Random poetry from life: Mission One

Mission one was sent out from the dying Earth, to discover a way to rebuild life in its own image, its own thought.  We never thought they would return but we gave it hope, a breath into the voids of space, into time, to return someday when we were gone, destroyed by our own self, ripped, burned, raped, and scattered to the four winds.

But society would not die,
Would not give in,
This was our destiny, to never give up, to live,
A godless society built on the decay of the old givings, the old hopes, the old dreams, rebuilt on shaky grounds.

Hopes, dreams, children born, lived, birthed their own, to wander off into their own disease.

The adventure began, was followed, then ended and told by the millions of masses who continued their own adventure.

Walking towards the Devil,
Lights out, middle of the day,
Looking for the speed,
One hand out,
The other in the pocket,
Looking for something,
Finding nothing,
Reaching out,
Care for less, care full, kicking up the screen.

Death looks, find, creeps along,
Death comes, finds, creeps in,
Destroys, rebuilds, destroys again.

Mission one to ground control…

Go ahead Mission One…..

Ready to blow up the world, can I proceed?

Proceed!

Night time turned into day,
One minute, we’re sane,
The next, we’re walking along the edge, with a bottle of gin….

Greased.

Insanity bottled and sold as sanity,
Rage,
Trade,
Souls for dollars in a game played on TV.

Worship at the fountain of despair,
Religion based on the stock market,
Bought and sold for a $1.95 a pound,
Sometimes more, if the markets gone!

Politics,
Bottled for less at the Five and Dime,
Straight up jacked.

Congress called a session,
Wants their brains back,
That fell out of their ass last night to a song by Elton John.

Let the bodies hide where they may,
Not rot on the floor,
Freshly cleaned and mopped last night by a woman named Steve.

Can’t take much more,
Nothing wrong with me,
I just need something to kill the brain,
To the senility of the world, focused on the shi…

Stuff,
Jammed into a box, filled with the pains,
The diseases,
The end is near…

Can’t see through these eyes,
The world as it was meant to be,
Nothing left but a dark void,
Seemingly never ending,
To the end we go…

Journey onward, marching towards the goal,
Worship when we can, call God collect,
They are behind us,
Something is in front of us,
We are matched…

 

SILVERMYNX – BOOK ONE : CHAPTER ONE

Note: Many moons ago, I began writing this series, a book? I don’t know.

I started posting them on Myspace, just to share, and had lost them from my brain, just recently, rediscovering the nine or ten chapters I had written.

The land I built from my mind landed on the paper and I decided, it needed its story told.  Here are some of those stories!

Enjoy!

Silvermynx

CHAPTER ONE

The introductions

I stood in the darkness, near the edge of the moonlight, staring out from the under growth of the forest. A feast walked by, some would call her beautiful. And in my days as a human, I would have too.

Her eyes were green, like that of the far deep emerald oceans of my homelands.  Her blonde hair rolled down the side of her face, touching and glancing off her pale white skin.

Here I was, this hideous beast, ready for my next meal.

Her smell of lilacs drifted on the air, into my nostrils. I felt the saliva beginning to roll down from my mouth.  She stopped, looked around, she probably could sense her own demise, from my fangs, her life blood would be drained.

I stopped, that last second, from jumping from my hiding spot.

I didn’t know why, my body wanted to, wanted to spring upon her, feast on her delicate flesh and drink of her blood like it was the finest wine I had ever had.

But there I was, stopping.

Aye, my dear reader, I was hungry beyond the Gods’ for I hadn’t eaten for past the several weeks, as the king had put to his forest that no man, woman or child shall enter this cursed place due to some demon feasting upon the citizens of the land.

The nerve of this demon, I thought the first time I had read the notice posted on a tree near my lair, encroaching in on my territory.

 And then I was to discover that these men, these mortals, were calling me, Bshala, first of the kingdom of Talance, bearer of the seven seals, a hero of my own land, these peons, these, shall I burn my last unsinful act and call them asses, were calling I, a demon?

Such disrespect for their protector, a protector who had been a faithful guardian for more years than I could remember.

I pulled myself back into the shrubbery and pouted.

I could be eating a fine feast of possible virgin flesh but nay, I was lying on my belly, my head placed on my front legs, and I closed my eyes and slept.

I didn’t dream like most of the wolf lings did, or so I was told.

I dreamt of my previous life, in my homeland.

There was my wife, lovely as always, a blue ribbon tied into her hair, to keep the weave of it tight.

She waved at me, our small child, Aeregan, stood by her side.

He waved as well.

I waved back, smiling, I wanted to run to them, hold them in my arms, aye, my arms, like they were before the transformation.

I couldn’t run, nor even move.

I just stood there, looking at them, waving, smiling.

And then I heard the hoofs of  ten or more horses, moving to the side of me.

Each horse carried its own knight who brandished a weapon of their choice, a sword, a lance, whatever they could carry and kill with.

I watched in horror as one knight, wearing the armor of the Darkness ruler, Lord Haston, shoved his lance cleanly through my wife, her eyes went wide and then closed, one last gasp of air, a death cry, then she was gone, to join Mother Goddess Aeras in the after world.

Another knight, with his sword, severed off my son’s head and held it high, he chuckled, like a small school child would playing with a toy.

I jumped from the images and awoke, my heart was beating fast, hard, almost exploding from my chest. I eyed the darkness, growled a low rumbling growl and pushed my ears down low to my head. I could hear the hoof beats of horses, somewhere, out there, then the loud grunts of lowly humans, possibly searching for the young lady.

“Darlene!” one of the men yelled out, I could see their forms beginning to approach clearly.

I could smell their scents, mostly a mix of bad booze and the hint of rosemary, possibly their attempt at sprucing themselves for this day, searching out the fair maiden.

“Father! I’m here!” the lady shouted in return.

She stood near the bushes of my lair, I still wanted to jump out, and grasp her by the throat, drag her into the underbrush.

The men would be unable to stop me quickly enough and I would have a meal.

I still couldn’t.

I felt my muscle tighten, wanting to spring but I did not. I laid there, almost dozing off into another restless slumber.

“Why, my silly daughter, did you go out here, into forbidden land?” The man in the front said, dismounting his horse and hugging the girl tightly.

I smelled his kind before, noblemen from the king’s court, specifically a sheriff if I wasn’t mistaken.

The others smelled of shoe merchants and possibly a fish monger in the crew.

I slinked back as far as I could into the shrubbery.

I smelled the scent of a wolf killer, a hunter to the human race.

These men of ‘honor’ hunted my kind, in sport.

And here one sat not but a jump spring from me.

I could easily have my feast and this time there was no stopping.

I sprang forward, I heard the lady gasp, her father pushed her back and drew his sword.

I was still in the air, then I felt my teeth grasp the hunter’s throat.

He tried to pull his own sword, but I was too fast, a perfect machine, if I had to say so myself.

I felt his blood burst out from my fangs meeting his skin, I tasted the flow of his life on my tongue. I would feast this night. It would not be of a virgin but the hunter’s flesh was as good or better than some knights I had tasted.

I made it in good time, even with the almost dead hunter’s body dragging underneath me.

He gasped a few times as I jumped over a dead tree blocking the path.

I could hear the others trying to follow me, to free their comrade, but it was too late, I was in my farthest lair and took my bite into the still warm flesh and ripped some off and devoured it.

I could see the forms of the men pushing through the brush, swords drawn.

I smiled a little, some blood rolling from my mouth and falling to the ground.  I ate, till my belly was about to burst, and then I ate some more. And after I was finished, I curled up into a tight ball of fur and drifted off to sleep.

The dreams came, as they always did.

I was in the village of Marlotown, a fair ten day travel  from my original hometown.

A man stood in front of a mirror, trying on hats, tall ones, short ones, variety of hats.

I recognized the face as being me, in my previous life.

Another man approached.

I could see something in his hand, a dagger of some sort. He walked up behind me and pushed the dagger to my back.

“One false step and I shall kill you!” he whispered into my ear.

I awoke before the dream could finish, I heard the sounds of silence, too silent for a night such as tonight.

There were a few manko birds feeding off the tossed bits and pieces of my dinner but there was also a sound, slight, almost not noticeable by regular ears but mine, they were warning me, the knights were moving, for revenge.

I growled slightly and the birds scattered, they knew this wasn’t the place to be but also that soon, there would be more deaths, more food than any of the birds could possibly eat in one lifetime, let alone one day.

I spotted the first knight, to my left.

He was a good tall fellow and by the look of his face, barely old enough to be a scribe, let alone a king’s guard.

He shouted to the rest, “I’ve found its trail!”

My eyes grew to slits, targeting him.

I moved out of my lair and into the night air.

 I sniffed once, for a count, more than the scent. I could smell four of them, possibly five.

I moved quietly through the under brush, and then stopped, listened.

“Watch yourself my friend, ” another knight, older than the rest by my senses, yelled back from farther away and covered from sight with the trees.  “This wolf ling is a fast and deadly killer!”

I smiled, as closely as any wolf ling could actually smile.

The man knew to respect my deadliness.

I stalked closer to the youngest one, his sword swished over my head as he cut the high grass in front of him.

I was close enough to kill him but I didn’t, I move farther to the side of him and watched his movement through the grass.

“Crass! Crass! Watch where you fly that sword! You almost hit me!” one of the other knights yelled at the young man.

  He sighed, deep, sadly.

His name triggered a image to pop into my mind, I as a young soldier in the king’s army, another young man next to me, same garb as mine, only dirtier and more tousled.

“The Order Guardian will surely have your head for the way your shirt looks!”

He sighed, almost cried.

“I know! I know. My mother tried to wash it, which made it worse!” He looked down at the ground, shuffled his feet. I smiled and threw him a shirt, cleaned and pressed and he smiled as well and put it on.

“You know we’re going off to war, with the dogs Ravensquires!” I could hear the young fellow speaking as he put on the shirt. “We shall destroy them!”

I nodded.

Smiled.

Then as if by the commands of the Gods, I was back in the present, watching these men search for me, or at the very least the remains of the killed hunter.

They found neither and I could sense them moving away from me.

The youngest trailed behind and it would have been so easy to remove him from the life pool but I moved in the opposite direction and made it back to my lair, to fall asleep into a dreamless sleep.

Heroin Club

Note –  I wrote this on May 28th, 2010 and felt like I needed to post something tonight.  

Been a long last few days, so much stuff happening; good people getting sick and the evil people(aka ME!!) are doing alright! What’s up with that?

Not sure. 

I believe God is back to being bored, nothing good on TV.  I mean, when I get bored, I listen to some Marilyn Manson but guessing God decides to play with his children very roughly!

Damn you Father who art in Heaven, knock it off!

HEROIN CLUB: A WORK OF FICTION

Here is where the world would die.

And where it all began, a tight little place, dark, mood lit for those who wished such thing, not to be seen much less be heard, somewhere on the edge, a place of madness on acid, dancing in a dreary rain that fell against their sweaty faces sometimes in the late hours, cleaning the streets and the walls of the blood and sweat that sat there for weeks, staining it a crimson red and puke yellow on a really bad day.

I remember the first time, seeing it, that place. A club that had no name though the locals, pro and against, called it The Club Heroin.

Too hot to sleep, I went out searching for some life and discovering it, settled against the black heart of the city, where weirdness mingled with corporate coke heads who were seeking out prostitutes. The chicks with dicks dancing with heterosexual deviants who didn’t know better but didn’t really care. High class society danced with the low lives in the darkest recesses of the club.

Evil wannabe doctors were on the side, selling us cocktails of DDT and ecstasy with just a right mixture of death to make us feel like we were alive. It could have been Drano, for all we knew, we just knew the high was grand when it hit our bodies, drove us to the scene and kept us there for awhile, until we crashed on the asphalt just outside.

There was a stage, right in front, high lighting some young punk band, playing to the crowd, too wound up from the drugs, booze and enough adrenaline to kill the sacrificial bull on the altar to notice that there was a police raid going on.

Francis was the man who started the whole scene back in 1970something, before it was cool to do such things.

Nobody knew his last name; he just went by Francis, Duke if you were part of the ‘in’ crowd, which was a motley crew of dope fiends, drag queens, some teenage prom queens who were thirty eight this last spring and a few folks who had issues that couldn’t be diagnosed by the real doctors at the hospital across the river.

When asked why he started the club by the many reporters who fished around for a story, Francis would smile that devilish smile he was known for and would shrug, stating something like, “I just wanted a place for my kind to hang out in, have some fun, you know…this place…”

No, I wasn’t part of that ‘in’ crowd, I was there with a friend who knew a friend who may have been part of the whole ‘cool’ crowd but we didn’t know just which one it was who gathered around Francis, talking about some midnight party last year where Cyndi Starlight, the last true drag queen on the planet Earth, by her own definition,  almost died of an overdose.

She was saved, revived by some macho jock wannabe, John Dean.

“Didn’t they elope?” Francis joked and everyone who was anybody laughed.

There I was, on the outside, looking in, nursing my Jack and coke, and sitting at the table, with my friend Marvin, his girlfriend Mabel and a member of the playing band who had decided to sit down with us.

“The freaks are sure out tonight!” he said, settling down in the chair, “Mind if I sit here?”

We didn’t mind.

Well Marvin and I didn’t.

Mabel huffed a bit of air out of her nose, looked at us like we had committed the ultimate sin and stormed out of the place.

“What’s up with her?” he said.

We shrugged.

We didn’t have an answer.

He told us his name was Scorn or something around there.

His real name was Sid. He had wanted to use that as his band name but everyone else disagreed as he wasn’t vicious enough to have a name as Sid.

He was too ‘Christian’.

So Scorn became Scorn.

He was what would become known as Straight Edge in the new modern world.

No booze, no drugs, a belief in Jesus or some shit as his true savior.

Maybe some pussy if he promised to marry her.

He played the scene to pass his beliefs into the system, hoping it would circulate into the stream and save the unclean souls of the world.

It didn’t.

Sid was shot dead two months after we met him by some skinhead who didn’t trust no “Jesus Freak” who looked like one of them “goddamn Jews!” and who thought Sid was trying to hit him up for some “Homosexual” action.

Skinheads were a strange group. They wanted everyone to believe they were hard core heterosexual but it was okay to get a blow job from a man, but not vice versa, that made you a “fag”.

And in their world, fags had to die.  And if they thought you were also a Jew, well, that just made the matter more definite, written down in something, maybe the Skinhead Bible.

There I was sitting too close to the scene that night, music was too loud to hear much going around, sweat dripped off the bodies of the few dancers pounding their feet into the concrete floor of the club, some pounding their chests with their fists.

Tribal beings, something flowing through their veins, knowing sooner rather than later, they’d be dead, in some alleyway somewhere.

Sid wasn’t on the stage that night, just there to hear some sounds and to pass around his brochures from the Church of the Almighty or something.

Sid approached the skinhead who pushed him away and said something like, “Fuck you fag!”

A split second later, the skinhead turned, gun in his hand, pulled the trigger and just as fast, Sid was dead, dying for somebody’s sin, maybe mine.

The Club lasted a few years after that but in some attempt to be a “bunch of preachy fuckers!” as Francis was quoted in the numerous news paper articles about him and his den of sin, a group or ten of ‘outraged’ parents and ex-crack head prom queens got together outside and protested the place as a public nuisance that should be shut and/or burned down, just to make sure.

The scene had been dying for awhile before these groups got into the picture.

Francis wasn’t feeling the vibe anymore.

His entourage had grown up and moved on themselves, not to be replaced, so the group dwindled down to a few hanger ons and they even finally quit and moved on to other places with better vibes.

The club, the building, whatever, was tore down to be replaced by a super mart of some sort.

To add to the story, Francis was found a few weeks later, dead of an overdose, in some Las Vegas hotel room.

His last true friend, heroin, had even turned on him.

NOTHING LEFT TO GIVE : POEM OFF THE EDGE

I’m running away,
Got nothing left to give,
I’m running away,
To a better place and time.

I’m running away,
Sleepless nights are hopefully gone.
I’m running away,
Nothing left to burn,
Got nothing left to give,
I’m running away,
From the memories and pain.

I’m running away,
Time is short and I am gone,
Memories, like pages in my mind,
I’m running away,
To a better place and time.

SLEEPLESS NIGHT – RAMBLING POETRY INSIDE –

Summer rains have come
And gone,
Washed away the bitter tears.

Winter snows have blown away,
Fists of rage against it all.

Where have all the flowers gone?
Wilted, browned and blown away,
Never again to be seen in the same way.

Where have all the children gone?
Never born,
Never lived,
Trapped in limbo,
Never heard.

We are all just memories,
Lost in time,
Misery.
Darkness shames the light away,
Trapped in madness,
Another sleepless night,
Where have all the dreams gone?
Pretty black velvet drapes my sight.

Lost in madness,
Misery,
Light drowns my sorrow,
Gives me hope,
Then the darkness
Comes and blights it down.

Lay me down in hallow ground,
Don’t wake me from my slumber.

Dreamless nights of loneliness,
Worship words of happiness,

Life is filled with words of hate,
Loneliness and bitter pain.

We are all just worthless cogs in the machine,
Some driven by greed,
Some driven by necessity,
All of us worked by the machine.

Marching forward into time,
Where we stop, nobody knows.
We march forward, into fears,
Into hope,
Marching forward towards the cliff,
Eyes wide shut, purposely, so we cannot see the pending drop.

MY LETTERS TO POLITICIANS – UPDATES FROM ME!

Today, I sat here, in my room, pondering the meaning of life, wondering what I could do to make the world a better place to live, to change it on some small level, I decided to start a new project, a letter-a-day campaign, updates from me, to politicians.

I started today, this Monday, April 29th, by writing to the President of the United States.

I’ve written to him before and actually have gotten replies from him in letters sent to my home, mostly cease and desist letters delivered by Secret Service, but still, replies are replies.

Today’s letter to the President —-

Monday, April 29th, 2013

Subject: HI! HOW ARE YOU?

Dear Mr. President,

How are you? I am fine. I decided that I would start a new project, Write-a-Politician with updates about my life, my hopes, my dreams, and maybe a funny story about my cat Betsy Wetsum.

I heard your comment about not having drinks with Mitch McConnell, but, I think you should have drinks with him. I would like to be there too. I bet Mitch is an awesome drunk, probably gets up on stage and sings, I WILL SURVIVE after only one Shirley Temple and a few tabs of acid.

I know I do.

I wish you and the Congress would get together for a weekly TV show, Drinking with the White House. You could have guests on, like, radio and TV personalities, maybe Howard Stern could come on and give us recipes for cake or something.

Fox News sure doesn’t like you very much. They could come on the show too and have ice cream with you and you guys could become friends.

I think the President needs friends. I sure wouldn’t want the job, everyone hates you no matter what you do.

“Here’s a tax break!” you say and the opposition goes, “OH YEAH, SPEND THAT MONEY!!”

Try to raise taxes and they’re like, “OH NO YOU DON’T!! NOT ONE MORE DIME!!”

My cat thinks you’re all nuts and I’m starting to agree.

It’s bad to regulate guns more but it’s okay to strip our constitutional rights of due process.

Politics is so confusing. I’m glad I decided to stay away from it after working for a campaign in 1996, it was awful, peeking behind the curtain, seeing that the Emperor has no clothes not a pee-pee, how do you guys go potty without a pee-pee?

I’ve never figured out that one yet.

Anyways, enough of the politics, I don’t want these letters turning into I THINK WE SHOULD INVADE NORTH DAKOTA AND TEACH THEM A LESSON but more like JASON HAS HAD A GOOD DAY AND WANTS TO SHARE IT!!!

So seriously, how are you doing? You look better than you did in the first term. I bet you don’t really care that much now, which you shouldn’t, go out there and give them heck.

Take Mitch out for a drink!! Maybe take him out to a house of prostitution(you know, get him laid!!!)

Run naked through the rose garden yelling, THE BRITISH ARE COMING!! Wait, don’t do that last one, I think Bill Clinton tried that and almost got impeached.

George W. Bush did and well, his approval rating went up, so maybe….

Anyways, I should wrap this up, good night and have a better tomorrow, your friend,

I didn’t sign it but when sending such letters to these politicians, you need to put your full information(Well, the President just requires you put your name and zip code — some senators want your full address, so I guess they can send you nude photos of themselves!!!

It felt good to write, something meaningful and full of love, I then decided to be fair, I should write to a Republican a nice letter, a pat on the butt, and a kiss on the nose, so I decided to write Senator Mitch McConnell (R – Kentucky), who happens to be right across the great Ohio River from me so maybe, we’ll meet up for drinks and I’ll have a better blog to write!

Monday April 29th, 2013

Subject: HI! HOW ARE YOU?

Dear Senator McConnell,

I wanted to start this out as Dear Mitch, but feel that would be too informal and a bad way to start.

I think this is the first time I have written you but I hope it is not the last.

I wrote the President a nice letter, a start of a new project I am calling, UPDATES FROM ME, things like how my cat is doing, how I am doing, and maybe some recipes for cake, everyone likes to get cake recipes.

I heard the joke the President made about having drinks with you. I think the President should have drinks with you and I told him so.

I was like, “I bet Mitch is a fun person to be around, especially when he has had a few drinks in him, probably jumps up on stage at the bar and sings, I WILL SURVIVE!!!”

I’d have drinks with you!! The President too.

I’d have drinks with you guys together, on the same night at the same bar!

All three of us could get up on stage and sing, I WILL SURVIVE together, or better yet, IT’S RAINING MEN.

Anyways, how are you doing? I see you on WHAS 11 here, sometimes I watch WAVE 3 and you’re there too. Sorry about the whole bugging issues you’ve ran into, remember, never ever talk about things you don’t want disclose to the public with anyone, no matter where you are!!

Nothing is secure!!!

Anyways, if I had a favorite senator, it might be you, but only because you remind me of my Aunt Rita, especially when you smile.

If you see Senator Max Baucus, kick him in the nuts and say, THAT’S FOR 1996 YOU TURD and use my name. He’ll remember me from the pain in his nuts!!!

Thanks for reading, your friend,

Jason

P.S.

Have you ever noticed that the best pics of Louisville come from this side of the river in Indiana?

Come on over, we’ll do shots at The Boat!!!

I may break away from the borders of my country and write love letters to other countries’ politicians, though I’m not sure yet.  I’ll see how I feel in the morning.

RANDOM POETRY IN THE MIDNIGHT HOUR – Dreaming solidly

DREAMS -

I keep dreaming of seemingly soft beds filled with sharp nails, random objects thrown inside for cheap low prices.
Worm, thoughts, dig their way into my skull, reaching the core, trying to wake me before the demons do.

Nightmares in technicolor,  silent films,
Words garbled into a mass of unrecognized filth or a recipe for squash casserole.

Pretty lies of deformed beauty,
Nuclear Holocaust, nobody seems to notice,
Except I.

The cheerleaders cheer,
Go team!
I’m screaming,
“Run! Get out of here!”

Nobody listens,
They seem to hear me but keep smiling,
Their faces melt,
Still smiling, like plastic dolls in a furnace.

I try to wake, hello, is this thing on?
The world rebuilds, redraws, reboots?
The cheerleaders are cheering,
The team keeps playing,
Basketball?

I never played in school,
But there I am, playing, in my dream,
Bounce the ball, back and forth, pass it to my team mate,
He yells, “Fool! I cannot catch it with no hands!”

Awake?

Still asleep in a chaotic world drawn and colored by my mind,
To keep me entertain?

Old school mates fill the stand,
Cheering, booing,
Wait, booing me?

I go outside the bounds,
Is this allowed?
Apparently so, the ref says so,
I’m still dribbling the ball,
I shoot,
Do I score?

I do not know,
I awake…