The Fucking Man of Words

A mentor once said, "I've have no doubt you have great imagination, but you lack commitment."

Isn't that the case, the prettiest words flowing from this cowards tongue?

Hey Vince, lets go die on the barricades, die for our ideals, die like our heroes.

I'm always lost to the mytho-poetic, I'm always waiting for Hector,

The truth is it revolts me to be human,

Fuck, I hate the need to eat, the need to sleep,

Hell, I hate the need to fuck,

Hey Sela, can you stand to read any more of my self-indulgent dribble?

You must know for all my great ideals I'm rather pathetic.

A sad sack of shit, rotting away in a world he despises.

Against so much I have often forgot what I was for.

I'm always lost to those great works of fiction,

Writing attracted me, because the characters could be sincere,

Sincere like the people I want in the world,

But always sincere like the man I need to be.

Hey Grandfather, when I was young you were my hero.

You did the kind of things I could only dream of.

I made a god out of you, and your struggle.

Then I met you, and my idol was smashed.

I'm always lost to the bottle,

At least she is my truest friend,

She never listens too carefully to what I say,

And she never expects me to become anything more,

Hey father, I hated you all my life,

Yet, everyday I go on I understand you a little more,

I understand the revulsion you felt to this world.

And in it, perhaps the revulsion you felt to me.

My favorite Call Girl

My favorite Call Girl

How many years have gone by?
Look at the pitiful state I am in.
I got despair like little cuts all over my hand,
Rolled in lemon juice.

You know what's funny, is I almost forgot your name.
I forgot who you were to me, and what it all meant.
Rather I allowed you to be a transcendental image.
An incorruptible memory that could be held on to.

Yet, I forgot who you are. I've almost forgotten your name.
Because I want so badly to believe,
To believe in hope, and life after you.
And life after my suicides, drugs, and torrents of alcohol.

You know I don't drink to forget you,
No, your memory is too precious, I drink and remember.
I drink and compare. Each woman in my arms is just a pale shadow to you.
The you I've invented, the goddess I made out of a very kind mortal.

I wish I had the courage to ask you,
To ask you to remind me of the real world we once shared.
As the snow danced in the sky, the hot tears ran down my eyes.
I made every vow I could think of.

I wanted to be an ideal, something that could match my fantasy of you,
I started to feel inadequate, I resented myself,
And I started to forget the taste of your skin.
I forgot how little all my stupid thoughts mattered holding you.

Now if only I could remember your name,
If only I could remember the man who was enough for you,
Maybe some kind soul still a drift in this world,
Maybe she will show me some goddamn mercy.

Write Something You Jackass

Write that every bottle that passed between two lips had meaning.
Write that every moment shared between two warm bodies had some significance.
Write that  the man begging for change is my brother, fellow-man, fraternity.

Write to ask them to stop the war, and stop the death of innocents.
Write to silence the voice of despair to shut it up a few seconds.
Write to free the enslaved, to bring equality and fairness back to the world.

Fuckin' write to end the gonzo-bourgeoisie dictatorship of minds.
Fuckin' write to hear yourself on paper to feel less alone.
Fuckin' write to believe in one more thing, a subtle mutable destiny,

Write to get this all out!
Write to say anything at all!
Just write to feel a bit like a human.....

Honesty

Honesty.

I think I have to long been a dishonest man.

The words that roll of my liars tongue are hollow.

A mirror to the empty decay that rots away my insides.

So, maybe it is time to be a honest man.

The world around me seems so distant so far from me.

A window to the feelings of loss and desperation.

Now I think back to my sins and cry, a broken man.

The wait now is for absolution, but the gods are so far away.

A doorway to my regrets like an ocean of abysmal despair.

So, maybe it is time to profess, I am a broken man.

The water I stare into mocks the failure in my eyes.

A deep blue storm of failure and dishonesty.

I think though, I have been too long a bad man.

The wash out of infinite failure bemoans my infinite sorrows.

A bed without you, but at least there is some wine left in that bottle.

So, with that warm red liquid dancing on my tongue.

The wine is a bargain, I sell my health and sanity for strength.

A red wave that allows me to beg for a moments pardon as the tears fall.

I think that I don't have the strength to go on.

The joke is that I tried to take my life again.

A force outside of me resuscitated me at the hospital.

So, if I am to be an honest man I must confess.

Waking up there broke me more than ever.

Those well meaning people who saved my life only prolonged my suffering.

And your fears are well founded Vince,

You are most likely to lose me to this world that I hate so much.

Because I don't have the strength everyday to stop the pain.

Dedicated to the Memory of a Woman I Loved.

Dedicated to the Memory of a Woman I Loved.

So I sat down with a woman who reminded me of you,

She had come across the sea from your native land,

I laughed and smiled, but felt my heart sink deeper,

Because in my memory of you, I think of what I almost had.

And so I looked across the table and listened to her story,

It was one of happiness and the kind of future I wanted,

She had married a nice British man, she had a lovely daughter,

I smiled more, laughed at the jokes and the sill words I still remembered,

Of your face that I can still see when I close my eyes,

I can almost remember your touch on my skin,

To that I can almost still taste you on my lips,

Because you made me feel like I wasn't so lost,

And you made me feel like I could be loved,

That with your arms entangled in mine I could let go,

I could find repentance for my sins.

And you made me feel like I could be loved.

You made me feel that I could let go of the hate,

And with your hand in mine I could never feel envy,

Who could really want anything more,

Than a woman who had showed me forgiveness.

I could let go of my hate, and free myself from my anger,

And in love finally find the peace my mind had begged for,

The happiness my soul had yearned for,

But the cowardice that weighed around my neck dragged,

It dragged me further down to my own hell,

The one I made on this earth, I made of my life,

So I pushed you away because I needed you so much,

And now I lay alone on my floor broken, shattered crushed,

And every day that gets further away from when I was happy,

I sink deeper into the cracks as my life drains,

And every day my heart cries for the future I almost had,

I laugh the sorrows away because some people are meant to suffer.

Sanglante: Alojzy

Sanglante: Alojzy

Brother Thomas heard the Hussars approaching. He stood up from his notes and called for a few knights to greet his allies. “Prince Alojzy, it is a pleasure to see you. Here to do the lords work with us I suppose?”

Alojzy dismounted his horse and embraced Thomas. “Yes good knight, we will defeat these pagans and drive them from Christendom.” The hussars cheered.

Thomas brought a map out and began to show the prince. “You see, these are the locations of there temples. Destroying them is the first step in cleansing these devil worshipers from the land.”

As the prince looked it over he noticed the marks around one temple in particular, “Thomas, what is so special about this place?”

The knight smiled. “It is a sacred grove, in it is rumored to be one of the oldest pagan temples in existence. Not only that, it houses something of a library where the documents and texts of their superstitions are kept. Breaking it will render most of the other shrines inconsequential.”

Alojzy looked over the terrain between the temple and their forces. Alojzy motioned for a servant to bring the men some wine. They drank and steeled there nerves. There was an ocean of blood Christ demanded from his apostles on Earth, an deluge to cleanse it of non-believers. Thomas's grandfather had fought for Jerusalem! And now he was here out in the sticks fighting over forests, for what....

Ecumenical politics, the crusades in the East were meant to distract them all from the catastrophic defeats they were suffering in the Holy Land. Soon it would be decades before a christian pilgrim could see the shrines of Christ. And yet the pope and the emperor had Thomas and his knights fighting in Lithuania. What even was Lithuania, a vast dark jungle full of devils between the Kingdom of the Poles and that of the Rus.

Thomas Stared at the maps, the wine was slowly overtaking him. He looked at Alojzy, “We are no longer fighting just for God, nor to assist the noble Polish king against these goddess pagans. Do you know what we really want prince?”

Alojzy smiled, “Brother you have had too much wine, tomorrow my hussars and your knights will bring a torrent of souls to Christ. They will convert before our crosses or upon our lances.” At these words he patted Thomas, smiling and walking away toward the Hussar encampment.

Thomas stood there and watched his ally walk away. His knights weren't fighting for these poles, nor Christ. He knew he wanted to carve out a Teutonic kingdom in the east, a brotherhood of cross and sword, a permanent scar in the land. The pagans once called the area Prussia. Yes, Thomas thought, Prussia will be a good name for there kingdom.

Idyll to Fallen Idols,

Idyll to Fallen Idols,

Where a warmth of fire once stoked my passions,

Now I only recognize the sorrowfulness of cold,

And those words that dropped from my lips,

They use to mean so much more than now,

But as a child's idols die they know their heart is weak, 

It's hard to count the beat as it slows and dies,

And we slowly are dying from something so silly,

To so bizarre a death as to be worthy of the Dark Ages,

I feel my soul tortured and torn asunder,

And there is just a pain of loss a frustration,

For with iconoclasm comes a void,

With anarchy and revolution comes a gentle desperation,

Yes today I feel it hang in the wind as my mind withers,

Sanglante: Thomas 1

Sanglante: Thomas 1

“Brother Thomas” the priest called. And a large knight walked towards him. This giant man was covered from head to toe in heavy Teutonic armor. As Thomas approached he stared at the the villagers the priest had been interrogating.

The first had been stretched and broken on the wheel. Her eyes still open and mouth frozen as she called out for her pagan gods. Next to her was a child, his feet had been burned as the priest sought to get a confession, as the child writhed the collar around his neck was tightened, inch by inch until he was asphyxiated. Finally there was the man who was ready to talk, after all watching his wife and child die so brutally can cause even the strongest man to break.

Brother Thomas took off his helmet and looked at the man, speaking softly, “I am brother Thomas, soldier of Christ, Komtur of the Ordo domus Sanctæ Mariæ Theutonicorum Hierosolymitanorum, we have come to bring the cross to your lands,a nd defeat the old pagan devils you worship.”

At first the man remained silent. And then he rose his head. The priest ahd detahced the man's retina durring the questioning, so he could only see out of one eye, and as bllod ran from his mouth and nose he began to speak, “Yes knight, your brothers have been bringing the cross to our land. We see now that yours is a religion of fire and blood. And it is only blood that we can offer to satiate it. The temple you are looking for is to the east. I would guide you, but my gods shall soon grant me the mercy of death, a mercy you will soon receive for there, in our holiest shrine the gods themselves will confront you. Yes knight of blood and fire, you will find both their! This conquest, this crusade will only end in your death, and the destruction of your order.”

Thomas smiled, with a gentle stroke of his sword he took the mans head clean off. Then he looked at the priest. “Burn them” he said, “and then gather the brothers, we have marchign orders.”

Some brothers assisted the priest, to prepare the stakes to burn these townsfolk at, however they were careful to remove the heads of all of them. After all, it will be a greater punishment that when these pagans make it to hell, their heads will be severed from there bodies.

Thomas called for a few more of the brothers. “After the villagers are burned, put the whole city to the torch.” The brothers nodded and headed off.

At that moment an emissary rode up, “Komtur!” he called out, “Komtur Thomas!” Thomas walked towards the emissary. Out of breath the man tried to speak, “The pagans!” he gasped, “The Pagans have mounted a counter attack!” Thomas looked at him unimpressed. The emissary continued, “Brother Conrad is dead, his knights were captured and mutilated.” At these word a fire lit in Thomas's eyes. He spoke with a cold caculated tone, “And where is this force of savages?” The emissary explained the details,a nd then stunningly interjected.... “They have the Generalprokurator from the vatican, and they were tortureing him!” Thomas stared enraged at the emissary, and called to his brothers.

“Brothers!” he yelled, “Brothers, the pagans have attacked the church!” As the men assembled he bagan to adress them in a familiar if patriarchial tone. “Komtur Conrad and his men were slain and horrifically tortured. And worse yet, the men took the Generalprokurator, the deputy of the pope. These men insult God himself, and this insult cannot go unpunnished. We shall with all haste finish putting this town to the flame, and then march, march as if the heavens were beckoning us to this pagan camp. There, by the will of the almighty shall we take every last pagan soul to hell!”

At this sound the men cheered wildy. Thomas then mounted his horse, and with torch in hand lead the brothers in the burning of this little Lithuanian village. As they assembled outside of the town, the red blaze of the village reflected the fire in Brother Thomas's heart. He would see every pagan brought to the lord, or sent down to Satan, For he would stomach nothing but the true religion to exist on this earth, not while he could still march.

As his knights marched he kept calling, “Pick up the pace! Christians are dying!” They covered an incredible amount of territory as they aproached the pagan camp. Near the camp several other Komturs and their Knights had assembled. The priests were reading Psalms and the men prepareing for war. As the Komturs assembled to discuss the plan Thomas stared toward the Pagans.

Mixed in witht he crys of suffering men, you could hear the pagans danceing and reveling. It was a stunning victory. In the center of the camp nailed ot a cross was the Generalprokurator. They had disembowled him while he was still alive and tied his entrails around his kneck. The agony he had suffered lit a fire so intense in Thomas's heart.

Fianlly the Komtur's agreed on a battle plan, and Thomas, had demanded the honor of leading the first charge where by some of the other brothers would attack with their Knights from different directions eventually encriceling the pagans. The men cheered as their leader once more wipped them into a frenzy of bloodlust. Finallay to the sound of martial music, he unleashed his men towards the camp, riding the fastest and at the head he yelled, “Men, for every pagan you kill I will send a gold coin back to your family in Germany, and for every head you take, an indulgence for one of your family memebers still in Purgatory!”

Brother Thomas's horse bounded over the picket line and begun engageing the Pagans immediately. They had been caught by surprise, naked, drunk, and unarmed. By the time the war horn had been blown Thomas had felled nearly a dozen men. However, tyhe Lithuanians then rallied, and began to push the Komtur's knights back. Dismounting his steed and swinging his great sword Thomas broke the counter attack. The pagans began to fall abck as the other Komtur's encircled them.

As the sun rose, it seemed that the grass had been died red. The Teautonic causualties had been negligible, but only a few pagans still lived. Thomas had questions for them, and of course, they planned to repay the kindness these savages had shown.

The interregation began with flaying, and then streching. Finally the men were broken on the wheel. The Komturs all reveled except for Thomas. He called a meeting. He told them of the pagan temple he had been searching for and the dark magic the villagers said existed there. He reminded the men that it was his duty to stop it. While the Komtur's wanted to get back to their wealth and estate, they were willing to part with a few knights each in order to bolster Thomas's force. The only condition was a share in the loot from the Pagan temple.

Agreeing to this Thomas wlaked over to the last prisoner to survive, the man was writhing in agony, the flaying made is body feel like fire, and his eyes welled with hatred. Thomas smiled, “Tell me where this temple is, and I will end your suffering on this earth” The man turned his head. He spoke concise and direct directions. “Go”, he laughed “Go to your death, there is a power in that tmeple, a power that will turn back your hordes! We will be free to wroship the gods of our fathers, and it will be you that are broken on the wheel!”

Contagio

Contagio

With the nausea in her stomach she stared across the room. The judge had ordered six months of Narcotics Anonymous after her last incident. Now Ana was stuck sitting in this stale room in a terribly ugly church.

She thought back to her years failing out of an Art History program..... Churches that had all the look of the poverty of a religion that had once adorned cathedrals, now Christianity was as likely to be found in the store face of an old strip mall than within a beautiful adorned building, and this church was only one more example of that ugly focus on god......

Yea it was nice of the judge to give a suspended imposition of sentence as long as she complied with some terrible rehabilitation program, but what had she really done wrong? She was in a hurry, her damn dealer had held her up making the goddamn girl wait all day, so she had to shoot up on her way to work. So she thought it would be fine to do it at the stop light. It had never been a problem before, but this bag was a little stronger.

She felt the gentle prick of the needle and the next thing she knows she is at the hospital trying to explain to the cops what happened, which she didn't herself know. In fact they explained with such arrogance, they told her she had passed out while driving and rolled into traffic. Then they had taken her to this hospital, and pausing they read her, her rights and put her in handcuffs.

Oh, and the gall she thought, of the judge to suggest that she would attend these meetings even if the world ended.....Like the world was going to end.

The group stared at her in silence. Finally she looked up....., “Yes”, she mouthed..... Then the councilor nodded his head and pointed at the television, the news was on.....

Due to the growth and rapid spread of this new virus the governments of major world powers are imposing quarantines on the infected zones while they are investigating a solution to the infection. We apologize for the inconvenience, and instruct all citizens to stay where they are. To remain inside until the danger has passed. Now the rules and regulations of the local curfews will appear as they differ quarantine zone to zone.

Everyone sat in silence, they stared at the wall and the floors, no one wanted to look each other in the eyes. They feared the burden of having to speak a word of comfort or assurance after such terrible news. The Pastor walked in with a sullen look and put his hand on the councilor. He spoke bravely, but unconvincingly, “All of you are welcome to stay here, we don't have much, but will share all that we do. Turn to god in these difficult hours, and he will give you strength. We will bring what blankets we have to the church there we shall weather this storm.” He looked to heaven and then across the room.

Ana was staring at the ground.... at least it couldn't be nay worse she thought. The pastor came over to her, a few of the girls were standing with him, she hadn't been paying attention, “He put his hand on her and spoke, “Would you mind helping us set up the church for these people?”

Ana sighed but stood. They walked over to the Parish house. The pastors wife sat there silently holding her children. You could tell she was scared. However, her manners came first, she offered the girls some tea, and then sent her daughters to start fetching linen and pillows and whatever they could spare.

The girls finished their tea and followed the pastor over to the church piling blankets and sheets on the pew. The pastor looked at the three girls. “Ana, Hailey, and Brie, I have watched you girls recover and deeply wish you strength, me and my wife will be available at any time if you need to talk, as I'm sure the counselor will be.

The girls headed back to the meeting room. The room was in argument. Voices were raised and people were leaving. The girls stood silently as half of the people stormed off mad and unaware of the gravity of the situation. The remaining six people sat in silence. The counselor watched the news ardently. For the last few weeks there had been health warnings, but nothing so serious. It was suggested that people drink orange juice, not it seemed they may have been smarter to have hoarded weapons.

As the night came to a close the remaining girls slept int the church while the counselor slept in the meeting room. The pastor and his wife brought them a nice dinner, but everyone knew and understood how little prepared they were for this.

As days went by their numbers thinned but the three girls remained. The meals grew scarcer, and everyone started to feel the sting of the quarantine, the news continued to show scenes of dramatic confrontations between people and security forces. Finally there came a knock at the door there were armed guards, they argued with the counselor and the pastor. They seized what few provisions remained and stormed off.

Things grew worse as hunger rolled in. The counselor left and the pastor became ever more distant. His family remained locked in their home and the three girls were left to their own thoughts. One night they pried open the cabinet and found some sacramental wine. The girls split it three ways and as the night grew colder and they grew hungrier they decided to head out and look for some sort of food.

The church was in a wooded area. They headed down the path the girls rambled on incomprehensibly as they shivered and stumbled into the woods. They had been lost for days before the first one fell from exhaustion. The two remaining girls ran to the collapsed one. Brie had collapsed from exhaustion, she was wheezing. And as she lay there shivering Ana kissed her forehead. The girl closed her eyes and the other two stood up.

They kept walking and Ana could feel the tears running down her cheek. It was a terrible waste of hydration. Finally her and the other girl found some berries. They began to eat these half rotten probably poison wild berries as fast as they could. Needless to say, their stomachs were turning early the next morning as the girls continued to wander lost and hungry. Hailey fell to her knees crying.

Ana tried to to get her to stand up, but she begged her to leave her there. So Ana stood up and wandered forward. As night close she noticed an old cabin. She got the door open. At least she had learned somethings when she was a junky.

She opened the cabinets and her heart was delighted, she found food. It is hard to really understand the feeling of elation felt. Sometimes Ramen Noodels and Veg All seem like a king's feast when you have so little. In the cabinet was also a bottle of vodka so there she sat filthy scared, but at least now she was warm and fed. In true serendipity the water even still worked. And so Ana dozed off in the bath tub with the bottle of vodka. When she woke up she climbed into the bed, holding the bottle close to her as one would a lover she slept for what seemed like days.....

Standards

Standards I spend plenty of hours trying to assuage my fears of losing an ongoing fight against myself and the dark logic of a wholly absurd universe that I feel ever estranged from. However I choose to look at the empty bottles around my bed and the spilt wine as simple missteps on my track to find a way to live in accordance with the world. A world often filled with disharmony and pain, but a world full of fools and not monsters. It is a long standing conviction I carry that the people of this world do wrong more out of ignorance or stupidity than out of malice. And when a fool offends you how can you really be angry? I meditate on Marcus Aurelius and Epictetus. I think long on the world and wish to do good. I want not to desperately burn out trying to effect change, but instead to do what good I can to help those I can, but not exhaust myself against the endless torrent of misery. I have spoke to some people who believe this world is already lost. Religious folks who look to heaven for salvation. Or even people I have more in common with, revolutionaries who think we can replace the status quo. Although I would love to see the world change I fear it would not be for the better. Instead I content myself to my studies, to my struggle. Somewhere in my metaphysical struggles to face every day I find enough strength to drag myself out of bed. I do everything I can to help the people I meet. I ask the gods I don't believe in for strength to confront my own weaknesses and failings. Strength to push the empty bottles over to the corner and forget that reprieve for awhile to allow my mind clarity. The clarity to allow those things beyond my control no control over me. To see the world not as something to be challenged and changed, but something to be taught and allowed to mature. I think that there are two types of revolt. An idea common in many ideas and systems of thought. The lesser revolt, a direct challenge to things that are corrupt decadent or wrong, and the greater revolt, a choice to withdraw enough from a world that needs to change, but to live happily with your convictions at peace. “Say to yourself in the early morning: I shall meet today inquisitive, ungrateful, violent, treacherous, envious, uncharitable men. All these things have come upon them through ignorance of real good and ill.” (the Good Emperor)