Posts Tagged ‘fiction’

Why do some loves fade away,
And others grow intense?
Why do some fools,
Who fall in love,
Fall from grace,
While others,
Love beyond the grave?

Somewhere in that book of love,
Please tell me why,
Oh dearly why,
These rules of love,
So I may feel that dear embrace!

INTRODUCTION:

The world did not see him as a human being; just a cog in a huge grinding wheel, nothing more, if he broke down, he’d be replaced, not even a mention on the grave stone.

I’m not an author, a writer, just some guy clacking at the keyboard, just some guy clacking at the keyboard trying to get the words out of my mind before they disappear like smoke on the wind.

CHAPTER ONE: TNT LOVE

Mr. John Patterson died as any man would die after having his love scorned by the woman he dreamed he’d spend his life with; he strapped sticks of dynamite to his chest and blew himself up a block from the brothel where his “True love” worked in.

Mary Soren, not her real name, heard and felt the explosion and thought the city of Butte, Montana was being attacked by the Germans.

She found out later, her suitor, who tried to persuade her to move back east with him, had blown himself up at her rejection.

She felt sad for a moment but continued “working” the night through.

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I woke from a fright,
A dream I thought was just a dream,
Turned out reality, was not such right,
I tried not to cry,
But failed that night,
Sitting there, in a waiting room,
She decided to pass,
In the afternoon,
Jesus,
Oh God,
What did I do,
To deserve such a curse,
To be punished so bad?

I left my heart,
Buried in a tomb,
Couldn’t find the road back to the truth,
Merry life, swept by me,
Other went on,
And I fell by the wayside, to see,
A burning lie,
A morning in mourning,
A life moving forward,
But seemingly dreary.

To live to be old,
Is sometimes a treat,
And sometimes it’s not,
To see those who you love,
To be buried,
To rot.

Life goes on,
We try to move on,
But sometimes we find,
Ourselves in the muck,
We’re drowning, you see.

Good night,
Old lovers,
And friends,
Remember to tell your heart felt lovers,
Goodnight and love you,
Will see you tomorrow,
For that tomorrow might not bring!

I found a place; in my travels, a nice place, a place to sleep, to ponder, I don’t care if I’m homeless, I am sitting here, free to think, no connections to the world!! I am a philosopher, a dreamer, nobody knows what I have seen, released into a world, to captivate that audience, mindless wonderings of lies, dreams and ramblings!

Jesus loves me, told me so, in the Bible, or the Sears Roebuck catalog. I’m sitting here, pondering, wondering, seeing the world through alcoholics eyes; bottles; 23, I got them for a whirl, misses, disses, a lie in the sand, twirling around, fourteen skid row, trying to write a letter to the president, postage due, lies on the mattresses, fleas on my pillows.

Mister can you spare a dime? A reality in time, a misery in frame. She was laying next to me, her body my temple, she smiled in her sleep, rolled over, her arms embraced me, I felt love, finally.

I had planted a seed, in that wonderous garden, she would not tell me, till seventeen.

I cried.

There stood in the doorway,
Was the man who would love her,
For her,
I felt her breathing, against my body form,
The world was spinning around us,
As we made love,
Till 5 in the morning,
Murder,
Suicide,
A lustful sigh,
As our bodies ejaculated,
Filling our souls,
Filling our lungs,
Screams cheered,
Against the dying of the light,
Eyes red,
Weeping,
Is this misery full of lust?

Somebody wrote me a letter,
Making things complicated,
I’d want to hear her moan,
Driving her to Heaven’s door,
A hush affair,
As we made love till the morning aired.

The person
Full,
Of distant rage,
Screaming at the dying light,
Felt the motion,
Of the ocean,
Against her hair,
He cried,
As he felt her near,
That time,
Of his blessed life.

To this day,
We shall not sing,
That song,
That misery,
It all right,
I dare not venture,
Into silence,
Where the dark grows near.

Life,
Oh magical time,
To feel the wine,
Whine?
We saw the light disappearing into the windless night.

Life,
Oh magical witness,
To a horrible event,
Sprayed across our eyes,
We saw the end of our love foreseen.

Life saw a naked time,
To run away,
To scream in pain,
Is this the end,
My last friend?

Ransom slashed,
Half past eleven,
Nobody sees ya,
Man ain’t got no time for that.

Slow ride east,
Omaha,
Left train,
Gone,
Half past twelve,
On the Eastern track,
Going nowhere fast,
Lost my mind,
To a bottle of Jack,
July 10th, 1953,
In a waste paper basket,
Filled with fleas,
Flees?

Resume broken,
No jobs,
For two years,
Except shoveling coal,
And other stuff,
Five years to life,
Chasing broken dreams,
Drinking those shattered bottles to dream.

We were waiting on the platform waiting for the booze to hit our brains, to remove us from this horrid dream, trapped in a box car heading for the moon.

The Pope was waiting for bus to Boise, Idaho, appearing as an old man dressed in drag, waiting for a hag. Who told the Man he could relax?

Communist pamphlets, wailing down, trying to find an angry hit, fucked in the ass, screaming with joy, at Christmas time?

Fireworks blew? Flew? Fuck, I don’t know, where were we, in faggish dress, trying to find a car to take us there.

We wrote, letters to the president, congressmen, writing to the moon, letters to our dead parents. How did we make it through childhood traumas, to not kill ourselves with chocolate flair?

In the morning, we woke up hung over, our cocks in our hands, our writings still in our hands, waiting to release, cosmic seed.

Joe flew into the night mare winds, trying to find that bridge, finding that dollar among the booze, a last smile as she screwed me.

Waklking through the streets, looking for a suicidal mood, a girl to fuck, a pregnancy scare, our boys can still swim, even at 82.

I was drinking, drunk at half past two, nightmares, dreaming of better times, listening to sad songs, a reminder of a better life.

Translations misunderstood, words thrown against a bitter sky, a lie, a kiss, a desire misspoken at half past midnight, oh bitter mood.

The doors closed, sealing us into the darkness. The movie wasn’t suppose to start for another twenty minutes, but there we sat, looking into the blackness, mankind settling into the lack of light, a severity of madness gripping our minds since birth.

The movie began, single point of life, the beginning of the end, a trial by a solemn title, thrown up onto a busted screen. Was this the way our innocence would end, not by our own actions, but our own inactions?

Mad men began to preach; bring out your idle hands, dare not be tempted by Demon delights, the fallen life, incoherent words devilishy thrown into a mix of lies, single polarity, that innocence lost, the door wide open to that temptation.

To those still not lost, speak not, of those idle hands, grab up the spade, and till the fertile soil, be that man to stand proudly, without sin, at those Heaven Gates, upon your timely departure from those mortal bounds.

Running through madness
Looking for an angry fix,
Trying to find life,
In a bottle of rubbing alcohol,
Jesus at a traffic light,
At the end of the Universe,
Everyone wearing some kind of reflective mask,
To shine away their reality,
Hidden deep inside.

Dirty lies,
Flowing lyes,
Singing in the world’s shower,
Ninety Eighty Four,
Ripped from time and space,
Listening to the end of the world’s record,
In a crystal bottle.

Hip,
Hop,
Flying through a whirl pool,
Trapped in a fly trap,
Ain’t got not wings,
Lost them years ago,
Fellow man,
Rejoice,
Here comes the last train,
To the Apocalypse.