Category Archives: epic

In time, heaven’s light crashes in on earth’s darkness. //symbolic writing//

The Earth seen from Apollo 17.

The Earth seen from Apollo 17. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Two ships flying in space a-tango
Earth and Heaven kingdom-ships
The Heaven ship could fly faster
But it kept close to the Earth ship

Often it would send power sparks
To give the Earth kingdom-ship a lift
Or Earth ship would have fared worse
The crew is the worst a ship could wish for

For long the two ships have been on parallel courses
Heaven’s Captain keeping a close watch
Because He has a stake in the other ship
For Earth carries unwilling captives of war

Left to the gods of the earth they’d run it aground
They resist heaven’s help even firing at it
They’d sooner crash earth than see the slaves free
Sadistic gods set against Heaven’s Captain

The Captain knew they’d soon hit the Hell Hole
But He would sooner crash his ship into earth
To get it off that self-destructive course
And He’d capture earth ship

He’d overthrow the lords of the earth ship
Free the slaves and set things straight
He’d force peace to reign aboard that ship
But the timing has to be right!

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Life and The Writer (sequel to Death and The Writer)

The Writer

“Of the few unpleasant species like myself
Even fewer love a happy ending.
But again there are few who won’t care about rules of dark writings
Any more than they’d care about a broken toothpick!”
These thoughts run through the mind of the writer,
As he heads back from the shrink’s cave.
His hair is well combed and like shiny metal.
His eyes glow with eerie warmth and calmness.
An enchanted smile adorns his lips and cleanly shoven chin.
One gently swaying arm holds a baby bird.
There was something beautifully divine about the bird
Even the air smelt divine, almost spiritual
The other arm with shaky fingers holds a white-inked pen.

The victim

The full picture of emptiness
Sitting between calmness and uncertainty,
His throat bears the aftertaste of good food,
Which though sits uneasily in his tommy
In view of his maltreatment and enslavement,
The hole (where the padlock was) remains –
An unforgettable lesson on his lips
As he speaks every day.
His wrists bear marks from the cuffs.
His broken legs are yet unhealed.
His mind is unsure of what to expect
From the writer upon return.

The conversation

Writer(W): Hello friend! How have you fared?
Victim(V): Friend? Hehehehe.
W: As you could guess, I was only being sarcastic calling you friend. Not a chance!
V: As well! Anyway, I have resigned myself to this fate. I know how dying feels. I am well used to it by now. This is your fifth return from your shrink, and I have not fared any better. I have felt my body die, and horror as I felt it come alive again back to your chains. I have felt you drain my hope as you would treat me kindly before you go see your shrink, only to deal worse with me on returning. I have felt my soul die. The corruption of these chains have drained my hope, my light, and what sense of sanity I had left. What more? Oh! You will release me now -the new monster you have created -knowing that I am not the same again? I can’t successfully live a normal life -my sense of humanity, morality and dignity twisted by your darkness.
W: Hahahahaha!!!! Halt your speech there! See who is talking like a philosopher now.
I am wrapping all this up now

Conclusion

And as the victim watches
With the uneasy calmness of one used to pain and suffering,
The writer takes the pen
And in a decisive move
Sticks it in the delicate heart of the heavenly dove.
Frank red blood gushes out.
As the blood flowed,
Something unnatural was happening –
Something damningly darker than any could have imagined,
Or something worthy of engaging the writer’s darkness.
The victim saw the writer’s countenance change.
The final deed has been done!
The writer’s insanity forever satisfied,
He then writes a new story in red.
The victim was set free
From the chains of darkness
By the shedding of another’s blood.
Something snapped in the writer’s dark mind
With his bold move on the dove’s life.
The victim’s story changed
And the writer’s madness was satisfied.
The victim was still in shock
As he was let out of hell.
He looked forward with hope
Into the life ahead of him,
Hoping and praying
He wouldn’t be a monster unleashed –
A likeness of the demon he just left behind in hell.
(Who was still a bit surprised
Because it wasn’t quite how he had planned the happy ending.)

At least, he wasn’t totally dead like the writer.
He could still HOPE and PRAY like a normal human
Who believed in the power of the unseen.

The Ghost’s Rants: On Beautiful Dark Things In Men’s Souls

Roll the booze out into the streets
The writer is awake now
And unlike some of his psychedelic colleagues
This one is a complete teetotaller

Darkness creeps in on the globe
And the viperoid children dance out
Spawning “goodness” all over the place
But thanks, I’ll pass
I don’t need your charitable donation
A lovely venomous gift
Perfect poison for the pure soul
Birthing the gentle worm of darkness
The adorable monster that men are addicted to
The silent dark shadow following them
Even in broadest sunlight
Despite their sparkling wears and smiles
The soft white delightsome maggot
Laughing sweetly with them
With sparkling teeth like a saw
Eating away at the soul of the host
Soon that man is seen for the rot that he really is
You wriggle your seductive hips in my face
But I want none of what you are selling
I have lost appetite for that forbidden fruit
Let me write and live and sleep in peace
What more can you want from me
After all, I have made my bedroom
Six feet below the ground level
At perfect unison with earth and bones
Will you rock my knocked out senses
Or can you corrupt a dead man

Heck! I am not praying for the day to dawn
I am not hoping for an escape from the black
My light may not be more than 12volts’ worth
But in the darkest of periods it will shine
Despite the corruptions of souls and institutions
Though the grave burns the ghost still R.I.P.s

Werewolves and Jesus

Scary Werewolf

Scary Werewolf (Photo credit: martin.grondin)

English: Possible representation of the Werewo...

English: Possible representation of the Werewolf Español: Representación de un Hombre lobo. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Master was already bushed after the voyage. The trip was supposed to be his siesta period, as he finds a rocking boat in sea storms particularly lulling. However, the Enchanted Writer, who was also a physician and shared the Master’s habit of snoozing in storms, was feeling insomniac today. This meant that the Master Jesus was kept awake by mind-blurring questions.
See –the Enchanted Writer who is also a doctor of the human mind is not really as dull as his many questions make him out to be. In fact his questions make the learned ones seem dumb. The Master loved him. He reminded the Master of when he (the Master) was younger and had amazing adventures sitting at table with and questioning various spiritual leaders of various sects –from the ancient sorcerers and Asthoretheans to the New Age and Zen Instructors. The Master knew the cardinal teachings and practices of all. He became a somewhat notably controversial fellow whose questions dazed foundations of beliefs. In fact, the Master had been known on occasion to turn suddenly to face his very own followers and question the validity of their beliefs. The Master was just all by himself in a very different class. He wasn’t one to indulge religious dogmatism or so crazy for a large fan base that he’d tolerate just anything. He really did not “give an ant’s piss”. He was just… just himself!!!
Now and then, one could observe the Master pat the Enchanted Writer’s shoulder whilst gazing fondly into his eyes as the writer engages him.
That gaze!!!
That gaze –was what the Enchanted Writer was daydreaming about when John tapped him. “We are ashore.”
It was a quiet and peaceful countryside. So quiet it was eerie.

Out of the woods suddenly leapt two werewolves bounded for the Master’s team. Out came silver swords and guns with silver bullets as the disciples of the Master braced up for the encounter. Near drew the werewolves as they prepared to strike. But, up went the Master Jesus’ arms as the werewolves froze in their tracks. The Enchanted Writer was enthralled by the Master’s act and he already began to take notes analysing what psychic technique(s) the Master must have used. And when the Master engaged the werewolves in a conversation, the physician was amazed.
“Who are you?” the Master asked. “We are a legion of spirits because we are many. We used the arithmetic principle of division and the physical principle of compression we were taught during military training at Camp Hades. So we are evenly distributed into these two humans. Please let us torment your fable-misguided disciples a bit and show them how useless their silver toys are.” replied the demons. The Master finalized “A talkative lot you also are. Now, I know you are expecting me to ask how you’d rather be dealt with, and favour your plea to send you into the herd of swine over there. Then, after you possess and make the pigs drown in the water, you will be free to continue your demonic adventures. But, let’s get creative. I am banishing you right now into the sea to forever roam its depths, doomed to inhabit the hollows of its soul.” So depressed were the demons that they couldn’t even scream as they tore away from the two men who became calm and regained their normal human forms.
Then out of the woods came the natives of the region who had for long been serving the Wolf-god. They would have asked the Master to save them completely and bring sanity to their lives. Instead they are shocked by the power the Master wielded. They would have asked that the Master bring them in on his secret, but they were angry with the Master for getting rid of their former protectors. Did they not know that the Master who got rid of these werewolves was more powerful than them? That stands to reason, doesn’t it? Surely it stands to reason.
Reason.
Reasoning these issues did the Enchanted Writer as he leaned over the Master’s right thigh on their way back after being begged to leave the region by the poor natives! Poor souls!

P.S.: These things have I, the Physician and Writer, witnessed and documented for proof in the Biblical book of Luke 8:22-39

Haunting God

With purpose he marched through the gate
God did not enter with a thief’s creeping gait
When he scattered our masters with the sword
When we slaves blissfully slept scattered abroad

He mercilessly spilled their blood
God came on them like a flood
He got himself cut somehow
He won and left anyhow

We stretched and yawned
As a bloody morning dawned
Like expected God’s blood spooked
Like a pheromone it got us hooked

We ran around incoherently
Searching for God fervently
God that caught our attention
God that left our habitation

We left our place unguarded
We leapt into the forest unguided
We were brash and savage
We were passionate beyond gauge

Why did God kill our old masters
When will we have answers
Why is God deliberately taunting
Why are we homelessly haunting

God paid us a bloody visit
God left us with a deficit
He then got us stuck on him
He then had us seeking him

Scouring river after rock
Whilst wild animals did gawk
We were hounds of blood
We were madly trailing God’s blood

We have no past now
We have forgotten home now
We don’t remember how it ensued
We don’t know why we continued

We don’t know how it ends
As we negotiate the bends
Haunting God
Hunting God

Then came the night
God was not yet in sight
As we howled like cannibals
As we dined on some animals

The day came again
God we were yet to gain
As we got guns cocked and gears locked
As those same stupid animals still gawked

We are no more mere flesh and blood
In this trail of God’s blood
Our perspectives have changed
Our old selves deranged

God invaded our living situation
Causing shift and annihilation
Now we are fixated on him
Now we are hounding him

What will happen if we don’t find him
What will happen if we find him
We mindlessly haunt God on
We tirelessly hunt God on

Haa!!! See there a fresh drop of blood…