The Adventures of a Polyglot (and other things)

Upon reflection today, I realized that I have, recently, dealt with more languages than I ever had before. I do believe the total was five that I actively dealt with, and even more that I didn't use today (I think I'm up to eight languages some days).

As of today, the languages are as follows;

• English
• French
• Japanese (karate commands are given in Japanese)
  
• Ancient Greek
• Latin
• Hebrew
• International Phonetic Alphabet/Language
• Musical Notes (some count that; I do)

...and I'm sure there are others I'm forgetting. Joy.

In other news, I have passed promotion from white advanced belt in karate to blue belt! Very, very exciting, even though I was really nervous for the past month or so.

Gryphon, Part Deux

The gryphon from before, now with color. Carry on.

Lines and color by yours truly, all touching-up done by my father.

Doodles and Stuff

No, not my puppy. Just me trying (and kind of succeeding) drawing a gryphon; otherwise known as a combination of two things I fail at drawing. Quite honestly, I'm rather proud of this one.

Art is mine, all work done in Adobe Illustrator was Dad's.

____

As for the other stuff, I was writing a bit earlier in the week, and am just getting around to posting it for your possible reading pleasure. This idea came to me partially whilst sitting in chorus one day, letting my mind wander as I listened to our teacher instruct the bases. As always in my writings, any resemblence to anyone, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

"Jellyfish"

Through the haze around her, she can see dark shapes; blurs of shadows. They whisper in hushed voices as they glide about the room, dark shapes against the foggy white. She knows not what they are doing. She is past caring.

One of the dark things leans over her, its edges soft and blurred like a long-haired cat's fur. It speaks in a strange tongue, the tones as fuzzy as the beast itself, the syllables furred and weird. She tries to respond, but cannot move. She knew that already. The thing sighs, there is a prick in her arm, and then there is only welcome darkness.

___

Once again, the light is burning into her eyes, everything still fuzzy and soft. She is aware of the thick, abrasive straps that hold her captive to the bed, that keep her pinned in this half-world.

There are more shadow-beasts now, and their furred speech grates on her ears. She wishes she could wince. The beasts are talking to her, or so it seems, a wrong energy sending sparks across the room. She wishes she could cry.

Again, she feels the prick of the needle in what she once called an arm, the liquid sleep-velvet flowing from its tip; an ichor in disguise.

___

This time it is the jellyfish that wake her, stinging barbs of noise plunging themselves into her pulsing brain. She opens an eye, the orb naked and strange. She has no secrets anymore. The tubes winding in and out of her body have seen to that, like worms ventilating a corpse.

The shadow-things are back; back with their cheese-grater voices. As they speak, the jellyfish flow from their blurred maws, like glowing bubbles in the ether. The word-jellies pulse with light, their bells as light as dandelion silk, as rough as the sheets that cover her naked and emaciated form. The jellyfish sting her, prodding her with their tentacles, poking her with the stinging pain of words.

The shadow-beasts are leaning closer now, fuzzed forms with sharp-edged voices. She whimpers, trying to escape the stings of the sound-jellies that torment her. The sound-jellies seem to retreat, then, their pulsing bells flashing with deep blue sound. The shadow-creatures, too, fall back, weeping in harsh voices. Once again, a beast comes forward, and she feels the now-familiar pinch of the needle's tip, and the faint burning fire of the liquid sleep. She blinks, falling into the darkness, going completely still.

___

In the room, a woman wipes the tears away from her eyes, her makeup running into a gooey mess that runs into long, dark streaks. Closing her eyes, she gently touches the dead girl's hand, and mourns the passing of her daughter.

New Fanart

Yeah, just me having fun drawing a dragon version of a character I find cool. Carry on.



Kurou copyright to Capcom.

Memories I Will Never Know

I awaken to the feeling of hands on my shoulders and back; warm hands not yet callused with age. Slowly, I begin to move with a slight groan, gently loping down a ramp and into the early morning.

We are walking through grass. I can feel the dew clinging to my legs, can feel the early morning mists still wrapping around my body as if that will protect them from the burning sun.

With a sudden bump, the grass changes to worn pavement, the surface still faintly radiating heat from the cars that pass in the night. I am brought to a halt, the hands shifting their positions on my frame. As always, I feel the welcome weight of someone on my back, their body warm and full of life not yet lived.

One gentle kick, and we are off into the morning's light. Once more, we are two parts of one whole, a boy and his bike out on a morning ride.

Guess What Week This Is....

It's National Cthulhu Week!

.... Oh come on, people! Don't be afraid to unleash your inner Lovecraftian fan! Join me in a week-long celebration of the Cthulhu Mythos. Join us in madness!

Or you could sit in your houses, completely oblivious of the horror around you. Preferably with an Elder Sign above your door, because only Lovecraft knows what's going to be happening this week!

Letting Go

Sometimes you have to let go of what you love, let go of it and throw it to the wild winds.

Yesterday, I realized that I'm without a sailboat of my own due to a lie, a trick of the tongue. I really liked that boat, wanted to fix it up as good as new, wanted to sail it until it fell apart past repair. It was a beautiful 14-foot racing boat, a bit wide in the middle, but steered like a dream. I had named it 'Selkie'.
Unfortunately, it was housed at my mother's house. I was under the impression that it was my boat, due to my mother and stepfather telling me that it was mine, due to the fact that I was the one fixing it, maintaining it, and sailing it.
Yesterday, I went to get what was mine, and was told that it never was mine, that what I had been told was all lies and illusion.

Sometimes you have to let go of what you love, and just let it slide away from you into the distance, never to be seen again.

I was cleaning out stuff from my room, and came across a collection of writings I wrote for a school project at the end of this past year. I read through it, and I've decided to subject you all to the horrid writing that lies within it.

'Knowledge'

To many people in this world,
It seems like knowledge of
Random facts takes
Precedence over having knowledge of feelings, or the workings of a
Child's mind.
I have seen this many times. Parents let the schools and the
Televisions teach their children,
Let the media shove facts down their
Throats.
I am victim of this, myself. I
Blockaded my feelings, rationalizing them as I would a
Scientific paper, cataloging instead of
Feeling.
Perhaps getting rid of the phony
Knowledge standards would clean up this
Mess.
Perhaps it's already too late, and I should just
Let go of my ideas of
Change, of reform.
Perhaps....


'People'

A million smiling sheep are watching me,
Taunting me with happiness.
A million brainwashed drones are greeting me,
Shaking my hand like limp fish.
A million eyes, glassy and dull.
A million limp handshakes.
Is all we are now?
Is there still culture to be found, or has the
Descent into decadence begun?
Are we dying as a race, letting our minds
Atrophy?
Are we waiting for some doctor to come and cut off the
Decay?

The human race has seen its days of
Glory.
We are falling, falling through the black shrouds of oblivion.
There is no future here.
We are destined to be
Extinguished.
Some part of me hopes it will happen within my
Lifetime.




'Secrets'

Secret dreams.
Secret wants.
Secret desires.
You have them, I have them too.
It is part of being human, I think, to want to be more than you are.
Some deny that part of them, creating unfed monsters.
Some try to become their dreams.
Some of us, well, some of us don't dare to dream anymore.
Some of us are too afraid to, too afraid of what others will do to our secrets if we let them
Out of our grasp.
Some of us only dream when we're alone, for fear of being laughed at.
Some of us have given up on our dreams.
I wish that I could be what I dream of.
I wish I could be different.
I wish that I could take the form of the people I write about, and live as them forever.
I wish I could do what my characters can, to heal without scarring, to change their skin.
I want to be more than human.
My species disappoints me. I don't want to be human anymore.
Let me go.
Let me live my life as a different soul.

On the Subject of Hagfish

It has come to my attention that some of you don't have a clue what a hagfish is. Consider yourselves lucky.

Hagfish are nasty little fish that act kind of like lampreys. They have no jaws; instead possessing a rasping mouth that scrapes away flesh from dead things that sink to the ocean floor. Did I mention that they eat pretty much only dead things? No? Well, they are the ones you will find swarming over a dead whale on the sea bottom; twisting themselves into knots trying to tear off chunks of flesh. They survive tying themselves into knots because of the production of a thick, slimy mucus that coats their skin. Great creatures, right?

Any questions?

Whilst At a Party....

A herd of cosmic
Shoggoths are grazing on
Raw plutonium, sipping the
Nectar of the gumdrops.
Around them, intestines of blue
Dreams are writhing and
Twitching, wrapping around
The souls of hidden dreamers
Like blue-jelly
Hagfish.

Yet Another Character/Piece of Fanart

Alright, who here knows about Invader Zim? Again made by the incredibly talented Jhonen Vasquez. It was a television show a few years back, and got canceled recently. Well, the main character is of an alien race known as Irkens. The above picture is an Irken version of one of my characters, Chimere. (Chimere is a 17-year-old female version of Cthulhu. More on her later.)

Invader Zim and Irkens are copyright to their respective owners.
Art by yours truly.
Cthulhu is copyright to whoever owns the Lovecraft Mythos currently.

Old Stuffs

Whilst browsing through my notebooks, I found something that I wrote earlier this year.

Vengeance

"Mr. Mingo, there's a call for you."
"What line, Martha?"
"No line, a personal call. They say that they have news for you about the recent downturn in interest in our company."
"Send them in, then," muttered the slightly pudgy Mr. Mingo, readjusting his tie with a slightly nervous air.

A few seconds later, the door to his office opened and a young girl walked in, an animal draped over her shoulders like a living scarf. Walking to the space just before Mr. Mingo's mahogany desk, she stood straight and tall, chin barely above the edge of the desk. Slowly, the creature unwound from her neck, revealing itself to be a long cat-like creature with fur the color of dark chocolate. Yawning, it stretched languidly, then sat next to the girl, its tail curled around its feet.

Pressing a button on his desk, Mr. Mingo glanced at the girl. She was still standing there, dressed in a little blue dress that came just above the floor, her bare feet digging into the thick rug.

"Send them in, please," he said, eyes still watching the girl as she stood, perfectly motionless, on the thick carpet.

"That is them," came the receptionist's voice, crackling through hidden speakers.

"I see." Removing his finger from the button, he interlocked his fingers and looked expectantly at the little girl and her strange animal. The longer he stared, the more the pair unnerved him, their silence uncanny. It wasn't helping that the girl's eyes met his, fixing him in eyes the color of a winter storm.

"Well?" asked Mr. Mingo, beads of sweat forming on his brow as the girl's eyes bored into his skull. They were dangerous eyes, twin chips of ice embedded in the round white face of a child, framed by obsidian hair.

Suddenly, the creature sprang at Mr. Mingo's throat, sharp white fangs bared as the silent girl drew a long and slender blade from the sash of her dress. Mr. Mingo didn't even have a chance to scream before the pair lept onto his desk, then finished him with lightning-fast slashes and tears.

Faster than it had begun, it was over. The girl and the creature stood back as blood seeped from the wounds they had inflicted onto the desk. Dipping three of her fingers into the scarlet liquid, the girl lifted her fingers to her cheek, painting three stripes of crimson lifeblood there. Dipping her fingers again, she repeated the process on the other cheek, then wiped fingers and blade clean on Mr. Mingo's shirt.

"That was for killing the last redwoods to build power plants. That was for poisoning the last whale with your fish farms. That was for the Earth, Mr. Mingo," she hissed to the dead man. Turning away from the corpse of the World's Almighty Ruler, she walked calmly from the office, the demon-creature once again wound around her shoulders.

Long Time, No Posts!

Sorry about that, all of you! For those of you that have absolutely no idea what's going on in my life right now, I've decided to leave my mother's house. So far, everything's gone fairly well. Not as well as we had hoped, but not as badly as we'd feared.

I'll try to post more often in the next couple of days, and there will be some new pieces of writing for you all to read.

Huzza For Stress!

Today in chorus, one of my best friends I have known almost my entire life almost passed out on the risers. Yes, you read that right. Almost passed out.

What really gets me about this whole thing is that nobody but me helped her when she fell. Nobody! The teacher had to deal with two boys who were causing a huge distraction, and didn't notice until my friend and I called out to her.

I have a very strong emotional connection to all of my close friends and family, and I have two reactions when they get sick or are hurt. One is to stay with them until they feel like they can deal with the world as a functioning human being, or, if I am not able to stay with them, I get extraordinarily tense to the point where I feel like I need to rip someone's arms out of their sockets to relieve the stress. I wasn't able to stay with her today, and was forced to use the second reaction, but couldn't find a way to relieve the stress, so I've just bottled it up for release later. Absolutely crappy day.

Character Time!

Owing to the two drawings I have posted (Among other things.), I have been told that more information about the characters is needed. Look no farther. Today, I give to you..... character backgrounds! *insert cheering here*

Wolva

This is the furry demon-thing you saw in the last post. Wolva is my main character, and is the most commonly used. She (Yes, Wolva is female.) is a fan-character from the Marvel Universe.

Creation Backstory

I created Wolva shortly after first learning about the X-Men via the first X-Men movie. I really enjoyed the character of Wolverine, and decided to create something like that. As a result, Wolva has always possessed foot-long claws that extend between her knuckles, animal-keen senses, and the ability to heal body tissue at a superhuman rate.

Originally, she looked like a female version of her 'parent character'. Now, as shown by the drawing, she looks more like an anthropomorphic wolverine or wolf. As for body structure, that picture of her is very misleading. Normally, she has the body build of, well, a female Wolverine. To draw that picture the way I wished it to look, I attempted to imitate the style of Jhonen Vasquez, whose characters are thin to the point of being stick figures.

Wolva's Personality and Stuffs

For starters, Wolva is usually a mutant in the Marvel Universe. She is Canadian, and has a personal grudge against Justin Bieber. In terms of her personality, she has a very dark sense of humor, is quite cynical, and has definite ideas of how the world should work. She is not the most social of people/mutants, and is more than happy to be left alone. She has a very short temper, and it doesn't take much to bring her into the depths of a feral rage. Once in that rage, it's very hard to calm her down, if you manage to get close enough.....

Wolva's past is a very uncertain thing. Every version of Wolva has a unique past (She appears in several universes as various...things.), and this is usually complicated by the fact that most of Wolva's memories are missing. The reasoning for this changes from storyline to storyline, but the most common reason is that she had a run-in with a secret organization in her past that removed her memories and preformed various experiments on her. This experimentation is part of the reasons for her anger issues, and a few other things.

If you have any more questions about her, or if you want me to post some of the stories concerning Wolva and her various issues, comment something to that effect.

Johnny C. , a.k.a. Nny

Johnny C., commonly called 'Nny', is the main character of a graphic novel called 'Johnny the Homicidal Maniac'. If you can't tell from the title of the graphic novel what one of his issues is, then I cannot help you.

Nny (Pronounced 'Knee', for those of you that care.) is an insane thrill-killer who elaborately slaughters people who annoy or insult him. The blood of these victims he uses to feed a Wall in one of the many levels of his basement. This Wall is containing a creature made of pure negativity, and is commonly called the Moose. (The Moose resembles a shoggoth on steroids, for those that really want to know these things.) Nny has four headvoices, three before he dies and one after dying. The three prior to being killed went by the names of Nail-Bunny, Mr. Eff (same as Mr. Fuck), and Psycho-Doughboy. The one that appeared after he returned from Heaven and Hell is called Reverend Meat.

Not much is actually known about Nny's past, as Jhonen Vasquez showed no interest in giving him a full backstory. Speculations usually run along the lines that Nny was once an artist before being possessed by the Doughboys and fun stuff like that. More information on Nny and his 'friends' is available at Wikipedia, or by asking me to email you.

Johnny and 'friends' are copyright to Jhonen Vasquez

As for why I like these two characters, here goes nothing.

Wolva's personality is actually quite close to my own. She is my personal stress reliever, as well, and I occasionally use her to commit acts of violence I cannot.

Nny, Nny is a completely different story. I like him because, in a way, I admire him. He isn't constricted by much in the way of rules, and knows exactly what the limits of the human mind are, and pushes them constantly.

I draw them because I really like their characters, and they are actually very natural for me when I'm in the right mood to draw someone who can and will, if provoked, kill you.

New Fanart!

Yup, more fanart from yours truly. This time, it's my character Wolva, combined with Nny from JTHM.
Wolva is copyright to moi.
Nny and JTHM are copyright to Jhonen Vasquez.

Good Times

Think of your definition of a good day. Got it? How do those days start?For me, it can be as simple as listening to the right music.

Yesterday was an amazing day, but I didn't think it would be. I missed the bus, and the weather couldn't decide whether or not to rain. I thought it was going to be one of those crappy days where you just can't get happy, and nothing goes right.

When I get to school about 20 minutes early, I was prepared for crappy music to be blasting from the speakers in the gym, so I was pleasantly surprised to hear 'Crazy Train' by Ozzy Osbourne being played. I sat down and read H. P. Lovecraft to the sounds of 'Help' by the Beatles, 'It's The End Of The World As We Know It' by R.E.M., and things of that ilk. A good way to start a morning.

Fast forward a few hours to the period of lunch, when it actually got through my head that it was May 17th. For those of you I hadn't told, that was the day that my new graphic novel was due to arrive. The novel? JTHM: Director's Cut. This put me in hyper-fangirl mode, which is always accompanied by happiness.

I get home to a dog who's bouncy and easily excited, and to large packages in front of the door. Due to the fact that it's the 17th, I am now just as bouncy as Georgia Rose, which confuses her to no end. Dad comes home from Rochester, and we open the boxes together. To my extreme disappointment, none of them contain my novel. I prepare to wait another day, and begin to walk off to my room when my dad asks what size package JTHM: Director's Cut could be in. Confused, I turn around, and he hands me a notebook-sized package. I squealed with fan-girlish delight, and practically tore the package open to reveal the book I had been dreaming about all week. At this point, I was giggling insanely, and dashed up to my room. For the next five hours, I was laughing hysterically at things that I probably shouldn't have laughed at...

Are you thinking this day cannot possibly get better for me? It can, believe me, it can..... That night, over great pizza with sausage, artichoke hearts and feta, we watched Grosse Pointe Blank. Yes, I watched a movie about a professional killer after reading a graphic novel about a homicidal maniac. So sue me. It had a great soundtrack, too! There were only two or three songs I didn't know.

Just a word to the wise, though. Don't read Edgar Allen Poe, H. P. Lovecraft and JTHM before you attempt to sleep. If you manage it, you will have really odd dreams.....

How To Follow This Blog

For those of you who are not using an RSS feed to read this blog, I encourage you to sign up for the email notification (to the right). This will enable you to hear about my latest goings on without having to come back to the blog and find nothing new. So, that said, please come back tomorrow, to catch the latest installment of .... something or other. See you then.

Mom's Back....

All of this weekend, my stepdad was in Boston for a Morris dancing thing. Last night he came home at 9:30 pm to a house that smelled like rice pudding. All seemed well. Mom was relaxed, I had rice pudding and new comics. Nothing seemed wrong.

Fast forward an hour to 10:30 pm, where I am almost asleep. Suddenly, Mom's screaming split the quiet of the house. For the next 15-20 minutes, she's screaming the same thing, almost incoherently, while pacing up and down the house. She was screaming about how she didn't feel human, and that my stepdad didn't listen to her. Eventually, she quieted down, and I managed to sleep.

For those of you not familiar with my mother, these kinds of episodes are, unfortunately, all too common. They range from stuff like this to throwing dangerous objects like frying pans and pots of boiling water. She will even do this outside of the home, like she did at a hockey parent-coach night where she yelled at the board of directors about something completely irrelevant. This is the crap that makes me want to leave her house. Permanently.

On a positive note, she's getting over of technological stalkers enough to consider buying me..... a netbook! *cue the crickets here* Yes, really. She's actually deciding that I'm old enough for her to consider letting me have more technological responsibility in my life, and that I won't get eaten by stalkers who will pull me through the computer screen. Notice that she's deciding this now. Never mind the fact that I've been saying this for, oh, a few years now! Even now, I'm typing this on a computer that she limits the time on. Yep.

Ah, Mom.

I realized a few things about myself this week, and what a week it has been.

Last night, it was that I felt that I had been going through life as a complete and total fraud. I seem to be drifting through life, absorbing everything without really knowing why. Owing to this odd little thing, I feel like I'm not really qualified to stand up there, with my voice ringing out above my classmate's heads, speaking of things unusual for someone of my age. I've had this feeling for a while now, in school and in other places. It made me question what other worries I might have, squirreled away in the twisted tunnels of my subconscious.

It cannot be avoided any longer. I can't keep hiding the truth. I'm, well...... *insert awkward pause here* a fangirl. There. I said it. Are you all happy now? Oh, stop clapping.

I know that plenty of you probably have figured this out for some of the more obvious things, like Wolverine and Cthulhu. But who, out of all of you, would have expected my growing fangirlishness over the same character I drew and put in the last post? I didn't, but here I am, looking on Amazon for comics.

Like I said earlier, this was a long and interesting week, full of completely unexpected little things. This is your newly-discovered fangirl, signing off.

Fun Drawings

This, for those of you who don't know, is Johnny the Homicidal Maniac. He was created by the same person who created Invader Zim, the one and only Jhonen Vasquez.
This is fanart of Nny holding one of Cthulhu's underlings, named 'Fluffy'.

Not Cthulhu, But Close Enough

"Untitled"

Today, today is a green-grey
Day, rare in its own regard.
Today, ah yes, today,
The stars are almost right.

The time has come, some
Walrus said, and how he spoke the
Truth. Dictators fall 'round the world,
And one trembles here, at home.

The stars are almost right again,
And things long hidden will
Live. Courage strides across the mind, while
Freedom flickers bright.

The stars are almost right again,
The stars are almost right.

Shadowing Day

Today was 'Bring Your Child To Work' day across the nation, but it meant that my graduating class got to go into the workplace of a person whose career we were interested in. I had chosen to follow Mr. Bonnet for today, and it was absolutely incredible!

Some of the highlights of the day:

• Watching fetal pig dissections
• Joining discussions in Brain & Senses
• Sitting in on APES (AP Environmental Sciences, I do believe)
• Watching Mr. Bonnet work in the ceramics studio at 1st period

And last but not least...

• Made myself useful by... Cleaning fishtanks!

No, really. I cleaned fishtanks for another teacher during the double period of pig dissections.

___

No new stuffs to show you all for tonight.

The Stars Are Almost Right...

Alright, how many of you were expecting a Cthulhu-related post? Be honest.... Much better.

In reality, the topic on my mind at the moment has been splitting away from my mother. This theme has been running through my mind for a while, but it has been reaching a new intensity over the past few days. I can see it, clearer than day, and it seems like an eventuality to me instead of just a dream like it had been before.

In months and years past, I was too terrified to even think about this as a close possibility. Now, I am alive with the excitement of what could happen if I get the courage to open my mouth at the right time..... It could be beautiful, like fireworks or a volcanic eruption, or it could be easier, like water breaching a weak wall.

___

On another note (literally), NYSSMA is coming up fast. In two and a half weeks, I will be preforming in front of a judge in three different disciplines. I will again be playing a French Horn solo, and it will be joined by a woodwind quintet piece and a vocal solo! I feel prepared for all of these things, and for the first time, I am not nervous entering crunch time for NYSSMA. It's a nice feeling, to be sure.

___

"Somewhere"

Out there, deep within the ominous

Purple of the gathering storm, a

Child cries for help, grasping with both hands at

Something that has abandoned them

Forever.

Past the windswept slopes of snowcapped

Mountains, a white rabbit lies torn, red

Lifeblood dripping on the thick

Snow.

Under the waves of a stormy

Sea, a creature is torn, body

Drifting in currents it no longer

Commands.

Somewhere, life is changed irreparably.

Somewhere, a life such as mine is considered

Calm.

World View, As Seen By A Pessimist

"Waking Nightmares"

I feel a strange pall overtake the scene, a mist flowing freely across the land. I am walking through a veil, unable to see the ground, and I can barely breathe.

The world is dying in slow motion. I can feel it in my bones. I think I have bones, anyway. I'm not quite sure.

I am adrift now, floating through a sea of mindless faces who gibber and scream twisted words into a hazy sky clouded with fear. The noise is growing in intensity, reaching a fever pitch that hurts the mind. We are a thousand, nay, a million lemmings rushing to oblivion, and we are welcoming it into our souls.

Today I learned I was born too late. The world's minds are closing fast, clams at the low tide. The activist's preaching to the choir now, they know the truth. We are a million-billion tight-minded lemmings, and we are welcoming the death and decay.

I see this around me, through displays of idiocy that rival those of the Demon Sultan Azathoth. The mad drums and wailing pipes it writhes to in the darkness, we have our own, taking form as Justin Bieber, Fox News and their ilk. 'Tis no wonder the luck has left the world.

Again and again I try to wake from this horrid dream to no avail. There is no one there to shake me from slumber, to wake me. I am alone, horribly and terribly alone in this waking nightmare.

Not Quite Sure What This Is

"Rain"

Pitter-pat. Pitter-pat. Rain is beating on the windows, liquid fingers tapping on my mind. Outside the streaked glass, a world is waking up, not really paying attention to the rain coming down.

Slowly, the crowd leaving for their jobs vacate the houses, and I leave my lonely post, creeping down the stairs of the silent house.

The door is ajar, never closed in the bustle of waking. I slip out into the rain, reeling the water wash cares from my mind.

The mud is cool and soft under my bare feet, and I lie in its wet embrace. I know the police will be here soon, with their dogs. They will find the bodies inside, and they will take me away. Maybe it's for the best.

Already I hear the sirens in the distance, and I am smiling. I am not worried anymore. The rain has washed me clean, and against the wails of the sirens, I cry the hot tears of joy.

Pitter-pat. Pitter-pat.

New Poetry

"You"

You are on all fours.

You are crawling along the desert pavement, clawing at rocks and stones.

You don't even notice the water beneath your hands.

You are only human.

You ignore salvation, and grasp destruction to your breast.

You push away the new, clinging to the teat of the known.

You don't care about the poison lying there.

You admit to insanity, and call yourself crazy.

You say you need to change.

You have no idea how right you are.

You are tearing at your skin.

You have demons chewing in your mind, and you want them gone.

You, like the rest of your kind, are self-destructing.

Hello world, is anyone out there?

Welcome, internet wanderers, to a tiny island in a vast sea of spam and 'exclusive offers'. Sometimes this islet will be filled with the ramblings of a poet with issues, on other days, there may be a rare political commentary-beast floating around, or there might be a portal into the world-view as seen by yours truly. Ah, for that is life! Random, fluid, and you're almost always unprepared, no matter how hard you try.