for the first time since he had arrived, The Boy saw a flash of pure white light and his eyes were blinded for an endless second.
When at last his sight returned, he saw The Girl. The two, Death and Life, had touched to create her and here she stood, The Girl who had been cut by the sky. Though not as beautiful as Life, she was not as hideous as Death. The Boy could only stand in wonder and awe as he saw, not as we see, but truly saw, how the mix of good and evil has dug deep into our souls and is in a constant battle for control. The Girl came forward and stood before The Boy. In her hand was the velvet rose petal and in its middle sat a drop of black water.
Taking his hand, she covered the petal and water in her own palm. She smiled for a brief moment before another white flash enveloped the two of them. Sweet whispers emanated from their hands and liquid light pulsed from their fingers, dripping into the water below and shimmered with a golden luster. As the flash abated, The Girl pulled away from The Boy and left him holding a dainty red pearl. It glowed with inner fire in his palm, but left his skin unburned. The Girl waved her hand airily and pointed The Boy toward a red sandstone pillar that had seemingly risen from nowhere. The Girl kissed him lightly and, pushing firmly, herded the boy closer to the pedestal.
In the middle of the flat mesa top of the column was a small dent, just big enough for the pearl to fit into. Slowly and with reverence, The Boy placed the pearl into its home and watched as things began to change again. The pearl became a white baseball. The pedestal’s surface extended outward and became a grassy field.
Up sprang an old, rusty chain link fence that separated The Boy from the ball. Homerun. The crowd cheered and The Boy made his jog around the bases. Looking up, he saw what, for the rest of his days, would be invisible to everyone but him; a jagged hole in the sky.
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ABC Darius 2
Mar. 29th, 2007 | 06:39 pm
Eight hundred times
Beat the feet on the sand and the
Sea shimmers off the beach as it witnesses
Deeds of greed not
Even a mother could love and the
Effect it has on your heart reminds you of your
Genes and your lust for gold
Etched with ancient faces that
Eye you through the centuries and look so
Jaded with their billowing
Capes of silk and
Elevated states of being which require titles like "Your
Eminence" and gifts of
Interesting toys, moutains of tribute,
Opals and rubies but the
People around you don't care, they're just
Queuing up to hold that wealth in their tattooed
Arms and maybe
Estrange themselves from their humble lives of stale bread and bad
Tea and perhaps buy themselves a little piece of
Utopia as a
Vehicle to happier days but their hopes are almost enough to
Double you over in tears because they're
Excited over cash that'll soon be blown on beer and
Wine during the
Zenith of their celebrations.
Beat the feet on the sand and the
Sea shimmers off the beach as it witnesses
Deeds of greed not
Even a mother could love and the
Effect it has on your heart reminds you of your
Genes and your lust for gold
Etched with ancient faces that
Eye you through the centuries and look so
Jaded with their billowing
Capes of silk and
Elevated states of being which require titles like "Your
Eminence" and gifts of
Interesting toys, moutains of tribute,
Opals and rubies but the
People around you don't care, they're just
Queuing up to hold that wealth in their tattooed
Arms and maybe
Estrange themselves from their humble lives of stale bread and bad
Tea and perhaps buy themselves a little piece of
Utopia as a
Vehicle to happier days but their hopes are almost enough to
Double you over in tears because they're
Excited over cash that'll soon be blown on beer and
Wine during the
Zenith of their celebrations.
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ABC Darius 1
Mar. 29th, 2007 | 06:30 pm
A cloud may
Be the only thing you can
See on the horizon that is
Devoid of the sun which has been
Eaten by the mist so
Effortlessly, but your faith in
Jesus holds you steadfast until
“Aytchoo,” and it blows up in your
Eye and you find yourself in a cage like a
Jay bird with everyone calling you a nut
Case because that’s the way the
Elements of this world work,
Emulating an
Entrance into a Hitler-esque cycle of
Oppressing all the poor
People who think they’re so
Cute but really they
Aren’t, they’ve just been over
Estimating whether or not their perfect
Teeth are really
Useful in
Vetoing the rules of their mothers and grandmothers, those
“Double-ewes,” that never do anything
Exciting but don’t ask me
Why because my answer is worth
Zero in this place.
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first post
Mar. 29th, 2007 | 04:02 pm
location: Home
mood: anti-vicious
music: Relient K
Another sunny day on my little island paradise. If only I could convince the rest of the natives to revolt and chase the tourist scourge from our city. But alas, tourists are rich and they supply my paycheck every two weeks. I really should be doing my laundry. The only remaining clean clothes I have are long-sleeved shirts and a pair of jeans that don't fit. I ran out of underwear a week ago, but I've been raiding my brother's drawers and have been able to survive.
I don't know what I'll do with this journal.
Most teenage journals are riddled with poison and angst. Enough to not only kill a horse, but to make it spontaneously combust. Not much worse in this world than the sound of screaming horses. Maybe that's why kids are so Emo these days. They're exhuming their Emo because of the dying horses and the horses are dying because of all the Emo in the air. It's a vicious circle.
A vicious circle....
I fought one of those before. Hand to hand. Of course, being a vicious bastard, it pulled a knife on me. I had to break it's radius. Quite sad really. Would have liked to have gotten out without spilling any Pi. Especially considering that once Pi starts spilling, it never stops. Ugh. What a mess.
I've been reading a lot of Katherine Mansfield lately. For school and pleasure. She intrigues me. It seems to me that she had a lot of animosity for men. In all her stories, she describes men as uncaring and philandering weenies. I would like to think that if we had met, I would have altered her take on the male gender. After all, I'm a great big sweetheart. I am very dissapointed she had to die so young. Tuberculosis. If she had lived longer, she might have met a sweetheart like me and wouldn't have died with such a sour view of men.
Maybe maybe.
Maybe she was actually a scout for an alien race bent on global domination and when she died early in life after having studied us by becoming a female author and contracting an Earth desease the alien mother-ship forgot she existed along with our planet and because she died we have nothing to fear from evil forces lurking in the corners of the inky black abyss.
Run-on sentences are amazing. They take skill, I'll tell you what.
My search for a woman is becoming tiresome. I grow more and more opposed to the idea of a good woman existing among the smoke and mirrors of modern beauty as time goes on. There are, of course, the fantastic girls. Females who live on a whole other plane of existance where beauty grows on trees and they eat it for breakfast every morning so they become gorgeous inside and out. But they're way too good for me. What I need is a girl who's like me. Arrogant and mean and socially inept. That's the kind of woman I could love. But each girl I meet is either entirely ugly in every sense of the word or so utterly wonderful that it's impossible to be with them for more than a few minutes.
God put a woman on this earth for me, but he put her on the other side.
*angst
Ooops. Sorry horsie.
I don't know what I'll do with this journal.
Most teenage journals are riddled with poison and angst. Enough to not only kill a horse, but to make it spontaneously combust. Not much worse in this world than the sound of screaming horses. Maybe that's why kids are so Emo these days. They're exhuming their Emo because of the dying horses and the horses are dying because of all the Emo in the air. It's a vicious circle.
A vicious circle....
I fought one of those before. Hand to hand. Of course, being a vicious bastard, it pulled a knife on me. I had to break it's radius. Quite sad really. Would have liked to have gotten out without spilling any Pi. Especially considering that once Pi starts spilling, it never stops. Ugh. What a mess.
I've been reading a lot of Katherine Mansfield lately. For school and pleasure. She intrigues me. It seems to me that she had a lot of animosity for men. In all her stories, she describes men as uncaring and philandering weenies. I would like to think that if we had met, I would have altered her take on the male gender. After all, I'm a great big sweetheart. I am very dissapointed she had to die so young. Tuberculosis. If she had lived longer, she might have met a sweetheart like me and wouldn't have died with such a sour view of men.
Maybe maybe.
Maybe she was actually a scout for an alien race bent on global domination and when she died early in life after having studied us by becoming a female author and contracting an Earth desease the alien mother-ship forgot she existed along with our planet and because she died we have nothing to fear from evil forces lurking in the corners of the inky black abyss.
Run-on sentences are amazing. They take skill, I'll tell you what.
My search for a woman is becoming tiresome. I grow more and more opposed to the idea of a good woman existing among the smoke and mirrors of modern beauty as time goes on. There are, of course, the fantastic girls. Females who live on a whole other plane of existance where beauty grows on trees and they eat it for breakfast every morning so they become gorgeous inside and out. But they're way too good for me. What I need is a girl who's like me. Arrogant and mean and socially inept. That's the kind of woman I could love. But each girl I meet is either entirely ugly in every sense of the word or so utterly wonderful that it's impossible to be with them for more than a few minutes.
God put a woman on this earth for me, but he put her on the other side.
*angst
Ooops. Sorry horsie.