Sunday, October 11, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Golden Ages of New York
The rumble of the trains echoed along the dark, dank tunnels. The dirty, dusty tracks rattled and screeched in protest as the subway cars clanked their way along them. Their bodies marked with age and use. So many people, these trains have seen. Tall, short, homeless, affluent, black, white, fat, skinny. All different shapes, sizes and colors, going someplace, or no where at all.
I sat next to the doors on this train. This car held the old style, reminiscent of the golden ages of New York. Not littered with computer controlled LCD screens or bright white florescent tubes. Coated with a yellow dinge from time's pass. The letter Q etched into the glass on the window.
Quickly, Quietly, Quest, Quality, Quantity...
These trains hold a special place in my heart, the industrious place. Not the one with puppies, or valentines. But the place reserved for big old steel factories, foundries and industry. Booming business and busy workers. I am from the future, though my hindsight remains true. We were so naive back then, but aspired to greatness.
People riding together are always so interesting. Some try so hard to disregard one another. Others try and attract attention. Some stare off into the distance completely unaffected.
My gaze falls upon a beautiful girl. Probably not much older than I, her long brunette locks fall just past her shoulders. Her olive skin glistens with the slightest bit of summer sweat. Her brown eyes, pools of thoughtfulness as she reads Friedrich Nietzsche's Human, All Too Human.
I wonder if I should say something to her.
"Hey, is that Nietzsche?"
"Yeah... What does it look like? What are you, retarded?"...No.
"That's a great book..."
"Wow, and you're pretty creepy."...No.
"Hi, I'm..."
"Sorry, I've got a boyfriend."
I play a million scenarios in my head. Finally, I return my stare to the window. The passing concrete jungle in the distance. Apartment buildings, and businesses. People getting high. People kissing. People loving. People reading. People stealing and mugging. People plotting. People thinking.
I wonder if anybody is thinking about me, right now. Not me specifically, but me right now. The guy staring into the abyss of civilization. I wonder if they're thinking exactly what I'm thinking.
The train bells ding as the Conductors voice jubilantly exclaims "Avenue H!" I look out into Flatbush from the open subway door. It's low buildings, run down and historic. Time seems to have fallen away from me, as the Q makes it way down the alphabet of streets before it.
The beautiful girl arises from her seat quickly grabbing her things. Her eyes meet mine for a moment, and she smiles. I return a smile, as she passes to leave. It's the little things that make me happy in life. Smiles from a stranger, long train rides to think.
Finally, Kings Highway arrives and I step out of the crowded train. The orange glow of the street lights around me continue my reminiscence of an era I was barely alive for. As I walk the streets, I fall deeper into the arms of Brooklyn. It's people, it's atmosphere. For them, it was a place to live. But for me, it was a new discovery.
The old apartment building stood tall, on the end of a dead end street. The red glow of the end marker artifacting in my eyes. Twinkling as it warned. I made my way up the concrete steps, my feet scratching the chalkboard of concrete as I did. Time is the enemy, I pondered as I climbed those ancient steps. Exploring the temple of the domicile.
My friends were gathered on the roof, smoking cigarettes and taking photos of the skyline.
"Oi, What took you so long?"
"Nice to see you too, Asshole." I replied with a laugh.
The roof door slammed behind me as I joined them with a metal clank. I grabbed a cigarette from the pack and lit it.
I took a long drag. The smoke seemed to join the clouds as it left me. In the falling light of dusk, the skyline was breathtaking. The buildings painted with bright goldenrod and deep purple. A rainbow sherbet splattered across the sky.
The cameras clicked and snapped at the skyline. Hoping to catch the rays of sunlight before they collapsed into the earth once again.
I heard the roof door clank shut behind me.
I turned around to see the beautiful girl and her friends. Carrying a bottle of liquor, and laughing.
Only in New York, I thought to myself.
I sat next to the doors on this train. This car held the old style, reminiscent of the golden ages of New York. Not littered with computer controlled LCD screens or bright white florescent tubes. Coated with a yellow dinge from time's pass. The letter Q etched into the glass on the window.
Quickly, Quietly, Quest, Quality, Quantity...
These trains hold a special place in my heart, the industrious place. Not the one with puppies, or valentines. But the place reserved for big old steel factories, foundries and industry. Booming business and busy workers. I am from the future, though my hindsight remains true. We were so naive back then, but aspired to greatness.
People riding together are always so interesting. Some try so hard to disregard one another. Others try and attract attention. Some stare off into the distance completely unaffected.
My gaze falls upon a beautiful girl. Probably not much older than I, her long brunette locks fall just past her shoulders. Her olive skin glistens with the slightest bit of summer sweat. Her brown eyes, pools of thoughtfulness as she reads Friedrich Nietzsche's Human, All Too Human.
I wonder if I should say something to her.
"Hey, is that Nietzsche?"
"Yeah... What does it look like? What are you, retarded?"...No.
"That's a great book..."
"Wow, and you're pretty creepy."...No.
"Hi, I'm..."
"Sorry, I've got a boyfriend."
I play a million scenarios in my head. Finally, I return my stare to the window. The passing concrete jungle in the distance. Apartment buildings, and businesses. People getting high. People kissing. People loving. People reading. People stealing and mugging. People plotting. People thinking.
I wonder if anybody is thinking about me, right now. Not me specifically, but me right now. The guy staring into the abyss of civilization. I wonder if they're thinking exactly what I'm thinking.
The train bells ding as the Conductors voice jubilantly exclaims "Avenue H!" I look out into Flatbush from the open subway door. It's low buildings, run down and historic. Time seems to have fallen away from me, as the Q makes it way down the alphabet of streets before it.
The beautiful girl arises from her seat quickly grabbing her things. Her eyes meet mine for a moment, and she smiles. I return a smile, as she passes to leave. It's the little things that make me happy in life. Smiles from a stranger, long train rides to think.
Finally, Kings Highway arrives and I step out of the crowded train. The orange glow of the street lights around me continue my reminiscence of an era I was barely alive for. As I walk the streets, I fall deeper into the arms of Brooklyn. It's people, it's atmosphere. For them, it was a place to live. But for me, it was a new discovery.
The old apartment building stood tall, on the end of a dead end street. The red glow of the end marker artifacting in my eyes. Twinkling as it warned. I made my way up the concrete steps, my feet scratching the chalkboard of concrete as I did. Time is the enemy, I pondered as I climbed those ancient steps. Exploring the temple of the domicile.
My friends were gathered on the roof, smoking cigarettes and taking photos of the skyline.
"Oi, What took you so long?"
"Nice to see you too, Asshole." I replied with a laugh.
The roof door slammed behind me as I joined them with a metal clank. I grabbed a cigarette from the pack and lit it.
I took a long drag. The smoke seemed to join the clouds as it left me. In the falling light of dusk, the skyline was breathtaking. The buildings painted with bright goldenrod and deep purple. A rainbow sherbet splattered across the sky.
The cameras clicked and snapped at the skyline. Hoping to catch the rays of sunlight before they collapsed into the earth once again.
I heard the roof door clank shut behind me.
I turned around to see the beautiful girl and her friends. Carrying a bottle of liquor, and laughing.
Only in New York, I thought to myself.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Discovery
The cool fall breeze spread across my skin sending a shiver down up my body.
Dusk is my favorite time of day. The light of the day recedes into the earth, kind of like someone slowly turning a dimmer switch on the world. Everything becomes a silhouette, leaning up against the fading orange, blue and purple. Birds become just shadows, swooping back and forth across the sky. I feel at home in dusk, in night. There I'm no one in particular, I'm a just another lonely shadow. And I love it.
I stood in the dim light of the fading sun. I stood there at the edge of the water, staring down as I did. A flock of geese bobbed up and down on the wavy water. They were just outlines, floating on a sea of black. The wind bristled the leaves of the trees nearby, conducting a symphony with their small bodies. The drop down to the water from my plateau was littered with rocks and trees. It was an beautiful sight.
I shifted my gaze down to my shoes. "Am I really standing here?" I thought to myself.
It seems stupid to ask such a question, but the honest truth is that in that moment, I couldn't be sure. It was surreal.
For what seemed like hours, I stood there. Just staring. Staring without being judged or condescended. I was completely disconnected from everyone and everything. The moment felt amazing. Feeling fulfilled I walked over to my blue sport-bike and mounted it. I followed the trail back across the plateau. My bike tires crunched against the gravel path, clashing with the Wind's symphony.
A plane passed overhead, it's engines roared from high in the sky. It was life in stereo, multicolored and brilliant.
In the distance, I could see silhouettes of people. Their bodies locked together in passion, fiercely kissing each other. They stood in my path, completely unaware of my presence. As I approached, I could see the details in their silhouettes.
Her arms wrapped around his neck, resting upon his broad shoulders. Her was hair being blown all over by the playful wind. His strong tall body was standing to shield her from the wind.
I started to pick up speed, as they left the foreground of my thoughts. I heard a voice cry out.
"James? Is that you?"
I slid my bike to a halt, and turned around.
Her deep green eyes pierced mine, even in the low light. Suddenly, my silhouette had shattered into pieces.
"Hey Amy. Didn't realize it was you. How are you?"
Her full lips seemed to caress each word as she spoke.
"I'm good. You remember my boyfriend Tom, don't you?"
"Of course." I extended my hand to him.
His large hand grasped mine firmly, lingering for just a moment.
I stared into her eyes. I was taking a trip, right there in front of them. I traveled back into the past.
I remembered the first time I stared into them. I was pretending to read outside of school.
She caught me staring and demanded to know what I was staring at. I apologized, and stammered nervously.
She laughed and asked what I was reading.
I remembered when she told me she loved me.
"Oh, James.. I adore you so."
Her full lips seemed to caress each word as she spoke.
"You're so beautiful, Amy. I get lost in your eyes."
Those pools of green, where my stares had fallen so many times.
Within them, time stops. Moments linger and memories are vivid.
"I-I love you, James."
Must've been the only time I had ever heard her unsure of herself.
"I love you too, Amy. Indescribably so."
And when she took it back.
"I'm sorry, James. I'm so sorry."
Her green eyes were leaking tears. Streams of water running down her smooth skin.
"I love you, but I'm just not in love with you anymore. I can't fake it anymore."
Her words were like daggers in that moment.
I remember the sound of the car door slam as she left me. I remember how it smelled,
how the brisk fall air stung my nostrils. I remember that moment so vividly.
And I returned.
"Well, I've got to go. Nice to see you again."
"It was. Goodbye." She smiled. He gave me a slight wave.
I smiled, and turned away from them.
I mounted my trusty blue sport bike again. I listened to the symphony of the leaves.
The gravel crunching underneath my bike tires. I returned to play in the world of silhouettes and
undefined beings. I shoved myself forward and pedaled hard.
"I can fake it. I will always fake it."
I whispered to no one at all.
Dusk is my favorite time of day. The light of the day recedes into the earth, kind of like someone slowly turning a dimmer switch on the world. Everything becomes a silhouette, leaning up against the fading orange, blue and purple. Birds become just shadows, swooping back and forth across the sky. I feel at home in dusk, in night. There I'm no one in particular, I'm a just another lonely shadow. And I love it.
I stood in the dim light of the fading sun. I stood there at the edge of the water, staring down as I did. A flock of geese bobbed up and down on the wavy water. They were just outlines, floating on a sea of black. The wind bristled the leaves of the trees nearby, conducting a symphony with their small bodies. The drop down to the water from my plateau was littered with rocks and trees. It was an beautiful sight.
I shifted my gaze down to my shoes. "Am I really standing here?" I thought to myself.
It seems stupid to ask such a question, but the honest truth is that in that moment, I couldn't be sure. It was surreal.
For what seemed like hours, I stood there. Just staring. Staring without being judged or condescended. I was completely disconnected from everyone and everything. The moment felt amazing. Feeling fulfilled I walked over to my blue sport-bike and mounted it. I followed the trail back across the plateau. My bike tires crunched against the gravel path, clashing with the Wind's symphony.
A plane passed overhead, it's engines roared from high in the sky. It was life in stereo, multicolored and brilliant.
In the distance, I could see silhouettes of people. Their bodies locked together in passion, fiercely kissing each other. They stood in my path, completely unaware of my presence. As I approached, I could see the details in their silhouettes.
Her arms wrapped around his neck, resting upon his broad shoulders. Her was hair being blown all over by the playful wind. His strong tall body was standing to shield her from the wind.
I started to pick up speed, as they left the foreground of my thoughts. I heard a voice cry out.
"James? Is that you?"
I slid my bike to a halt, and turned around.
Her deep green eyes pierced mine, even in the low light. Suddenly, my silhouette had shattered into pieces.
"Hey Amy. Didn't realize it was you. How are you?"
Her full lips seemed to caress each word as she spoke.
"I'm good. You remember my boyfriend Tom, don't you?"
"Of course." I extended my hand to him.
His large hand grasped mine firmly, lingering for just a moment.
I stared into her eyes. I was taking a trip, right there in front of them. I traveled back into the past.
I remembered the first time I stared into them. I was pretending to read outside of school.
She caught me staring and demanded to know what I was staring at. I apologized, and stammered nervously.
She laughed and asked what I was reading.
I remembered when she told me she loved me.
"Oh, James.. I adore you so."
Her full lips seemed to caress each word as she spoke.
"You're so beautiful, Amy. I get lost in your eyes."
Those pools of green, where my stares had fallen so many times.
Within them, time stops. Moments linger and memories are vivid.
"I-I love you, James."
Must've been the only time I had ever heard her unsure of herself.
"I love you too, Amy. Indescribably so."
And when she took it back.
"I'm sorry, James. I'm so sorry."
Her green eyes were leaking tears. Streams of water running down her smooth skin.
"I love you, but I'm just not in love with you anymore. I can't fake it anymore."
Her words were like daggers in that moment.
I remember the sound of the car door slam as she left me. I remember how it smelled,
how the brisk fall air stung my nostrils. I remember that moment so vividly.
And I returned.
"Well, I've got to go. Nice to see you again."
"It was. Goodbye." She smiled. He gave me a slight wave.
I smiled, and turned away from them.
I mounted my trusty blue sport bike again. I listened to the symphony of the leaves.
The gravel crunching underneath my bike tires. I returned to play in the world of silhouettes and
undefined beings. I shoved myself forward and pedaled hard.
"I can fake it. I will always fake it."
I whispered to no one at all.
Monday, June 8, 2009
The silver rim of the shift knob sparkled in the dome light.
My engine purred expectantly. It was beautiful night within the city limits.
The apartment buildings stood like complacent peacefulness.
The line of white power across my dashboard was so appetizing. Completely irresistible.
I remember distinctly, (Oh so distinctly) the way the tiny glass tubes clanked as I returned their brother to them.
The white line stood out against my cars dark, black, soulless interior.
(Soulless or soulful? It's so hard to tell.)
I fingered the straw nervously. I remember my stomach flip flopping so many times.
"There's no turning back from this now."
I kept telling myself that. Every one of our races, I did.
The other racers were in their cars around me... Preparing, as they called it.
Each one repeating a ritual we do, every month.
Preparing to completely wreck our zen with adrenaline and insanity.
We were fucking invincible. Our team, our people. Completely bulletproof.
I breathed in deeply, my nostrils burned as the powder made it's home.
Instantly, I felt better about being me. I was fucking ready. (Oh, so ready.)
I opened my windows, and looked out to my friends turned enemies.
They looked back into my eyes defiantly, ready to face what was coming.
I checked all of my gauges, their red and white glow happily reporting acceptable numbers.
Try saying that three times fast, huh?
We were all slaves to our poisons, some different and some the same. But the one, the one we all
truly had in common was adrenaline. Was succumbing to the ultimate kinetic rage that lies within
us all.
My engine roared as I pressed my accelerator pedal. The other cars responded loudly.
During a race.. a real race, no one is anything but a car. You become one with the
machine you're strapped to. You put your life in it's hands, and your own.
How many fucking people can say that they held their own life, and survived? Not many.
The second line of white powder hit me harder than the first. My face immediately grew a smile.
A smile that was pinned to my jaw like a fucking clown man. A mother fucking clown.
The only way to get to to go away would've been to rip it off.
I wasn't myself, I wasn't anyone at all.
The glow of my gauges was intoxicating. It was beautiful.
In what felt like an eternity, time past. Our launch-man held up his arms, and pointed at me.
My smile raged on, raged at him. Hit him in his bony fucking face.
Our five cars in unison tore apart the quiet night with banshee tires screeching as we took off.
Our cars were so fast, so fucking fast. The engines chugged down fuel as they rocketed us to the far side
of one hundred and forty miles an hour.
We weaved patterns in the road, amazing, stupefying patterns in the road. They must've been
mesmerizing from the sky, as we merged and separated. Twisted and swung.
The adrenaline crept up my body like a new set of skin. Goosebumps formed on my arms,
my body was enjoying the moment. I was enjoying the moment.
Fight or flight? Fucking flight baby. Fucking flight.
I was so high, I don't think I saw the blue and red lights behind us at first. They pierced the otherwise dark road.
They threatened to ruin our fun. Our game.
"Fuck you, pigs. See if you can catch us." My radio said to my empty car.
Or well, I was in it. I think.
One of our members pulled off. The white car found it's place at the side of the road. I remember watching him let go of the moment. Seeing his face flash in front of me, almost to say...
"Stop, stop before it's too late."
Though, there really was no one there to hear it.
I pushed my accelerator pedal to the floor. The decision is a memory I'll never forget. It was solidifying what I was going to do next. It was the beginning of the end of the beginning, like the Smashing Pumpkins song.
The Nine Inch Nails song that was blasting out of my stereo had intensified, and was I was feeling the music guide my motions. The police car swung towards mine, and in a swift motion I downshifted and shot ahead of him.
My car outpaced his tenfold, and I was so sure my driving skills would to.
"Too fucked up to care anymore, Poisoned to my rotten core" screamed Trent Reznor.
Somewhat Damaged, that's what I was. Trent really knows how to write some good music, I can say that even today.
If you're going to run from the cops, Nine Inch Nails is the way to do it.
The other cruisers had appeared around us now. The chase was evolving and the moment intensifying with every second.
My conscious mind was ruined, my subconscious mind wanted me to keep pushing this envelope further and further.
I remember seeing the straight away. I let my car do the talking, and tore away from the group. My speedometer had pinned itself at one hundred and sixty miles an hour, though I knew I was going far faster than that.
A photograph, still imprinted into my brain. (Do not exceed the mechanical limits of this vehicle. Serious damage, injury or death may occur.) Who the fuck ever listens to those anyway?
My straight away ended in an abrupt turn I could never have been ready for. All the coke in the world couldn't have prepared me to stop. Even slow down.
The concrete was so soft. Oh, so soft.
Oh, so mother fucking soft.
My engine purred expectantly. It was beautiful night within the city limits.
The apartment buildings stood like complacent peacefulness.
The line of white power across my dashboard was so appetizing. Completely irresistible.
I remember distinctly, (Oh so distinctly) the way the tiny glass tubes clanked as I returned their brother to them.
The white line stood out against my cars dark, black, soulless interior.
(Soulless or soulful? It's so hard to tell.)
I fingered the straw nervously. I remember my stomach flip flopping so many times.
"There's no turning back from this now."
I kept telling myself that. Every one of our races, I did.
The other racers were in their cars around me... Preparing, as they called it.
Each one repeating a ritual we do, every month.
Preparing to completely wreck our zen with adrenaline and insanity.
We were fucking invincible. Our team, our people. Completely bulletproof.
I breathed in deeply, my nostrils burned as the powder made it's home.
Instantly, I felt better about being me. I was fucking ready. (Oh, so ready.)
I opened my windows, and looked out to my friends turned enemies.
They looked back into my eyes defiantly, ready to face what was coming.
I checked all of my gauges, their red and white glow happily reporting acceptable numbers.
Try saying that three times fast, huh?
We were all slaves to our poisons, some different and some the same. But the one, the one we all
truly had in common was adrenaline. Was succumbing to the ultimate kinetic rage that lies within
us all.
My engine roared as I pressed my accelerator pedal. The other cars responded loudly.
During a race.. a real race, no one is anything but a car. You become one with the
machine you're strapped to. You put your life in it's hands, and your own.
How many fucking people can say that they held their own life, and survived? Not many.
The second line of white powder hit me harder than the first. My face immediately grew a smile.
A smile that was pinned to my jaw like a fucking clown man. A mother fucking clown.
The only way to get to to go away would've been to rip it off.
I wasn't myself, I wasn't anyone at all.
The glow of my gauges was intoxicating. It was beautiful.
In what felt like an eternity, time past. Our launch-man held up his arms, and pointed at me.
My smile raged on, raged at him. Hit him in his bony fucking face.
Our five cars in unison tore apart the quiet night with banshee tires screeching as we took off.
Our cars were so fast, so fucking fast. The engines chugged down fuel as they rocketed us to the far side
of one hundred and forty miles an hour.
We weaved patterns in the road, amazing, stupefying patterns in the road. They must've been
mesmerizing from the sky, as we merged and separated. Twisted and swung.
The adrenaline crept up my body like a new set of skin. Goosebumps formed on my arms,
my body was enjoying the moment. I was enjoying the moment.
Fight or flight? Fucking flight baby. Fucking flight.
I was so high, I don't think I saw the blue and red lights behind us at first. They pierced the otherwise dark road.
They threatened to ruin our fun. Our game.
"Fuck you, pigs. See if you can catch us." My radio said to my empty car.
Or well, I was in it. I think.
One of our members pulled off. The white car found it's place at the side of the road. I remember watching him let go of the moment. Seeing his face flash in front of me, almost to say...
"Stop, stop before it's too late."
Though, there really was no one there to hear it.
I pushed my accelerator pedal to the floor. The decision is a memory I'll never forget. It was solidifying what I was going to do next. It was the beginning of the end of the beginning, like the Smashing Pumpkins song.
The Nine Inch Nails song that was blasting out of my stereo had intensified, and was I was feeling the music guide my motions. The police car swung towards mine, and in a swift motion I downshifted and shot ahead of him.
My car outpaced his tenfold, and I was so sure my driving skills would to.
"Too fucked up to care anymore, Poisoned to my rotten core" screamed Trent Reznor.
Somewhat Damaged, that's what I was. Trent really knows how to write some good music, I can say that even today.
If you're going to run from the cops, Nine Inch Nails is the way to do it.
The other cruisers had appeared around us now. The chase was evolving and the moment intensifying with every second.
My conscious mind was ruined, my subconscious mind wanted me to keep pushing this envelope further and further.
I remember seeing the straight away. I let my car do the talking, and tore away from the group. My speedometer had pinned itself at one hundred and sixty miles an hour, though I knew I was going far faster than that.
A photograph, still imprinted into my brain. (Do not exceed the mechanical limits of this vehicle. Serious damage, injury or death may occur.) Who the fuck ever listens to those anyway?
My straight away ended in an abrupt turn I could never have been ready for. All the coke in the world couldn't have prepared me to stop. Even slow down.
The concrete was so soft. Oh, so soft.
Oh, so mother fucking soft.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Touch Me, Feel Me
I sympathize with the hero.
Always, mainly because the hero of the story deserves the audience's attention. The hero is always good, honest and ballsy.
The hero is quite interesting, as a figure. Never a flawed character, but always one.
I'm not a hero.
In fact, I'm less or more than a villain. I use less or more rather then better, simply because less or more is less subjective. It's less relative, and more vocational than anything else.
My judgement is quite flawed, and my tattered history can flip flop me both ways.
You're right. The minutes I waste trying to sleep, the hours I spend being harassed by my own subconscious.. the spiders.. Oh the spiders. They're all there, making me less of a hero.
I sympathize, but do not empathize.
Those people all know nothing about me, and yet my villain spirit lives with them daily. A Mercenary, so to speak. Though, my contact is never with my targets. I know them intimately, less of a cat and mouse game.. more of a real life story.
Or a story, of someone who will always be intangible.
I heard one of them speak once. A reconnaissance call ended up becoming quite an experience. My team members gave me odd looks as I went on about favorite bands and New York City. When I finished, and put my phone down.. I did not speak, did not show any emotion what so ever. I just said to them, "Do what you need to do."
I suppose that makes me the villain doesn't it? I'm just doing what I need to do. Answering to no one, not even clients.
It is my firm philosophy that the world operates solely in it's own underground. Being apart of the ever decaying society that is the underground, I've learned to hate it.
But it is the perfect active metaphor for our lives, is it not? Beneath each and every one of our crust of thoughts, lies the molten violent core. Deceiving and wrong. Brutal and beautiful.
Not many people cite the human nature that I love so much as beautiful. But I do. I've fallen in love with our corruptivity, so to speak. That's a word I constructed on my own.
Corruptivity, truly is the potential to be corrupted in measurable form.
It'll be in the dictionaries one day, I can assure you.
When the spiders return, to gnaw at the structured morals of my decaying intelligence. I will fall, inevitably.
And if I have to bring the whole world crashing on top of me, I will happily die the death that Atlas deserved. Suffocating under the corrupted values of our fallen fathers. Sleeping underneath the rubble of society.
You're right, I am a fucking villain. And you could be the next person who feels my intangible touch. If your assailant pays me enough that is.
Always, mainly because the hero of the story deserves the audience's attention. The hero is always good, honest and ballsy.
The hero is quite interesting, as a figure. Never a flawed character, but always one.
I'm not a hero.
In fact, I'm less or more than a villain. I use less or more rather then better, simply because less or more is less subjective. It's less relative, and more vocational than anything else.
My judgement is quite flawed, and my tattered history can flip flop me both ways.
You're right. The minutes I waste trying to sleep, the hours I spend being harassed by my own subconscious.. the spiders.. Oh the spiders. They're all there, making me less of a hero.
I sympathize, but do not empathize.
Those people all know nothing about me, and yet my villain spirit lives with them daily. A Mercenary, so to speak. Though, my contact is never with my targets. I know them intimately, less of a cat and mouse game.. more of a real life story.
Or a story, of someone who will always be intangible.
I heard one of them speak once. A reconnaissance call ended up becoming quite an experience. My team members gave me odd looks as I went on about favorite bands and New York City. When I finished, and put my phone down.. I did not speak, did not show any emotion what so ever. I just said to them, "Do what you need to do."
I suppose that makes me the villain doesn't it? I'm just doing what I need to do. Answering to no one, not even clients.
It is my firm philosophy that the world operates solely in it's own underground. Being apart of the ever decaying society that is the underground, I've learned to hate it.
But it is the perfect active metaphor for our lives, is it not? Beneath each and every one of our crust of thoughts, lies the molten violent core. Deceiving and wrong. Brutal and beautiful.
Not many people cite the human nature that I love so much as beautiful. But I do. I've fallen in love with our corruptivity, so to speak. That's a word I constructed on my own.
Corruptivity, truly is the potential to be corrupted in measurable form.
It'll be in the dictionaries one day, I can assure you.
When the spiders return, to gnaw at the structured morals of my decaying intelligence. I will fall, inevitably.
And if I have to bring the whole world crashing on top of me, I will happily die the death that Atlas deserved. Suffocating under the corrupted values of our fallen fathers. Sleeping underneath the rubble of society.
You're right, I am a fucking villain. And you could be the next person who feels my intangible touch. If your assailant pays me enough that is.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
The screech of the rubber sliding across the slick asphalt was music to my ears. It was the serenity of the seconds in the moment. Screeeeeech. Seconds seem to pass as I saw the headlights coming closer and closer.
I watched it unfold in the most beautiful way.
The look of surprised horror on his face. I almost wanted to say, don't be afraid my friend. You'll be just fine. Though, he wouldn't hear me if I tried. The plastic collided with the plastic, and the aluminum with the aluminum. The glass from my window shattered and flew into my waving hair.
The entire moment was poetic really. The words leading up to the explosion of the moment. Crunching and crushing cars. My music was loud, but I could no longer hear it. The airbags turned my car into a great pillow castle. My body bouncing back and forth as I tumbled and spun within my car.
I saw them coming. The large wooden obstacles strewn across my path. And as they approached, I did not scream or cry... I laughed. I laughed heartily and without remorse. I laughed right in the face of death, because it no longer phases me.
The crushing blow of a wooden spike at fifty miles an hour pierced my chest, and seat. Pinning me to this car forever. My vehicle finally came to rest. Ironically, right side up. My collapsed lung and severed arteries told me I had as much time as the length of my accident.
I choked and laughed again. The scene was quite beautiful in a horrific manner. The adrenaline was keeping the tsunami of pain from swallowing my consciousness. Ironically, draining me of blood faster.
My memories took me on a final tour of my life. The faces of the people who loved and cared for me. The sadness I'd have to leave them behind. I could hear the voice of the horrified man. "Oh my god, are you okay?"
I laughed with him. "Fine brother. No worries." My body began to choke on my deoxygenated blood. "I've never died before, it's been quite an experience." As parts of my brain fluttered with confusion and breakdown, I smiled.
"It might be the last time I ever smile, or ever do anything. Might as well go out with a positive force, if however slight." I thought to myself.
A positive force.
Positive force.
The sparkling blue stars began to fall into my moment. This was my moment, the final one in a lifetime of them. Blue stars sparkled on the distressed man's face. Speckled across my dusty dashboard and muddy broken car. Brightened my fading vision of the world for one last time. One last second.
I breathed in, to pain and suffering. The air escaped from my lungs slowly, caressing each cell as it did. And I did something, I've always wanted to end with. I sighed. I sighed a sigh of relief.
A sigh of contentment.
A
ghostly
sigh
of
freedom.
I watched it unfold in the most beautiful way.
The look of surprised horror on his face. I almost wanted to say, don't be afraid my friend. You'll be just fine. Though, he wouldn't hear me if I tried. The plastic collided with the plastic, and the aluminum with the aluminum. The glass from my window shattered and flew into my waving hair.
The entire moment was poetic really. The words leading up to the explosion of the moment. Crunching and crushing cars. My music was loud, but I could no longer hear it. The airbags turned my car into a great pillow castle. My body bouncing back and forth as I tumbled and spun within my car.
I saw them coming. The large wooden obstacles strewn across my path. And as they approached, I did not scream or cry... I laughed. I laughed heartily and without remorse. I laughed right in the face of death, because it no longer phases me.
The crushing blow of a wooden spike at fifty miles an hour pierced my chest, and seat. Pinning me to this car forever. My vehicle finally came to rest. Ironically, right side up. My collapsed lung and severed arteries told me I had as much time as the length of my accident.
I choked and laughed again. The scene was quite beautiful in a horrific manner. The adrenaline was keeping the tsunami of pain from swallowing my consciousness. Ironically, draining me of blood faster.
My memories took me on a final tour of my life. The faces of the people who loved and cared for me. The sadness I'd have to leave them behind. I could hear the voice of the horrified man. "Oh my god, are you okay?"
I laughed with him. "Fine brother. No worries." My body began to choke on my deoxygenated blood. "I've never died before, it's been quite an experience." As parts of my brain fluttered with confusion and breakdown, I smiled.
"It might be the last time I ever smile, or ever do anything. Might as well go out with a positive force, if however slight." I thought to myself.
A positive force.
Positive force.
The sparkling blue stars began to fall into my moment. This was my moment, the final one in a lifetime of them. Blue stars sparkled on the distressed man's face. Speckled across my dusty dashboard and muddy broken car. Brightened my fading vision of the world for one last time. One last second.
I breathed in, to pain and suffering. The air escaped from my lungs slowly, caressing each cell as it did. And I did something, I've always wanted to end with. I sighed. I sighed a sigh of relief.
A sigh of contentment.
A
ghostly
sigh
of
freedom.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Spiders and Pills
The old wooden garage door moaned and clanked as it ascended. It kept mumbling about how the elderly shouldn't be treated this way, and how he always has to do all the work. The warm air from the garage wrapped around me as the portal opened pushing the cool night air away.
The earth spins slowly.
Night time here is always painfully serene, crickets chirping and raindrops falling. The humming of the peaceful orange street lamps, the perfect undertone. The world doesn't notice me there, waiting to enter my home. The world doesn't notice me here, waiting to enter my home.
My world spins slowly.
As I step into the open mouth of my garage, a dark cavern of modern culture. The crumbled rocks dance across the floor as my feet interact with them. The garage door moans once again, as it descends back to it's resting place.
My hands grip the golden door knob connecting my cavern to my room. The spiders crawl out from the doorknob. Dancing their way all over my body, infesting my skin and nerves. I can see my reflection in the golden spherical knob, it bends and stretches and screams. It spins, slowly.
I still am waiting here, in front of this spinning knob. Waiting for the door to open.
With the spiders.
And the garage door.
And the crickets, and the raindrops.
And the street lamps.
And the world.
The earth spins slowly.
Night time here is always painfully serene, crickets chirping and raindrops falling. The humming of the peaceful orange street lamps, the perfect undertone. The world doesn't notice me there, waiting to enter my home. The world doesn't notice me here, waiting to enter my home.
My world spins slowly.
As I step into the open mouth of my garage, a dark cavern of modern culture. The crumbled rocks dance across the floor as my feet interact with them. The garage door moans once again, as it descends back to it's resting place.
My hands grip the golden door knob connecting my cavern to my room. The spiders crawl out from the doorknob. Dancing their way all over my body, infesting my skin and nerves. I can see my reflection in the golden spherical knob, it bends and stretches and screams. It spins, slowly.
I still am waiting here, in front of this spinning knob. Waiting for the door to open.
With the spiders.
And the garage door.
And the crickets, and the raindrops.
And the street lamps.
And the world.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Blood and Glass
Their voices carried my mind away.
Discussing ailments of the body, of the mind. Physiologic disorders and of possible diagnosis.
I slept a sleep of an ugly mind and tired body. Underneath the inactivity of conscious, my subconscious raged and ravaged the land of my conscious mind.
My conscious used to be the master of my world. Strong, prolific and structured. I remember the days when I slept well.
I remember those days when my consciousness did not need to be stolen from me. It waned voluntarily, not afraid to let the night shift take over...
The room was beautifully lit. Chandeliers full of flickering flames hung from the ceiling, hung with thousands of pieces of glass, in every imaginable shape. The mahogany table was littered with the remains of paints and crayons. Scribbled on pieces of paper lain strewn about the table and the floor.
The ceilings of the room were not ceilings at all, but storm clouds flowing and swirling above my head. The candles immediately were extinguished with a gust of wind. And suddenly the room was chaotic, violent. The papers swirled and flew, brushing against my face and body.
The papers all had the same thing, written hundreds of times on them. In as many formats imaginable, there was my name. My name swirled around me. My hair flew back and forth within the wind. The glass of the now suspended chandeliers chattered and spoke to me in the language of glass.
The moment was oddly calming, standing in the stormy room. The wind began to whip wildly and pushed me to my knees. The chandelier's glass started to shatter. Bit my bit the fragments of glass pierced my face and body. Like a symphony of raindrops, directed by the wind.
I started to scream. Started to pierce the violent wordlessness of the wind with my voice. With each passing second my blood, arteries, body filled with glass. My eyes shimmered with blood and glass.
I saw myself standing there, in agony and confusion. Bloody and alone.
The wind was gone now.
My screams echoed within the high ceilings of the room. The chandeliers hung complacently, completely at rest. Their glass pieces now missing, candles extinguished. Only their bare metal frames remained. Mockingly as I fell to the floor.
Dying, dead. Gone.
They had survived and I had not.
"WAKE UP!"
My eyes tried to adjust to the darkness. Her green eyes looked into mine, uneasily. I searched for boundaries, completing my sanity self check, I replied.
"What is it, Monkey Face?"
"You were screaming again, James. It was scary. I couldn't wake you up. Are you okay? What were you dreaming about?"
"I don't remember, my love. I'm sorry."
She seemed to search my face for truth, but found none.
"It's okay. Just try and get some sleep, okay?"
"I love you." I whispered as I kissed her forehead.
"I love you, too." She replied and smiled.
And off I drifted again.
Discussing ailments of the body, of the mind. Physiologic disorders and of possible diagnosis.
I slept a sleep of an ugly mind and tired body. Underneath the inactivity of conscious, my subconscious raged and ravaged the land of my conscious mind.
My conscious used to be the master of my world. Strong, prolific and structured. I remember the days when I slept well.
I remember those days when my consciousness did not need to be stolen from me. It waned voluntarily, not afraid to let the night shift take over...
The room was beautifully lit. Chandeliers full of flickering flames hung from the ceiling, hung with thousands of pieces of glass, in every imaginable shape. The mahogany table was littered with the remains of paints and crayons. Scribbled on pieces of paper lain strewn about the table and the floor.
The ceilings of the room were not ceilings at all, but storm clouds flowing and swirling above my head. The candles immediately were extinguished with a gust of wind. And suddenly the room was chaotic, violent. The papers swirled and flew, brushing against my face and body.
The papers all had the same thing, written hundreds of times on them. In as many formats imaginable, there was my name. My name swirled around me. My hair flew back and forth within the wind. The glass of the now suspended chandeliers chattered and spoke to me in the language of glass.
The moment was oddly calming, standing in the stormy room. The wind began to whip wildly and pushed me to my knees. The chandelier's glass started to shatter. Bit my bit the fragments of glass pierced my face and body. Like a symphony of raindrops, directed by the wind.
I started to scream. Started to pierce the violent wordlessness of the wind with my voice. With each passing second my blood, arteries, body filled with glass. My eyes shimmered with blood and glass.
I saw myself standing there, in agony and confusion. Bloody and alone.
The wind was gone now.
My screams echoed within the high ceilings of the room. The chandeliers hung complacently, completely at rest. Their glass pieces now missing, candles extinguished. Only their bare metal frames remained. Mockingly as I fell to the floor.
Dying, dead. Gone.
They had survived and I had not.
"WAKE UP!"
My eyes tried to adjust to the darkness. Her green eyes looked into mine, uneasily. I searched for boundaries, completing my sanity self check, I replied.
"What is it, Monkey Face?"
"You were screaming again, James. It was scary. I couldn't wake you up. Are you okay? What were you dreaming about?"
"I don't remember, my love. I'm sorry."
She seemed to search my face for truth, but found none.
"It's okay. Just try and get some sleep, okay?"
"I love you." I whispered as I kissed her forehead.
"I love you, too." She replied and smiled.
And off I drifted again.
Monday, March 23, 2009
march on little soldiers
you can have my rations
my alcohol hidden in the water bottle i carry
my gun
my shoes
and my clothes
i wish to die possessionless and alone
just as i was alive
in death i will not be obligated to march
nor stand at attention
not staring into the sun's bright glare
across the mountains and buildings
i will never again be forced to stand straight
when i just want to sit
never be forced to forego my rest
for the sake of experiencing the night
walking through the gauntlet of sleepless business women and men
marching through bullets piercing my persona
of mistrust and betrayal
no longer will i sleep awake
soullessly walk
march on little soldiers
and fulfill your destiny without me
you can have my rations
my alcohol hidden in the water bottle i carry
my gun
my shoes
and my clothes
i wish to die possessionless and alone
just as i was alive
in death i will not be obligated to march
nor stand at attention
not staring into the sun's bright glare
across the mountains and buildings
i will never again be forced to stand straight
when i just want to sit
never be forced to forego my rest
for the sake of experiencing the night
walking through the gauntlet of sleepless business women and men
marching through bullets piercing my persona
of mistrust and betrayal
no longer will i sleep awake
soullessly walk
march on little soldiers
and fulfill your destiny without me
i am my solitary manifestation of insecurity.
every moment that passes that I am unguarded by my own built defense mechanisms i cringe due to the exposure
i am simply everything i'm not
i am my sense of overwhelming innocence
i am my fake sense of childhood
i am closeted
i am scared
i am lonely
it's my fault
i am a sleeping dormant adult
and no one at all
i am the insomniac without a cause
and a dream without a mind
i am my overwhelming sense of boredom with the world
with myself
with everything and everyone
so predictably softly hard
i'm not
me? i'm not
i'll be a child all my life
suppose i'm doomed to it after all
predestined by whatever in my life
the root causes not significant enough to matter
every moment that passes that I am unguarded by my own built defense mechanisms i cringe due to the exposure
i am simply everything i'm not
i am my sense of overwhelming innocence
i am my fake sense of childhood
i am closeted
i am scared
i am lonely
it's my fault
i am a sleeping dormant adult
and no one at all
i am the insomniac without a cause
and a dream without a mind
i am my overwhelming sense of boredom with the world
with myself
with everything and everyone
so predictably softly hard
i'm not
me? i'm not
i'll be a child all my life
suppose i'm doomed to it after all
predestined by whatever in my life
the root causes not significant enough to matter
Sunday, February 22, 2009
books
intertwined words, phrases, stories
with characters, individuals that roam
my mind, on their misadventures
trying to save the world
my world
their world
i lose myself inside them
every minute i can
forget who, what and where i am
until nothing exists but the story
the plot, the climax
tunnel vision, ignorant to my world
and it's characters, individuals that roam
my life, on their misadventures
trying to save the world
my world
their world
with characters, individuals that roam
my mind, on their misadventures
trying to save the world
my world
their world
i lose myself inside them
every minute i can
forget who, what and where i am
until nothing exists but the story
the plot, the climax
tunnel vision, ignorant to my world
and it's characters, individuals that roam
my life, on their misadventures
trying to save the world
my world
their world
Monday, February 16, 2009
doesn't make much sense.
they say that the keys to the subconscious lie in the inner-workings of our mind.
somewhere, in between the battered cabinets, doors, hallways and skylights...
there lies the key to finding yourself.
a key you are destined never to find, but try endlessly searching for it
underneath the couch pillows of your life, stuck with quarters and candy
destined to be seen by only those who choose to look in the most obvious of places
they say that somewhere
someplace
you and I aren't
they say that somewhere
we're
different, you and I
aren't oblivious
oblivious to the locked doors in our minds
oblivious to the fact that we're much deeper and different than we seem on the outside
and much less, more or less
ambiguously together for reasons beyond reason itself
it seems as though
i dream of the day where
i am someone.
more than just ambiguously living among the dead
residing and complaining
vicariously
i live through the living
somewhere, in between the battered cabinets, doors, hallways and skylights...
there lies the key to finding yourself.
a key you are destined never to find, but try endlessly searching for it
underneath the couch pillows of your life, stuck with quarters and candy
destined to be seen by only those who choose to look in the most obvious of places
they say that somewhere
someplace
you and I aren't
they say that somewhere
we're
different, you and I
aren't oblivious
oblivious to the locked doors in our minds
oblivious to the fact that we're much deeper and different than we seem on the outside
and much less, more or less
ambiguously together for reasons beyond reason itself
it seems as though
i dream of the day where
i am someone.
more than just ambiguously living among the dead
residing and complaining
vicariously
i live through the living
Sunday, February 15, 2009
When You're Gone
I am my own inevitable loneliness, standing right beside myself.
When you're gone,
it just won't be the same
Maybe not even worth it at all
When you're gone,
oh, how I dread when you're gone
Because I will be truly alone,
not just the figurative lonely lie I propose
I shake at the thought
And shudder and weep
When you're gone
the sun will not set quite the same
the moon will not shine as bright
the birds, trees and people will shun my existence
Unlike you
When you're gone
I will sleep no more
and my life will be a everlasting nightmare of what once was
memories turned coarse and mournful
Oh, how I miss you already
Oh, how my acid tears, my emotions
my searing rage cannot possibly express
My life is leaving
going far away
never to truly return to me
But don't worry, because I'm still left with this empty shell
which is good for nothing at all
Good for sleepless nights
and addiction to escape
Good truly and only for ending
The million ways I could say I love you
do not possibly encompass it enough
The trillion ways I could say I need you
just wouldn't be quite enough
Won't this nightmare end soon?
I have taken you for granted all this time
not properly savored the moments of your sweet presence
of your sweet skin
and bones
eyes and neck
I love you more than words can purely describe
through much more than anyone has experienced
much more than has ever been uttered before
and I shatter without you
i shatter and fall.
When you're gone,
it just won't be the same
Maybe not even worth it at all
When you're gone,
oh, how I dread when you're gone
Because I will be truly alone,
not just the figurative lonely lie I propose
I shake at the thought
And shudder and weep
When you're gone
the sun will not set quite the same
the moon will not shine as bright
the birds, trees and people will shun my existence
Unlike you
When you're gone
I will sleep no more
and my life will be a everlasting nightmare of what once was
memories turned coarse and mournful
Oh, how I miss you already
Oh, how my acid tears, my emotions
my searing rage cannot possibly express
My life is leaving
going far away
never to truly return to me
But don't worry, because I'm still left with this empty shell
which is good for nothing at all
Good for sleepless nights
and addiction to escape
Good truly and only for ending
The million ways I could say I love you
do not possibly encompass it enough
The trillion ways I could say I need you
just wouldn't be quite enough
Won't this nightmare end soon?
I have taken you for granted all this time
not properly savored the moments of your sweet presence
of your sweet skin
and bones
eyes and neck
I love you more than words can purely describe
through much more than anyone has experienced
much more than has ever been uttered before
and I shatter without you
i shatter and fall.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Bubble Bubble Toil Trouble
I guess you could say it was inevitable.
I guess you could tell me that she was just a figment of my imagination,
I would force myself to believe it was true.
Your unconditional love, was riddled with hidden conditions and contracts...
And such turmoil rocks my very structure.
Your love is not as unique as I once thought,
given away to people for simple change it seems.
While you might have loved her and I, so to speak.
Then your love turns to dust before it caresses my skin.
And deeper into my own rabbit hole I fall.
I'm just a girl, just one person
Wishing I could be what you need
But would you really come back if I was?
If I am?
I would still give myself to you all over again,
Forgive and forget, as long as you still utter
softly into my ear that you love me
Always, forever
But the demon inside me, now lurks at the surface
And I fear I will succumb to it's strength over me
I have not much
Not very much at all to give
To a boy who dreams of the world, but knows nothing of it
A boy, formerly my boy
That could not grasp the reality of me
And I can no longer grasp your reality
Your every movement tantalizes me
Reminds me of what you once were
But what are you now, sweet prince?
You've broken your promise
And I've served my time
I've forgiven you, far more then you deserve
So many times, you've told me
It's only temporary
Only temporary
I don't really love her
love her
love her
I don't really need her
need her
need her
Then why do you still hold her and not me?
Succumb to her but not I?
You cannot face your truth, cannot face what you've sown
for yourself.
The words leave my tongue, burning it as they do
Do you love me?
Your eyes are pools of brown,
And they answer solemnly
Not anymore
But you do not
You no longer need to answer
And I am yours no more.
I guess you could tell me that she was just a figment of my imagination,
I would force myself to believe it was true.
Your unconditional love, was riddled with hidden conditions and contracts...
And such turmoil rocks my very structure.
Your love is not as unique as I once thought,
given away to people for simple change it seems.
While you might have loved her and I, so to speak.
Then your love turns to dust before it caresses my skin.
And deeper into my own rabbit hole I fall.
I'm just a girl, just one person
Wishing I could be what you need
But would you really come back if I was?
If I am?
I would still give myself to you all over again,
Forgive and forget, as long as you still utter
softly into my ear that you love me
Always, forever
But the demon inside me, now lurks at the surface
And I fear I will succumb to it's strength over me
I have not much
Not very much at all to give
To a boy who dreams of the world, but knows nothing of it
A boy, formerly my boy
That could not grasp the reality of me
And I can no longer grasp your reality
Your every movement tantalizes me
Reminds me of what you once were
But what are you now, sweet prince?
You've broken your promise
And I've served my time
I've forgiven you, far more then you deserve
So many times, you've told me
It's only temporary
Only temporary
I don't really love her
love her
love her
I don't really need her
need her
need her
Then why do you still hold her and not me?
Succumb to her but not I?
You cannot face your truth, cannot face what you've sown
for yourself.
The words leave my tongue, burning it as they do
Do you love me?
Your eyes are pools of brown,
And they answer solemnly
Not anymore
But you do not
You no longer need to answer
And I am yours no more.
Monday, February 2, 2009
We're all dying.
We're all dying.
I'm just doing it much quicker than normal. What is normal really though?
You could die while reading my story. Distracted by it's innards, completely oblivious to the tow truck barreling down your street. You could be dying right now.
We're all dying though. So don't feel too bad.
That's really how I ended up where I am now. In this hospital bed, ticking the moments away. Entertaining myself with thoughts similar to this one.
We're all dying.
They say my time to go is coming soon. The nurses and doctors come to visit me.
My responses to them remain the same as they were before. And their responses are equally as static. They are as cold and emotionally inane as I am.
My life has been fulfilling in an odd sense. Fulfilling in the way I truly wanted it to be. I write this truly in hope that someone will read my story. They will listen to the ramblings of my mind. Shitty metaphors and all. Maybe it will supply bearing to their life, or maybe it will end up as kindling. The last call before my death must be attempted, no matter how bleak the odds of it reaching someone.
My name is Baker, and this is my story.
(Baker's Intro. Book, Intro)
I'm just doing it much quicker than normal. What is normal really though?
You could die while reading my story. Distracted by it's innards, completely oblivious to the tow truck barreling down your street. You could be dying right now.
We're all dying though. So don't feel too bad.
That's really how I ended up where I am now. In this hospital bed, ticking the moments away. Entertaining myself with thoughts similar to this one.
We're all dying.
They say my time to go is coming soon. The nurses and doctors come to visit me.
My responses to them remain the same as they were before. And their responses are equally as static. They are as cold and emotionally inane as I am.
My life has been fulfilling in an odd sense. Fulfilling in the way I truly wanted it to be. I write this truly in hope that someone will read my story. They will listen to the ramblings of my mind. Shitty metaphors and all. Maybe it will supply bearing to their life, or maybe it will end up as kindling. The last call before my death must be attempted, no matter how bleak the odds of it reaching someone.
My name is Baker, and this is my story.
(Baker's Intro. Book, Intro)
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