“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 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.
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
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.
Like twins from birth
I understand most of your thoughts
Always know how to flick you on
Like a match struck together from heaven
Flavoured with the essence of hell
I play with your body indiscriminately
Tickle your emotions and fantasies
And you like it
This game of passions
I am a part of who/what you are
Your ego, personality, passions
You were seeing another and things changed
Suddenly you seemed the sensible one
Our adventures then seemed childish and risky
As you settled for a placid vague life
Where things are not tangible
Where you choke your desires and “needs”
Like the smoke
From dead embers
That once blazed with life
Yet you called our relationship unrealistic
You would give me a wise look
Asking “Where were we headed?”
I had become the clichéd “fool for love”
I still stuck around to my need for you
Because without you
My existence has never made much sense
Then you’d come
With head low
And dignity battered
Begging for a little of what we had
A junkie dying for a fix
I won’t admit to how good it felt
Though I preferred you’d want me
With all your dignity and senses and will intact
Then when we are done with our tango of love
You’d dump me again like faeces
How do you tell me to my face
To go *#@(a swear word meaning “have sex”)@#* myself
In front of a mirror
You think I don’t know how I look
The two horns and cold dark eyes
My bloody fangs and crawly warty skin
You think you didn’t know these
All the while we were insanely in love
Why do you now feel a need to hurt me
Now you call me a monster
Because of your new lover
In the camp of the Christians
You should know how many of them
Play around with monsters like me
But what WE have is real
And I cherish a TOKEN of our love deeply
For a baby monster now grows in my womb!
P.S.: And the monster was delivered
Of a live healthy horrid baby at term
Who didn’t give a care for sentiments
And later became the death of its father
R.I.P. O poor Christian soul
Posted in fiction, love, poetry
Tagged Christianity, consequences, hidden affairs, life, monster, musings, passions, sex, thoughts
Scary Werewolf (Photo credit: martin.grondin)
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 –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.
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