Thought Grime #1

I am God, for I am the omnipotent narrator, I see, hear, and tell. These characters are as real as you and I, for I have brought them breath in all that follows:

There is a man, whom, shall we call, Frederick? Yes, it is a rather nice name! Indeed, let’s start with Frederick. Just last week Frederick was swimming in a lake, his arse crack and cheeks the first thing one would see, if they looked down from the balconies on the opposite street. And as he got out of the lake, stretching his naked body in all his splendour, had you looked from the balconies mentioned previously, you would see his torso and nipples erect from the cold water. His penis gleamed with the reflection of street lamps as water dripped down from the head onto the puddle he’d left. And had you been sat on one of those balconies that fateful night, you would have witnessed a death so grotesque you would be stumbling to find your words. For a man, who remains nameless and indeed faceless wormed his way up to the lake, in complete silence, Just as an owl seemingly glides towards its prey. The detectives knocked on neighbouring houses and streets the next day, trying to get a vision of that most bloody night! When they knocked on dear old Alices door, she was consumed absolutely from the sheer fright of it. “I saw it all!” she exclaimed, eyes wide and a tremor throughout her body.
“Sit down, Miss, ” the main detective said, “Now tell us, what exactly did you see?”
Alice sat down and put her head in her hands, “Blood, so much blood.”
“Anything before that?” The other detective asked, a smaller man than the first.
“Yes, Frederick was swimming in the lake.” She stops talking at once, as a thought enters her head and a naughty smile almost creeps on her face ‘what a time for such thoughts’ she said to herself silently, scolding herself.
“Please, carry on,” the bigger detective said, looking serious.
“He got out of the lake, he was stretching when he….” she lifted her eyes from her shoes, what they were doing on her shoes and not on her; you’ll never know. Anyhow, I digress, she lifted her eyes and put them in their rightful place, looking towards the officer with an intensity that could sting, “He, that man, that monster sneaked up behind him and….” She covered her mouth and shifted her eyes, water beginning to pour out of them. “Well you know the rest.” she sniffed.
“No, Miss, we don’t.” The main detective said, his jaw clenching with agitation.
“Well you’ve seen the mess!” she hissed.
“Yes, but I’m asking what you saw. I am a witness only to the aftermath, not the crime.” He reminded her, “please,” he nodded his head towards her “Do go on.”
“Well this man who, who I couldn’t make out very well,”
“Let me stop you there,” the chief detective interrupted, “how do you know it’s a man if you can’t make the killer out?”
“It was a man alright!” Alice exclaimed, her nostrils flaring, “no woman would do such a thing,” she shook her head, “not like that, anyway!”
“You’d be surprised,” the chief detective said.
“Are you here to question me as a suspect, or do you want to hear my account of the nightmare?” She asked assertively.
“I’m just trying to get a clear picture.”
“Oh, well next time I’ll make sure to take a photo of any crime I witness, shall I?” What a sassy character Alice was turning out to be.
“Okay,” the detective sighed. Meanwhile, the other smaller detective was pacing around the lounge inspecting pictures up on the wall. “Carry on.”
“I couldn’t make him out, but I saw something like a pair of scissors, but bigger,” she tapped at her skull, “ah what do you call them?” she closed her eyes tight, “Ah bugger! What do ya call them damn things?”
“Garden shears, perhaps, Mrs..” the smaller detective said, letting the word Mrs roll on his tongue as a question.
“I’m not married.”
“Miss?” He let that word roll too.
“Miss Cleaves”
“Okay, Miss Cleaves”
“Yes now we have that formality out the way, what was your suggestion?”
“Garden shears.”
Alice Cleaves eyes lit up, “Yes!” she slapped her thigh, “Yes! That is what they were, garden shears!”
“So let me get this straight” the bigger detective started, scribbling something in a notebook, “You couldn’t make the perpetrator out, but you could make out that the weapon of choice was a pair of shears?”
“Or something like them!”
“Then what did you see?” The shorter one asked, interrupting his own inspection of a family portrait, turning back to it as he waited for an answer.
“Well, the next thing I know, I hear this startled sound, across between a stifled scream and a sob and then his head was cut clean off!” She looks down at her shoes, “Oh god, it’s so awful!” she cries.
“I see you like gardening,” the smaller of the two detectives said now stood at the doors leading onto her balcony, he opened the doors and pulled out a pair of shears from some dirt in a plant pot.
The detective sat on the couch in front of her, looked at his partner then towards Alice, “do you mind if we bag them?”
She was visibly shaken at such an idea, “you’re treating me like a suspect again!”
The detective smiled, “Everyone is a suspect, Miss Cleaves. Even lovely ladies such as yourself.”
“You can’t seriously believe I could…” she pauses, possibly for effect, she shakes her head “do that.” she finishes in a whisper.
“I don’t believe, Miss Cleaves,” the detective said, “I don’t believe a single thing.”
“So what do you believe?” not realising the stupidity of her question, given what he had just said.
“As I said, I don’t believe anything.”
“But you must think I had something to do with it, to..” she rubs her forehead as if a headache is coming on, “to want to take them away,” she pointed at the shears, “for evidence!” she exclaimed.
“I don’t believe; I just look for evidence. I’m going by your word, scissor-like weapon, possibly shears, and what do we have here? A pair of shears, so one must investigate.”
“Well, you won’t find anything untoward with those.” She told them.
“Yes, one can hope, and I certainly do hope that is the case.” the detective smiles. “Now,” he turns to his partner, “Hugh, shall we?”
Hugh takes the shears and closes the door, “yes, very well.” He heads towards the front door, “Thank you for all your information, Miss Cleaves.”
Alice stands with her arms folded, looking at the bigger detective, “You’d do well to get manners like Hugh here.” she nods towards Hugh.
“Hugh’s young. He’ll learn one day.” the detective chuckles.

Hate me, so

Feelings are so…
Contradictory
That’s what haunts me so
It’s almost obligatory
To feel anger along with sympathy
Going round in circles in my mind
Till I can’t decide who is wrong or right
And it pains me to the ends of this earth
It sounds dramatic
But I feel it in my chest
It fucking HURTS!

And with me
It’s day in and day out
Just constant torment
And then I just want to scream and shout
Try to pacify my mind
Play guitar, watch a film
Tell myself just to focus on my life
But then I can’t let go
And I hate me, so

Day three I vow to make self-improvements
By day five, I slipped back or I never even made any movements
I can never remember
I just know I still hate me, so
Day six, I say, “Try again.”
And off I go, along this crazy train
Pacing along the tracks
Thinking “Did I move forwards, or did I go back?”
I can never remember.
I just know I still fucking hate me, so.

Get away!

I don’t have room for sympathy
For you
Or empathy
It’s been torture
All these times going round my head
Through cycles of anger and apologetic sorrow
I can’t do it anymore
Not today, not tomorrow
I cared too much
And you walk over me like I’m dirt on your shoe
I’m supposed to feel for you
“He’s ill” they say
Well, I can’t care anymore!
Get the fuck away!
GET THE FUCK AWAY

 

Dragonfish

Inspired by a story I’ve been working on for a couple of years now, comes the following poetry:

The world is a sheet of hazy blue

but that still won’t keep me from you

oceans wide, oceans apart

where did we depart?

Why, Jessica, are the jitter bugs in you

when you’re having the time of your life

watching me trying to ignite

do you see I’m just a dragonfish

blind, but trying to become light?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hell

I can’t find my place

even among misfits

want out of this race

got no path I can see to trace

and I don’t think I can

be the man

I thought I wanted to be anyway

courage is not known by me

he’s simply a stranger I know I could never be

I don’t want to live inside myself

I’m my own misfortune, my own hell

sometimes I dare to think I could even dream

but then I fall back down to earth

and I see

I am not the man I sought to be

And I wish taking a life would be easier

because one more day inside this skin

is just endless torture.

Working on a book

Hello people in my harem,

I’m working on a book with my poetry and a few other bits here and there.

Currently in the process of trying to figure out organising this thing.

This is also why I haven’t recently posted any new poetry, as i am keen on keeping some poems exclusive to the book.

I already have a working title, I will not be revealing that till I get further in the process.

In the mean time I may post older poetry, new poetry written exactly for the purposes of having something to post here.

But it would do me a favour if you wish to reblog any of my posts, share, like or follow. Every like or follow helps construct the illusion I need to uphold, that being that my words are getting me somewhere 😉

Working on a book

hello, to all the people in my harem and others.

I’m working my way through collections of my poetry and other bits of writing to put in a book.

This is why I’ve not been posting new poetry lately, as I wish to keep some exclusive for the book so some poems can remain unread and new to anyone who reads my blog.

For now though it would do me a massive favour if you wish to reblog, share and like any poetry or other pieces of mine.

 

 

Severe sanity

I have a theory, though I must add it’s not a scientific one. But through observation of people, I’ve come to the conclusion that delusion is a fundamental part of the human psyche.
I believe that a small amount of delusion is needed for human functioning, that delusions are indeed survival mechanisms.
A person either has just enough delusion to function and get them through their lives, or his or her delusions take over and prevent functioning. But there is a third type of person, a person who lacks the ability to believe in a delusion, a person who notices almost every contradiction meaning they couldn’t believe if they tried. Their lives become what can only be verbally and in writing expressed as a living hell. It’s a subset of depression. It’s severe sanity.

Sanity to the extremes in a human mind is dangerous. Because with such extreme sanity, your head will be played with, with a constant barrage of contradictions that others seemingly don’t notice. It means you also see that there is no grander meaning to life; you see it for what it is. Because life is everything yet everything in the scheme of things means nothing. There is no grander purpose. We have a biological drive to help us in the here and now and nearer future, but we see that even the here and now don’t really amount to anything with meaning. That the only way meaning can exist is for us to create a meaning, but to create that meaning you need to be able to function like a human being who doesn’t suffer from severe sanity. You need a delusion. A positive delusion. And where can a severely sane person require a delusion, once they’re aware that everything humans believe to keep themselves going, to give them meaning is a delusion?

I don’t know. Where can we go, with all our fucks? We have no delusions to pack them into.

And if you think I don’t notice the contradiction of posting a post on a blog for others to read, as if somehow you can help a person like me, or as if my writing means anything I am fully aware while writing this, that this post doesn’t even matter. And that to even write it is stupidity in the face of what i have just said. But thats just another reason it hurts to be me. Because all these repetive days that go on, i carry on all the while knowing the only logical answer.