Sunday, April 22, 2018

The Dragon Tale (story)

Once upon a time, in those years of yore, when fire and earth and wind and water reigned over the dimension of man, and the illusions of life in the Realm of Earth, there was, as is now, a history of its own that ran on what it believed to be cycles of good and evil, rise and fall, and triumph and conquest.  Hark, lies uncleansed devils, into the streams of proverbial legend, wisdom’s overture begins in the minds of man.  Our old trustworthy span of time that punishes life with its stiffened arm of fate, where velocity’s intrepid realization in accelerated science is a pinnacle of humanity, pertains to such frail destiny, awaiting judgment by prevalent faith.

This story, as such, although unique in its origins, may have had its creation in times when values were different, ethics were bright and anew, and mystery was everywhere, indeed hidden when cannot be explained truths to be told, to this very day.

It all begins in the agricultural town of Wus, with their aggravate fire, prior to the foretold invention of the wheel, the landmark of commuters’ voyage a mere homage to monuments of future times.  Here, there were scarce populations in farming villages around the world.  They survived on medicinal herbs, mostly struggling through short lives, and harvested what they could while surviving against the beasts of an uncivilized era.  Beasts that began with the environment of the present mayhem amongst the farmer families, stretched into the cottages with evil spirits that conjured the wrath of the unknown.

Legend has it that during the times of the Dragon, before the invention of transportation and reign of its dominion, human life was either two ways, short-lived, or long with legacy of family and tribal power.  The latter was reserved especially for the female of our human species, specifically for installment of new conquest, enterprise into the world of uncontrollable dangers.
Our lady, dominion was given of government, control in limits that would drive at the men of each village.  Fair Dian, Princess of the Kingdom ruled by Rall was inhibited until she was almost skeletal in form.  Preserved two lifetimes of kingships since her father Afra, the pioneer of the region who had left his family with a league of warriors to travel north and colonize Wus, was fallen in the harsh colds of icy horrors.  When the cavemen descended and forced the kingdom to name a new leader, her brother was killed by Rall, and the following dark times for the expanding empire were excruciating.

The poor people of these times had already developed ways of irrigation, and of supporting small amounts of crop growth season to season, but by learning to do this, they had given up their location and identities to the Dragons who ruled the realm.  Daemon’s descent from the fire building family that descended from the mountains in the last generation was meant to thwart the Dragon’s threat.

The creation of the Dragon Lord was more complicated than it may seem, now, as the scarce information that reached beyond the measuring rod of written history is vague, because they stopped for reasons, hiding the identity of the Dragon, and the cycles that created it.  The Dragons had manifested itself haphazardly at the origins of sapient, by misuse of medicinal herbs by early ancestors.  The fierce and feared creature of pre-historic times was an oppressor of the country and the lands inhabited by human kingdom.  These beasts were hybrid of man and dinosaur that were wielded in elementary laboratories by primitive scientists.  A type of alchemy, and magic that has been long forgotten since the disappearance of the earthly vegetation that yielded such power to the bestowed.

What ended the reign of these Dragons was the eventual birth of an evil Prince, and what happened to him and his youthful companions, and the legions of warriors that were sacrificed to destroy his terror, is the reason we have now the invention of the wheel.
Daemon’s pride was undermined by determined lust for the Princess.  However, a Prince from another land far away had arrived in black night, stealing her heart.  Daemon cunningly never admitted his jealousy, but instead formed a closer relationship with the Prince.  As Dian and the bandit Prince plotted an escape from the kingdom, Daemon eavesdropped from a nearby building, and concocted a plan of his own.

Dragons of all types, of which there is distinctly three, breathe a fire that comes from their bowels where they can turn matter into only two forms of elements; water and body mass.  As a dragon thrives on its victims, it grows more aggravated and aggressive.  The dragon can also control lightning, during thunderstorms, unless the Gods otherwise had forbid it.  This means that when the Dark Prince and his companion, Daemon, stole into the Royal alchemy laboratory, and pursued to steal the ingredients and toxins to make the Dark Prince immortal, they did not realize that the main compound in the formula would react during composition in ways that would magnetically attract the very elements out of the existent Dragons on the planet, disintegrating them into dust, as it gathered the power of the multitudes into a unified, immortal, Dragon Lord. 

What Daemon did next was pure madness, as he immediately grabbed the Dragon's tail, and bit into it with his bare teeth at the tip, in act of brave genius, causing the Dragon Lord to bend immediately to Daemon's will, as the tail of the monster began to slowly dissolve into smoke.  This is when Daemon threw the tail into a ready bucket of water, and although the water in the bucket started to boil and evaporate, the Dragon's pain was relieved.

Daemon's plan was to use the Dragon Lord to kill all his personal enemies, including the King and Queen.  Daemon sent the Dragon Lord to the King and Queen's chamber, but when the Dragon reached the old castle he appeared as the young Prince again, at the gates.  The guards let him in, and the Prince cleverly made his way into the chamber, himself, and murdered her parents in cold blood.  The Dragon Lord flew to Daemon, who had moved to the high mountain near the town.  Here, the Dragon Lord and Daemon waited for night to pass, while the Dragon soaked his tail in the natural springs on the mountainside.

Only one wise man in the whole country knew of the whole Legend of the Dragon Lords, so, one young alchemist went to seek him out.  When he found the old wise man, he discovered the weakness.  That night, during a rainstorm, the alchemist and the wise man left towards the town.  As they gathered themselves against the brutal gusts of the storm, on the bridge, they saw the Dragon flying down the valley of the river.  They followed its trail to the spring on the mountain, and while Daemon was nowhere nearby, they assaulted the defenseless monster and ripped out its heart.  Daemon returned, at the last moment, and snatched the heart from the hands of the alchemist, and pushed the wise man down the mountainside.  Suddenly, the alchemist revealed his secret weapon. 

This is where it gets complex to comprehend, when the cycle of Dragon must really be understood.  The Dragons were born of a special herb bound to the human genetic sequence through exposures.  The Dragon is then bound to the element of Earth, until it is either stricken by lightning and transcends to the sky, or is killed by any other predator.  The Dragon that has died can only be reborn into the sky, where the herbs that were used to create it, become crystalized, and the Dragon can return to Earth as a giant monster, up to twice the original size.  If the Dragon is killed at that point, again, which most do while they are more fragile and nearly transparent apparitions that shined light wherever they walked, breathing fire, but never again flying, Dragons become harnessed only by waters of Earth and seas and oceans, where the Dragon’s final form is a serpent that can jump from the water, and fly across the land, scouring it with fire, but must always return to amphibious nourishment of water.  Dark Prince, Dragon Lord, he was different however, a unique kind of Dragon, never seen before.

The alchemist grabbed from his bag, an artifact that had been once stolen from a volcanic Dragon cave, where one Dragon had slain another, and two pieces of the shining crystal that had been blown with fire at such intense temperatures, had created two round shields.  When the alchemist grabbed the armful of heavy metal from the bag, the Dragon bellowed loud, causing an earthquake, and the other one fell down to the wise man, below.  This special metal, which had been crystals formed in the eyes of battle, threw the water from the rainclouds, and the water in the spring on the mountainside, and the rivers nearby, the entire essence of all water in a mile radius, blown back away from the mountaintop.  Lightning, as if from the Gods, struck the Dragon and killed it, as the metal shields exploded into flames.

The alchemist and wise man told the townspeople what they had seen.    Daemon was banished in exile, and died alone, in the wilderness.  This is the original Dragon’s tale of glory holes.

Sunday, December 17, 2017

The Water Strider (poem)

In another life I was the water strider.
Whistle through loud fuzzy fronds, and whipping into buzzing clouds.
Below our sun, the common goal.
An identical soul. 
In a timeless day.
And within my same, distant, night sky, I'd see those spiders' tears flashing.
& I'd see the point of love, forever.
From solemn, quiet, gentle moons.
Above the thrashing fish, to relive it, with a mindful way. 
Not to tell you so.
As brief as your words never spoken, opening closing. 
For eternal fighters, with streams of fires splashing higher.
Doing all that I've ever seen of dreams, but brighter. 
A writer's bug, the survivor.
In another life I was the water strider.

Twyll The ChyllTyrant

Sunday, November 12, 2017

The Sun In The Sky (poem)

The sun in the sky:  
an orange faced rave girl 
with blue / white streaked hair, 
that flows all over 
the giant drug pill 
she's about to snort.  

 so she cries the skies to dark, 
blows her nose blue, like lost hearts
we'll all die separate arts
when the crook beneath it shifts 
making a pill too potent, 
until we overdose in 
global climate world effect.
 trying so hard to find peace. 
 the predator in wild green.  

 red from the fire in the caves
that scrambles inspirations.  
 the moon is her ex-boyfriend 
who died young to be more brave, 
and she wants hard to go back 
afterlife reunited, 
always on the opposite 
of the dark side of the world. 
 where there's a full eclipse; 
she reminisces so much, 
yet too little, with lips zipped, 
 and then, she goes back to him. 
 a man within woman's heart 
not always will interact 
with her complex emotions 
directly, than to the fact, 
but resonance is for life 
once there.  it is love exact.  

 those horizons that shine life
whose meaning's reasons lie
in riddle, search belief
the answer for fair maidens
chasing the knights' stranger nights
stay hidden safe.  away, 
 as purple twilight settles 
the picture frame wallpapers'
white reflecting glossy glass. 

 rainbows never end
with the stars waiting,
that we may not claim. 
 but with ego forth
alone without love's 
cloudy memories. 

Wednesday, November 23, 2016

Winter In The City (poem)

"Winter In The City"
out here blowing balls of snow throwing round white powder watching my driveway for trucks and bums as sirens blaring louder trembling and sweating in my pullover hood for infinite endless hours under those piled high cloud mountains while i'm looking so homeless overdressed unshaved dirty or least unclean and still not showered stressing the first day the last month a week away now cowers no sun sky turns grey even bridges seem to horde our lifeline sides on suppliers of power to neighborhoods that are totally plowed over foul everyone gets more sour like cowards while winter in each city sucks because it all is awful against lightless froze skyscraper towers
-Twyll The ChyllTyrant

Thursday, September 01, 2016

Hopping The Curb (story)

the first time I hopped the curb, it was with a woman.  the lady we called sweet destruction.  I didn't know at the time how bad things were going, but drying her tears on the side of the inner harbor, and refilling them with beers from the tents on the grassy knoll that dropped off an embankment into the performance pit.  the wind that raced through the window on my passenger side streamed with the sunlight, sharp purple gusts that stole my breath. 
losing control of my own vehicle late one night on a midnight chase, the sharp turn should have wrecked my alignment.  I hopped about 3 feet off the ground into somebody's yard.  freshly having chugged two forties through a funnel.  no damage to any of the property, no damage to the vehicle.  those were the days I freely broke traffic laws.  recently I wonder what I ever was thinking.
the last time I hopped the curb in a car, the first time I met an estranged lady in an apartment parking lot, by observing her as she paced alone under lamp posts.  never having had much interactions with the druggies, I already assumed she was drunk and invited a young cohort of mine who struggled throughout his own life, probably because of a divided home, to help control the situation I was anticipating getting myself into.  she was a single mother, tearing down the road to steal deuces from a grocery store in her giant purse.  we had the third wheeler blow breath in the installed breathalyzer.  i'm a little surprised any of us survived.

those are my three times I hopped the curb in a car.
drive safely.

Friday, August 12, 2016

Halo (story)

she stood so tall, though, those last few nights. the silhouettes flickered from the lamps. i was so high. outside i thought they watched with bright glowing eyes, but when i closed mine, the shape of these streets were like highlights that woke me, startled to an empty room. my heart followed her ghost, so my mind silently wept. there had never been anyone with me. it was all a figment of my own imagination. now the stars fell and swallowed those creative ideas that strained to reach out from my once colorful life. they say that time is all we have. i guess with that being said, that it really is the last thing we'll ever lose. stars that stretched into infinity, blinded by the sun.

stepping out toward me, through the walk way naked light, you lived in the poetry, stroking the brilliant ideas whether those windows or smoky mirrors saw. the poetic shadows of illuminated foregrounds in a painting painted in the entropic cosmos by the conscientiously starved, yet never fearing, conscious, the hold of death in your sleepy smile throughout all of these subservient, ambivalent, and often anonymous, consequent conversations, to all inspiration. built out of temporal garden chores, in winding winds that castle's stair stare at in fixation like a familiar face in ecstasy. that this never exists. so, as not the sewers reap the weeping in the children's view, hollow call of teenage crisis or lost city youth. wild, to you, love is throwing flicking color in ghastly reminiscent shade at scornful amusing frowns of dying imagination into the gambling gambol of disbelief at my very own uncontrollable flowering dreams. the discomfort of the lost, after the certainty of power. this is the way angels dance in heaven, deep.

Thursday, November 19, 2015

Walking (poems)

"Walking Days"

walking all the way down a writer's block, trotting blindly past windows.  perhaps once skipping the cleansing rinse, all still while whistling the tune to someone else's viewpoint, pizza corner talks.
he paddles that heat on summers in city's slicked pavement rushes, through acknowledged shadow traffic.  bending the words that wrote final destiny with the blend of the music of celestial churches.
talking out loud to an anonymous ghost, shaking in his hands, in his naivety also born intuit.  headed straight into it, conspicuity, immunity through the dark shaded doors, morbid menace between nights off work, again shifted to slide through these cages' cavernous tunnel systems.  lost lines, paid never again.  patches of truth behind eyes lies our connects in a network of burning field fires, unidentifed corpse crop circles.  falling objects, failing subjects, thrown in garbage.  feel tight, over the smaller, blowing out old candles lit, and let the lights of little wildflowers raise the schools in the gutters for the poor stolen poverty wars on our perpetual peripheral thievery.  conniving concise bravery amidst the inevitable brevity in our worship of the beast's offering of fierce fears.  this lord of the flies, he's not known to be mysterious.  run across dumpster fiends.  their children, the child.  they are, then.
don't act like you've never been scared, or you'll sure die to dare.  i fucking swear in the beaten air.
concrete walls, and not those cliffs on sunny fantasy castle barriers, ships building the factories of frozen future graves.  we were drowning, while laughing, but dying, while writing.  oh well.
temporal hell permanent ghetto of the mind.  the bubbled skin from burnt belief.  peace's relief.  buried in eternal sleep, the threat of age and the imminent prophecy awaits, it beckons, quell culls.
so, they say walking forward streets is alright.  taking each step easy is always good for the soul.
forever let the spirit never miss a thing.  somebody out there is usually always right, alright.
but if you ask me, birds and butterflies, the sky through waving leaves or the golden blood of moon glowing shining through the bluest gusts of autumn, winking stars.  friends let friends kill the time.
they paid the rent, too, the taxes, they go to work for that big man.  servants to a faith down the road.

by Twyll The ChyllTyrant (2015)

"The Night Walking"

tonight is every changing
screaming cry within my dried eyes
disguised more as mere metaphors
potential paradises
devoted instincts jealous men
haunted on long walking courses
motivated work slights of hands
pounding on the ground forth forces
bounce imperfect repetition
phantom interception frequents
ghosts never possessed possessions
forever fleeing to safeties
memorized yet forgotten lives
latenight thoughts make dark desires
struggle to settle traditions
newer contradicted fires
propel wanton profanities
mundane scraps boasted other arts
down glowing lower empty streets
hard choking or coughing in hearts
exist the same as me in fogs
imagine with no temptations
fortune out gold nor second tries
journey alone although always
home begins beckoning the lost
return pledging leaving tortures
broken promise painful blessings
neverending outside corners
mistaken complex attractions
says restated obvious words
planning planets never by us
give up on yourself next time first

by Twyll The ChyllTyrant (2011)

Friday, October 09, 2015

The Legend of VADERFANG (comic)

Vaderfang & Bladerbang are a part of The Crooked Dead Man Saga, as well.  They are beast kings that are eventually released out of the other dimension, a second time.  After the fall of OVERLORD TYRANT & Crooked Dead Man/ The Omega Devil, Vaderfang & Bladerbang, the Chief Warlords of the Other Dimension, and two kings of the army of beasts in the first attack, are released at the North Pole at the exact moment of the Antarctica battle that destroys both OVERLORD TYRANT & Dead Man.  POWERBOY, once more, must use his infinite power source to battle the monsters to death.  The beasts in the first saga are cat -like.  Vaderfang & Bladerbang are both wolf and bear -like.  The final showdowns are through Russia, and Italy.

(Comics 11 "Vaderfang" & 12 "Super Dragon")

The Legend of OVERLORD TYRANT (comic)

Overlord Tyrant is the demon sent from hell to reclaim the soul of Crooked Dead Man.  He has the powers of flight and invincibility, as well as super strength and super speed.  Part of his gimmick is that he can only communicate to humans through blood writing, which he can spray off of himself because he is a skeleton-and-muscle demonic humanoid.  However, his weakness is his Contract, in which he must destroy humankind by concentrating on all offensive efforts against him, even if it would allow his own death, specifically by Crooked Dead Man who has the unfortunately newly discovered ability of invisibility, only from the demon-vision of Overlord Tyrant.  However, because of his war with Illuminati, and eventually his death and reincarnation as Devil Omega, his former self is mostly remnant cyborg parts that can still be seen by Overlord Tyrant.  Abandoning these parts, he is again in a pile of zombie blood and guts on the ground.  However, by working with an undercover ex-Volyoom Team member now working out of the middle east for a citizen-resistance cult, called G.O.D. "Global Offense Defensive" codenamed "Wali Wigz", he is able to hack old cyborg parts and attempt to retake the world from Overlord Tyrant, who conquers mostly by destroying all police and military, leaving civilians alone, aside from the accidental casualty.  Wali Wigz rebuilds pieces of Crooked Dead Man and adds enough of the Omega Devil strain to the remnants to resurrect Crooked Dead Man once more.  Overlord Tyrant and Crooked Dead Man meet, finally, on Antarctica, and destroy each other, ultimately ending the "Crooked Dead Man vs. Overlord Tyrant" Saga.

(Comics 7-8 "Overlord Tyrant:Wali", 9 "Powerboy", & 10 "The Blob")

Friday, June 19, 2015

Grim Reaper (poem)

death the skeleton
of the old man guides us
inter-universal time space.
the river of negative resonate
the pool of self-denial.
inner peace at the temple shrine
you are the ass.
you are the shit.

Friday, May 01, 2015


beers boomers and blunts
bass bumpin in the basement
what you know bout that (boy's on fire oooooooo)

I live 6 feet under the ground
And smoke til I'm chokin
i got double the trouble
you're a fucking bitch
you want to spit with me I'll have you in a box six feet under the ground(BIG TIME)

COPYRIGHTS 2005 Twyll The ChyllTyrant

Saturday, April 25, 2015

Me (poem)

It was a long wait...
Like all are at this intersection

i was under the influence of your emotions.

i sat in silence, watching rain fall.
you looked sad, but determined.
through endless thoughts
like unwinding kitestrings
of indecent places, with unfriendly faces, i prevailed on tour.
it couldn’t be further from truth, i don’t regret leaving.  only coming back ever again.

It's The Love
so don't blame it on fate, when our passion is always raging.
that our blood mixes, our stories would prove.

My arms are reaching for you and i can't see you in watches never worn.
millenia maybe again.
frightened and abandoned.

Here, where family is no longer familiar,
where fame is a feeble replacement. 
on a road
that twists to the very place we met.
i wouldn't look at the street at all,
but i'd run across the highway.
looking on to a sunnier side of the tracks where we'd be happier. 
instead, we've reached a checkpoint, and it was where our car stopped and we did not.

the other rules that we broke were too long for these rotten epitaphs. 
too short of a battle was given up on!
You told me that the empty pillow ate at your conscience. 
i can see why, even when i am asleep.  eyes closed,
i realize dream after dream of our embrace. 
first and final.

"c'mon girl, gimme a hug.  u know we both need one."
we need one:  us.  and a hug is just a symbol, simple, simile, smile,
because i like you, and that's a sign.
i thought of you when i made all the mistakes i did make.
Will she still love me?
is the only thought that crossed my mind.
in recent years i've solved algebra that would make einstein shrink.
but it is right in front of us. 
the answer is before the question.  what are you looking for?

i know what to hold faith in, though.  it is the eternity that i would wait to see you.
but while eternity seemed like a promise, it was only a sequence of events.  unfolding like packed clothes.

i can't believe it.  but i need it.
i can feel it in my bones that were made strong,
but they were made, nonetheless.
and the powdered hand of my sculptor.
and the steadied eye of your painter.
to watch each other only at distance was never intended, yet we pretended,
and yet now we do not.

So we will wayside falter, my brave eyed lover.
So we will wayside falter, my brown eyed mother.

Then, by the canal will be a chosen path.  leading to where i can always call home.
and our adventures will continue.  Lord knows.
only a spark missing, where so many are bountiful.

You are beautiful in every sense of the word.
and too many sent to the world miss you, gone.  i swear to god.
i am lieing awake tonight, however late.  and i miss you too.  and these worries are real.

As we turn the next corner, my starvation is sincerest.
but that's why i'm always searching for the right things in all the bright lights.
both to say, and to not.

Someone is keeping count of the infinite time that you sacrifice. 

i am.

Tuesday, April 07, 2015

The Arc Of Civilization (story)

the guy was raised in the jungle by wolves, gets rescued in his teenage years and comes to america where he goes to a museum with his adopted family. he sees a giant wooly mammoth skeletal reformation on display, replete with ice age - petrified fur and giant tusks, and it's eye sockets empty like sad, longing, and lonely prayer. he runs to the giant relic of the past, hops the fence, and goes to hug this modern artifact worth a value incalculable by anyone, alive. the monster only first shrugs, in warmth to it's reception, then shakes, and crumbles, destroyed to the floor. this guy, savage in society, is forced to mop the floor, sweep, and do volunteer work, for vandalism. is this fair, even though he has never earned a dollar on the books in his entire life, to force him to pay this way for the ruin of civilization's narcissism? are america's teachers our mentors? or are they mere curriculum figureheads, pointing towards books that they expect we read, before?

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

Black & White Memory (poetry montage)

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…

_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…

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

Saturday, May 10, 2014

The Legend of CROOKED DEAD GUY (comic)

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. 

 (Comics 1-3 "The Crooked Dead Man:Volyoom:Bladerbang", 4 "The Omega Devil", 5 "Devil Omega", & 6 "The Creep")

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.

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.


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.


Tuesday, August 10, 2010

. (poem)



BeCause N-O Fucking NEVER