I'd like to step foot,
In the land of dictatorships,
Despots,
And dead-men;
To voice my Western opinion,
Through the veil of the immune.
I'd like to step foot,
In the land of the lions,
The gazelle,
And bright birds,
To experience all,
That cannot be said through mere words.
I'd like to step foot,
In the land of old Queens;
The land of abdication,
From which the French coast, it gleams.
I'd like to step foot,
In the permafrost of the north,
And experience why,
Others don't venture forth.
I'd like to step foot,
In the tropics of the south,
Where the rain pounds just like,
A forgotten old sink,
In which the sound is so loud,
You can't hear yourself think.
I'd like to step foot,
On the island of the abnormal,
Off the coast of the near-east,
Where it seems strange to act formal.
I'd like to wade through,
The ocean of men,
In a Tokyo square,
In which you lose count at ten.
I'd like to float forth,
From the bounds of this Earth,
And with my own eyes,
See all life as it's worth,
From our desolate moon,
Watch our world as it rise,
And from eons away,
Watch a star as it sighs.
I'd like to see life,
Through my eyes,
As a prize.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
The Cast-Iron Man
Young, was this boy,
When his father told him,
"Don't trust another, son;
All people lie, yes, it's grim,
But no one deserves more,
Than you do, you see?
Always put yourself first and foremost,
And stronger, you'll be."
He believed every word,
Stored each in his head;
To him, these were words,
To be believed and not said.
His father taught him,
How to be a true man.
He needed big muscles,
Strong words, and a tan.
He taught him his 'truth,'
For him to hold in his heart,
"What does not kill you, my son,
Makes you stronger, so start,
To take every tough time,
In stride, don't let up;
It is not right to shed tears;
As a man conceals all thoughts,
Of emotion and caring,
Beyond loving yourself;
You can pretend to love one girl,
But keep the truth on the shelf;
Make her work to earn you,
A man like you is a rare find.
Good looking, and tough;
Never tie loves loose bind."
As he grew up,
He'd start fights,
With men,
He claimed did him wrong.
"I have honor!" He'd scream,
This was his self-song;
An anthem, of sorts,
Which carried away,
All the thoughts that he was wasting,
Life, day after day;
Hiding all of his doubts,
Under a mask of pure mad;
Concealing insecurities,
With the punch he did have.
He dropped-out of school,
After his father fell ill;
The next day he died,
From one to many a pill,
Of what he called 'manly;'
Drugs on the run.
He wanted it over,
So he could live and die young.
His son was left lonely,
No family, no friends;
No real ones, at least.
They were just with him,
To enjoy a life short and simple,
One in which they die young,
So they need not endure,
Aching backs, and bad lungs.
It wasn't long before he was alone on the street;
His friends had deserted,
Either died, or hit limits in peaks,
Of drug overdoses,
It had come a surprise.
The cast-iron man,
Stopped when tears reached his eyes.
For two years, he spent,
Alone on the street;
Becoming weaker and weaker,
And his ignored need to eat,
In favor of drugs,
Such as crack,
Crystal meth;
He was becoming beyond words,
An image of death.
One day, he lay alone,
And he cried.
He hated himself for this lie,
He did hide,
Under what was left of his muscle,
His strength, and his words;
Hallucinations plagued him,
Of men with large swords;
Battling each-other,
To retain their true man,
Showing their muscles,
And boasting their tans,
As if mocking the poor,
Lonely, cast-iron man,
Many years ago,
His spirit had ran.
No, more accurately,
His spirit had died;
It had been stabbed far to much,
By those who had lied.
That night he had reached,
The end of the fast lane;
His body died, drenched,
In the cold winter rain,
As he followed his spirit,
To an opposite plain.
Nothing's wrong with this Earth,
It is man who's insane.
When his father told him,
"Don't trust another, son;
All people lie, yes, it's grim,
But no one deserves more,
Than you do, you see?
Always put yourself first and foremost,
And stronger, you'll be."
He believed every word,
Stored each in his head;
To him, these were words,
To be believed and not said.
His father taught him,
How to be a true man.
He needed big muscles,
Strong words, and a tan.
He taught him his 'truth,'
For him to hold in his heart,
"What does not kill you, my son,
Makes you stronger, so start,
To take every tough time,
In stride, don't let up;
It is not right to shed tears;
As a man conceals all thoughts,
Of emotion and caring,
Beyond loving yourself;
You can pretend to love one girl,
But keep the truth on the shelf;
Make her work to earn you,
A man like you is a rare find.
Good looking, and tough;
Never tie loves loose bind."
As he grew up,
He'd start fights,
With men,
He claimed did him wrong.
"I have honor!" He'd scream,
This was his self-song;
An anthem, of sorts,
Which carried away,
All the thoughts that he was wasting,
Life, day after day;
Hiding all of his doubts,
Under a mask of pure mad;
Concealing insecurities,
With the punch he did have.
He dropped-out of school,
After his father fell ill;
The next day he died,
From one to many a pill,
Of what he called 'manly;'
Drugs on the run.
He wanted it over,
So he could live and die young.
His son was left lonely,
No family, no friends;
No real ones, at least.
They were just with him,
To enjoy a life short and simple,
One in which they die young,
So they need not endure,
Aching backs, and bad lungs.
It wasn't long before he was alone on the street;
His friends had deserted,
Either died, or hit limits in peaks,
Of drug overdoses,
It had come a surprise.
The cast-iron man,
Stopped when tears reached his eyes.
For two years, he spent,
Alone on the street;
Becoming weaker and weaker,
And his ignored need to eat,
In favor of drugs,
Such as crack,
Crystal meth;
He was becoming beyond words,
An image of death.
One day, he lay alone,
And he cried.
He hated himself for this lie,
He did hide,
Under what was left of his muscle,
His strength, and his words;
Hallucinations plagued him,
Of men with large swords;
Battling each-other,
To retain their true man,
Showing their muscles,
And boasting their tans,
As if mocking the poor,
Lonely, cast-iron man,
Many years ago,
His spirit had ran.
No, more accurately,
His spirit had died;
It had been stabbed far to much,
By those who had lied.
That night he had reached,
The end of the fast lane;
His body died, drenched,
In the cold winter rain,
As he followed his spirit,
To an opposite plain.
Nothing's wrong with this Earth,
It is man who's insane.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Duality: A Short Story
The jungle was relentless. It seemed as if as soon as it had you, you were trapped; fated to do battle not only with the forces of the Imperial Japanese Army, but with the unrelenting, merciless forces of mother nature.
It rained more than Colonel Jasper Ridgewood had ever thought possible, soaking him and his fellow Marines not only through the light fabric of their cheap military uniforms, but seemingly to the bone, simultaneously counteracting the nearly unbearable humid heat which was able to permeate ones sense of reality and replace it with a dizzy haze of constant movement and gunfire.
It was October 1942 on the remote island of Guadalcanal, and it seemed as if mother nature was on the side of the Japanese, as she seemed to override the backwardness of the seasons in the southern hemisphere, to which Colonol Ridgewood had been told it was now apparently summer, but his rightfully pessimistic mind continued to murmur to itself at the irony of such a statement. It hadn't rained virtually at all during the onset of the campaign two months prior, when he had been told that the slightly drier heat was what the people of this part of the world called 'winter.'
"Need a smoke, Colonel?" Private First Class Edward Kulshayski asked, holding out a nearly-empty box of Camel cigarettes in offering.
"As if that'd stay lit in this weather, Private." Ridgewood replied.
Ridgewood and Kulshayski had known each other since their freshman year at high school in Des Moines, Iowa, and had grown so close as to become undeclared best friends in the years to follow, playing together in the school band up until the onset of the war in Europe during their graduating year.
By 1940, and with both of them lacking any sort of employment yet itching for adventure, they had contemplated travelling to Canada together as to enlist in the fight against Hitler, yet even money for the trip was more than slightly tight for the time being.
On December 7th of the following year, their lucky break finally came with he onset of war against the expansive Japanese Empire to the east, immediately enlisting at their local American Armed Forces bureau. After four months of vigorous training at Fort Lauderdale, both Ridgewood and Kulshayski fought alongside one another at Midway, both earning promotions, with Ridgewood earning the greater of the two due to his saving the lives of several of his fellow Marines by commandeering a Japanese radio and contacting the Air force just in time to destroy a Japanese battleship before it could fire its cannons at the men trapped on the beach.
"You know what? We really shouldn't be addressing each other by our ranks; I mean, I'm older than you by 2 months, and somehow you hold some symbolic authority over me because the U.S. Military says so." Edward called, speaking over the sound of the pounding rain.
"2 months really doesn't mean much to either myself or the Marine Corp, therefore you don't have much ground to argue your point."
"Well.. I finished with over 96 percent in 12th Grade calculus, compared to your 67 percent."
Laughing, Ridgewood lightly pounded Edward on the arm.
"Shut up, you fucking dolt. I beat you in History class by at least 32 percent. Math just isn't my thing."
"Yeah, well I think it was because Mrs. Henderson had a crush on you." Kulshayski chuckled, a playful grin reaching from ear to ear as he continued to watch his step, wading carefully through the thick underbrush, and squinting slightly as water dripped off his helmet and onto his nose.
"Aw bullshit! She had more of a crush on-"
"Shh!" A Marine to the right of them called, slowing quickly and lifting his M1 Garand into a readied position close to his chest.
With his grin quickly fading to a look of wide-eyed concentration, Ridgewood watched as Kulshayski slung his Thompson from off his back and into a similar readied position as the other Marines which were slowing their paces in almost synchronized unison.
In the distance, Jasper could hear the muffled sound of voices speaking a language entirely alien to him, and undoubtedly that of the enemy.
"Down, down!" Sargent Huxley whispered from the front of the column, signalling with his left hand. Ridgewood, almost squatting, held his breath for a moment and listened intently.
There was a moment of silence that felt like an eternity. Even the whispering seemed as if it had ceased, and then- "Banzai!"
Suddenly, what would have been practically pitch darkness aside from the light provided by the moon was lit up in successive flashes as numerous machine guns began to flare back and forth.
The sound of bullets impacting the trees, or tearing through the bushes around him caused Jasper to instinctively fall forward and sprawl himself out on the jungles floor. Looking to his left amid the quickly unwinding chaos, he made eye contact with Edward, who had also gone as low as he could to find shelter from the bullets.
Maintaining eye contact, Kulshayski pointed forward towards what looked like a fallen log they could use as a firing position. Placing his M1 Garand on his back and making sure the broken sling was knotted properly on the other side, Jasper followed Edward in edging his way towards the log, and upon reaching it was quick to undue the knot and place himself in a sitting position as to see over their cover.
About three feet ahead of them, three Marines were sprawled out in the open, firing in long bursts from a makeshift machine gun position. Looking up, Jasper watched as an ocean of Japanese soldiers charged from the thick underbrush, only to be mowed down in a hail of bullets and blood.
Lifting his M1, Jasper began picking targets at random, hitting all but one, and occasionally mistaking Edward's kills for his own due to the epileptic confusion.
Finally, the determined battle cries of the Japanese stopped, and Huxley ordered everyone to cease fire. Yet more silence ensued.
Ten minutes passed, and Jasper looked towards Kulshayski, still rooted in his awkward battle stance.
"I- I think it's over." Edward said quietly. Slowly, he peaked his head further up and over the log.
"Banzai!"
"Shit!" He yelled.
"Edward, get down! Get the fuck down!" Jasper shouted amid the renewed sounds of gunfire.
But he didn't; he seemed oddly fixated on something, and then- thwup.
A spatter of warm wetness jumped across Jasper's face. When he opened his eyes, the motionless look of the curiously fixated face of Edward Kulshayski greeted him, with a small, deep, dripping hole on his forehead.
In shock, Jasper began to cry, closing his eyes and grabbing his own face as if he were going insane.
Edward Kulshayski was unmistakeably dead.
22 Years Later.
It had been exceptionally cold in Des Moines during the winter of 1964.
Jasper Ridgewood now had the solemn opportunity to move from the city to the family farm, which was now left completely vacant with his fathers recent death at the age of 81.
As distressed as he was with the death of the man that had raised him since his mothers death in 1936 due to cancer, he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of calm caught up in the winter-wonderland backdrop of the city at this time of year.
Pulling up to the funeral home for his fathers processions, he was slightly surprised to see how large the line-up outside was, filled with people from his past. He even noted the presence of a few old high school buddy's he hadn't seen since before the war, and was quick to solemnly greet them and thank them for there presence. He wasn't in much of a mood to ask as to what they had been up to since the last time he had seen them.
Moving politely through the crowd to the front of the line, and then into the funeral home itself, Jasper found the coroner agitatedly conversing with a white-haired man while flipping through the guestbook.
"Is there something wrong, Mr. Crestly?" Jasper intervened, "Yes, sir, there is. This man here claims to have known you and your father prior to your death during the war."
"My death? During the war?"
Jasper stopped, dead in his tracks, as he made eye-contact with the baffled-looking white-haired man.
"Kulshayski!" He yelled in shock.
"Ridgewood!" The white-haired man yelled back.
"But- but you're dead! I saw you get shot in the head on Guadalcanal! I even escorted your body back to the States!" Jasper said, his eyes widened in confused shock.
"What? No! No no no, I saw you get shot on Guadalcanal! I escorted your body back home!" Edward replied.
There was a moment of quiet between the two men as Jasper sunk to his knees and fell to Edward's feet and began to cry, hugging his old friend's legs in disbelief.
"What the hell is this? What the HELL is this?!?" Jasper wheezed as tears continued to run down his cheeks.
It rained more than Colonel Jasper Ridgewood had ever thought possible, soaking him and his fellow Marines not only through the light fabric of their cheap military uniforms, but seemingly to the bone, simultaneously counteracting the nearly unbearable humid heat which was able to permeate ones sense of reality and replace it with a dizzy haze of constant movement and gunfire.
It was October 1942 on the remote island of Guadalcanal, and it seemed as if mother nature was on the side of the Japanese, as she seemed to override the backwardness of the seasons in the southern hemisphere, to which Colonol Ridgewood had been told it was now apparently summer, but his rightfully pessimistic mind continued to murmur to itself at the irony of such a statement. It hadn't rained virtually at all during the onset of the campaign two months prior, when he had been told that the slightly drier heat was what the people of this part of the world called 'winter.'
"Need a smoke, Colonel?" Private First Class Edward Kulshayski asked, holding out a nearly-empty box of Camel cigarettes in offering.
"As if that'd stay lit in this weather, Private." Ridgewood replied.
Ridgewood and Kulshayski had known each other since their freshman year at high school in Des Moines, Iowa, and had grown so close as to become undeclared best friends in the years to follow, playing together in the school band up until the onset of the war in Europe during their graduating year.
By 1940, and with both of them lacking any sort of employment yet itching for adventure, they had contemplated travelling to Canada together as to enlist in the fight against Hitler, yet even money for the trip was more than slightly tight for the time being.
On December 7th of the following year, their lucky break finally came with he onset of war against the expansive Japanese Empire to the east, immediately enlisting at their local American Armed Forces bureau. After four months of vigorous training at Fort Lauderdale, both Ridgewood and Kulshayski fought alongside one another at Midway, both earning promotions, with Ridgewood earning the greater of the two due to his saving the lives of several of his fellow Marines by commandeering a Japanese radio and contacting the Air force just in time to destroy a Japanese battleship before it could fire its cannons at the men trapped on the beach.
"You know what? We really shouldn't be addressing each other by our ranks; I mean, I'm older than you by 2 months, and somehow you hold some symbolic authority over me because the U.S. Military says so." Edward called, speaking over the sound of the pounding rain.
"2 months really doesn't mean much to either myself or the Marine Corp, therefore you don't have much ground to argue your point."
"Well.. I finished with over 96 percent in 12th Grade calculus, compared to your 67 percent."
Laughing, Ridgewood lightly pounded Edward on the arm.
"Shut up, you fucking dolt. I beat you in History class by at least 32 percent. Math just isn't my thing."
"Yeah, well I think it was because Mrs. Henderson had a crush on you." Kulshayski chuckled, a playful grin reaching from ear to ear as he continued to watch his step, wading carefully through the thick underbrush, and squinting slightly as water dripped off his helmet and onto his nose.
"Aw bullshit! She had more of a crush on-"
"Shh!" A Marine to the right of them called, slowing quickly and lifting his M1 Garand into a readied position close to his chest.
With his grin quickly fading to a look of wide-eyed concentration, Ridgewood watched as Kulshayski slung his Thompson from off his back and into a similar readied position as the other Marines which were slowing their paces in almost synchronized unison.
In the distance, Jasper could hear the muffled sound of voices speaking a language entirely alien to him, and undoubtedly that of the enemy.
"Down, down!" Sargent Huxley whispered from the front of the column, signalling with his left hand. Ridgewood, almost squatting, held his breath for a moment and listened intently.
There was a moment of silence that felt like an eternity. Even the whispering seemed as if it had ceased, and then- "Banzai!"
Suddenly, what would have been practically pitch darkness aside from the light provided by the moon was lit up in successive flashes as numerous machine guns began to flare back and forth.
The sound of bullets impacting the trees, or tearing through the bushes around him caused Jasper to instinctively fall forward and sprawl himself out on the jungles floor. Looking to his left amid the quickly unwinding chaos, he made eye contact with Edward, who had also gone as low as he could to find shelter from the bullets.
Maintaining eye contact, Kulshayski pointed forward towards what looked like a fallen log they could use as a firing position. Placing his M1 Garand on his back and making sure the broken sling was knotted properly on the other side, Jasper followed Edward in edging his way towards the log, and upon reaching it was quick to undue the knot and place himself in a sitting position as to see over their cover.
About three feet ahead of them, three Marines were sprawled out in the open, firing in long bursts from a makeshift machine gun position. Looking up, Jasper watched as an ocean of Japanese soldiers charged from the thick underbrush, only to be mowed down in a hail of bullets and blood.
Lifting his M1, Jasper began picking targets at random, hitting all but one, and occasionally mistaking Edward's kills for his own due to the epileptic confusion.
Finally, the determined battle cries of the Japanese stopped, and Huxley ordered everyone to cease fire. Yet more silence ensued.
Ten minutes passed, and Jasper looked towards Kulshayski, still rooted in his awkward battle stance.
"I- I think it's over." Edward said quietly. Slowly, he peaked his head further up and over the log.
"Banzai!"
"Shit!" He yelled.
"Edward, get down! Get the fuck down!" Jasper shouted amid the renewed sounds of gunfire.
But he didn't; he seemed oddly fixated on something, and then- thwup.
A spatter of warm wetness jumped across Jasper's face. When he opened his eyes, the motionless look of the curiously fixated face of Edward Kulshayski greeted him, with a small, deep, dripping hole on his forehead.
In shock, Jasper began to cry, closing his eyes and grabbing his own face as if he were going insane.
Edward Kulshayski was unmistakeably dead.
22 Years Later.
It had been exceptionally cold in Des Moines during the winter of 1964.
Jasper Ridgewood now had the solemn opportunity to move from the city to the family farm, which was now left completely vacant with his fathers recent death at the age of 81.
As distressed as he was with the death of the man that had raised him since his mothers death in 1936 due to cancer, he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of calm caught up in the winter-wonderland backdrop of the city at this time of year.
Pulling up to the funeral home for his fathers processions, he was slightly surprised to see how large the line-up outside was, filled with people from his past. He even noted the presence of a few old high school buddy's he hadn't seen since before the war, and was quick to solemnly greet them and thank them for there presence. He wasn't in much of a mood to ask as to what they had been up to since the last time he had seen them.
Moving politely through the crowd to the front of the line, and then into the funeral home itself, Jasper found the coroner agitatedly conversing with a white-haired man while flipping through the guestbook.
"Is there something wrong, Mr. Crestly?" Jasper intervened, "Yes, sir, there is. This man here claims to have known you and your father prior to your death during the war."
"My death? During the war?"
Jasper stopped, dead in his tracks, as he made eye-contact with the baffled-looking white-haired man.
"Kulshayski!" He yelled in shock.
"Ridgewood!" The white-haired man yelled back.
"But- but you're dead! I saw you get shot in the head on Guadalcanal! I even escorted your body back to the States!" Jasper said, his eyes widened in confused shock.
"What? No! No no no, I saw you get shot on Guadalcanal! I escorted your body back home!" Edward replied.
There was a moment of quiet between the two men as Jasper sunk to his knees and fell to Edward's feet and began to cry, hugging his old friend's legs in disbelief.
"What the hell is this? What the HELL is this?!?" Jasper wheezed as tears continued to run down his cheeks.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Update and Announcement
Hello there, world! I am, once again, regretful (ok, no so much regretful as sorry) about my absence from the blogging scene. This time around, my 'summer life' has very little to do with it. I've been spending the last few days either with family or simply alone, doing alot of reading, as well as conquering Asia in my forever-and-always favorite grand strategy video game, Hearts of Iron 2. Last night was actually the first time I've spent with friends since last Thursday, I believe. It's actually pretty nice to have extended time to yourself from time to time, although it seems my friends have less of an appreciation for me when I return to the social world after a few days, although that may simply be an arbitrary emotional bias brought on by slight insecurity.
Anyways, I'd like to announce that not a single full-fledged article is on its way, but instead a series of articles based on my personally-formed philosophies. The following subjects will be studied and discussed:
The Reality and Illusions of Reality,
Old-world Morals,
The Reality and Illusions of Dreams, Visions, and Memories,
Individual Outlooks on the World and the Universe,
The Existence/ Extent of Free-Will,
The Deceptions of Society,
The Role of Emotions,
The Requirement/ Use of Structure,
Life prior to Life,
Life after Death,
Personal Relationships,
Impersonal Relationships,
The Existence of Alternate States of Reality,
The Existence of Alternate States of Existence,
Natural Precognition,
The Existence of a Spirit or Soul,
And last, but not least: Existence Beyond the Human Mind.
Anyways, I'd like to announce that not a single full-fledged article is on its way, but instead a series of articles based on my personally-formed philosophies. The following subjects will be studied and discussed:
The Reality and Illusions of Reality,
Old-world Morals,
The Reality and Illusions of Dreams, Visions, and Memories,
Individual Outlooks on the World and the Universe,
The Existence/ Extent of Free-Will,
The Deceptions of Society,
The Role of Emotions,
The Requirement/ Use of Structure,
Life prior to Life,
Life after Death,
Personal Relationships,
Impersonal Relationships,
The Existence of Alternate States of Reality,
The Existence of Alternate States of Existence,
Natural Precognition,
The Existence of a Spirit or Soul,
And last, but not least: Existence Beyond the Human Mind.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Copyright
