Trickle

The empty wasteland, ravaged by drought,

Drowning in dysphoria and doubt. 

The leaking bucket, almost empty but never quite,

The dying light is gone but it's never night.

I might as well be blind or be dead,

I've lost my vision and lost my head.

So this is me, I don't tell lies and I don't kill people. There's not much else to me, I spend my days lying in the gutter licking the black sludge that trickles past and hoping someone will stamp on my head crushing my nose and shattering my teeth. I love spitting teeth out, it's like having bits of your skull broken off. When I was a kid I hit myself in the face with a stick so hard I knocked myself unconscious. I'm not a total masochist, I once yelled at someone, I think that's when I lost my voice, oh and I split my best friends skull with a rock for no reason. Who needs reasons anyway? My whole body set in plaster made from dried mucous, chewing gum and I've no idea what else because I couldn't care less. I've tried to get a cold chisel in one of the festering cracks but I can't. Maybe one day I'll be able to break it off and if I'm lucky it'll stick to my skin and peel it all off, that would change the tone. But I know I'm not lucky, I'm like God; my fate is sealed, set in stone, finished before it began. God doesn't need motivation because I don't think he could possibly have free will. I doubt everything. I have neither. I wouldn't use the alphabet if I could, I wouldn't eat or drink or breathe if I could. It's like trying to suffocate yourself; your panic overcomes you. I should meditate to clear my mind and take control but I'd rather listen to music. I hate talking, I hate talking to people but the demon inside me loves seeing them nod in acknowledgement of what I've said. Yes my one friend is my only real enemy because it makes the world my enemy. I want to punish my punisher. But it probably enjoys being punished. Sick, filthy dog with horns covered in flies. I read that petting animals can help with anxiety. Looking at the wet, flea ridden dog laying beside me in the gutter I reach out and pet it's head. It opens a bloody eye and in our own way we smile at each other because deep down we're friends. And we've always been friends; my arm has the infected, oozing bite marks to prove it...  

The Metal Rabbit

The metal rabbit lived in a room covered in dust. His face had been punched in many years ago by a soldier and it gave him a somewhat depressed and demented look. The room was on the third floor of a large building in an abandoned city. There was one window from which the metal rabbit would peer down onto the street if he so wished, but there there was never anything to see except burnt out buildings as far as the eye could see. He had once watched a building collapse; this was the second most exciting event he had witnessed. The room was empty but for an old piano. Once some plaster had fallen from the ceiling and striking a chord on the piano, the metal rabbit had deeply loved this moment and thought it the most beautiful sound he had ever heard and every day he wished that some plaster might fall and strike the piano just once more, but alas the ceiling stayed intact. On another occasion there had been a strange raucous noise outside, at first the metal rabbit thought it a storm approaching and had stood by the window -for he loved to watch storms approach, but this was no storm: a large flock of crows were circling overhead. They had stayed for a few days and the metal rabbit had watched them with fascination for he could not remember the last time he had seen or even heard an animal. Very long ago the metal rabbit had tried to savour his memories but he soon fund it better to block them out. He had counted every spot of dust in the room and named the stars and mapped the weather patterns. He had invented whole new civilisations, their languages and histories to study. Each night he sung himself to sleep with a new lullaby and sang a new song each morning. His mind was an ever expanding universe. The door to his room was locked and he had been confined there for as many years he knew not, for long ago he had stopped counting.

One Night

One night I ‘woke with a start

In the garden of my heart

To strained voices remorse

Of a past I daren't discourse,

The wanderings I fared therein

My grievous heart dared to sin,

The line ‘twixt bought and sold

To see it not or yet behold,

I feigned hope yet knew it well

The future did not my fire quell,

Sprang from a sea o’ sour regret

A pearl of worth my sorrows beget,

At last I sank to stormy depth

And saw the plight of my steps,

Until this day I thought it rot

I longed to see, yet saw it not

The silver touch ‘pon my mind

My fate ahead, my past behind

I saw the times I tried and failed

In the wake of whence I sailed,

Then on the shore of golden sand

Naught around me did I stand,

Washed away my fear of self,

A book of memories ‘pon the shelf.

Vainglory

Playing God comes at a price, but not without gain.

Perhaps it was innocent, perhaps it was art; most would not have viewed it so. As a large house to wander the halls and corridors, exploring among the multitude of rooms, we all did this; it is our life. So many rooms are unlit; a shadow tickles the fancies of such people. Of cause everyone is curious, and the spirit of adventure is healthy for all, but whereas lighting a way in the darkness provides fulfilment, the pursuit and the creation of shadows leaves a lot to be desired. The myriad of unpaved byroads untrodden by the many are known only by those whom having conquered fear lost their conscience along the way.

Let go and put behind you the rage of wild beasts, of deranged and uncivilised men. Self-control is the first step toward dignity and dignity is closer still to God himself. With these disciplines comes others desired among those who aspire. The first is for one to stand above his fellow men by beating them down and the second is to lift himself up. The first is equated with being somewhat lowly, not only because of it's being brutish in nature but because the subject in question has not really moved himself one way or another. The latter is deemed highly civilised and respected as the height of dignity, to lift oneself up as a bird, neither stepping on his fellow men. But most effective is a combination of both, predominantly the former.

A city of men. These dark, dirty streets are not empty: twisted souls slide through the shadows like serpents, each around their own depraved businesses, each sick with their own disease. But for all the sickness and filth, these streets have their own perverted beauty, a twisted power, an underlying, undying strength. This illegitimate power, this spectral beauty, this poisoner of souls is no respected of persons and therein lies it's greatness. This power is not a weak, frail power, but a mad, unearthly, hideous power. Although some unashamedly revel in this power and let it wholly consume them, for others an infrequent teaspoon of this seraphic power is more than satisfying, yet still in it's grasp it holds them and they it. Mould it and shape it, train it as you would a wild animal lest it turn on you and destroy you.

Where there is no respect all are equal.

Those without the light in their eyes stand apart from their fellow men, they fear them not, for can one fear that which one scorns? Is it wrong for the lion to crush the ants beneath it's heel? or the eagle to do as it will with the mice it catches? The heart of man is dumb and mute without the mind to guide it, as a rock tied to a long cord it swings in the wind. The mind must be the master of all, the king on the throne, not a helper to am obese and dizzy heart. This is the difference, the line that divides between the weak and the strong, the moral man and the amoral man. The common man calls this weakness his conscience, in the uncertainty of a storm of emotions the line drawn between his right and wrong, the moral man feels his conscience is what makes him human and sets him apart from the animal kingdom.
Here stands the man with his heart in one hand and his mind in the other, an importance welling from a deep pit of pride, a poisoned well springing from hades itself. The solemnity, the grandeur, the vanity of vanities. The balance has spilled it weights, it is defunct. Righteousness is but a cloak around the shoulders, justice a scarf over the lips, empathy a badge upon the breast. A nest of serpents in a brightly painted box, a kingdom of kings, a heaven of gods, a hell of devils, a city of men. Vainglory.
.

The Sugar Pot

"Land of hope and glory, mother of the free, How shall we extol thee, who are born of thee?" sang out Vera Lynn's voice from the gramophone in the corner. The cool night air drifted through the open door, playing with bits of loose paper and petals that had fallen from the vase of flowers on the table. On the wall the clock ticked and outside a frog was croaking, he had been getting slower and slower over the last half hour and was sounding very tired indeed. 
"You know" said the Moose leaning back into his armchair. "If you were to ask a large number of people questions such as A: Why are things the way they are? and B: Why do they think this is so? Both answers would be more or less the same, are you with me?" He turned and looked at me with his head on the side. I thought for a moment, "I am" I said nodding "Though to be fair, I don't think there's any other way that people come to conclusions really, they assemble what they know in a way that makes sense to them and form their opinions from this without realising they're forming opinions from their own opinions and so on"
The Moose chuckled and walked over to the window, tapping his pipe on the sill. "I say..." he said after a moment swinging both windows outwards and peering into the dark. I looked up from the old yellow newspaper I was reading "What is it?" "Oh I just thought I saw something..." the Moose shrugged and leant on his elbows and blew rings of smoke out the window. I went back to my newspaper. The song came to an end and all that could be heard was the lazy frog croaking and the Moose noisily puffing his pipe which I found annoying after 24 seconds. "Listen to this" I said standing up holding the newspaper under the light to read "Her Royal Highness the Princess Elizabeth, Duchess of Edinburgh, was safely delivered of a Prince at 9:14 p.m. today. Her Royal Highness and her son are both doing well." The Moose raised an eyebrow, "I suspect that newspaper may be a wee bit old" he said turning around to lean out the window again. I put the newspaper down and walked over to the gramophone, took the record off, put it in its sleeve and searched for another one to play. "You know what?" I said looking through the records "No I do not" said the Moose, "Well, I just feel like listening to Vera Lynn again, don't you?" "Not in the least" "Why not? What's she ever done to make you hate her so?" "Shhhh!" The Moose motioned to be quiet and beckoned me over to the window. I walked over and looked out and then back at the Moose and said "What?" with my nonplussed face. The Moose pointed to a bush half a stones throw away, after a moment I saw it shake and then two eyes caught the light. "Heavens to Murgatroyd!" gasped the Moose. The next few moments were rather long and hard to count as the Moose, the two shining eyes in the bush and I stared at one another. "We can see you, you know" said the Moose and the eyes blinked and then the body they belonged to stood up. It was a man in white overalls and a black bowtie, "What were you doing in that bush?" asked the Moose "Why are you wearing white overalls with that black bowtie?" I asked, the Moose elbowed me. Still the man said nothing, "Maybe he can't talk?" suggested the Moose "Maybe he can't hear us?" I also suggested. The Moose shook his head to that, "No he can hear us, I'll ask him if he wants some sugar cubes. Would you like some sugar cubes?" The man smiled and walked toward the window wiping his hands on the legs of his overalls "Indeed I would, indeed I would" said the man smiling sheepishly, "Get him some sugar cubes my good chum" said the Moose turning to me, I grabbed a screw driver and walked over the the loose board in the floor, levered it up and took out the sugar pot (If you're wondering why we keep a sugar pot in the universally recognised safest of places it's because it's make of gold and inlaid with jewels) and walked over to the window. "Careful he doesn't snatch it from you, run off to sell it on the black market and live off the money for the rest of his life in luxurious comfort" whispered the Moose in my ear, apparently too loudly for the man in overalls (who was a good man but had lost his wife in a shopping mall and finding life very hard had quit his job and taken to searching for bird eggs under bushes which he sold to Lombards and Chinese egg collectors) jumped up and snatched the sugar pot made of gold (and inlaid with jewels) and ran off selling it on the black market whereupon he lived off the money in luxurious comfort for the rest of his life. The Moose tapped his pipe on the window sill and  scratched the top of his head, his eyes slowly getting larger and larger. I fell back into my chair on the newspaper then stood up and put the newspaper on the coffee table and fell back into my chair again. No one said anything. I swallowed loudly and my stomached made strange noises for next fifteen minutes while I tried holding my breath and squeezing my arms against my stomach to make it be quiet. The frog stopped croaking, presumably he'd passed out. I looked at my finger nails; they were all short and neat so I smoothed out a crease on my pants and then tried touching my nose with my tongue wondering if I'd ever tried to do it before and if not why. The Moose took a big breath then let it out for the next forty three seconds which was very annoying and made me want to hit him with bats. I watched a little moth hurling itself at the lightbulb and wondered what on earth it could possibly hope to achieve from doing this strange thing.

Ezekiel Chapter One with Dopplereffekt

Ezekiel Chapter One Verses One to Twenty-Four

1. Now it came to pass in the thirtieth year, in the fourth month, in the fifth day of the month, as I was among the captives by the river of Chebar, that the heavens were opened, and I saw visions of God.

² In the fifth day of the month, which was the fifth year of king Jehoiachin's captivity,

³ The word of the Lord came expressly unto Ezekiel the priest, the son of Buzi, in the land of the Chaldeans by the river Chebar; and the hand of the Lord was there upon him.

Dopplereffekt - Myon-Neutrino

⁴ And I looked, and, behold, a whirlwind came out of the north, a great cloud, and a fire unfolding itself, and a brightness was about it, and out of the midst thereof as the colour of amber, out of the midst of the fire.

⁵ Also out of the midst thereof came the likeness of four living creatures. And this was their appearance; they had the likeness of a man.

⁶ And every one had four faces, and every one had four wings.

⁷ And their feet were straight feet; and the sole of their feet was like the sole of a calf's foot: and they sparkled like the colour of burnished brass.

⁸ And they had the hands of a man under their wings on their four sides; and they four had their faces and their wings.

⁹ Their wings were joined one to another; they turned not when they went; they went every one straight forward.

¹⁰ As for the likeness of their faces, they four had the face of a man, and the face of a lion, on the right side: and they four had the face of an ox on the left side; they four also had the face of an eagle.

¹¹ Thus were their faces: and their wings were stretched upward; two wings of every one were joined one to another, and two covered their bodies.

¹² And they went every one straight forward: whither the spirit was to go, they went; and they turned not when they went.

¹³ As for the likeness of the living creatures, their appearance was like burning coals of fire, and like the appearance of lamps: it went up and down among the living creatures; and the fire was bright, and out of the fire went forth lightning.

¹⁴ And the living creatures ran and returned as the appearance of a flash of lightning.

^15. Now as I beheld the living creatures, behold one wheel upon the earth by the living creatures, with his four faces.

^16. The appearance of the wheels and their work was like unto the colour of a beryl: and they four had one likeness: and their appearance and their work was as it were a wheel in the middle of a wheel.

^17. When they went, they went upon their four sides: and they turned not when they went.

^18. As for their rings, they were so high that they were dreadful; and their rings were full of eyes round about them four.

^19. And when the living creatures went, the wheels went by them: and when the living creatures were lifted up from the earth, the wheels were lifted up.

^20. Whithersoever the spirit was to go, they went, thither was their spirit to go; and the wheels were lifted up over against them: for the spirit of the living creature was in the wheels.

^21. When those went, these went; and when those stood, these stood; and when those were lifted up from the earth, the wheels were lifted up over against them: for the spirit of the living creature was in the wheels.

^22. And the likeness of the firmament upon the heads of the living creature was as the colour of the terrible crystal, stretched forth over their heads above.

^23. And under the firmament were their wings straight, the one toward the other: every one had two, which covered on this side, and every one had two, which covered on that side, their bodies.

^24. And when they went, I heard the noise of their wings, like the noise of great waters, as the voice of the Almighty, the voice of speech, as the noise of an host: when they stood, they let down their wings.

Meeting Eccles

I leant back against the wall and looked down the busy street to my left, the cars slowly crawled past bumper to bumper and on the footpath the situation wasn't much better. People bumped past me, all with their heads down, each trying to get in front of the other. Everyone was in a rush to get somewhere, but not me, I stood among them yet so aloof, so disconnected I might have well been far away on top of mount Everest. Suddenly I saw a tall blue hat go past, this struck me as rather odd but it rung a bell somewhere in my mind so I decided to follow them since I had nothing better to do. I kept a few heads behind them and they weren't hard to follow, the hat was a good foot and a half above the heads of the surrounding people. After about a block they turned down into the subway, I followed them down the stairs and onto a platform where they walked over to a bench and seated them self. I could see now the person was a tall woman or perhaps a man, it was hard to tell for they had a long drawn face with a long, sharp nose, thin lips, large dark eyes and long black hair reaching past their shoulders. Their attire was of black and white striped pants, a dull green vest and dark blue shirt dotted with yellow stars, a red tie and of cause the tall, blue top hat. "Ello, what you lookin' at then" they had caught me staring at them, I stuttered "I-I-I was just admiring your lovely hat" I said trying to smile. They squinted at me as if to gauge whether or not I was telling all, "Okay then, have you seen Davonshire about lately?" they said after a moment, I frowned "I'm sorry?" "You heard me" they pulled a long file out of their pocket and started filing their nails, which were painted blue, red and green. I walked over beside them, "Who's Devonshire?" I asked "Davonshire -with an A" they corrected me, "Who's Davonshire?" I asked again. "You'll know 'im when you meet 'im" was the response. "What do they call you?" I asked "Eccles" was the reply. "Do you know why you followed me?" said Eccles, I shrugged "I was bored and saw a blue hat go past so decided to see where it went" "Wrong" said Eccles, "You followed me because I have something for you" "I think you have me confused with someone else" I said confused. Eccles reached into a pocked and brought out a small box wrapped in brown paper with a red ribbon "This your name?" they said holding out the name tag, "Yes, yes it is" I said, for my name was indeed neatly written on the tag. Eccles put the box back in its pocket "I'll give it you later" I dearly wanted to know all about this person but thought it rude to ask and didn't know where to start. The train arrived and we both got on and walked to the last car, no one had said anything but we were now friends. We sat in silence till after the next station when Eccles nudged me "You'll be getting off with me then?" I hadn't really thought about what was going to happen, "Where are you going?" "To see Davonshire of cause" said Eccles, "Oh" I couldn't think of anything else to say. "Who's Devonshire again?" I asked, "Davonshire, with an A as in Bat or Dwale" Eccles corrected me, "Who's Davonshire?" I said sounding out the "A" carefully, ""You'll know soon enough" Said Eccles. We were both silent for another while when Eccles pulled out a pack of cards and shuffled them "Pick three cards and don't look at them" I pulled out three cards, Eccles thought for a moment "You have the King of Spades, the Eight of Diamonds and the Two of Clubs" I turned the cards over and to my surprise this was indeed what they were. The train had stopped at a station, "Come now, lets go see Davonshire" said Eccles helping me up and a few minutes later we out in the chilly night air and on our way to meet Davonshire.

The Kilimanjaro Darkjazz Ensemble - Lobby

What profit hath a man of all his labour which he taketh under the sun?

One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh: but the earth abideth for ever.

The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to his place where he arose.

The wind goeth toward the south, and turneth about unto the north; it whirleth about continually, and the wind returneth again according to his circuits.

All the rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full; unto the place from whence the rivers come, thither they return again.

All things are full of labour; man cannot utter it: the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing.

The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun.

Is there any thing whereof it may be said, See, this is new? it hath been already of old time, which was before us.

There is no remembrance of former things; neither shall there be any remembrance of things that are to come with those that shall come after.

The Kilimanjaro Darkjazz Ensemble - Lobby


Ecclesiastes 1:3-11

The Lucid Caliginosity

It is early in the morning, sun has not yet risen. A snail crawls up a blackberry, over the thorns leaving a trail of silver behind. Perhaps a wonderful beautiful thing has happened here, perhaps not. Solace. Nobody saw anyway...

Love will always win if you let it. Satire. A snail will also win if you let it. Love doesn't grow unless it's fed, and even then love always dies. Hate will win if you don't control it. Ink. But like all passions, hate will also fade and die...

Catching a glimpse or a feeling of something you not what but you can never let go of it and it plagues you forever until you start to wonder whether dreams really do tell the future, then you remind yourself that they mean nothing, breathe, but convincing oneself is possibly the hardest thing on earth...

Sometimes it's the implications that impact. A realisation that slowly winds it noose around you and then tightens. Like a dirty window suddenly shattering and then you see. Ignorance.  Why the house at the end of the street has always been for sale. Why the neighbours suddenly moved away. List. A dead telephone number. Delve. A note left in an unmarked envelope...

Slamming ones fingers in a door hurts...

I like walking along the the top mountains, jumping from one great peak to another. Over the oceans and over cities, over deserts and forests...

The wall holding back the flood of hatred is indeed leaking. Bleeding cuts, weeping wounds, at any moment threatening to burst forth. Everything could be prevented, but then again nothing bad that has ever happened was prevented. Denial. Hopelessness. Philosophers sit on the bank, while nature takes it's course unabated...

Perhaps can sit on your pile of silver coins and whisper to the cockroaches that gather at your feet for crumbs from those mint flavoured chocolate biscuits you greedily munch on...

Most people try the right way first. Most people try to be happy first. Adolf Hitler wanted to be a painter.

The Hermit

The Hermit lived on an island, on an island lived he,

And a small lonely island it was, in the middle of the sea.

For two thousand five hundred and fifty six days,

The Hermit had knelt in his little stone cottage and prayed.

He ate only bread and fish he caught from the sea,

And a sulky black crow was his only real company.

A fine little sailboat had he, one of finest ever made,

But let fall her sail he would not, until his debt he had paid.

A soul alone on an island, assuredly fighting to be free,

Contending with eyes closed; his enemies he could not see.

The Hermit lived on an island, on an island lived he,

And a small lonely island it was, in the middle of the sea.

Forest of Shadows - Sleeping Death

Bleak silver streams

the light of many a star

born from thrones in dark heaven

and swept in the suns demise

bleak silver streams

the radiance of eternity

paint the meadows in dismal shades

as sleeping death seep though the clouds

I stand motionless

and marvel with empty eyes

like a portrait of bliss forsaken

wearing the colours of loss

I stand motionless

like a grieving graveyard statue

and I drape my face with my bare hands

as sleeping death seep through the clouds

I felt a dying embrace

a soft breeze of weary winds

singing silent lamentations

a prologue to a tragedy untold

clad in the cold breath of October

the stars fall from their thrones

and my last gleam of hope fade away

In this crestfallen orchard where

the final chapter lies written

dressed in a robe of shattered dreams

as the flower withers

in this crestfallen orchard

where fallen leaves lies dying

I kneel down in solitude

as sleeping death seep through the clouds

I stare into the forever night

and I travel beyond the fallen stars

I sink into oblivious twilight dream

where my sleeping beauty

lies sleeping with the dead

Part One: Anguish

The morning was bright and frosty and the grass crackled underfoot. The air was full of the sounds of birds drifting through the trees and from somewhere the soft sound of a flute could be heard. Among the flowers which were opening for the day, bees buzzed about their work. A fox hurried through the undergrowth on some errand followed by a rabbit a few moments later -coincidence surely.

The trees were discussing something among themselves -you could tell it was just a casual conversation by the way they dreamily whispered. The sky was looking very beautiful dressed in a rich, deep blue and scattered scantily with small, white, puffy clouds. Some distance away from the group of trees -you couldn't really call them a forest for there weren't enough of them -the fields were also a buzzing with bees (I have no idea why for I couldn't see any flowers) and the wind caused ripples to run across grass, much like water. And down in the valley was a small river -or creek rather, a few ducks swimming around in circles and ducking their heads under the water (I do wonder if that’s how they get the name) and some geese stood on the bank honking at them like New York taxi's.

Suddenly a small bird flew into a tree and fell backwards onto the ground, it flew up and off then circle around and flew at the tree again falling back then hurling itself at the tree again then again, and again viciously throwing itself into the trunk. Each time a small flurry of blue and white feathers fell to the ground, again the small bird its feathers spotted with blood, hurled itself at the tree and this time it fell to the ground and flapped around on its back; it had broken its wing.

I had been holding my breath for the last few moments. I approached the bird which was still writhing around on its back, my heart was pounding and I had no idea what to do. It was after all, a small bird and couldn't hurt me so I knelt down and leant over it, I noticed that all sounds had ceased, even the tree's had become still. The bird was lying still now apart from occasionally twitching its wing, I cautiously reach out to touch the bird, it took no notice of me. I wiped the blood off my hand onto the grass and I felt in my pockets and looked around for something to pick it up in when I heard a strange sound. The bird seemed to have moaned, I knelt closer to it and it did it again; A strange high pitched moan unlike anything I had ever heard from a bird before; it was almost human like. This time the bird cried, a spine chilling wail. I jumped up away from it and my blood run cold as the bird started to to scream. A horrible, hideous cry that echoed through the forest. And then the bird became silent and the forest returned to normal.