Tuesday, October 25, 2016

You're All At A Tavern

Spooky poems! Spooky! 


The Ghost of This House

Are you the ghost that lives in this house? 
Is that your shadow there
Beneath the door frame?

Are you the ghost that lives in this house?

Is that your footsteps I hear
In the room next to mind?

Are you the ghost that lives in this house? 

Is that your form walking down the hall?
gliding down the steps?
walking out the door?

Leaving me alone


Rules For Monsters 

Open the door 
Move to the bed
Crawl beneath it

If an adult comes in
You will be a coat
Or a sweater
or a pillow
or a toy 

Hide in the shadows
Until they turn off the light
You are a monster
These are the rules 

You may snatch them up if you're quick
If their feet hangs
Or if their hand dangles
Before they scream
Or turn on the light

The blanket is their shield
They'll hide under it if they see you
And you cannot grab them
When they are under the covers

Before the dawn you must return
Into the closet 
Or the attic
Or room beneath the stairs

Where you belong
Until the next night

Saturday, October 15, 2016

Top Quality

I remember waking up and watching T.V with my brothers on Saturday morning. We knew that we had to be quiet, because otherwise my mom would wake up screaming at us. A lot of my childhood was built around trying to avoid giving my mom cause to scream. Much of my adulthood was that as well. Here's a short one about being quiet:


This house is a quiet house

Daddy thinks I'm dumb. He thinks I don't know anything. I'm almost 6 years old. I know things. I know how to add and take away. I know how to spell big words like Change and House. I know that he works for "Mr. Bob" downtown and that "Mr. Bob is a piece of shit". I don't know what a piece of shit is, but I know that "shit" is a bad word and I shouldn't say it. I know that red and blue makes purple and yellow and red make orange. I know how to tie my shoe like a big kid. I know how to call Grammy on the phone. I know to stop at the corner and wait for Daddy. I know that Santa isn't real (Duh), and I know that when we lived in the old house, Mommy kept whiskey behind the good glasses in the cupboard. 

Daddy works a lot; when I wake up on Saturday morning, I make sure to stay extra quiet so that he can sleep. Daddy isn't mean, but if he doesn't get enough sleep, he yells at me. It makes me mad and it makes me scream. Then he sends me to my room and I have to sit on the bed and I can't watch T.V or read or nothing. When he's asleep, the house is quiet and so I turned the T.V low so I can watch cartoons. I live in a small house, so if the T.V's too loud then the whole house hears it. 

My favorite cereal is Captain Pops because it has marshmallows that look like rockets and my favorite show is Adventure Man. I love Adventure Man. He's so cool. He can fly an airplane by himself. I was watching Adventure Man when my Mommy calls me. She says "Darling! Darling!" so loud that I can't hear Adventure Man says stuff. I want to turn up the T.V, but I can't because the loud T.V will wake up Daddy. So, I get up and go see what Mommy wants. 

She's outside like always. Daddy told me that when Mommy was gone things would be different, but he lied. Mommy still yells at me. Mommy still tells to do things for her, like when she used to tell me to get the whiskey down from the cupboard for her, or when she used to tell me not to tell Daddy when Mr. Bob would come over. Daddy thinks I don't know that Mommy lives in the ground now where he put her. I don't know how he doesn't hear her calling him every night. Maybe he doesn't know how to listen. I always listen to Mommy when she talks. She tells me that I'm the only one who listens to her at all. She's not like Daddy. She doesn't think I'm dumb at all.  

Thursday, October 13, 2016

Besotten vs. Besot

There might be something fun here. I would like to see what Charlie does or encounters on his way out of Hell. I love traveling stories and I'm a little fascinated by the concept of Hell as a place and sin as a concept. In fact there's a few stories about Hell and it's denizens on here. You should read those too.
It's been fun since I've restarted this thing. This is like a room in my head that I opened in a while. Everything is covered in a film of dust and nostalgia. There's a musty smell coming from the corner. I'd get a broom and a dustpan. Clean some of these exhibits up. Maybe throw some of them away.



Charlie is Leaving Hell

Charlie pried himself off the cross and laid his feet down on the sandblasted terrain of Hell for the first time in a long while. Yes, it hurt, but everything in Hell hurt. Hell was loud, hot, smelled awful and the air tasted like smoke. Nothing in Hell was designed for pleasure, but Charlie –- like everyone eventually does–- adjusted and now he could operate in the infinite anguish of the abyss through the discomfort.

The demon that approached Charlie was grotesque and corpulent. Flies buzzed around open wounds that leaked blood and pus down its filthy sloven body. Where its mouth would have been, there was only a tooth filled maw which dripped rivers of runny shit down its chest. When it spoke, it was through gurgling spurts of bubbling bile.

“Hey! What are you doing? Get back up there. You’re not done suffering yet.” It said.

“I’m kinda done.” Charlie replied.

“You’re kinda done?” The demon said and Charlie noticed for the first time just how tall the monster was. The demon's breath was hot and pungent and as it spoke shit dribbled from its mouth onto Charlie's head. "Done? You're in Hell. You're here for eternity."

"Yeah, I know but..." Charlie stopped and then looked at the endless baking nothingness around him. "...you know. I'm done. I want to do something else."

Charlie read the demon's expression as baffled, but it could have been anything, as the demon's eyes were angular voids carved into its scalp.

"Are you joking? What part of eternity damnation and torment is unclear to you? You're not in Hell on vacation. You're in Hell because you're a bad person and you deserve to suffer. Now get back on there." said the demon, punctuating the statement by gesturing towards cross behind him. 

Charlie crossed his arms. "Or what?"

To this the demon said "'Or what?' I'll eviscerate you. I will rip you apart, limb from limb, and devour your soul until there's nothing less but the merest scrap of skin. I will pour acid down your throat slowly. I will rip slits into skin and let worms feast on your open wounds. I'll bash your skull in with your own arm, over and over and over again until you're nothing but a bloody paste between your own fingers. I'll pull your fingernails off your hands slowly and cut your eyelids off so you have to watch me while I do it. That's what!" 

If Charlie had to guess at the demon's expression, it would have been pride. Its head tilted back and shit ran down its chest, seeping into the leaking wounds and mixing with the bloody pus within. Charlie shrugged "Yeah, and that would be pretty bad but so is everything else here." He said. "It doesn't really matter what you do to me. In the end, it’s going to be awful. So I can stay here and be tortured, or I can leave and be tortured. Either way, I'm getting tortured so..." 

Charlie moved around the demon and began to walk away. He didn't look back at the demon, didn't feel the need to, but if he did he would could see the demon growing smaller in the distance. If he could read the demon's expression -- which wasn't guaranteed but Charlie had gotten pretty good in a short time -- he would have guessed at that expression was fear. 

And Charlie would have been right. 

Monday, October 10, 2016

Wrong Sucker

My girlfriend's cell phone sometimes acts up and sometime she receives my text after I get home. I thought about how strange it would be if the text kept coming and this story is what happened.



"Something's wrong with my phone."

She kept her eyes on the screen as she scooped up the glass of wine with her other hand and walked from the kitchen into the living room. He sat on the couch, an X-Box controller in his hand, scanning through the available entertainment options mindlessly. Neither of them looked up as he said "What's wrong?"

"I don't know." She said and looked through the text. It read BE HOME SOON.

"It keeps sending me your text late. See this one?" She hovered the screen inches away from his face. He gave it a brief glimpse and then looked back to the T.V.

"That's weird." He said and went back to scanning the newest movie releases in the On-Demand queue.

She laid the phone down on the coffee table. Her knees went up to her chest and she leaned her body against his as she laid her legs parallel on the couch. He opened himself to her, laying his arm on the back support and manipulating the controller with one hand. Together, they went through the list of movies and he selected a scary one.

"Oh baby." She began, but he smiled and gave her a wink. She knew he would hold her tight if she got frightened. Knowing  result, she began to look forward to being terrorized.

The phone buzzed on the table. Her eyes went to it and then went to him. He shrugged, keeping his eyes on the screen ahead. She would answer it and he would judge her quietly. One more second was given to the action on-screen and then she picked up her phone. It read ON MY WAY.

Frowning, she leaned down to put it back down when the phone jumped in her hand. The message read WEIRDEST THING. GUY ON SUBWAY LOOKS JUST LIKE ME.

She peered at the phone bewildered, and in reply, her phone shuttered again. The message read I SAW HIM THROUGH THE WINDOW OF THE TRAIN CAR. IT'S SO SPOOKY.

The messages came unceasingly. She felt the panic well within her like a stoked fire. The phone shook like a trauma victim, each quake regurgitated fear that dug under her skin like earthworms.








When the messages were sent, she was standing and he was standing. She was sizing him up, wondering if he would lunge for her if she tried to make it to the door. He was smiling and his tongue passed over his dagger-like teeth. Her fingers clutched her phone like it was the only thing that mattered in her world. She felt it shake, like a death rattle, and she couldn't help but look as the final message came.


Friday, October 7, 2016

Hold You

This story is based on a dream I had about a year ago. 


Hold You

With heart pounding, he tries to shake off the dream, but the room is so dark that he can't slow it down. He feels her roll over. He feels the familiar weight of her head on his chest.
"Are you okay?" She says and he can hear the sleep in her voice.

"Nothing." He says and then "I had a bad dream."

He feels her thigh rise up and lays across the bottom of his stomach. When she moves, trying to find a comfortable place on his sternum to rest her cheek, her hair grazes his skin. He wraps his arm around her, lays his hand on the top of her head. His eyes are open now. He is wide awake. 

They are quiet for a while and then she surprises him with "What happened in the dream?"

He stares out at the dark, but he's not looking at the dark, because he is trying to remember the dream.

"I had a dream that I was a bed and you came in, but it wasn't you. It was someone else who looked like you. I knew that in the way you know things in dreams. I just knew that she wasn't you. I couldn't see her face because she kept her head down, and her hair was so long that I couldn't see passed it. 
She climbed on me. She sat on my chest and I felt her hands come up the sides of my face. I knew if I looked her in the eyes, I would die. I tried to close my eyes, but she held them open by pushing my eye lids open with her thumbs. I tried to shake her off, but she was so heavy. I tried to scream, but I couldn't open my mouth. I just laid there as she held my eyes open and lifted her head." 

When he finishes, he feels the fear anew, like he is having the dream again. He takes comfort only in the feel of her. He is secured in the knowledge that she's the real thing. 

The lights turn on. "Babe", says his girlfriend from the door, glass of water held shakily. "Who in our bed?" 

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

Language Is Dead

Every Book In This Room

If I could read every book
In this room
And figure you out
I’d know the person I once was
And will be.

If I could unfold the pages
Of you
What words would seep
Out and be written
My skin
In fine spidery script?

And if I could know
Your ugliness
Will I shy away or
Face it, turning into the
Light of your anger
Like the sun.

And if I could read every book
In this room, will my learning
Be in doubt and what I thought
I knew, I did not

Or will I believe in your truth
The way birds believe the truth
Of the sky. 

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

2x/2L calling Sake Hill.

I, Remember

I remember holding your hand

Walking down Ludlow Street

The city warmed by alcohol and summer air 

I remember the mound of your cheek

Rising from the amber plane of your pillow

As sunlight crossed your room 

I remember telling you "I love you"

For the first time, to your sudden

barking laughter 

And I remember holding you

And how good it felt

to be in love.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Breath Thorough Your Teeth

This is a writing exercise I did. I'm trying to see what I can come up with a time limit. This I came up with in 2 hours, and it completely shows. Enjoy:

Everything stops at the moment of impact. There is a sheer, eternal moment of weightlessness then reality comes down like a wave and smothers the world.

She was aware she jerked the wheel, about second before she heard the sheik of the tires skidding across the ice, followed by a hiccup in time. The car crash was like a skipping disk in a C.D player. Blink, terror, blink, rolling, blink, silence.

She came to with the sounds of the automated distress system dialing. The operator on the other side sounded weirdly panicked, but professional.

"Ma'am, are you alright." She said. "Ma'am, your on-board emergency system has registered a car crash. Ma'am, can you hear me? Help is on it's way."

Elaine wanted to speak, to tell her everything was alright -- that she was alright -- but she couldn't. The seat belt around her chest was too tight and she found herself choking. She lipped her hand under the strap to pull it free. That's when she first felt the blood. Her blood, a rivulet of red coming from her throat.

She felt up her neck until her fingers grazed the jutting obstruction in the side of her throat, where the clavicle met the gullet. She was surprised to find the point still maintained it's sharpness. As she laced her fingers carefully around the edge of the cold metal sticking out from inside of her, she felt the sting of the blade edge as it slit open her finger.

Elaine took in her breath in ready swallows and she looked at her head now painted burgundy with new blood and she made peace with herself. I'm going to die here in Iowa, she thought to herself.

There are worst places to die.

Elaine closed her eyes and waited for the rest of her death.


"You'll never speak again." The Doctor said. He was a Pakistani man with moosed black hair and bristling mustace. He held a clipboard in his hand and he spoke in a pursed, accented English.

"Your vocal chords were damaged beyond repair by the piece of shrapnel that punctured your larynx. The surgeon removed all they could, but it wasn't enough to save your vocal cords. You can still ingest food orally, but you have to be careful for the next months when you eat, drink or swallow saliva. You will have to learn a lot of things because of your new condition. It will be best if we start with your rehabilitation right away, have you drinking and eating again. We've scheduled an appointment with your physical trainer for later today. If you don't feel up to it, we can reschedule of course."

The doctor, call him Kunal but you probably won't see him again, turned to go and then paused.

"I'm very sorry." He said, absently, and then he left.

Elaine's room was the lemony yellow of a starburst. The sun bled in thorough the half opened blinds and she spent a good part of her morning tracking the progress of the light across her bed. Soon, it would be at her toes. She didn't sleep comfortably, accustomed to sleep on her side, but what with a grievous neck injury stymie old habit, she found herself coming awake at intermittent times during the night. Since sun up, she watched the life, wondering where her life would lead.

She had survived, which was certainly as a surprise, but now she was a crippled kind of. She couldn't talk, but she could gesture and make motions and be understood, though with some difficulty. Already she was adapting to it, letting gestures do the talking and taking liberties with the nurse call button. She began to think back on her voice and if she'd ever really used it. After a while, she came to the conclusion that "No. She never actually need to speak in her day-to-day".

She was an accountant by trade and practice. All her business was conducted by email. She rarely talked on the phone. Most of her socializing was done via text and IM chat. She wasn't much at parties, being always uncomfortable in groups of more than three. She didn't sing unless she was drunk and even then her voice was awful. She had ran the problem of No Voice thorough her mind-filters and came to the idea that it was no real problem at all.

Despite this, the depression had set in bad. She was missing a part of herself, a part she would never get back. She imagined all new hassles; the difficulties of carrying around pens and paper everywhere she did, the stumbling thorough learning sign language, the unspoken worry of something happening and her being unable to speak. She would be the perfect rape victim, now that she thought about it. She wouldn't be able to scream.

When she felt herself about to cry, she noticed the man at the door. He was small and not handsome, but he wore a visitor badge and a confused expression. He held flowers in his hands and looked around the room expectantly. Eventually, he looked at her and he smiled nervously.

A moment passed where they stared at each other.

She thought You must be lost

He said "Excuse me?"

She looked at him and then she thought Okay, that's strange.

"Uh...what's strange? I'm sorry, did you say something?"

I can't.

"I can hear you. Are you talking?"

She thought No and then she realized she was wrong.

I'm thinking, I think. I can't talk anymore.

He moved into the room and across the bed and he looked at her. "Say something."

Like what?

He said "Oh my god. Your lips aren't moving. How are you doing that?"

I don't know, she thought and then she watched the man leave, his expression more bewildered than before.

She laid in bed for a while, thinking about what just changed about her and decided whether or not to let this bit of madness continue.

As the sun settled on the peak of her foot, she reached for the call button.

Friday, March 16, 2012

Good One, robot.

Setting: Classic fantasy setting with a logical framework. It’s a detailed textured land where fantasy tropes make a kind of sense and isn’t just some stuff thrown together for flavor. The setting needs to be weighty. It needs to feel real. It needs to be a situation where it needs to have some semblance of history; Not all reflective but definitely allegorical. It needs to feel like a place. The way Gotham feels like a place. The way Westeros feels like a place.

So where do I star? Let’s start with the beginning.

The World
Iyr is the third planet in the solar system, orbiting a mid-sized yellow star named Moonson. It is orbited by one one-half moons, Salitte and Loun. It is nearest celestial neighbor is Orbatian. It is composed mostly of iron (32.1%), oxygen (30.1%), silicon (15.1%), magnesium (13.9%), sulfur (2.9%), nickel (1.8%), calcium (1.5%), and aluminium (1.4%); with the remaining 1.2% consisting of trace amounts of other elements. Due to mass segregation, the core region is believed to be primarily composed of iron (88.8%), with smaller amounts of nickel (5.8%), sulfur (4.5%), and less than 1% trace elements.

About 70.8% of the surface is covered by water, with much of the continental shelf below sea level. The submerged surface has mountainous features, including a globe-spanning mid-ocean ridge system, as well as undersea volcanoes, oceanic trenches, submarine canyons, oceanic plateaus and abyssal plains. The remaining 29.2% not covered by water consists of mountains, deserts, plains, plateaus, and other geomorphologies.

There are three central continents ranging east to west: Roole, Kanth and Pai’Mekan. The three continents are divided into a range of diverse climates, topographys and indenious plants and animals of all shapes and sizes.

The Four Kingdoms take place in the eastern continent of Roole on the southeast portion of the northern hemisphere, past the World’s End Mountain range.

The Land
The continent of Roole is found in the eastern hermisphere, running north toward the North Pole and southeast past the equator. Roole is a continent marked by different topographies, climates and peoples-- ranging from the frosted tundra of the Frostcaps to the arid desert of Shambole.

The Four Kingdoms are found in the southeastern portion of the continent, separated by the rest of the landmass by a great chain of mountain known as the World’s End.

The southwestern portion of the kingdom is covered by a lush forest connected by inland rivers and swamplands down to the equator. The rainy low-lands attaching the forest to a land-bridge is uncharted and unknown

The East and South are home to rolling hills and fertile planes that are crossed by two large rivers, the Euclid and the Frond (The Westgate and the Donorans Vein in middlespeak)

The northeast is home to craggy rough terrain beneath the shadow of the Hood mountains. These stone plateaus, knotted hills and towering landscapes are known as the Raidlands.

Beyond the shores of the southeastern coasts are a cluster of islands collectively known as the Dragon's Bones. To the north are the islands of the Frostfathers and the Sitter. The forbidden land of Kanth sits across the great Marinius Oceans, as of yet undiscovered.

I Came To Hold You

This is an unfinished story. I think I threw out the books for this that hand the ending, but I can pretty much tell you that it involves the reveal that he's a stalker. Enjoy:

He presses his hand against the frame of the door and gently guides it shut. It makes a satisfying click as it closes and when the deadbolt’s affixed he hardly makes a sound. He is an expert of so many nights in the dark. He knows just how to move across the living room into the bedroom, silent like a shadow crossing the floor.

He takes his shoes off next, leaving them behind the door. He knows where everything is even in the pitch blackness. He travels his path, the sounds of her breathing waltzing out of the bedroom. Merrily, he marches in time with the rhythm of her dreams, in thorough the mouth and out through the nose.

She worked hard and sleeps heavy now. A retail job takes her morning. A security job cannibalizes her afternoons. Her evenings are given over to short hours of serene unconsciousness in a tiny boxy room.

It’s this peace he fears to disturb, so slowly he moves, slowly he walks, and slowly he slips noiselessly into her bed.

He doesn’t need to undress, a rare talent of his being able to find comfort anyway and anywhere. In this bed there are two goose-downs pillows, twins without symmetry. The right side pillow is pristine, all smooth lines and placid coolness. The left most, her side, is angry and bunched, jagged lines punched into oblivion, molded to the shape of her in profile. It is “her” pillow. Capital H.E.R. The way that the splotches on her nose are “her freckles” or the brand of citrus she shampoos with smells like “her hair”.

God, his pillow is cold. It is like an ice bath against his cheek. His neck cranes down. He slips his shoulder under the edges and props the pillow under the back of his chin, holding it between his shoulder and crook of the neck. He gets settles in, sinking into a groove above the sheets. He corresponds to her shape, fitting himself like an adjunct piece of a puzzle board. Their forms become whole before his arms around her. He closes his eyes and feels her breath under him.