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,