Shimmering stardust of the past

In those younger years my home was a hive of unbridled hedonism, a roiling apiary where instinct and impulse were indulged with wild abandon. Unbeknownst to me a bewitching predator slipped in amidst the swarm of tittering sycophants of my mind. Though outwardly urbane, I could sense in it a mocking thirst, otherworldly in its rage. Driven half-mad by cloying vulgarity I plotted to rid myself of this lurking threat in a grand display of sadistic sport. But as the moment of “murder” drew nigh, the gibbous moon revealed my inhuman desires in all their stultifying hideousness and my hands were stayed. Perhaps it was then that the wound tore open unlike anything before. Although I cannot place the exact moment or event I’m sure my pursuit of degeneracy in all its decadent forms did nothing to repair the sorry state of the temple that is my mind. Trying to fill the wound did nothing but grow it, and here we sit because of it. All those around me suffer for it in some way or another. 

I know I shouldn’t find any good in the events and failings that have transpired but I have to remark that at one of my “stumbles” brought at least some clarity to me and the muddy grave I’ve dug. A single drop of that forbidden tannin gifted me with a dizzying glimpse of a hibernating horror beneath my skin, and in that moment, I understood the terrible truth of the world. I stood reborn, molted by newfound knowledge, my head throbbing to the growing whine of winged vermin swirling behind my eyes coming to drink the tainted blood of this pitiful creature before you. But at least I was now “aware”. Whether it was and is a runaway is a moot point at this juncture as all that remains is fixing if at all possible. 

Where am I going with this? Simple. Should I have encountered the awe inspiring wonder of my goddess at that time this would have gone so so differently. How? Inspiration, example and the boundless energy of youth would have  fused together to create the perfect blend of passion and drive that would have reverberated throughout our lives and those around us bringing an almost ultimate peace to us. I am the perfect foil for her, she has the extreme drive and need to move plans at light speed where I slow her down and wait and think. Together it is almost a perfect match, just enough forces pulling in opposite directions to move into the future whether it be big decisions or small. Can you think what would have been back in 2012 to now? My god it would have been glorious. Growing together, saving each other from the worst “things” preying on us. I could have saved her so much pain and agony and she would have saved me the mire of loneliness and rejection. If that’s not a beautiful tale I don’t know what would be. 

Alas here we sit, with nothing to do but wonder what could have been while plowing ever forward through ruins of our lives. Or at least I wonder, she being the malevolent force of nature she is couldn’t care less. It hurts to know she gave so much to the most undeserving people when I would have truly appreciated her in all things. Oh how her eyes shimmer like a serpentine belt of stars when she talks of her passions, many of which she will no longer do as they were tore out of her through the contagion that is those who came before me. The “its” and “what ifs”, Iceland lawyer boy and the rest of the Viking crew. I could have saved her from all of that. My unyielding devotion of a true zealot would have been what she has always wanted. She of course would have sated this ungodly hunger for affection, romance and extreme passion. It seems both of us are destined to be disappointed. I only wish I wouldn’t be one for her but at this moment; being the easiest part of her life to leave I can only come to the logical conclusion that if not a disappointment then I am a crew of mariners chained and drowning for eternity. Sailors representing my mind and all the thoughts within, they are cursed to float forever, deep in the swirling blackness, far beyond the light's reach. Either from the stars or the deep it matters not, all that is left is the blackest of the oil drenched void. Fitting that my goddess being the light of the stars and I merely swallow them whole. Again the thought of yester year roil up like a bubbling stew, we would have been just fine. 

Dreaming of swine

I’ve been having this most pleasant dream, day and otherwise it soothes me to think of it. Sadly it of course revolves around my victory over the frothing bucket of cold cum and clichés that is “it”. The first act of my dream would be to have the dinosaur kneel at my feet. He is a pathetic figure, stripped of title, rank, and clothing. He would never wield power again, and would beget no other heir (even if his extreme age had not taken this before me, but it’s my dream so there). I would make sure of that personally. 

I have only a single word for him: "Run”

That conniving coward, spawn of spasmodically squirming, braying, and snorting half-corpses. Betrayal was not “it’s” gravest sin against our consteller belt goddess. I may proclaim otherwise, but what i truly loathe is “it’s” ambition. Of my vices—of which there are plenty—envy is my greatest.

The mountainous, twitching mass of misshapen flesh came to this wretched waste to claim MY goddess, and it was within his grasp. Like some mountain to climb as if misleading the righteous and divine was some accomplishment to be proud of. His “muse” he called her and like a stone she fell for the ancient landfill of snout and hoof, gristle and bone that is the dinosaur I despise so much. Giving everything to “it” without even thinking what “it” was. If the scum possessed an iota of dignity, he would have helped my goddess forward in her profession and personal life like he claimed to instead of gallivanting around her mind, playing games and doing all in “its” power to control her (as if the swine could control such a force of nature) among other things. Or at the very least leave her be and hid in the That would have been his moment to redeem himself. Instead, he proved himself the conniving pond scum we knew him to be for he has done this time and time again and continues to as we speak. Although a predator is often blind to its own peril, she dropped “it” like excrement off the bottom of her shoe. And the thought of “it’s” face reading what was said and watching from afar fills me with oddly placed joy knowing every “conquest” he deceives from that point in will never match my goddess in beauty or grace, for even she changed the scum by shining light into the mud. And I know “it’s” time will come, by my hand or another liquefaction cannot come soon enough for my liking. 

Yet still the dolt attempts to wriggle into her life, I’m guessing to feel the sun again for it is an intoxicating feeling being this close to heaven on earth. Even the fiercest beast will lay down when it has not eaten, I’m sure “it” starves without her light to sustain the abomination of gluttony and greed. If only that gave me comfort knowing “it” is in pain but alas I cannot witness it first hand. I suppose my own imagination will have to suffice for the time being. But as soon as the gluttonous blob starts to roll down his slippery and muddy hill which he prepared himself I will rejoice and sing my praises from the rooftops. The fiend brought low, a deserved end to such a thing that is “it”. Luckily for him we have not met, like all the five others I have. For I doubt I would be able to contain my rage and envy. Yes as written before I envy what my goddess gave for it was everything I have ever dreamt of, the passion, romance, emotion and attention that I dreamed true love to be. He took it and wasted it. Absorbed it like a leech and shit it out just so “it” could consume more. 

Unfortunately I am nattering on, I truly could go on forever. My imagination and creativity on this subject knows no bounds. So I will end with this. If I can push I will. Some times seeing someone who deserves pillering get skewered publicly is just too sweet not to. I only wish I could be there to see it. What a lovely sight to behold, I could not dream it better. Just as my goddess, perfect.

Pet Semetary

I am still haunted from the spectre of years past. Homesick from a place I’ve never been yet desire that one place. As I stare out along the rolling prairie, dust and tumbleweeds surround me and almost become indistinguishable from my very skin I am brought low and pause with the thought that the time and place which I desire so madly and yes romanticize almost completely will never be obtainable. Buried in sour ground of an almost infinite landfill of pain and broken memories I am continually asked to look forward, yet all I see is heaps of trash or space to expand this never ending series of pits. It would appear I’ve stumbled upon the grave of my goddess’s past and instead of being satisfied with its burial, I’ve thrown myself into the pit hoping to be covered up and become one with my ideals and (obviously) exaggerated fantasy of the reality I have so longed for. 

The Steven King novel posits the question that perhaps “dead is better”. I’m sure my goddess would agree. But for some miserable creature who looks at her and her experiences like primitive man looked when he first glimpsed fire, maybe the rotten version of what I want would be be preferable to nothing. Something like talking about how wonderful Christmas dinner was in 2012, 2013 and 2014. But being unable to eat or even grasp what it was at the time. 

I can hear you saying “get over it! You can’t change it and it didn’t and doesn’t concern you!” Trust me, if I could, I would. I beg for realease of this rotten muddy mental prison. On the one hand ignorance is bliss but on the other what would the outcome have been to stumble upon the knowledge of that better more passionate and emotional time. With all the romance and intamacy, energy and will. There is no substitute for youth, no matter how large or small. Taking two minutes of thought can see how that time stacks to this and what a cruel joke that the brass ring is behind glass unable for me to grasp it yet always in view so I know I’ll never have it. You’ll say “you have the end!” I intend to, but where is the fun? The emotion? The passion? Romance? Energy? Will? Lost with youth, buried in the damnable semetary with I standing at the edge trying to with all my might to will that time back into existence. 

It is not a matter of me tho. I cannot travel back in time nor drag my goddess there. It’s within her and her own struggle to find a way back (which she doesn’t, again I can’t argue with her reasons) to that state of being. Dancing is two way, and the more I dance alone to this romantic song the foolish I look. I should be content with the dusty road of monotone colour, dry and still, where I find myself occupying simultaneously both reluctantly and feverishly. On one hand I wouldn’t change a thing, on the other I try to better this plot of land where I sit. Is it futile? Am I my own mental version of the human centipede? Or will my efforts, my awkward dance moves entice something, anything resembling that other time and place I yearn for so badly?

Hopefully I am not buried here, by my hand or another. Who knows, maybe it will be myself rising from the pit, a bleak and rotten shell of what I used to be, unless that’s happened already. There is evidence to support both arguments it seems. The only response to the latter is that I completely agree with Mr. King’s gloriously simple statement that yes, dead is much better...