Vagrancy

I walk through the white corridors of the shopping mall, feeling all alone as I push my way through the hordes of mindless consumer zombies. Fourteen year old girls dressed like adult porn-stars, I sigh, but my eyes linger. Gross.
I continue walking, their faces fade and I glide past the stains of human-kind. I catch a glimpse of someone. That guy again. I see his fat face and neck beard and he stares, smiling creepily at me as he walks past, every time I see this guy he says hi. I have no idea who the fuck he is. Maybe I went to College with him?
Memories flood back of college, every morning I would awake to the fart alarm, right on time, 7:30 every morning my roommate would fart. She was so thin, so small, I could never believe how she could produce such noises.
I awaken from my flash back and find myself still moving. The neck beard out of sight. I continue my way through the labyrinth of shops. Am I searching for something? Or am I just hoping something will find me.
I see an adult man drift by. Perhaps he is me in the future. Perhaps I never leave this place, perhaps time is distorted and everyone is just an alternate version of me?
I buy a coffee and take a seat.
I take a sip. And then another. God I’m good.
I’m the King. I’m the best.
I finish my coffee. What had I been thinking? My own thought process forgotten to me. I frown, and glance over at the nearby table. A young fat girl stares at me while she eats her chips. I have to move. Her piercing gaze upon me feels like an actual force, pressing against me. I stand up and turn to go the opposite way. I see a beautiful girl standing before me, she smiles. I turn and hurry in a completely different direction.
I have.. uh… well, a problem. I make my own life miserable.
I always fall in love with girls who don’t even know I’m alive. Girls I have no hope with. And it makes my life hell.
I pine over them. Think about them night and day. My mouth feels dry and my stomach queezy when near them. But they’ll never know. I’ll never tell them.
I soon wander into a DVD store. I look at mindless cliche and mind-numbingly dumb entertainment marketed to the grazing masses, the sheep in human clothes.
I find myself staring at a movie. Volcano with Tommy Lee Jones. I’ve never seen it, but I stare at the DVD. I love the word Volcano. It is easily the best word in the entire English language.
Because the first thing that happens when you hear it is you picture a Volcano. A big black mountain lava pouring out the top, black smoke rising from it. Instant visualization. It’s a word that actually is an object. See-able, hear-able, touch-able, smell-able. Secondly it’s not pretentious. It’s not some big long fancy word pretending to be sophisticated. It is what it is. Finally the structure of the word. Volcano, I mean, there’s nothing else that sounds or looks like it.
You’re not going to get it confused and say another word that sounds similar, you’re not going to forget what it’s called, and you’re not going to use any other name to say what it is. It is simply ‘Volcano’ and I think it’s brilliant.
I wander around the store and some girls my age walk by.
I smile to myself. Could destiny be calling? I glance over and see them looking at awful films and even worse shows. I hear them talk about them as if they’re masterpieces. I shed a tear and leave the store continuing my vagrancy around the mall.
Not knowing how long it will take, I hum a tune to myself and slip into the realm of my imagination.

The Enchanted Forest – Chapter 1

I was Eight years old when I first learnt the truth about the Forest…
I was young, full of energy, always off exploring… no one ever went near the Forest, I had never known why. One day I ventured too close, and a voice called out to me.
“Boy!” Said the ancient voice, like carving the words into the bark of a tree.
I turned and saw the Old Crone, clothed in a grey hooded cloak, her face ancient and wooden, with a long pointed nose with a hideous wart bulging on the end, one eye and the other nothing more than a huge scar, teeth missing from her mouth she waddled up to me and stared down upon me.
“You don’t want to get too close to that Forest,” she croaked. “Not yet anyway.”
She smiled it was the sort of smile at that age you didn’t fully understand, but it scared you anyway.
“No, no,” she said. “Do you know the story of the Forest, boy?”
I looked towards the vast Forest, the thousands of trees stretching out into forever, Birch and Yew trees as far as the eye could see, a few Oaks spotted, and I knew following the river in the entire river was lined with Willows.
I was standing under a Hawthorn near a little pond a short distance from the tree line, I knew adult ceremonies took place here but at that age I didn’t understand them.
“No.” I whispered, shy around this Old Crone.
“Thousands of years ago,” She said, power growing in her voice. “There was an ancient war. Men fought Men over the Gods, each Man fighting for the God they believed to be right. Thousands upon thousands died. Then Men who buried the dead waited, until the blood in their bodies no longer flowed like a river, but dried. A hole was cut through their stomach, and when they were buried trees were planted inside them. Years past and the war was devastating, soon Men forgot exactly what they were fighting for, only remembering how to bury their dead, the world was decimated and thousands of years have past since then. All these trees boy? They are the dead. That Forest is a vast Graveyard stretching on forever; those trees contain the souls of our ancestors.”
I looked deep into the heart of the Woods, it was still, almost like they knew their story was being told, as if they were listening.
Suddenly her hands were on my shoulders holding me, looking right into my face with her one eye.
“The Trees are alive boy!” She cried. “Some of the trees are the fallen of the wrong Men, these trees are evil, and wish you dead!”
I ran, far away from the Crone and the Forest, and hid in the stable by my families Cow, Betsy.
That night around the dinner table with my Mother and Father enjoying Duck cooked with lemon and honey, I told them what the Crone had said.
“Magda is old,” My Father told me. “Some says she is hundreds of years old, the last in the line of her family, all who lived unnaturally long lives.”
He told Me they were the keepers of the story, telling generation after generation the legends and history of the Forest.
“You need to know about that Forest, Son.” My Father told me, his voice solemn. “When a Boy comes of age, he must go into the Forest on his own, he must try to survive out on his own, as long as he can, and if he can, he must try to make it to the other side of the Forest.
“Has anyone ever done that?” I ask with intense curiosity.
“No. Within the Forest lie dangers unimaginable. There are more than Wolves in there, Son.”
Wolves sometimes ventured out of the Woods, hunting Chickens or Ducks. Sometimes, they ate small children who’d wandered off on their own. There was a group of men, who had lasted long or survived well at their trials in the Forest, they protected us from the Wolves, sometimes going into the Woods to hunt when food was scarce. They were the keepers of the Old Way. Each had spent time with the Old Crone, learning the stories intensely. When Winter came, and wood was needed for fires, they would go into the Woods searching for the evil trees. But sometimes they could not be found, or they hid well. The Old Crone had taught them the words to the prayers needed to be said to cut down a tree. The words were in an ancient tongue, that only the trees and the wind understood. They gave the tree peace so we could use its wood. So its soul could give us warmth.
My Father removed his shirt. There was a huge scar running down his back. I had seen him without his shirt before, when he was working at making instruments for protection for the Guardians, and I had always wondered about the scar. I had never asked.
“This scar,” he said “Came from a creature 6 times the size of any Wolf. It was creature that roared, big and mean, with shaggy brown fur. There are creatures in those Woods, Son. Monsters.”
I remember sitting there, the wind howling outside my windows, I remember imagining the beast my Father spoke of. I imagined evil glowing red eyes in the dark, stalking me as I stumbled through the Birch trees in a howling Winter’s night. My heart was racing, even at the table, by the warmth of the fire.
“Magda knows, all the children in her family, even the girls must go through the trial when they come of age.” My Mother cut in. “Magda lasted the longest of any known person. Four Winter’s they say she lasted, determined to make in through the Forest. On her second Winter, cold and hungry knowing only death would come if she kept going, she turned back. She stumbled out of those Woods delirious, muttering, starved and near death. She is the wisest and most learned person in this village.”
The hut fell silent, and we resumed eating our dinner, my thoughts plagued with images moving in the dark, of the Old Crone as a young girl sitting in the snow by a fire, freezing to death, fearing that when my time came I would scarcely last… or I would perish.
For years I kept an eye on the Old Woman, listened in when I heard her speaking to others. Sometimes she spoke to the trees. I wondered if they spoke back to her. If they did, I couldn’t hear them. But she talked to them like old friends, had conversations. Her face was like the crinkled bark of a tree. Sometimes I wondered that she’d spent so long among them she was becoming one.
When I could I spent us much time near the tree-line as possible, staring in. I watched the Guardians fight when the occasional wolf came to steal a chicken. I practised the movements they used with a long stick. My coming of age was close approaching. I’d need all the knowledge I could get. I had become determined… infatuated with the idea of making it through the Forest. I dreamed of what lie on the other-side. For me it was always some kind of paradise. Warmth, and a treeless clearing stretching for miles. Hills of grass as far as the eye could see.

Finally a new year dawned. All the children who were to come of age travelled a mile in the opposite direction of the thick labyrinthine Forest, here trees grew sparsely. I saw ponds of Geese. Cats and Dogs running about, and a larger village built on the side of a wide river. I could not see the other side, but men on small wooden boats sat in the still river holding sticks with lines entering the water. I knew what they were doing. My Father had often spoken of fishing as a child. This was the village he had came from, he had moved closer to the Forest when he returned injured from his trail the huge cut on his back. My Mother had nursed him back to health. That was what she did, she knew medicines, she knew what herbs and plants were used to help the sick. Even Old Crone came to my Mother when she was younger, they had learned together for a bit, learning the way of the herbs, when Old Crone has learned what she needed she walked off into the Woods. She came back weeks later with vast supplies of Mushrooms and other plants that my mother could use. Even teaching my Mother knew things. She truly was the wisest of the village.
When my Father was nursed back to health, a feat that had seemed impossible, he began courting my Mother, marrying her under the Hawthorn. He hadn’t left since.
“Do you see it!?” A boy called out next to me, he was a boy from a village nearer ours than this, still along the tree line.
I looked where he was pointing. Towards the middle of the village was a huge Oaken Citadel, built hundreds of years ago. Craved into the wood of the halls where pictures of the Forest, and some of the strange creatures inside it. I saw Wolves, and the large monstrous creature my Father spoke of. I saw pictures of Butterflies and other creatures I was familiar with. The Forest truly was a wild place.
When I and the other boys had all sat down inside the huge citadel a voice called out.
“Men. That’s what you will become this year. Each one of you will pit yourself against the wild of the Forest. Those of you that survive will come back men, and be assigned a post based of how well you did.”
I see the Old Crone walk up behind him, hunched and hooded in the same grey cloak.
“Magda will provide you with a week of training with her before you venture into the woods.”
He pulled out a piece of parchment, something Old Crones family line had passed down how to make through the generations.
“On this list is the order your days of birth. The order of which, you will enter the Forest. I will call the names out, but first enjoy your coming of age feast!”
Women come out dressed in beautiful green gowns. They are our age, and I imagine they set this up as a way for us to find pairs. The place beautiful clay plates with swirling carves cut into them in front of us, with a beautiful dark meat, dripping with flavour, a side of cooked river fruit, and a goblet filled with red liquid. I’ve seen the liquid before. My Father had drunk it on oft occasions. But we were to be Men, now we could drink it.
I bite in to the meat, it’s succulent and juicy I can taste that is has been flavoured with garlic, and something else I can’t put my finger on.
I finish a mouth full and wash it down with the Wine my Father had forbidden me from drinking. It was rare he had said, and difficult to make, until Summer.
It was beautiful. Sweet and made Me feel dizzy, but happy, like I could do anything. I knew the flavour on the meat now. It was wine.
The feast felt like hours, as we drank ourselves into a stupor. Some boys ending kissing the serving girls. The man came through, eyeing people off with his stern face and big grey beard, telling them it was time to be quiet and to sit down, I finished off my tenth goblet of wine by the time the halls were silent.
“When I call your name I want you to walk up those stairs to the right, and young Saiben will lead you to your sleeping chamber for the night.”
He unrolled the parchment and cleared his throat.
“Rose of Hazelton”
Whispers filled the hall, all of us looking around. A young red head with short boyish hair walked past me, dressed in boys clothes. Looking at her face I saw she was a girl, and seeing her body shape, it was obvious. But girls don’t do the trial. Only Magda’s family line. And she was the last. As the girl vanished up the stairs silence filled the hall, eagerly awaiting an explanation. None was given. The man called out the next name.
“Euan of Hawthorn”

It was me, stumbling to my feet due to the wine, I steadied myself and walked as straight as I could to, and up the stairs as a young man lead me to my chamber. Beyond the burnt black door was a small fire, a small wooden table with two chairs, and two beds on opposite sides of the room. On the bed, on the right hand side of the room, sat the red haired Rose, her beautiful white face sullen looking.
“I didn’t think they’d make me share a room.” She said, spite in her voice.
“Sorry.” I responded and dumped my clothes at the end of my bed.
I was too tired to talk. I wanted to sleep.
My dreams where strange that night. Normally your dreams are forgotten, but I remember those dreams.
I was by a pond, reeds surrounded it, I moved them aside, looking down in the pond, the water moved like a flowing river, slowing down and stopping, changing and become a complete reflection, I saw myself and heard the sound of Ravens I looked around me and saw only trees, looking back to the pond there was nothing there, just snow, snow and trees all around me, and the crying of Ravens. I looked around the birch trees and snow fell and melted on my naked flesh. And still the Ravens cried. Darkness was falling. I ran, naked and cold through the forest, falling face first into the snow as darkness fell, I huddled against a tree for warmth. Still the ravens cried. “Help!” I screamed. “Somebody please help!” I heard a blood curdling laughter from behind and jumped up to see the face of the Old Crone reaching out from the tree.
“No help will come.” She mocked. “Only death comes in Winter!” She burst into a fit of laughter and I ran.
Running as fast and far as my legs would take me, my body freezing from the cold. Seeing a small rocky cave I hid myself inside.
“The trees are alive!” I hear the Old Crone call out. “Alive and hungry for souls!” She calls.
I cried and the tears froze on my face. Dying of the cold, my naked body huddled against a wall.
“Here.” I hear a voice say, and look up. It’s Rose, she’s coming towards Me, dressed in the fine green dresses of the serving girls. “Let me warm you.” She says removing her dress and pressing her naked body against mine. My body heats up in a way it’s never done before. And the laughing of the crone changes into the cracking of a fire in the cave, and the Ravens crying silences to the gentle buzz of Summer bees. The warmth of Rose against me is heavenly and she moves her hands through my brown hair. My green eyes gazing into hers, I look at her soft milky skin and fiery red hair.
I get a feeling of intense warmth and dizziness, before I wake up.

The Oncoming Storm

The Gods, they whisper to me.
Sweet serenades, seducing my soul into sempiternal slumber.
Silently the world fades to the efflorescence beat of the Gods’ hearts.
I awaken to the burning of my abode. The Gods lullaby, ephemeral.
I hear the screams of the Wood-Folk as the barbarians attack.
The glamour of the God-Song ended. Ineffable beauty never to be heard as the men with steel-arms burn our homes.
We conflate together as we are surrounded. The children cry as the men of steel spit and sneer.
Denouement received as I awaken from my nightmare.
Harbinger of the God vision, I inform my brothers and sisters of the Oncoming Storm.
We flee through the thick labyrinthine forest.
Hearts in our throats, we say goodbye to the Gods, to our homes, and to our lives.

The Gods, they whisper to me. Too silently now…
I yearn to hear them.

DTF – Down to Fuck, but Doomed to Fail

I think everybody knows what it’s like to be sexually repressed. I mean, I’m not ugly, but I can’t seem to catch a break. Maybe it’s my cynical view of reality, maybe it’s my lack of job or car, maybe I’m just a bad fisherman, and even though the ocean is swimming with fish I can’t catch one.
And I’m not Japanese, so there is no way I intend to catch myself a whale…
And so, I am left with the internet. With goddess’ like Sasha Grey, Destiny Porter, Danielle FTV, Eva Berger, Nina Hartley, and an assortment of others to fantasise over.
4 times a day fulfilling the lust that burns inside me. But rather than whacking off over them, I longed to whack off onto them… into them…
But no. Instead a sock caught the glory I spilled. My cum sock, my soup catcher, after the five knuckle shuffle.
Of course, I’m not here to bitch and moan, I’m here to tell a story.
So my story starts 2 years ago. My girlfriend left me, for a guy, not better looking, not more intelligent, but richer, with a job, with a car, and with muscles that make him look like he’s covered in tumours. And that’s when my luck went downhill, when I couldn’t catch a break, when my cum sock started.
But alas, after 2 years that sock had become festy, rank, a crusty sock, stained yellow and smelt of rotting fish…
I probably should have washed it…. quite a few times, or just got rid of it for another sock. But my esteem was dead, and so were my cares…
Until one day, I managed to get a date. With a stunning gorgeous, angel of a girl. I rushed around, preparing for our date, I showered, I shaved, I plucked my eyebrow, I shampooed my hair, I masturbated fresh into the sock, to relieve anxiety on the date… I got dressed into good clothes… Now I needed socks..
All my socks were at the wash… NO.
I had no socks to wear… I suppose I could have just worn shoes, but the pants I wore showed off my shoes, I didn’t want her to think I was weird…
But I did have one pair of socks left…
No..
I couldn’t wear them…
Crusty yellow socks, smelling of rotting flesh…
I pulled them out of the draw…
OH GOD the smell! It reeked like death… DEODORANT.
That’s what I needed. So I sprayed… for 20 minutes I sprayed, until the can was near empty.
But the fresh splooge… I pulled them apart to the sound of ripping and tearing, like Velcro. They were stiff and as I tried to put my feet slowly in under the fear they would just snap… I could feel the sticky cum on my feet and tried my hardest not to vomit. Finally I had them on.. You could see yellow splotches and stains.
Oh god this is awful, I thought, it’s the worst luck in the world.. I should’ve just went bare footed. I could still smell them.
DING DONG!
The door bell. Fuck, she was here!
The entire date she had a bad look on her face, the kind of look you have when you smell shit.
I tried my hardest to be charming, but I felt like my feet were crawling. Like the billions upon billions of potential children were crawling along my feet.
When I had got home, and our date had finished, needless to say I wanted to cry. While pulling the socks of (which seemed to have attached to my flesh) they snapped into pieces.
I did not receive a call back from her… and am once again left to the glory of the screen goddesses.
But I’ve learned my lesson. I no longer jizz into a sock. Tissues will work fine…
And I am still hopeful.
One day, this fisherman will catch a fish.
One that doesn’t smell like the dead rotting corpse of a fish.
I’ll catch the beauty of the sea. A Mermaid. My own.
Until then, just know, ladies. I am DTF.

All the Monsters

Cold heart forgotten in shadows.
A frozen soul, a poisoned breath.
A cancer that grows through your veins.
The leaf that falls. The tree that dies.
The wind that howls and an ocean that stings.
A raging dance, a tornado of emotion.
All the souls sing… Mine is quiet.
An orchestra of screeching death.
The rumbling stomach of the Earth.
It’s heart beats slower as the light from the sun dies.
The souls bark at me, like wild dogs.
I am Silent.
No words protrude my lips.
Cold winter silences the others. We can sleep now.
All the monsters are gone.

Only Rain

Thoughts; they wander back and forth like leaves in the wind. Wise men once postulated: “To accept the truth you must believe the lie.” And life makes fools of us all.
Life and death are just a thought, an idea, and we are all just rain, falling towards our destination.
The final thought.
The last sunrise before an eternal sunset.
Golden skies paint our dreams. You have only ever been dust.
But you were beautiful.
And tomorrow men, women and children will wake and smell the rain soaked grass, and they will smile.
This is only a thought. And I find you beautiful.
The last leaves fall in Autumn.

The Woods

I am standing in the woods.

It is dark. But I can see clearly as the moon breaks through the tree tops.

I… don’t know where I am. It is possible I am dreaming.

I hear the sound of running water and look to my right to see a running stream. The water is crystal clear.
Almost begging you to drink it.

There is no noise. No wind. No chirping of birds or croaking of frogs. No rustling of leaves.
Silence.

I look around. I am not alone. I see the silhouette of rabbits and owls sleeping in the branches.
The rabbits see me watching and hop away… they make no noise… there is only the running water.

I open my mouth to speak… but I don’t. This isn’t a place of human words.

The light of the moon cloaks me, and I move towards the stream.
My feet make no sound until I hit the water.
It is as cold as ice.

I am in the middle of the light. Seeing where it encircles.
I see figures, watching me from the thick of the wood. Figures that move as swiftly as shadows.

The circle of light surrounding me grows smaller… collapsing in on me as the creatures move out of the trees and closer, hidden still, within the dark.
It grows smaller, and smaller until there is almost no light left, just the moons spotlight on me. And the dust floating through the light.

I cannot hear the creatures. But I can feel them, I can feel their presence, their breaths.
Soon the light will be gone. I fall back and sink into the depths of the cold stream. They will not follow me.

I stay down, in the darkness. In the freezing cold. I feel the flow of the water as the stream carries me.
I hold my breath for what feels like eternity.
And lift myself from the water. I do not breath. It is much too cold to breath. The water has slowed here. And I lay in a shallow puddle.
I look around. I am in a clearing of grass. Black grass that waves gently as if there was a breeze.
I feel no breeze here.
I get up and walk around. There are no animals here. A few tree stumps. And now I cannot even hear the river.
I see a dark path forming between the trees. A path.
I follow it.
I walk on. Hours pass. Years maybe. Time is irrelevant here.
I see a red light up ahead. A reddish glow, unworldly.
As I get closer I see what it is.
A rose. A beautiful red rose. Black outlines around the edges of the petals.
The sight of this rose makes my eyes water. Such an indescribable beauty.
A beauty neither human words nor melodies could describe.
It was something truly mystical that had the presence of a force not bound to be kind to man.
I began to hear. Sound, like pebbles dropping.
I looked and saw my tears freeze as they fell hitting the ground as stone.

I feel my stomach churn. Claustrophobia sets in. I feel the woods crushing in on me.
I run.
Wildly through the forest.
The trees sink towards me. The forest will consume me.
I break through a thicket, smashing myself through a barrier of thorns.
I am on an open plane. The moon is hidden behind the clouds, but stars light the sky. The field stretches out for miles. In the distance I see the shadows of horses running free.
Small droplets of rain fall onto my face.
Around me they fall as tears.
I wipe the water from my face.
It smells of milk and honey.
The majesty of this world…

“My soul is a dark forest. My known self will never be more than a little clearing in the forest. Gods, strange gods, come forth from the forest into the clearing of my known self, and then go back. I must have the courage to let them come and go….”

I hear the sound of a piano. Beautiful sad tunes… The world around me reacts. I feel it cry with me at the sad tunes. And I see it… the sun rising in the distance… the dew on the grass and a soft breeze blows my neck.

And I know. And I understand.

‘What If?’

The cold concrete steps beneath me as I sit, watching the passers by.
My train has not arrived yet.
She walks down the stairs across the platform with her friend.
Her blonde hairs falls from her head, lush and graceful.
She tries to walk across the platform and I smile. She cannot walk in heels.
She looks at me and we smile at each other.
I continue to sit as a cool breeze blows against my neck.
I remove my hat and shuffle my hands through my hair. The breeze is nice.
I pull my phone out and inspect the time.
There is still time.
Still time until my train arrives.
I glance over at the girls, I see them glance back and giggle.
I smile to myself and change the song on my iPod.
Children finishing school rush past me, yelling at each other.
I cannot hear them but watch as they race in time to my music.
A freight train passes as I tip my head back against the white poles along the stairs.
I close my eyes and let go.
I feel the wind and the sound of a fading freight as I slip away from reality.
The train passes and the song changes. I check the time.
I still have time.
The girl gets up and begins to walk over, I could swear she looked at me.
But my cynicism tells me she will pass.
She is next to me now. I see her smooth white legs in front of me.
My heart beats.
Could she stop?
She stops. She turns and kneels down next to me and begins to talk.
I remove my headphones and talk back.
She is beautiful.
And we chat friendly. I wonder how this could happen, and why, and my heart races.
I mumble and say everything wrong.
I panic under pressure.
I try to take in all the information, but my brain is lapsing.
What did she say her name was?
It was like a dream and when you wake, try as you might to remember, it slips falling through a void.
A void where you can never reach it, in the empty crevices of your mind.
I try to remember. But I can’t. It’s like trying to catch wind with your hands.
Soon the time comes and the train arrives.
I wish I had more time.
I have forgotten, and no matter how far and wide I search I still cannot find what I am looking for.
If only the time on my phone moved in reverse.
If it gave me more time.
If I could have said what I thought, what I meant… what I truly felt.
Would that have been so wrong?
But time goes on. Forward. Seconds lead into minutes. Minutes lead into hours. Hours lead into days.
And the next time you wake you lose a little bit more.
Sometimes I wonder… when we die… do we perhaps live again?
Do we simply relive life, over and over again, without the knowledge that this has all happened before?
With that dying thought being ‘What If?’
With no memory we repeat our lives. Repeat our mistakes.
But with that nagging feeling in the back of our minds.
Has this happened before?
Or was it, perhaps, a dream?

The Boats

The thunder roars outside. The rain pelting against the window as the wind howls. The house around me creaks, speaking in soft whispers. I lay in bed, staring wide eyed at my roof. I take nothing in. My mind is blank and I listen to the splattering of rain. The wind comes to a gentle still, picking up and howling again every few minutes; the music from nature inspiring me in my artifical tomb.
I hum gently along with the thunder and rain and close my eyes. My mind wanders as I imagine myself wandering through a muddy trail as the rain and wind beat against me, with the crashing of thunder in my ears. I splash through puddles as the lightning flashes giving me glimses of the muddy forest around me.
I have no aim, no destination.
Just the desire to walk.
Walk in the torrential downpour outside. To splash through muddy puddles.
Slowly the rain outside dies down… still with the hollowed whisper of the wind against my window.
The image in my head changes.
I am in a wet paddock. The dark moist grass around me makes me thirsty. The rain is still falling here. But less heavily.
I sit on a small rectangular stone, pearly white by the edge of a clear flowing stream. The wind gently blows my wet hair across my face and over my eyes as I gaze at the stream watching the water gently flow along… care free.
The rain outside my window picks up. I hear the pitter-patter of it falling onto the road.
My mind changes again, I am on the damp sand as the wind blows the rain, it falls on angles now, left and than right with the change of the wind, falling softly and slow and then getting heavier and soft again. I stare out at the ocean. The sun is going down in the distance. The ocean looks rough and ominous, and yet I feel the desire to throw myself into it. To be one with it all.
I sit down.
My hands and bum sink into the sand. The rain drips from the mournful clouds above and trinkles onto my shoulder. I stare at the ocean as it comes to a calm and a ray of light shines on it as a cloud moves out of the way. It doesn’t take long and soon sail boats are floating around lazily on the ocean. The air is still wet with rain and small droplets still fall…
I watch the boats.
My eyes are closed and the storm rages on and off outside.
I lay in bed, alive inside my head… and drift off to sleep.

Somniloquy

“And there will be such intense darkness that one can feel it.” – Exodus 10:21

A feeling of trepidation, falling through a spiral of darkness. Deep intense darkness. The deepest darkest black. So much nothingness that I can feel it press upon my skin. I scream and hear nothing… nothing. Absolute nothingness. Not even the ringing of noise damage in my ears. There is only silence.

I wake from my bed. It is dawn. What was that awful dream? A lucid dream of falling. Falling through the darkness… falling through nothing. It is completely silent. The sun slowly rises but it feels like an eternity. Birds begins calling outside my window. I rise and open the blinds. Small droplets of rain dribble down my window. The rays from the sun warm my cold flesh as it shines through the window. Words echo throughout my thoughts.

“Cloaking your soul. Wearing a mask.
Faceless entity, you deceive yourself.
Heartbroken and Scared.
Rediscover what was, buried beneath what is.
Emerging from the dark and into the light.
The shadow grows, light forgotten within.
Former life destroyed in four years of turmoil.
Pain hidden behind your Heroic Mask.
Your cracks are showing; faceless God.”

My hands tremble with fear, as I reach for the desk beside my bed. I pull my hand out with a little container marked ‘Sonata’. My Zaleplon. My eyes droop. I am so tired, a restless night. I had fallen asleep without my drugs, I was in the clothes from the night before. Deep blue jeans, and an oversized leather jacket.
I remove the jacket and swallow some pills. Now I shall rest without the darkness. Without the fear, sleep, and rest easy.
I lay down upon my bed. Head aching. The light fades… a dark shadow creeps through my room and the last thing I see before I sleep is a big… wide… smile…
I try to scream, but I fall into a deep sleep.
The voice rings in my ears as I fall through the dark.

“Sleep now. Feed Mara. Lord of the Shadows, your time draws near. Feel the darkness, feed it. Let it consume your flesh. Let it wash over you like a wave of enlightenment. Feel it’s power coarse through your veins. Feast, and be born a new. Wake from your slumber. And fill time with darkness. Spread and devour the light.”

My heart pounds furiously, but I cannot feel it with the intense darkness pressing upon my chest. I feel as if I am going to explode.
I do not want to die.. Not trapped here within my mind.
The voice speaks once more.

“Death is impossible. Until I am free.”