Tuesday, February 10, 2015

Black & White Memory (poem)



Although true love may come from just one pair
Be not afraid in times of lonely unseen pain of focus
As useless to survive as the soulless
Only the burned in burden we bear as time slides and slips
Forever open…

Appreciate
_plant life
For more
_magical things
may come of it...

In days drawn lead with grass tips green with fresh
How our oft forgot are forth in coming around so frozen
Even in our own friends’ once earthly deaths
Of forgone memory comes the crying and for their despair’s
Eternal oding…

Unready

I’d always pictured the North as a cloudy rainstorm, snow-storming, lightning stricken farmland. A land of drawn shades which even in the thickest of nights, could glow against curtains and into lamplights that stood low and hung like the last of the homeless waiting for soup kitchen portions of grub, remaining still in the hazy-eyed fluorescence. It was just a setting sun that only guided down the darkness to the backs of garages and barns, where many houses all faced in the same direction and couldn’t help much but succumb to the most shadiness of an empire’s tribute that was as symbolic in my mind. A brown, underground, and hearty, rock and dirt foundation let through little green beyond that laying behind the soil’s moist nurture of fallen seeds of which once would have been mighty trees that told stories and knew of rich heights. They, though, like the fortitude of civilian life, out here, could only begin to the wondrous climb to the sky that lead their destination into devastated fate of a concealed coverage by the swooping canopies of waving branches and leaves far overhead that had solidified the forests of the Adirondacks. They were stunted and would break, thrashing at the brushing bush, crackling their stump in hollow emphasis of more weakened efforts.
I’d also contemplated in awe, the disconnection from the society that seemed to permeate from over our rainwater reflected horizons of New York. The River Hudson rarely sent vessel of shipment or boatload to our Bay, and that is one reason why, amongst superstitions and against the favoring of commerce to commute as efficiently as possible to the desired location of demand, we all call ourselves citizens of a fragile and thirsty America. We were quenched only by advertised products, as we felt the limbo of a stage of civilization that revolved around the socialness of everyone. The impossibility of the modern human to withstand the call of the changes of progress was a growing sensation of disbelief and frigid discomfort to us, but one that we adapted to the same way as those shrubs and bushes did up North. But the once bravely productive rail had only brought the freight for the last decades, and the skies were filled with phantom lives, flying above us like ghosts, to those of us tortured in the inhumane servitude of our own choices, rather than forces of nature, whether industrial workings or construction, manual labor or commercial service. These were dreams that flew up high, dreams that flew across the Atlantic, and out of our daily minds that came with an air and dignity that held us close into the metropolis as patrons to a future nobody had time to check.

Except, as I knew was the case, we all really did know what lay ahead for us. It was only certain that this flawless life would continue, day by day. I had known of these certain consistencies in the lifespan of an average American, but had only guessed, as youth has tendency to incline us towards, that I would somehow forge forth and charge through the world without noticing the slightest amount of hesitance.

The Downward Spiral

i look into the mirror and see only the same cowardice that i see in everybody else. i despise my own image, as the frog must see blindly in a wild world of blind hatred.  the alter-ego of a brain is to judge through the eyes of others, in idiotic comparison.  constantly preparing blueprints and drafts of daily situation and detail circumstance, then, with the calmed approach due the labor, fall in pratfall of misfortune to reality.  the longer we meditate and train our condition, the more we suffer of our perception.  it's our misconception of the surroundings, the over-eager exaggeration, that costs.  however, the very actual introspective process often will seek opposition in the form of any environmental input available through our internal focus as well as periphery.  the very reason two people can fall in love, they can also propel each other infinite.  the same is true of our own lives, as self-prophets have alluded.  hating themselves and karma's return reciprocation of the downward spiral can become inescapable...

Monday, December 29, 2014

Final Vision

FINAL VERSION




         We, as the living components of the current of time, are in a constant confused contingency of the tangible dimensions.  As such, we have an acquired advertence to the senses of feeling, and do become identities of a collection of memory.  There are many things that separate us from the exterior elements of life, (ie.  living bodies outside our own, perceptions, unified faith) but none greater than us as specified units of manipulative acquisition.  The mental realm, then, is one that is a self-contained entity, through which we explore existence.  Existence is primarily the evolution and evanescence of the material that we are consisted of, or the perpetual cycle that returns us to the non-living.  Mentality, therefore is the collective result of maintenance of said acquisition, as well as the independent and internal force which governs the active state of life.

          Reality in which we exist, encloses us, and separates the bodies of life with bodies of non-living.  All living things, in this way, are independent and responsible for their own fate.  In many more ways, though, are we separated from each other, as different organisms.  In death, for instance, we all have the capability of dieing alone, without necessary involvement of alternate organisms aside from prerequisite divine destiny.  If even a parasite finds it’s host's life to be spent before it’s own, which not often happens, it can revitalize itself upon attachment to a new host depending on it’s own actions.  As well, in birth are we always formed piece by piece to form a singular life form.

          The one thing that works to bind the living is the state of unconcious.  Indeed, it binds as an adhesive element to each working lifeform.  Every lifeform, while not necessarily inclined to survival through intuitive response to conscious and active life, is at the least granted instinctive mentality.  Through this process, time allows life to metamorphisize and shift through dimensional reality, and to acquire or avoid certain elements.  This means, then, that the unconcious behavior that we inherently convey to the outside is the instinctive mental makeup of the perpetual outside world with relation to us.

          Conciously, on the other hand, we make decisions made of our ability to intuitively predict outcomes of memorized scenarios.  This is in the contrast of unconcious behavior.  If in that we make decisions, consciously and unconsciously, whether simultaneously, separately, or exclusively, with to which we are always adhering to the natural observance of internal action, then it stands that sequentially, we are always outbalanced in our experiences from the outside world.


          As an addendum, but by no means as an integrated or unified solution to the thesis above: we are bound and trapped to the life which we are born into.  The constant attachment throughout life, to our own mentality, is our established universal role to which we will forever be employed in commitment to the continuity of time.

The Fear

The Fear




One day, a new girl is brought into the world that we ourselves have grown into.  It is, as always, a learning experience, and every day the girl discovers aspects of her surroundings that are bright and new.  The closer she stays to her parents, the better and more protected her upbringing is, and the further she strays, the more dangers arise.  For a while, all of the people she is introduced to are other infants, with as much in common in the way of knowledge acquirement as expectable, and other mothers and fathers whose purposes are the same, to shelter.

Then, as time continues on in the perpetual motion that we all have come to understand or at least adhere to, the young girl learns that things that are outside of her are different.  She begins to understand that the physical makeup of all of her contemporaries are remarkable and foreign.  This is when she begins to question, “Who am I?”

The basis of the idea that fear is an inescapable human emotion is that everybody, even the most fearless of heroes, has an underlying web of emotions that control their behavior.  The admission, though, that emotion is a reaction to environment is one that convolutes the situation further, except if you look at the very fact that fear is an emotion based on pain rather than happiness.  This alone, limits the amount of fear which should logically pass through ones emotional spectrum.

Back to the girl, whose teenage years are spent spellbound by the gnawing question.  “Who am I?”  The only consolation to the constant confusion is that she can tell apart the things in life that which she is not.  In this way, she distances herself from things that bring pain.  If the society she claims, for instance, publicizes that chicken skin causes fat, and that being fat will deter boyfriends, and that without a boyfriend she may be alone, or at the worst scenario “homeless”, she might stop eating chicken skin.  There is no limit to the possibilities that could cause fear for her, and she isn’t going to stop her inner analyzation process for anything.  She can’t, because it is impossible.

The process is simple, if something causes pain once, it is immediately turned into a cognitive no-no.  If broad assumptions are made to new or foreign pieces of reality, than they will be made without second thought.  A new girl at school becomes fodder for the aristocracy of the inherent structure.

No demons propel us towards our nature as emotional beings, only memories of what causes pain and happiness.

The importance of this comes into play in the late 20th century.  Here, where we have World Wars, immigration laws, and terrorism, all as secondary pieces of everyday life, the memories become so fastpaced that often much is forgotten about the individual.  Good or bad?

In an age where internet keeps us connected more than any other tool of communication, besides direct confrontation, “what is the exact point of emphasis on individuality?”  we wonder.  Diversity having been forced on us through education and general exposure to the world around us, along with acceptance for every one of our fellow citizens, we find ourselves actually losing the individuality that seemed so important to the people behind the system.  Instead, what we find is a numbed down culture, especially in America where violence on television and movies is scoffed at rather than being taken seriously, as a relative point of reference for the amount of violence and vulgarity that we actually had to have possessed internally to create such forms of entertainment in the first place.

This isn’t about entertainment, but it is, and as the girl grows older, she finds herself losing motivation to the spinning torrent of a constantly changing world.  There were simpler times in human development, when a hunter’s catch was the making of a good day.  Now, a trip to the grocery store with 100 dollars worth of purchases only leads to more tv dinners being eaten in front of a tv.  Is it any surprise, that the young girl turned to drugs in our interim?  That she lost her virginity young, but went without bearing offspring for such a long time?

Meanwhile, as the world becomes more and more solitarily designed for the individual’s complacency, the things that keep us who we are gain personal levity.  Religion becomes a person’s entire life, and not just that they go to church and pray everyday, but that they feel as though the religion is itself, theirs.  The politicians become vendetta charged, with only a few platforms that they promise will become their sole missions.  Even those who intermingle with the disattached, the drug induced, the hermits and outcasts of society, get the feeling in their bones that they are living a purpose.  The problem is, that we don’t live a purpose, or one, but many.  Multi tasking in the recent years, for instance has risen in the general populations’ abilities.  Isn’t this a way to do fewer things, only once, and let the reciprocation take effect naturally?

The world becomes charged with these emotions, of fear of being outdone, of fear of being left out, of not being themselves perpetually, and strange things begin to happen.  Terrorists, who feed off of the other’s fears of these things, but indeed suffer greater of the same inflictions, begin to congregate.

Our young woman dies in the World Trade Centers.  Her family purchases a ribbon.  A cousin joins the army a couple of years later out of financial reasons, and life will move on.

But until when?

The human body itself, a conglomeration of different ingredients has been under attack by foreign minerals and constituents of the spread of different mixtures.  The body passes these ingredients down, generation to generation.  We are now at a boiling point with carcinogens and pollutants.  As is the environment around us losing to the wastefulness of humanity, as are our individual bodies.

What happens next is anyone’s guess, and it has been for quite some time.  But if you have ever played a guessing game, you know that enough hints will lead you to the right answer evantually.

The silent weapons that attack us are more than meet the eye even at the political level.  We are just fulfilling the fantasies set out by ancient peoples, by the industrial revolution, and by current fundamentalists.  War isn’t around the corner, people, it’s already at place.  Armageddon was in the 2000’s.


Fear in totality, is something that we can’t try to fight or hide.  But individuality may just be covering our fears, and that is something that I’m afraid will have to be changed.  Acceptance, and complacency versus war and terror.  The war doesn’t have to be fought, but it will be waged in our own minds.

Man & Woman

Man & Woman




The main differences between the male and female genders in our civilized society are their approaches to communication.

In the male society, men are prone to outdo each other in debates and arguments simply by getting louder.  If a more dramatic and exaggerated debate is made, the victor is usually the one with the more loud voice.  Whether it is through leadership where “the masses’ voice is heard,” or with a megaphone, generally we say that the man with the stronger voice will win any debate.
ie.  You can’t win a debate that you can’t hear even yourself make.
In the female society, women rely more on physical attributes which coincide more directly with internal processes such as thought and intuition.  The more beautiful woman may not be the victor, but certainly has the “leg up” so to speak, as long as her thoughts and actions coincide fluently.
ie.  You can’t be a spokesperson if you are not viewer-friendly.

The alpha female processes the males’ debates for who vies for her special attention by simply drowning out the smaller voiced and “less mattering opinions” of the weaker male.  The alpha male, in turn, drowns out the daily view of life as a hardship in turn for what he considers beauty or what is beautified by progressive actions towards him.

In conclusion, if we are to make progress, we must learn more importantly that the smaller voiced opinion is in actuality the more valuable due to its need for significant and immediate change, as well as learn to distinguish beauty from useful ability.


Thank you for your time.

Here & There

Here & There




"Here goes nothing."
"There goes the neighborhood."


The English language is full of intricacies making it the most difficult language to learn in the world.
Here and there, certain tendencies in the language evolve to replace older traditions.
For example, in the old day, we used to use the word 'thus' a lot. 
It has since been replaced by the newer word 'therefore'.
'There' is a strange word.  It is very ambiguous.  Where is 'there'? 

You won't know until you get 'there'.
The interesting thing is, the authors of the English language kept it going.  
They didn't stop with 'therefore', before they went on and tried out 'thereby', 'thereafter', 'therein', etc.
We could've stuck with 'thus'.
But to make it even more confusing, they went and did the same thing with 'here'. 
'Hereby', 'hereafter', 'heroin', etc.
Well, I'd like to point out that 'they're' 'hearing' things.

What's the point of all these compound words?  Is there any?
What makes it interesting is how even though we thought 'thereafter' was just a longwinded way to say 'therefore', the 'hereafter' is so longwinded of a word that we'll all be dead by the time we reach it.
I mean, you can't do any of this word-creation with any other word. 
But you can even combine the two words 'here' and 'there' and confuse the shit out of everyone involved.

Here and there, I thereinbyafterfore think that i'm just going to say something else. 
If i can remember where I am, and who I'm talking to still.

Pollution

Pollution




As the rate of progress leans more and more on our natural resources, and continuously eats away at an already dwindling supply, the threat of an overlap in the ratio of science to supply increases daily.  With this in mind, and the facts in place that we will soon be faced with an industrial collapse, what will be the destiny of humanity?
With this short exploratory essay, I will abide by the notions that superstitions are unfactual.  In this way, I hope I avoid offending people with certain beliefs, and only slander at the devotion of faith as an activity of the modern human, no more, no less.  In other words, the beliefs of religious faiths is not what concerns me, but their operations do.
The immediate end of civilization is imminent, yet we still have yet to make the drastic alterations to daily life that would deter the situation.  Some in the past have committed to themselves that we will suffer global warming long before we actually run out of natural resources, yet i propose that based off of common knowledge, that global warming is already taking it's turns on the world ecosystem, that it will be long and far off that global warming's threat causes damage that would be dangerous to human existence.  Instead, i think that it seems far more likely that we will create a new social structure that adheres more ideally to the laws of a dog eat dog world.
In the future, what awaits humanity?  The clash of the major religions has been set in time, with only a change of face in the persecuted.  Where Adolf Hitler began on Judaism, it seems as though America has picked right up where he left off with Islam.  The only religion yet to see serious installment of holocaust is Christianity, but this has little to do with what comes next.  If anything, Islam, with it's vast control over natural resources, stands to gain power within the short remaining hours of humanity's symbiotic relationship with natural resources.  However, as we know from our conquest of the Middle East, Islam has little to do with actual government of it's people, rather it is dependent on religion for it's law.
With this information, the question is simple, what will be the use of religion in a 'post-apocalyptic' world that seems so close to unfolding?  The final stages of war will be crucial in deciding this change in socialized civilization.
It is unarguably noticeable that religion, itself, is a useless organization.  None of the benefits of organized religion make any sense, with the knowledge that any other organization of non-profit origins could make the same benefits with less grafting of it's constituents.  Can anyone make an argument for religion in a world where luxury is a foreign concept, solely based off the idea that religion has singular positive effects on an individual?
I would also hesitate to agree that many of religion's positive effects, if not all, are to strengthen the individual.  Muslims, for example, would look at the positive effects of kamikaze activists as solely representing their religion.  Christian donations, which seem like a good tax-deductible positive influence, do no more than help pay the clergy and a limited amount of church-going activities, in a grand outlook.  When was the last time you heard of either religion donating back in abundant amounts to fight poverty onwards?  Soup kitchens and food pantries aside, little is done by any monotheistic religion to combat the impoverished worldwide.  If there was an honest effort, we'd see results.  We haven't, in any sort of meaningful way.
Of course, these are more commentaries on monotheistic religions.  However, as it is obvious that other religions exist to attempt to aid the human spirit, a question remains of wherein lies the boundary between god and man?  Polytheistic religions, seem to definitely encompass a greater compassion for the individual, based on the acceptance that the individual is merely a portion of his/her existence.  Can the same be said for monotheism?  Quite possibly, yet the deitism inherent in the structures of most monotheism can lead to an outbalance of worship.  It is a concern, that by the bi-polar worshipping of first god, than oneself, than vice versa, in modern monotheism, that worship only leads to confusion when tangled up with the existence of secondary deities.  Christianity, with contrite seclusion of Jesus Christ, yet preachings by numerous people, Islam with Mohammed, and Judaism with texts and others.  Where polytheism strays from the beaten path isn't necessarily in it's separation of different gods, but actually it's inclusion of irregular deitism.  By irregular deitism, i mean that by one, man is not alone on Earth, and by two, man alone is balanced, yet not equal, with his counterparts in his/her world.
I foresee the world's apocalypse as being, therefore, very different than that of biblical terms.  Rather, I think of the future as being one of a new symbiotic relationship, aside from the lost resource of fuel, with the government and religious constructs that will become new on Earth.  Probably, we will lose all monotheistic faiths, in the next century, is my proposal.
A better religion is not in question here.  Any type of archetypical religion is flawed by the individual, and no great truth will ever be enough to sustain faith forever.  But, with the collapse of industry so close, my question is what will life be like reverting back to simpler times of theism?

What does everyone else believe?

Saturday, November 01, 2014

Follow The Leader (haiku)

Follow The Leader
by Twyll The ChyllTyrant


Hope our sky
Ain’t too cloudy

To hear rain

-for dad

Thursday, September 18, 2014

Enlightenment for Jack Kerouac

Enlightenment for Jack Kerouac by Twyll The ChyllTyrant the original scroll is ALMOST as good as the published version, maybe in some ways better. both editions have the same basic content, but editing in the publication is better. found myself upset with certain parts being too long, like he knew he'd be edited so he might as well get the whole thought process down on paper, and then let someone take it apart eventually, "down the road"... you've always been sick delicate blue sky tree no food nowhere religiously the soul burns out the eyes too much secret sun shield flying The West Roman Ear Surreally The monument Is great God artistically fabulous with hands flowers aim at the crooked empire straight to death white eye criminals Love little Island Blest crawl with hatred in the street roll Holy Fog from Jesus ballooning Shrouds of puff over - the mysterious East of Western Torment, Western Me Humility Beginning to see the light, outside the church - The Negro boy & the White boy Hand in hand - Sunday morning delusion existence not-two-ness, ie. deluded trick ripple con train gladness the Saint; mating the bitter husband; Love Bath rock space space rock Tub Nothing is wrong Something is right. ...

Thursday, July 31, 2014

NO Stories

NO Stories...

I have seen three dead people in my life.  First, my grandmother at age 14, and at her wake, I read a Funeral Montage poem I had written prior for class, in school.  Second, down the street from me on Geddes near Park, a cardiac arrest across from the big church, a couple of years ago.  Third, a heroin overdose in the backseat of a car I was riding in, this last year, where a man was resuscitated.
Three years ago, after moving out of Eastwood into the F-M district, I had my first taste of real crime and the oncoming heroin epidemic.  I moved into a townhouse and soon broke up with my estranged painkiller-addicted ex-fiance` who had already sent me to the justice center for an overnight visit because of her physical abuse to me, when she had called 911 to report "domestic harassment" during a dispute over whether I would go to Taste of Syracuse, while my brother was in town from Albany.  Fresh off of the new break-up I began a two or three month spat with alcoholism that lead to my introduction to a larger part of the population of my new area than I had initially planned.  Meanwhile, in the same area, was a small group of guys that planned to pull a grand-scale heist of many of the local banks.  Right around the corner from me, a credit union was soon robbed by an unknown person.  Someone gave the cops my name and address, because they came to my doorstep and asked a few questions of me and my guests at the time, which included to see our wrists, because apparently the suspect had been suicidal at the time of the robberies, probably because of addiction to heroin.  The guy ended up getting arrested when he tried to have a friend turn him over, trying to cash in on the reward money in addition to the several tens of thousands of dollars he managed to rob from banks.
Through a girlfriend at the time, while in that area, I met a young stripper who spent Independence Day with me the following year.  Within two weeks of July 4th I received a phone call from EMT asking if I knew her or had been with her or had seen her recently that day, because she was dead, and they were trying to contact people while trying to revive her.  I hadn't seen her for almost a week, so I was unable to help at all.  She was overdosing on heroin, and survived after a few minutes without a pulse.  She has now done that twice.
When I finally came back to the city to live, I had discovered that many of my old friends were suffering from the addiction.  I lost contact with many people.  One guy had gotten into a lot of trouble, though, as he had gotten addicted to prescription opiates after surgery.  He ended up in rehabilitation on the west coast, but when he came back to New York, he got right back into the opiate scene.  He ended up robbing a guy in an old group of friends that I used to associate with, for $45,000.  He skipped town for a half year, and when he came back someone who hadn't been directly connected immediately contacted him to talk, and he agreed.  They met at the apartment that the contact was renting, and when the guy was inside the contact slipped away and made a few phone calls.  Within ten minutes, four men showed up at the house and first interrogated, then assaulted the addict, and then the crew of men went outside and broke into his car, and robbed back over 30 thousand dollars.

These are all true stories.  I've never done heroin, but at age 15 I did try, on two separate occasions, red/black rock and white opium.  My review is; it sucked, and although I didn't spend money, it was clearly not worth my life, nor even any further time with the specific drugs.  But they are definitely all still addiction-causing drugs that worldwide have been and are still becoming a huge epidemic.  I've known five people who have died off heroin in the last two years, not personally, but through mutual acquaintance.  Plus there are the prescription-addicts, who don't even realize that they are doing a different derivative of the same drug as heroin.  I, myself, have overdosed, and know how terrible it is.  When I was 17, and a senior in high school, I overdosed on a recalled prescription for adderall, which is scientifically four mixed types of speed, and is basically crystal meth.  I suffered mild amnesia symptoms for half a decade, and continue to struggle with high-level anxiety which effects my mood and health.

Marijuana is an anesthetic hallucinogenic and is not a normal drug, which are typically something you need a laboratory to create.  There is also evidence that marijuana's medicinal purposes are vast and expansive to include cancer treatment, pain-regulation, and mood stimulant.  I disagree with outlawing marijuana, tobacco, or alcohol.  But I think that it's time that we look again at our healthcare system in America, and pay attention to the phrase "epidemic" when it comes to drug addictions and abuse.  Society needs to change with the times, before the entire nation becomes institutionalized under martial law run by dictatorship, an unavoidable consequence for the loss of focus by the general public in it's own self-maintenance and education of real leaders, not followers.

But hey, if you want stories,
Just turn on your television.

Thursday, July 24, 2014

"Day of the Shotgun"

this is my idea for a videogame pitch to Blizzard videogames for a new online multiplayer first person shooter.  all players get one weapon, a shotgun with infinite ammo, and melee attacks, deathmatch style.  at the start of the game, you choose maps for four timezones around the world that are simulated for weather effects.  the countries would be asia, australia, america, and africa, but the maps are customized for each player who then adds the map to an existing worldmap where the rest of the players are allowed to set up their own randomly customized map.  the customization comes into play with the fact that all maps are basically fundamentally the same, all are set in giant swamps, but customized by location of trees that are dispersed three at a time in the map.  tied to each of the trees are a zombie on a chain.  if you get shot, you are respawned in home map.  but if a zombie eats you, you are allowed to be a free-roaming zombie that can attack anyone until the end of the 24-hour timezone day, in order to be allowed to be executed by another player and then respawned.  if the free-roaming zombie is executed without catching another player he has an extended waiting period before respawning.  movement through the swamp maps is normal, except that you can duck beneath the surface indefinitely with a reed that sticks out of the water, at which point you cannot move until you get back up.  there are also random reed placements, and random small eye-level hill placements on each map.  if the player chooses to, he can spawn himself randomly on any timezone worldmap with use of a random guest house that appears on a random map.  the house is then the respawn point, and you can walk right out the front door, but if you re-enter a guest house you have only 20 seconds to get back off the property or basement snakes will start swarming from the basement doors who are unstoppable and cause you to die and respawn after an extended waiting period.  each 24 hour day resets zombie inhabitants in each timezone in a quarter day interval.  there is also changes in weather in every quarter day.  your killscore affects your runspeed in the following quarter, for a maximum of three in a row consecutively, after which you are reset.  leaving a timezone to inhabit another map resets runspeed as well.  your only other mode of killing an opponent is to set one of four traps on any map you enter, but you only get one of each trap.  one is a bear trap, set on the bottom of the swamp, one is a water mine that floats on top of the water but flashes when set.  one is a pin line grenade that you can attach to any of the reeds.  and one is c4 detonator that can only be set on a hill.  you can also switch between slugs and buckshot any time.  there are also alligators that will swim around from outside the edges of the worldmap and prey on you if they see you, at which point you are respawned.  you can lose up to one limb and live, alligators take one hit, zombies take two shots, or one to the head.  there is also constant random airstrikes and nearby nuclear attacks during the daylight hours for localized flash effects, which will sporadically gain in intensity.  cool.

Thursday, May 22, 2014

The Lovers by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

Lovers   By Twyll The ChyllTyrant

Longing like winter’s thunder
If I could think of other things
And never you
I’d think of your opposite
The sun and the moon
If you were not my forever
Friendships lasted
I’d think of every facet
I’d flow out of your rivers
If you were as high as the dunes
Future wishes couldn't be wiser
I think I’d fall off the moon
If I’d only remember
The summer’s lovers

Saturday, May 10, 2014

The Legend of CROOKED DEAD MAN

a vigilante burned to death during a raid on a mafia organization in charge of human trafficking to the illuminati is resurrected when he falls through a destroyed boat dock into the ocean. he is a zombie who wraps his whole body in bandages and has lost his left eye and both ears. he wears clothes like a hooded sweatshirt and black jeans and leather gloves and boots all the time. his powers are that he has a gun inside his body, that he can reload by eating bullets, and shoot from inside himself. he also has a fake left eye that can see pretty much anything within a five mile radius whether behind walls or invisible. his real superpower is that he can teleport any piece of his body besides his still-intact 'good eye', within a radius of it, and only to where he can visually see, and he also has telepathy. this includes being able to teleport the gun, or just a piece of an arm, or, his other 'cyborg' eye. when he leaves his eye behind, it becomes unprotected, and will fall to the ground. also, there's a plot-twist catch to his power, which is that whatever piece of body he teleports has to go through another identical dimension that is inhabited by vicious beasts. the beasts from the other dimension can attack his body parts that are being teleported through at any time, yet remain invisible in our world, and also have to chase him in a parallel universe, where they are actually alive on a moon to a planet that is just like earth, aside from that it cannot be seen by humans at all. our planet shares a similar orbit to this extra-dimensional moon, but at certain times of the day, week, month, and year, he can transport himself without attack. to literally move into a new location he has to carry his eye to the area. unless his eye is destroyed he will survive forever, by creating limbs with machinery, and replacing pieces of body. he eventually has lazers in his cyborg eye, and can fly, too. his favorite way to kill somebody ends up being lazering out both of their eyes and shooting them up in the back of the neck, simultaneously. he ends up also in command of a team of scientist-militiamen in charge of defending his eye and trying to thwart the inter-dimensional beasts, who end up breaking free because of the experiments and killing him. 

Tuesday, May 06, 2014

(poetry) by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

/
/
/
/
Memory has no quota
Service, right
Dog with imagination:  flaw for wolf.
/
"quote"
/
At the touch love
everyone becomes a poet.
/
Maybe some more are okay,
we are predators of body language,
Your just WRONG.
/
I pray you'll get to one of those again...
/
it's trippy isn't it?
i didn't even begin ending,
yet pretended finish.
/
U MY Cruithne
My dreams may vanish
as stars collide
Lillith divide
and dozens more to decide.
30 15 3 5 1 03
/
Faith unto the mind,
for it will outlast ours.
Fun for the liar,
a fool in time.
/
I watch
your eyes
as they see mine
/
my reflection
again
illusions in
two blue oceans
on both sides
mine flood over
to yours
/
watery watered waterfalls
/
I think of
a tear
but none
just two
as much
no more
no less
when I see
/
potential energy
waiting  to be released
from two eyes
on me
Linear thoughts
/
One frame of mind
compulsive incompatible
/
Who am I?
/
Broken mentality
And man's test of one mind
/
dirt grit
Becomes what I am?
/
The truth goes untold
/
But today
I want only to be ME
Thus tomorrow I will live in fear
/
The pencil's mind becomes
my own eraser
/
blinded deafened afraid
/
Please say hope
/
We area all addicts of something
How many addictions we have
Is a measure of sanity
/
Everything means something
The more we have to look for meanings
Is normalcy
/
If the world may end tomorrow
/
Or it may end any other day
/
The measure of when the world will end
Is a measure of one's sanity
/
/
A tapping foot blinks
A tradition is broken
/
Runaway cars on the overpass
/
A blazing fire
families marshmallow toast sticks
/
Protect ya neck
/
I listen to the silence
and hear the unlistened
Surge of brain energy
/
Where am I going?
/
Punching wind swiftly
Crunching bones
of ghosts
/
Unordinary day
/
Mountain air
rushing into my lungs
/
/
legs crossed sit
buddhist meditate
essence butterfly effect
in my gut
want to say
i love who i how i love
/
/
solemn silent solitude
my pen still
to a presence
of the world
/
/
/
the story of two intertwined hearts
speaking to each other in dance
and over plans
act like
/
god must have packed your teeth
unjustly inside your smile
/
all i want is to
touch my lips
when we kiss
/
yet even beneath these dark lime lights
mug line
spots
/
the shy painter's last expression
/
If I had known
I never would have come to know
/
It would be a physical impossibility
/
I always am to you
me in reality
/
proximity to infinity
love even death
true living dead
arise in mind
/
at the job i like
/
will i live on?
past becoming eternal present
our future is not our fate
/
create love
/
can i?
for one
the is
nonexistent soul
Prodigal son
-like heir,
like kin
return to voyage
boy of new age
/
stand motionless
a stop
an end without means
/
names monikers immobilized brash brass jazzy trumpet
self-enveloped in letter
suspicious evolution
/
maimed mail fee
postage to sender
/
Oh deliverer
deliverance of drunken scribblings
/
Gentle replies
unlawful questions
/
Rite, amendment
/
/
slowing down
false breath
squezing heart
peaceful rage
increasing dimension
unstable wisdom
reflective thought
almost enough
burned out
/
back to normal
/
/
hurry hurry
naptime children on their cots
day-dreaming sailboats
witches beat
/
leverage of a good joke
/
collect calls
mom and dad
/
inject rejected
respect
inflected reflex
/
minor thing
bring bright up
/
immersed in biblical blood
shovel out hearts
retain life
/
some doves lifted us
never touching the sky
/
falling
gliding currents
falling
/
alas alpha male
allowed allegiance, alleviated allures
/
broaden stretch horizons
in all directions
/
circle
orb
/
time
man
/
one
/
/
/
the games we play
/
/
these crumpled pages of life
read by no one
I sacrifice
/
this should be
read by no one
but it will be
/
and I will become undone
only a little
/
I silently request death
over unconscious life
today
/
I have died already
/
a woman speaks to me
about the past
the past of the world
and I let it pass
/
my father
my blood
/
speak to me about the future
what you've seen
/
and I will slowly forget
/
these crumpled pages of life
that are read by no one
I burn
/
remember
everything is a lie
/
sky to ocean
fish fly birds swim
/
sing cry
laugh cry
weep life
/
await death
patience
/
I will belong
finally
/
life's ashes
belong to memory
/
time keeps beating
long after hearts
/
the only truth
/
.
/
/
/
/
/
- 'Poetry' by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

Friday, May 02, 2014

Hell & Reincarnation (poem)

Hell & Reincarnation (poem)
by Twyll The ChyllTyrant


Hell is a familiar neighborhood home
wherein you were locked inside
a room.
with the windows all boarded up.
locks and chains on doorknobs.
bolts.

You are surrounded by five cradles
holding a sleeping baby in each one.
and candles lit and candles relighting.
At different periods of time,
the babies will cry, but stop crying
when you approach one.
hanging, hanging, hanging and dieing.
They will not all stop crying
until you are fallen sleep.

it's not a nightmare, it is surreality.

You will stay in this house
until you die or hushed in fell,
at which point you pass
to consecutive continuous stages
of afterlife after hell,
into which you are reborn
in your same body.

again.

In the middle of this room
that you will become entrapped in,
is a dead man hanging and dangling
from his neck by a ceiling fan.
and the ceiling fan is on.
That's just what everyone
goes through to get reincarnated.

(2x)

Sunday, April 13, 2014

0 oz. (Scene Storyboards 1-4) 4/10-4/18 /14

Act 1  Scene 1

Violet comes to understand that there is a developing military campaign in the classified part of her Utopian government controlled by a clone army.  Walking in to work and organizing papers and then finally sitting down on her cubicle's computer, she is giving a monologue to the audience about the virus that totally eradicated the human race by infecting the nervous system.  If someone who had been exposed to the virus, which had been %100 of humanity at one point, felt any significant kind of emotion, they immediately became enraged to the point of a heart attack.  To suppress any accidental killing of each other, the clone army had been established by a computer generated task force assigned by the United Pandora government to destroy any human capable of having extreme emotions.  People learned to survive by not feeling so much as following instinct and intuition and orders by the government.  The clone army could detect the emotion easier than normal humans because of genetic deficiencies in their mental chemistry.  They needed these receptors, however, to create long term memories, for which they had been successful at keeping a steady balanced population of normal human beings to make up for in the government.  As Violet sits down on her computer she begins by receiving a voice-call through an implanted telecommunication chip.  The sounds of two men picking up the phone is heard as she begins typing with a transparency of not speaking while the other two voices relay to each other the necessity to bring more water-control to a dam in part of the city.  The two men comment on the different shipping methods of supplies to build new control fields for the electrical refinement process when one mentions the nearby location of another dam that might be used to store certain amounts of the shipment.  The other man tells him that it would be impossible to use because of the other shipments being made there for use in the "Secret Project."  The first man replies that he already was aware of the conflict in spaces, but that the outside of the dam could be used as a type of temporary shelter for the supplies if they built an exterior building which could be torn down easily to avoid conflict with building permits.  The second man once again replies that time-limitations may be too short for this idea.  They agree to talk later, and get off the phone.  Violet raises her hand and a superior worker comes to relieve her as she gets out of the cubicle and starts to walk over to a water cooler.  When she picks up a cup another coworker, and another superior coworker walk onstage.  The superior coworker asks Violet how she is feeling that day, to which she responds that she's been feeling poor about the living conditions at home.  The coworker mentions the water supplies and Violet responds that she is suffering from dehydration during the night.  The superior worker asks Violet if she'd like to come over to his home to share his water after work, and invites her to stay and watch a movie with him.  The coworker mentions a few titles of future cinema and Violet says that her mind is elsewhere, actually, that day and mentions the conversation she had just been transcribing.  The superior asks what she thinks the conversation means, and Violet begins telling them how she thought it was interesting that there seemed to be secret space programs in the local government.  The supervisor of the company walks onstage and interrupts the conversation asking Violet to repeat what she had just been saying to the coworkers verbatim, which Violet does.  The supervisor then calls security.  The superior starts to defend Violet's innocence to the supervisor, as Pink & Blue show up and the coworker starts to walk away.  The Pink & Blue tell the coworker that his freedom has been destroyed and kill him.  The supervisor and superior begin escorting Violet offstage as Pink & Blue remove the body.

Scene 2

Wyatt and Evan are outside of the two walking tubes that form the sidewalks along a road.  They are picking trash off of the street and putting it into bags they are carrying.  Evan begins talking about a school project he had been assigned for his graduate program involving how to work on improvements for the water-line system in Utopia.  Wyatt refers to the need to concentrate the water supply into the impoverished areas of the community where there was always a high crime rate and emotional unrest.  Evan seems to agree but objects to point out the inherent needs of people like their friend Matthew who worked in high end electronic development and manufacturing.  Evan also seems to wonder if Matthew will get the promotion in his company to a higher income.  Wyatt replies that he hopes that he does get the promotion but wonders about the effect that his technical presence would mean for the development of more system monitoring equipment for the Pink & Blue reproductive pods.  At that moment, a pod swings through the stage levitating in the air.  Wyatt continues how intrusive it was to have babies that were intellectually inadequate to pass judgment on any actions of the community be the basis of the crime monitoring system.  He says that it could just as easily have been human babies rather than clones that do the monitoring.  Suddenly patrolling clones interrupt the scene with several following human schoolchildren who are on a field trip to study the modern transit system.  The clones refer to Wyatt and Evan as poverty level citizens, which causes Wyatt to stop working as fast and he almost drops a piece of trash after a couple of moments.  The clones point this out as well with the explanation that the nerves of humans are much weaker than Pinks & Blues which is why they needed to be monitored on a constant basis to ensure emotional safety.  The two brothers continue, and the group walks off the scene.

Scene 3

Roman and Virginia are in the armory of the Valley, next to the courtyard.  Roman starts talking about the society's need to find more energy sources aside from wind and water for electricity.  Roman defends the system, though, and points to Lincoln and Suzanne's lives who were lookouts for the Valley.  He tells how they are upstanding citizens.  Virginia points out how the class of Suzanne's parents had caused historic terrible events when the infection-refinement and treatment facility shut down.  Roman heeds her warnings and tells her that the new refinement programs will probably avoid the same casualties from happening again, with new safety measures.  The King and Queen of the Valley, Roman and Virginia call the party to the court.  Roman gives a speech about independence.


Act 2  Scene 1

Wyatt and Evan are on their way home when they are passing a strange building.  They hear voices from inside, and pull out special spying equipment to listen in to the conversation inside.  In the building, Pink & Blue have Lincoln and other Valley refugees held hostage.  They are demanding to know the hideouts of the rest of the Valley people.  Wyatt and Evan are briefly interrupted by a radio transmission from Matthew.  Their sister Violet has uncovered some clues to where the Valley hideouts are in a place called Atlantis.  He also mentions that the hive of the infection is located somewhere between Utopia and Atlantis.  Back inside the building Pink & Blue begin executing hostages until Lincoln reveals the coordinates of the hideout.

Scene 2


Act 3  Scene 1

Scene 2

Scene 3


...  To be continued.

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Langston Hughes and Twyll The ChyllTyrant

'As Befits Me'
by Langston Hughes and Twyll The ChyllTyrant


I don't mind dying --
But I'd hate to die all alone!
I want a dozen pretty ladies
To holler, cry, and moan.

I don't mind dying
But set my funeral on fire:
Rows of little shorties
Fainting, fanning, crying in smoke.

I want a fish-tail hearse
And a hundred cadillac parade,
Clowns all day
And a truck load of bad bitches.

When they let me down,
Into that ditch of the clay,
I want the women to holler:
"Please don't take him away!
     Ow-ooo-oo-o!
Don't take daddy away!"

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

The UnHoly Trinity

The Unholy Trinity




Truth


truth is hidden within
evidence in nature
ev’rything becomes true

falsehood comes of imagination
faith from fate




The Road


not all roads travel straight
every road ends twice
walk with a travel mate

compass, water, some food,
cigarettes




The Infinity Thesis


one is all that exists
percepted infinite
percepted only once

if perception is reality

god has died





Infinity
by Billz


if what you say is real
and god is dead than
why do some people
have morals and don't
worry about bread
they don't so i guess
you were right so
i guess them people
where dump to death
that jumped in that
flight or proble not
maybe just every
thing they saw was
real and no body
under stood how
they feel but i know
infantz with the same
deal and i kinda know
how they feel and god
made all shit real
and i know i know how
he feel so i spark 
a dutch and stay with
a refill

Saturday, July 13, 2013

Generation Born Twyllis

Generation Born Twyllis


In the early years of his life on Earth, Twyll Th’ ChyllTyrant was already hard at work creating the stable foundations of poetic authorship as he competed with other children in poetry finals in the Syracuse City School District.  Yet it was out of his formal education that his earned knowledge of music grew into a steadfast lifestyle as a musical entrepeneur.  His scholastic achievements won him honor as a Magna Cum Laude graduate of Thomas J. Corcoran High School in 2003, while at the same time strengthening his repertoire of experience.  Twyll Th’ ChyllTyrant as a character was in fact, however, conceived at the age of 13 in John T. Roberts K-8 School, while working with the concepts of music theory with a fellow Syracusean who went by the name of Beam 5000.  Together Beam 5000 and Twyll Th’ ChyllTyrant formed the illfated group Stereotypes in the late 90’s.  His sustainment in the rap genre was, after the friendship and group fell apart, only held by his conference enitity in the formations of one of Upstate New Yorks first breakdancing crews out of Jamesville-Dewitt High School, and his participation in the artistic inspiration aspects of graffitti art.

Twyll Th’ ChyllTyrant’s personal life however, took quite a hit, as the tolls of an outlandishly extroverted appeal to society, as well as personal discontent due to the use of drugs at a young age, landed him in the psyche ward of University Hospital in Syracuse.  His release from which was conditional that he maintain a healthy diet and living habits so that he would never go the same route again.  It was only months later though, that he was back to writing.  At the same time, he would be returning to the darkside, or underworld of the world that he lived in.  Many people pushed or pursued him to discourage his rapping, but to no avail as he soon collected three volumes of poetry of which only the “Pathwork” collection has met the Library of Congress’s copyright desk.

For the first few months, Twyll Th’ ChyllTyrant would practice rapping with his two main groups, Real Truth, and Three Fist Journalists, in freestyle cyphers and in crudely fashioned recording sessions.  Three Fist Journalists, comprised of L.O.S. & Reaper would go on to continue to make music with Twyll Th’ ChyllTyrant during his studio years, even as he evantually changed his name to Tyrant.  From 2003 to 2004 Tyrant worked with these young rappers as he pushed forward and progressed his rhyming skill.

After a period of time, Tyrant met Ninj through his group Real Truth.  Ninj were three rappers who together formed a compact and versatile group that had performed in venues across New York.  With the addition of Tyrant to their group, they called themselves Real Ninj Truth.  By 2005, Real Ninj Truth helped Tyrant jumpstart his mixtape career with the release of “Close Range”, released alongside “The Nightmare”.  The Syracuse hip hop scene, at the time, was ill equipped to feature such a dangerous combination of talents, so the releases went, for the most part, unheard.


It was only one year later that Tyrant had gained enough esteem to be offered a spot on a label roster, Steam Records founded by J.C. Gori.  His contact with the label is limited, but they’re input helped spawn both “The Raven”, & “Swag King”, as well as “CollabZ”.  At the same time as those three limited mixtape releases, was the formation of Volyoom Team.  Volyoom Team was Twyll Th’ ChyllTyrant’s attempt at rock and roll crossover.  The “Team” of youngsters included three guitarists, one one-armed guitarist, one bassist, and five back-up vocalists with Tyrant on lead vocal and harmonica.  They were arranged to be performing the biggest set of the century with “I Love New York” of VH1 as the guest host, when they were suddenly forced into Ninja Attack Mode when facing certain conquest of pirate robotzombies, while playing Unreal Tournament in Tyrant’s parents’ basement.  While they failed to attend the event, it should be noted that they did giftedly spot Wali Wigz earlier that day while hackeysacking at Woodland Reservoir.


It wasn’t until 2007 that The Crooked Empire entered Twyll Th’ ChyllTyrant’s life.  It began as he struggled with the production of original material, when he was most lacking original beats, and as his spread out groups began to form the conglomerate that would forever then be known as The Crooked Empire.  The Criminal Era was the starting point.

(poem)

Let It Die
by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

Let it it live.
Let it wonder
how to stay alive.

if the pale moonlight wanders across the astonishment at last
and the balcony chair wanderers ever cross the lawn once more
if nowhere monsters churn their bones to the music of a nowhere
and the streetlamp flicks on our shadows' hair, shaded from a machine

give it some breath, some time, and our explanations will be recorded on diner napkins
we return the straws before we cut them...
whenever we forget
to let our tongues roll, eyes tip, and our ears must
be percussion instruments, because i heard you say it?

Let it die.
Let it stammer
at the altar, the chant.

if ever we sounded off the twilight reverie, to the ghosts
and the evening awoke to purple skies, the slumbersome guests
crazed and panting, we threw off our yellow to green hues, blended blue
we'd roll around the canvas and paint every inch of eisel

Let it live.
Let it give us new reason,
to be trespassers on the horizon.

O let it give in to the wistful,
the enchantment lost in the bubbles
Let it loosen it's grasp on reality,
the harsh and the bold let live.

O let it misunderstand every second,
let it forget us every minute:
it's not ours...it's yours.

Jesus! (poem/story)

In the intensity of a thousand years passage without recorded event…
I am reminded of the boredoms of an early night spent outdoors with the ambitions of the youth grappling onto the last moments of pre-ordination and curfew.  The recitals of ancient epitaph that resounded only a flash between that last flitting of eyelids before unconsciousness settles into our complete focus. 
There, in that epicenter when the sounds and emotions replace the visions and memories of a cyclic world, is where the focus of our most complete satisfactions can become manifested for our enticed pleasure to experience.
I had turned off the lights myself that night.  It was an important event that I have now only stumbled upon in a quick flash. 
The symbolism of reaping the sewn, and the cleansing of our most private sinews. 
I came upon the comforts of my own bed that had been constructed or assembled or otherwise produced by parents who stood always watching through invisible windows. 
There, on the blankets that would hold tight the pieces of my soul which threatened to escape at such young age to a culling night-time reverie of twilight stars and evanescent streetlamp glow. 
Sharply did the blinds once throw limply approaching light outside, and so only now did the dullness of a doldrums’ ponder across the sidewalk through maple leafs usher away the spirits of night, for on one night’s long descent into darkness was the fluorescence forgone. 
The room I slept was so dark that only my own imagination could spread the sensory of sight onto the shapes of the walls, and in this way was I in a boundless room, without border or end.
“Mom,” I called into tomorrow, and darkly did my voice resonate.
So, as the arms of a loved one spread the blind folds of sheets over my chin, I could no longer speak the words that could follow across my plunge into the abyss.

It was the moments between sleep and life, when I was distinguishing the real apart from my realized fantasy, that struck the most powerfully against the ambience.  In this time of helter skelter, in the reveries of immediate proximity that reverberated, yet at the same time collapsed the reasoning of conscience amidst conscious thought, as thoughts once entangled and emotions once withheld shrunk with the falling mind and squeezed through escape routes to forgotten vaults in the back of my brain. 
The innocence of deep sleep was imminent.

Suddenly, the footsteps on the stairs awoke me.
Startled, I pulled my back up against the headboard and shook off the covers from my face, like the undead rising from the grave and with emotionless fear I peered deep into the black space.
When the door to my chamber opened, out protruded a face like a bearded skeleton.  The man that entered was like an angel of distinct familiarity who would lead me through the barren landscapes of dreams and reality.  He showed me the future and cried when I asked him of my own demise.  He wrung his hands and hung his head and shamefully left, having felt as though nothing were accomplished during his interview.
I was left alone, lonely, desperate for the last moment of attention he had refused to spend.
Thus, I chased out the door for him into the hallway of my house.
Down the hall I heard a typewriter or something.  I heard the movements of many hands hushedly writing the pages of a book about apocalypse. 
I didn’t look down the stairs; instead I moved past them to the end of the hall and walked past the railing as the howls and growls of some unfathomed hound rose from the stairwell that Jesus had disappeared down. 
Onward I began to lunge towards the knob of the door, and as soon as the absent metal flushed my skin with a ghostlike touch of chill, the words stopped.  I opened the door.
Inside the devil himself sat at long table with a manuscript freshly printed.
The hounds on either side of him charged past me through the door.  However, I showed no fear.
He had high top blond hair with slim features and eyes that looked dimly through the air as though he was in need of eyeglasses.  He wore a business suit. 
And he promised that if I followed his words I would get the information that Christ denied me.
I was haunted but persuaded.  I didn’t follow his words, but I made actions of my own that mimicked his for a while.
I never awoke.

Instead I was catapulted back into the same reality that I am today entrapped in.

Tuesday, May 07, 2013

Dewdrops & Dandelions (poem)

Dewdrop by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

 between your mask between

 in lines drawn on drawings
wrinkles of the crinkles often

 atop a reservoir - deliverance
will smile tomorrow - crying tonight
epitome of epitaph - strewn across sights

 when gods knew not
 when lost on pew of rising dewdrop


Dandelions
by Twyll The ChyllTyrant


dandelion days & firefly nights. 
noontime rides midnight. 
crazy liars inspired by life... 

forever one lady always my mind. 
rise high, climb fires to die... 
the flower, to light...

Monday, April 01, 2013

The Original Testament Interpretation

Everything was done The seventh day’s work was done, and so we rested Everything in the seventh day was blessed These are the stories of that day that made God Before there was anything on Earth of God There was a mist that rose from the ground There was dust on the ground that grew into man of God There was even a garden that man stood in against the signs of God In the garden there were plants that represented the good and evil and food and beauty and life of God A delta lead even from the garden One river was Pishon leading to Havilah where there was gold There was also bdellium and onyx One river was Gihon leading to Cush One river was Tigris leading to Asshur and one river was Euphrates God made man take care of the garden God said that man may eat anything in the garden Man could only not eat the tree of good and evil and die God said that man shouldn’t be alone and that he should need help God showed man the animals and let him be named Man named everything but himself God took man’s body God made woman from man’s body So man said she was called Woman In this way, a man leaves his mother and father and finds a woman to make unity In love

Monday, October 01, 2012

Movie Pitch for "How To Sleep" a proposed original film project by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

two girls and a man search for an escape out of a shared dream where everyone falls asleep once and then stays unconscious for an immortal eternity. first, they must find out about each other, across continents, through spiritual journeys in which they rediscover their inner fears and demons by trying to capture a devilishly evil escape artist arch-nemesis and fight with a wild dragon king whose power is to teleport within eyesight to wherever it can see in light, and blow firebreath. the group then has to work together and race against time as they realize how they are all slowly disintegrating their own reality outside, bit by bit.

Friday, August 24, 2012

Climate Control

weren't North Koreans and Asians blowing up atomic weapons at the base of the ocean? oh... so where are these hurricane's coming from? that's climate control. the percent of reuseable natural resources is dwindling, and we need to be concerned with the damage to the climate caused by greenhouse effects on tectonic plates as well as glaciel impact, and in addition the fact that climate changes are soon to arise on schedule in the next 1000 years for a probable ice age... it's not important now to handle the population, it's time to unite and try to discover an escape route. that's my problem with 80% of the governments in the world, is their inability to cooperate with the general public with the ongoing efforts to expand our resources in ways that are only shown misinformatively on national broadcast. the middle and working class are as well controlled by the introduction of the new products and laws every year, and by overpopulation itself with the expanding of mass media into worldwide circulation. fun.

Thursday, August 23, 2012

"She Said" (poem)


“She Said”
 
 
by Twyll The ChyllTyrant
 
 

 

 

Yes

years

 

friendship

here

friendship

tears

friendship

there

friendship

 

standing dusk open wide

rains stand glimmered

 

Is this the right time”

 

Yelp

Rebirth on alien shores

burning bridges

Your virgin shadow

 

“homeless

Fear

hungering lust

and  grind

Monday, April 16, 2012

Tyrant TellEm Tag GAMEGUIDE








Tyrant TellEm Tag


GAMEGUIDE




Tyrant TellEm Tag


one area of 23-2800 square feet.



5 Players



1 Player is "It"

This player picks 1 Teammate



2 Players are "It"



The "It" Players must stay within fifteen feet of each other.



The other 3 Players must stay safe from being touched by the "It" Players, and within 50 feet of the other safe Players.



Once a safe Player is touched or "Tagged", they must stay on one pivot foot and can "Tag" other safe Players that run by them.




The last Player is the new "It", and can call any of the "Tagged" Players to be his Teammate.






Be Safe, Have Fun, & Enjoy!







PEACE

Sunday, February 19, 2012

Conundrums

If a tree falls in the woods ontop of a woman, is she lieing?

If you were stranded on a desert island, with your newborn child, with only a slimming chance of rescue, and your baby started to die, would you eat it when it was dead or throw it in the ocean?

A man walks into a strip bar with a bag of dead babies. When the bouncer tells him to leave, he explains, "They are premies, so they're worth more."

If you and your last boss, your father, your wife, and your child were the last people left on Earth, trapped in an underground cave with just water in a pool, and inside the water was a squid that would be able to live far longer than you or your company, and possibly repopulate the world evantually with new species, would you just eat it to live a little longer, and then still die anyway?

A policeman pulls over his car next to a park and pulls his gun out on a squirrel.
Squirrel says, "What did I do, officer?"
"You were trafficking."
Same cop pulls over next to a fence on his way back to the station, with the squirrel in the backseat, and pulls his gun on another squirrel ontop of the fence.
Squirrel says, "What did I do, officer?"
"You're tailgating me."
Now, in the police station, a squirrel jumps out of the ceiling and pulls out a bomb.
"You're all nuts!"


PEACE

Thursday, January 05, 2012

My Thoughts on "Democracy in America"

To understand the contrasts between The Democratic and Republican Parties, one should be just as concerned with the depth and continuity of the ideals held in each platform, separately, as well as comparitively. The importance of this analyzation of integrity is one that is often overlooked by the mere casual approach of many young uneducated Americans.

The ideas of men whose individual successes are fundamentally constructed to adhere to survival in all circumstances, are mainly tied into a variety of responsibilities and sponsorship of life. First, and foremost, as is easy to point out, money plays a major role in civilized survival. Money, representative of a person's worth, or reflective of environmental work availability, is a good indicator of most peoples' value to society. However, the unknown relationship of the person with his political standpoint is nonetheless valued as well as is his character and ability, heritage and intelligence. While these factors rarely come into play with elections of government officials, this may help explain why the two part system of Democratic/Republican exists.

The downside of bi-partison elections, as well as misleading people into non-interaction with their own government, is that the two parties are both plainly faulty and contradictory against each other as well as in their own terms.

This is why it is important to create a personally-manipulateable division of classes every taxyear to be reflected in votecount, to further encourage voter output as well as interaction within a democratic government. It is also important to get rid of the electoral college completely, to separate larger states into multiple states and increase statecount, and to assign more bill pass approval into the hands of the voters in America by allowing them to vote yes or no on all bills, and retiring the seat of President to a position of compiling bills into acts of two-three at a time for monthly voter-registration, and to passing or vetoeing emergency or military and armed forces bills only, or as directed out by clauses attached to each bill.

Those are just some of my thoughts right now.

Sunday, December 04, 2011

Poetry Remix

Poetry Remix

by Twyll The ChyllTyrant

2011







The Poet Sees Naught





They're tongue-twisting devils

no good daydreamers

impolite

bastards



They're crowding around

the beautiful

suffocating it



Dutiful beautiful rudimentary

access to love



Rude awakening



I see a woman

beautiful in structure

standing alone



I wander towards her

in mind



But in body

walk away



Always



There is something

unattachably beautiful

about being

the only species

to want to die









Angel Falling





A featherless angel

has leapt from faith

A falling sky following her life

Calling minds

with a hollowing light



The wind

carries her tears

as she falls

Leaving a trail

of vertical hurtful pain



without a purpose









Scared Of The Son



whispering winds

the ocean

the stars

tell me about my past

about my future

about why i cry now



i have no real name

only this empty bag

and a black dripping lung



cannibal

empty and filled with cigarettes

redeem for five cents if rinsed



to know that there is no resurrection

to write in complete darkness

scared of the sun

father, real father

baptise me in my own blood

and tell my mother for me, i am dead



tonight i have no calls

only myself

to call upon



i'll read your poetry if you read mine

i feel like such a parasite

to my own thoughts



i'll remember this night

for the rest of my life









Toxic Waste





Precious pressure



Precise prelude

of premonition at pre-dawn

hours



Ours is a useless search

To reach the coils of a snake

with would-be wood

styx

now just death

holding death in its brown leaf

now just a dead matter

of dead matter

holding us in its distinguishing

existence



And the red slugs and their red shells

leave red trails

trailing from homes of broken families

to the homes of broken hearts

to the home of broken

states of mind



Money is the dean of all the

evil a live

man

could need



In its basic form

the word love

does evolve









I Wish I Knew





I guess I shouldn't say a word

and there isn't one

in the English language

to make you understand



My heart aches

so that no painkillers

can heal



Isn't all human emotion justified?

Then what's so esoteric

about the question

"Do you love me?"



What's so rhetoric

about the place we met?



What's so cruel about

the planet we live on

if you and I are still alive



But I need to get out about

I tire of the question mark

just as I tire of being alone



And just knowing

that you exist

makes me

shrink



Because you slowly swallow

my world



In these days and this time

nothing I say is wrong

just like

nothing I say is right



Or good

enough

for you









Man on Bicycle





Man on bicycle

surrounded by chaos



suddenly stops



feels human



Finds his "peace"

turns around

walks away



The truth as I see it.



Plagiarism at its finest time

Consumerism at its only place



I don't want change either Bicycle Man



But change is inevitable



We should all take lesson

on Man on Bicycle









My Spirit Hums A Song





A teflon heart beats For a woman Never introduced Only seen from a distance And the attached lungs Stung with each gasping breath Rung out with the laundry Out for all to see My spirit still needs cleaning Just as my eyes seek My ears seek a soul A lonely guitar string is plucked And another one answers And another one so far away in my mind Until it's back to that first string But still... loneliness It creeps in Like dim light from a lamppost On a deserted lane Bound to reality Wishing retreat But every path has been followed And no brick road has been found A friend is forgotten He was my own And today is now Just what I am Forgotten Or forgetting slowly Until just a spec remains Spectacular love Escaping my tender needs Although my heart beats My love is woven from the softest cotton That stretches and bounces But never makes it out of the drawer Where it lays dormant and bored Boasting of times past I'm often reminded of my evil deeds And regret claws all over Until my eyes water And water falls Like Niagara My love needs a caretaker Like my heart needs a bullet But nothing will break But my spirit Tonight.









Halfway To Perfection





Angry puffs of cigarette smoke

Shoot from his nostrils



His eyes narrowed

His brow curved and lowered



He looks for meaning

In the meaningless meanness of people



And sees his own reflection





A smirk curls his lips

Battered yellow teeth revealed



One eyebrow raises

Like answering an obvious question



His hand flicks the cigarette

Again and again, quicker and quicker



He thinks he looks sexy when he's angry









The Essence Of Time





from when time becomes the essence

to when time becomes the absence

our hindrances are our blessings

only when we use the past tense



from the cradle to grave stone parts

our life goes but down the drain once

even women who made home still are

redeemable as film's pay stubs



from when time becomes the essence

our blessing becomes a hindrance











The Electric Chair





Questionable expressions

Superstitions

Stained mirrors



I sit in my room with music

Deaf to the song of agony



A soft breeze enters windows almost shut

And I am blinded by the wind



My chair is electric

And I am static









The Shepard And The Wolf





Does your flashing life move forward or in reverse when you die?



Time is nonexistent

Catch me in your arms

Oh madness eternal



My name is god



When the knife's edge is dull,

you must push harder



I am as a shepard, or wolf, watches the herd

Where the mountains rise

and the streams bleed and fall



I dance -- motivated by a diamond in the sky









The Sandman





Falling through the sandy dunes of time

I want to fly but I end up wasting time



Hold me if you want half my damage

Let me go if you just can't manage



Some people just weren't meant for living

So this ode to the modern man I'm giving



The hour glass

is blow to bits



I just wish

The sandman would care



Sparkling diamonds in this water



even the pyramids of Egypt fell









Every Mile You Walk





Time slipped on a banana peel

when the skilled archer

missed his mark



a blue thorn



My obsession



constantly killing

smothering

suffocating



Killing it again



tumbleweeds

on the deserted desert road

where the sun doesn't glow

it beats



Like a drunken father

letting his son learn lessons

from him

by him



My love for you

is probably more than you shall

ever know

Because

you never shall know

that I love you



pocket lint

priceless



Sometimes I wonder

if what I'm saying is true



But even the lies lay low

like little leprechauns

hiding their treasure

from the rainbow



I wonder how hungover

God was

when I was made



Because all that I'm looking for

is a tall glass of water

and a never-ending cigarette



and my shoes

and your love



and maybe some painkillers









Haiku





let's see...

no starting point

fuck haikus









Searching For You





I am powerless

to reposition the East

and the Beast therein



Prodigal son like heir, a kindred kin

I return

from my voyage

a boy of new age



Taxidermed

I stand motionless

An end

with no means



All of my names

are monikers

immobilized

by a brash movement

from a brass age

of trumpets and jazz horns



By any movement

of love to the world

I dream selfishly

of love to the word

love



Love

of you

enveloped in letters

suspiciously appearing

in evolution



Emotionally maimed

by another's mail

The fee was infinite

Postage stamped returned to sender



Oh deliverer of deliverance

deliver me with drunken scribbles

Gentle are your replies

to my unlawful questions



My right to speech

isn't a first amendment

For it must be first amended









What's Your Name?





Under each dim orange street lamp

stands your silhouette



In every cloud

I see your ears straining...

To hear me say...

To hear me ask...



Everytime I flip open the pages

of any old book

I see your eyes

in the words

watching me fail



So I smoke a cigarette

Give in to death



Nothing seems real

Every girl I see takes your form



I'm going crazy

completely

utterly

Unutterably

Incomplete



Every word

I write

disgusts me



Because no words

explain

that I love you

And I don't even know your name