The Demagogue’s Son.

He rubbed his weary eyes with one hand, as he forced his body upwards, from the comfort of his bed with the other. After emitting a hushed groan, partially on the basis of the simple physical exertion, and partially due to the overwhelming darkness plaguing his tired mind; he looked around.

A lavishly decorated room presented itself before him.

The chamber held many signs, hinting at the presence of great wealth, full of priceless vases, ottomans, heirlooms, & armchairs; with a large intricately embroidered desk looming at the other end of the space, and portraits of dead nobles lining the walls on either side.

The man’s eyes drooped back down just a slight bit, for a moment, only to pop, almost wide open, and slip across the landscape around his bed, surveying the scene; which, he thought, stood by any means, exquisitely furnished, with a wide vaulted ceiling hanging above his head, and a brilliantly colored Persian rug beneath.

He knew it well.

This beautiful bedchamber was one which held many memories. Indeed, as was true with most places one called home, some of these mental recollections were simply grand, so warm, and ultimately inviting for the soul to revisit, that it seemed easy to get oneself lost inside of their happy confounds; then again, there were also those, which only brought pain upon his typically ironclad heart.

It was the home, which he knew as his own. Yet, the aforementioned was not only just his current place of residence. These lavish quarters, were, in fact, the very home, which he had been raised in, at least throughout his earliest years of existence. It was also the same structure which his father had lived in before him, a man wielding a particularly powerful influence on his sons.

In life, and even now, years and years after his death.

The sins of the father now hung over the man sitting alone in the morning twilight upon his bed, sins which had come to grow into monsters with the passing of years. Monsters, living eternally, all around him, usually remaining in a light slumber throughout the daylight hours, as they were, nocturnal for the most part. Monsters, that survived by feeding off of the darkest recesses of his soul; creatures which, at least for the last five years now, had threatened to consume him whole, evermore incessantly.

Yet; they had not.

…not yet.

He had never wished for his father’s power, and for a long while there was ultimately no reason to fear it’s corrupting weight; the very same load that now pressed down heavily upon the weary shoulders of his soul.

The power of his father, at least as it was processed & understood within the man’s own mind; had been acquired through sinful means, solidified in blood, and held-down by remorseless repression.

In the early years of the powerful son’s life, and then on up throughout his adolescence, the man had, in his own, essentially utterly useless, futile manner, fought with that power, constantly rebelling against his father’s orders. This was a father, like others, which brought his work home with him. The man was truly as much of an authoritarian . In many ways, although vastly different in the scope of things, he had been a victim of his father’s repressions nonetheless, along with the rest of those subjected to much more sinister, and physical, reprisals felt a sense of in years before, drenched his still-developing, young life with the expectations of his paternal master, to become his own. Never, had he, even back then, in those youthful years, viewed his father’s role as one which he wanted, or even held the ability, for that matter, to play himself. It is true perhaps, that he had undeniably held the man in great esteem, even admired his strength and the fear which surrounded it.

In retrospect, he felt this feeling of respect, was, all things concerned, only natural for a young son, regardless of the father’s status, occupation, or general disposition. It was the in the aftermath of his father’s passing, and his own consequent ascent to power, that the painful monsters languished.

He rubbed his sandy eyes one last time, then stretched out his arms in a very human, time-to-wake-up kind of way, and finally readjusted his body, to address the glowing light of an open laptop, highlighted against a backdrop, contrasted by the stark dimness of the room…

At times, this in fact being one of them, tired & weary of his inner frustration, tired of fighting against the tides of happenstance, of the cards whuch we are all dealt, seemingly at random, wave after wave, even if not openly; he concluded that at the root of his own concious torment, as indeed that of any other concious individual, be it the President or the pauper, the same melancholic answer presented itself.

We are but pawns of a destiny, one, which ultimately is granted at birth, and though some will, through Destiny’s tricky sister Fate, be blessed with potential to break from the solid chains of circumstance, even fewer shall be strong & wise enough to reach that Nirvana upon the mountaintop of existance to sit in complete peace at the core, utterely content.

As for the rest of us,

There is a natural tide of torment we must-come to terms with,

if indeed life stands worth living,

and simply carry on,

…once more into the breach.


Inner-Battles Everlasting

There are times in which, try as I might, to brush off, ignore, or even attempt to whole-heartedly resist my own cynical nature; well, it simply escapes my control.

This demon of uncontrollable worldly criticism, is that, which I absolutely detest most in this world; essentially my mind’s very own pessimistic, inner philosopher/psychologist/heckler/douschbag drill sergeant wielding a megaphone aimed at my cerebral cortex. It is a voice of doom & gloom, which only grows louder & louder, until all that there is really left to do, is listen.

It gets too loud to ignore…

These are times of long or short term hardship.

A hardship of many forms, in fact, it would not be a very long stretch of reality, to say that these are times of a all-encompassing general inner struggle. A struggle, which simply leads to suffering, a great deal of suffering in fact, and then ultimately to some sort of self-submission.

In most of the cases which I speak of, the submission is not to any sort of greater good, or a kind of life-changing epiphany, and instead usually tends to simply kick the can down the road, and pretend that, we, meaning I, are or am, done struggling, done fighting the same battle that, I, coming to my senses, have concurred that submission is the only way of proceeding to surviving.

Perhaps this is simply a naïve, primitive, all too human instinctual inability to follow my deepest convictions.

In any case, if it has not become evident to you already, dear reader, this battle is not to be the last one, in fact, broadly speaking, it is one of what could perhaps be millions, at this point at least, of similar such inward struggles. Struggles of the self, of the mind, of the we, of the collective, and struggles that seemingly have no clear resolution or definition.

The result of which, leads me to ponder any point to it all…

Well, after a while, I think to myself, what the fuck exactly, is there for me to do?

If I had any clue in the least, any fucking clue at all, what exactly the fucking answer is…

…well, fuck, that’s what we’d be writing about, I’d be writing about, and if you were expecting answer at the end of this here shitty fucking post; well sorry, because you’re honestly not going to fucking get it!

Fact is, I don’t fucking know, and maybe that’s the fucking answer in & of itself; but probably not. All things considered, I’m almost 99.99% fucking sure it’s not the answer, so fuck it, what else do I got to do with my existence for the next duration of my fucking existence.

Yeah, so I guess I’ll just get back to fucking searching.

Oh, and is it just me, or did I use a lot of ‘fucks‘ in that last no fucks given portion of the post?

In any case, have a great night, day, morning etc. yah fucks.

…Oh, and P.S., kindly fuck off.

The Sacred & the Insane

li /cd”Man becomes aware of the Sacred because it manifests itself, shows itself, as something wholly different from the Profane … In his encounters with the Sacred, man experiences a reality that does not belong to our world yet is encountered in and through objects or events that are part of the world.”

 Many theories exist at present, which aim to ease the burden of life’s intrinsic mysteries; most of which, if I might add, wholly view the world we inhabit, through a purely physical, materialistic, and scientifically oriented lens of observation.

Unfortunately for humanity, it is through this notably discriminatory lens, through which the various concepts of our current and future reality, are shaped.  In fact, the visions which our species sees through this lens’s tiny window, one, that pervasively laces a thick black vinaigrette over the truest representations of what & why a human -*ing is actually human, began to forcefully manifest themselves into how we view life, and it’s real meaning itself.

 In essence, we are, quite undeniably, exactly that.  We are, what our individual understanding of being us, human, really is…

Now, modern man, at least in the majority of cases which we can easily observe ourselves, has a tendency to accept the concepts drawn up by those granted the task of intellectual discovery.  It is, unfortunately, this very tendency itself, which has led to our broadly spanning spiritual detriment, not only in our academic institutions but throughout society at large.  ‘WE’, as a species, after millennia upon millennia of struggling to try and truly understand our, inner ‘conscious selves’, along with the countless awe-inspiring feats of human ingenuity thrust ahead from generation to generation, which, undeniably came as the result of this self-exploration; have almost inevitably, become victims of our own inability to accept anything that contradicts the unspoken rule of humanity’s archaically modern, eternal march towards the ultimate goal…

…killing the God which we once died for, and taking his place.

This might sound like something you’d see written on Nietzsche’s gravestone, in which case, if at all interested in anything more meaningful then, let’s say, a totally fucked up video on Facebook, perhaps you might go home later on and look up Nietzsche.  After reading up on him(or youtube-ing him), and his many theories, you may see things a bit more conceptually solid on the matter.

 Man wants to be God.

The Übermensch(Superman).

Etc., etc.

Well, that’s all well and dandy n’all, especially if the goal is to die a babbling, raving mad lunatic in a manic hardcore depression, with half your brain rotted away at the core… carry on bromigo, looks like smooth sailing ahead brotha.

In my own perception of ‘LIFE‘, I honestly tend to take the Übermensch idea, with a slight grain of salt(or two).

If you’re too lazy to read up on Nietzsche, or his many works, which I do wholeheartedly embrace as exceptionally composed(although not always in agreement with my own views), well here’s the man himself with some elaboration on that Übermensch I previously mentioned…

“The word Übermensch [designates] a type of supreme achievement, as opposed to ‘modern’ men, ‘good’ men, Christians, and other nihilists … When I whispered into the ears of some people that they were better off looking for a Cesare Borgia than a Parsifal, they did not believe their ears.”[9] 

Some may unwittingly, or unknowingly agree with Nietzsche in certain aspects.  For example, God, at least the idea of ‘a God’, be it a deity, a spiritual ideology, the afterlife, karma, or any other form of mythic worldviews, are viewed by many modern men, with a certain degree of contempt.  It is a broadly held view, that ‘we are past that‘; that we are now the champions of our own destiny, no longer bound by the suffocating and (what is, within a Nietzsche-que styled understanding)ignorant boundaries of religious doctrine.  There is an underlying misconception among-st nearly all walks of societal life, that religion, mythic understanding, spiritualism, and any other form of non-scientific based concepts; are WRONG.  Wrong, as in not correct, not real, not at all relevant to the modern world, as well as the future ahead…

Plain & simple.

In a way, quite reflective of how we tend to like things.

This is, at least in the eyes of many influential, more open-minded scholars(including myself), extremely unwise, dull-witted, depressing, and completely the opposite, of how humanity, in general, might hope to elevate itself into a brighter, enlightened, as well as further spiritually and physically fulfilled future…

I am NOT, any sort, type, kind, or even variation of, the presently all-powerful intellectual junta, which acts, in many ways, as a gatekeeper of our thus-far cultivated knowledge as a conscious, rational race of men.  In all honesty, I have up unto this point, never, at all considered myself to stand within the post-modern elitist class of standardized professional philosophers; nor do I see ANY future inclinations to change in this regard.  The plain academically approved specialists of informational gratification.  NOT for you, her, him, them, us, or any motherfucker with preconceived perceptions of grandeur, and for that matter, no-one really is, to be completely honest.  What am I even writing about? What the fuck am I actually attempting to convey in that, strangely unclear, possibly just flat-out ridiculous, statement above…?

Well, for a start, I do not believe that anyone and I mean ANYONE, actually has the right to stake their claim, in the all-knowing throne of the divine….Once again, THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEAN…


The truth, is simply that truth, in & of itself, is, interestingly enough, quite individualistic in mains cases.  Essentially, your reality, in a somewhat semi-literal sort of sense at least, is one which you personally craft make it; meaning, that you are, or better yet, the voices of those which you, for whatever reason, find relevant, as well as trustworthy enough of one’s faith to have believe, or perceive as the experts within the broadly speaking respective field in question, manifest into that which you understand to be the truth.

You have no real reason to believe them.  Then again, perhaps, there is a reason.

They tell you to…

Those which you honestly trust; well, also will attempt to tell you such nonesense.

So…why wouldn’t you.

Look at all that noise above. Yes, it is notably, quite fucking confusing. It is not just your possible lack of intellectual prowess, which be, or not be, as it may; ‘should’, be currently undergoing a certain kind of growth in a sense. At least if you are allowing the gears of your personal machine to turn properly. Which realistically, simply comes down to the very basic, and fundamentally mind-altering task of ACTUALLY THINKING on the concepts currently being laid out in front of you.

To say the least…

It makes little sense, in terms of the respective reality which one creates, lives within, and ultimately makes their own. This, in most cases at least, remains one which is very worldly and very-much unoriginal.

Such realities, although commonly overlooked by the vast majority of simple minded folk, walking through life like lost souls in purgatory, is in all apparent truth, not-your-own. It is a reality composed with the millions of jumbled up tidbits, from every corner of your entire pointless lifespan. An ultimately ‘preconceived’ reality, to put it bluntly I suppose.

Now, when taken into SERIOUS consideration, the fact of the matter is, that well, quite troubling to say the least. Due to the fundamental idea that you, as a thinking, living, human being, are, in many ways exactly that. A patchwork of garbage conceptual white noise, exanorated from any form of serious individualism, personal worth, or generally positive spiritual belief in anything other than those, deeply imbedded materialistic world views mentioned above.

 In basic terms, you have not understood your own conscious self…

As I rally back to end this little exposé of man’s modern lack of faith, there was many a time, when I honestly had to refrain myself from drowning out my own damned argument through various unwinding tangents; which, if I may honestly admit, seem to nevertheless unwittingly spin out of control at every turn.

We are, and always will be a spiritual, mystic animal.

Although it may seem, perhaps today more-so than any other point in time of our history, unfaithful to the world of the sacred & the profane, I wouldn’t bet on this inner fire, within each and every human being that has ever lived, being stamped out anytime soon.



              …And then a sizzle coupled with a faint ringing, which meant that I was, at least for the moment, still alive.

Now; sprawled out on the dust coated cement, and unsure exactly how I had gotten here, I instinctively drew my hands from my still crippled eyes.

Initially an attempt to gain any grasp whatsoever of the unfolding scene around my shaking, neutralized body through means of the ears was a failure, prevented by the still persistent ringing deep inside my skull.

 In that moment I realized that the senses which, I, under usual circumstances rely upon in gauging a situation, were currently compromised.

Then, very cautiously, I tried to open up just a sliver of sight. The idea proved a bit rushed, as a foggy white film greeted me.  I closed them once more for a while, as the ringing in my ears slowly subsided.

Even with my ears still largely unusable, I realized very quickly that I was not alone in that damp, dark room.

…very quickly I realized my previously accessed fears, were in fact my present reality.


They were here.

They had come for me…




An Honest Attempt, at Understanding Our World, through the Things which Shape it: [Entry#1.]

Much, if not most, of the information, which,you are fed systematically, day by day, tweet by tweet,  on Facebook, Youtube, and on your campus, your street-corner, in the media, and even from within the confines of knowledge, provided to you via any given choice of daily news outlet; is either highly opinionated, or, simply pure opinion.  That, is the truth, whether you like it, or admit this to be the reality, is in fact utterly irrelevant in the matter…

That said; the validity of the following passages, is for you to judge through your own self-justifiable convictions, being the child of my own personal observations, and consequent arrival at the various conclusions, relating to the subject at hand.  The concepts involved, belong to a quite broad spectrum of topics, ranging in their importance, at least in regards to your own minuscule place in this vast world of ours.

These are subjects analyzed through my own understanding, which in my personal opinion, at least honestly attempts to remain as ‘unbiased’ as humanly possible.  Unfortunately, as is the case, in, well, each and every single one of us, there is undeniably an element of unintentional, as well as uncontrollable, bias, stemming from the churning undercurrents of the dark sea beneath our conscious mind.  Perhaps, dear reader, you can let me know if you encounter anything of the sort, and, perhaps I may actually give a fuck about your observations;

or not.

…who knows.

In any case; I guess we may proceed at this point.


Well then, I mean, where exactly might one thrust the blade first, whilst given such a grand bounty of diverse cultural, geo-political, socio-economic, or even militarily based, topics and issues, influencing the planet which we inhabit today.

Then again we can’t simply just strike at the jugular first; what’d be the fun, or point in that now?

Especially, given the fact that, realistically I don’t honestly even really know, where it is exactly, that this ‘jugular’ topic lies.


…You’ll just have to find out in my next Entry, as that last beer, now sitting in empty submission at the edge of my screen, has swayed me against any further use of my conflicted, tired mind, at long last.  In addition to which, it’s lovely neighbor, a cheeky little joint, rolled not too long ago with care, by my own hand; has been begging for a chance to ‘spark-up’ a conversation with me.

Until next time then dear open-minded reader, and in the mean time, think beyond the boundaries which have been placed before you, think out loud if that’s what it takes to break them down like a wall in Berlin, contemplate EVERYTHING, and never, NEVER, surrender your deepest convictions to the restrictive, oppressive fools fighting to gain control of your very soul, every day.  I will be with you, now, and in those times I have mentioned in the preceding sentence, so remember my words, let them echo within the corridors of your mind, when the time comes, in your own voice, through the force of your own will.  I trust it’s stronger than you believe.

For ‘doubt’, dear friends; is only as strong as you let it be, and only exists, if you believe in it…



When the ‘Beast’ Came…


It was a late autumn night, and though a harvest should have been; it was not.  There were no bushels of wheat, no fruits to gather, and no barrels of barley in this year’s yield.  Barrels of blood had taken the place of yesteryear’s crop.  It was late autumn, and all but anything was not well.

The beast had come to ravage all that the boy; man, knew.

It’s hunger; the flesh of his kin, and all which he had held dear. Life itself, was his own dear mother’s toll to pay, as well as his father’s, his sisters, and many more of his family’s price for their faith.

There was beauty beyond comprehension in this land he called home, before the beast had come to ravage their lands.  Peace, happiness, and prosperity…

Alas, as if a warm dream, gone.

Now it was no more.

There were no compromises with the beast, no negotiations unless you brought your guns.


It was usually simply fight, or die.

If only, that were the case, all of the time.  Yet many in his village, including himself, had been forced to take yet another alternative.  Fight, or watch the desecration of your mother’s, your sister’s, even your own wife’s body.

This completely inexplicable form of torture, was then met with various others.  However, after the preceding method had been undertaken, anything else was merely child’s play in comparison.  Then again there were no children left here.  Only once innocent souls, drenched in the blood of their mothers, turned to old men, at the age of five, six.

If hell had a name on earth…it was this.

He had initially resisted the others call to arms, he had tried to reason with them.

They are not savages, many live around us, in villages that have never raised a hand in anger towards ours.”

“They are our neighbors, we know them, and they know us.  We have not wronged them, they are our friends and they would not come for blood, they have no reason!”

…They did.

As he stared out across the darkened hills, cold and bare; he sighed, and loosened his sweaty hands from the barrel of his AK-47.


A word which tore through his broken mind again, and again, and again; into insanity.

What had they done that could have resulted in such demonic hatred.

Was it the bread, which his good-hearted ol’mother baked for the children of the grocer in the next village over?

Was it the way in which we had plowed the fields? Fields, which all of us once shared; or the way we believed them to be the same as us, human beings with a soul, our friends, even family through marriage in some cases?

These reasons ultimately mattered little now, and maybe had always.  The beast had come hungry, and as it seemed, had yet not had its fill.  Apparently the flesh of his family, and countless others, had not yet been enough to satisfy the demon’s appetite.

He remembered waking up to find the mark which was used by those around his village to signify those of his faith; painted red on his front door, as well as most of his neighbors.  He had at that time not understood it’s meaning…now it was clear.

Pigs for the slaughter.

He had only come to terms after watching the “things”; terrible things, which they had done to his mother and his sisters, before executing his father.  He had only come to terms with his own beast then.

Now; he had seen evil, and it had tasted him, a he had yet to taste it.  He would avenge the blood of his fallen kin.  He would satisfy the beast’s appetite with its own flesh.

The day prior, had been a savage day.

After castrating three men with the dullest blade he could find, the boy was sent up to the hills to recuperate, and watch the enemy around his village.  This was not his own wish, as his dull blade yet had some “cut” left in it.

Orders, were orders, however.

He watched in silence, as a herd of sheep marched untended, on a stretch on low-land to his right.  Sheep, pigs, cattle…men.  All, meant for the slaughter at the hands of the beast.

One thing was clear to the boy, he would never be weak again.

Even as the enemy, outnumbering his village’s volunteers by what had to be a thousand to one, circled around his family’s land like a pack of hungry wolves, he would never allow himself to give in.


He was ready, almost impatient, to shed these animals blood, in exchange for honor; as were the remaining members of the men down below.  In fact, he sometimes even dreamed of, what could only be described as, biblical revenge.

He had long ago accepted his fate, death.

Yet not the style of death perpetrated upon his beloved family.


The death that would avenge the blood of the fallen; with the blood of their murderers.

He had only one reservation in this effort however.  Sahdina, his last shred of humanity.

She had always been a part of him; not because she lived across the road from his family for all of his short life, but because she was perfect in every way imaginable.  Realistically, if it had not been for the beast’s arrival, she would have been his bride within a few short years.

It was Sahdina which he worried about.  It was her life, and not that of his own which still kept his soul from dying somewhere, out on those darkened, lifeless hills.  Her life was the exception to his hatred of the world itself; of life.

His mind drifted yet again, to what seemed like a pleasant dream, the life he had been witness to before all of this; before the beast had swallowed everything but his haunting memories.


He thought of the fresh fish at Christmastime, he smelled his mother’s coat as she caressed his head with loving hands.  He wept, and he screamed into his dirty jacket to keep quiet, and punched the dirt with all his might.

Then he sank down like a rock in a deep, dark well…and he slept like one too.

Lights flickered into his eyes, and the bellowing thunder of the beast’s voice followed…

It had returned; and he had not been witness.

The distant crackle of unexploded shell casings echoed through the valley and up into the hills.

He had not even the chance, nor the will to dust off his rusty, sand coated eyes, before shrieking the sort of sound one only produces upon having his still beating heart torn out of his living body.

The tears streamed from his eyes, and shot off of his dusty dry cheeks, as he sprinted with all of his might down the side of the steep hill, falling several times, then continuing with the conviction of love in his step.

Then he reached his target.

Gone…ashes were all that greeted his return.

The ashes of those which he had delivered to the beast by surrendering to his deafening slumber.

He walked in a slow wobbling waddle, like some drunken goose, completely broken, in a daze of despair and unwillingness to even begin to comprehend the beast’s feast now before him. His slumped to-and-fro like some alien seeing earth for the first time.  His eyes wide, his mouth dry; his soul all but dead.

Where is she!?”


He yelled at the top of his lungs.

Had they taken her as a slave of pleasure!?

He knew then that she had not escaped, that she had either been forced into using her body to please the beast in a living hell of slavery and torture; or, that she was dead.

He screamed out a prayer, begging God himself for her honor.

His only wish was that she had died, that she had been slaughtered like an animal upon the beast’s initial assault.

Then came a sound.

Quiet at first, deafened due to his horror; yet soon it was evident.

“Papa, I think it was over here!”

“Wait for me boy, it’s probably one of the non-believers that hasn’t yet went to hell” “It could still have a bit of fight in it, so wait for me boy!”

Before the two looters had even exited his own father’s house, he could already recognize the voices.

Jutting behind a smoking lump of tires he watched; and he waited.

Papa I don’t hear anything anymore, it’s gone, it ran away!”

“Boy, calm yourself, don’t you worry, he’s here, I can smell these swine ha-ha, oh, don’tchu worry my boy, he’s probably just quiet because it knows we’re coming to send him to hell, where his kind belongs, with the rest of his infidel family!” 

The boy’s heart sped up, his hands sweat once more, his grip tightened.

Moments later, the old man was sprawled out across the road, his young son at his side as he gasped.  The boy walked over slowly, in silence, with no clear emotions evident upon his face.

The old man’s son screamed as he sprang up and ran towards the older boy that had surely mortally wounded the father.

The boy snapped the butt of his rifle hard against the little child’s jaw.  He hit the dirt, only to be violently jerked upwards by the collar, as the “infidel” dragged his small body in the direction of his father, now chocking on his own blood, as a dark-red pool gathered around him.

You remember me?”

The gunman said calmly.

“Do you remember my mother grocer?”

The old man, unable to conjure up the strength to utter words, simply gurgled blood as tears poured down his leathery, wrinkled face.

“I’m sure your son does grocer…”

Two more lifeless bodies were left amongst the rest.

One an old man, strangled by his own blood, coated in urine.

The other; a little boy, with his head decapitated, and also coated in urine.

Like a ghost the boy roamed from house to house, searching for her, searching for his own soul amongst the rubble and burning flesh, perhaps.

Yet still; nothing.

She had not been found in her family’s home, nor his own family’s home, where his aunt often held long chats with the girl.

Then; he saw her.

Sahdina, her eyes, oh, her eyes, as beautiful in death as they were in life.

Her body twisted and mangled, one leg charred with the skin still melting from the bone, the rest, at least up to her lips, covered in rubble.

He began tearing through the brick and dirt without a moment’s hesitation.

He finally laid her out flat, closed her eyes, and wept for a good while.

…And so; watching her lie there, beautiful as she had always been, in perfect serenity, in peace, he thought to himself; at least she had died with honor.


“Honor”; alas, honor cold not save him, and as the shot rang out in the late autumn night, so too did her name from his lips.

Nevermore would he fight for honor.


Nevermore, oh, nevermore, would he know, the beast named war,

but peace.

Eternal peace; alongside, other beasts…


Dice, or Chess…

They say life is just like rolling the dice…could come up with a set of 6’s, or throw down and find a couple of snake eyes starring back up at you. I guess if you’ve never been to the darker part of town (and I don’t know did I mean that literally?), in jail, or maybe somehow just never got around to playing a fucking game of Risk (*in which case see |^sec.8/article:°5.1|; ; under the heading”Go fuck yourself”)  , then maybe I’m wasting my time with that metaphor, and maybe you should go play some fucking Risk already…wait, what was I-ah yes.
    So now that we got all of that out of the way; as I was saying, life, they say, is just like rolling the dice…A game, into which, we are each randomely thrust down. Hence we are doomed to that fortune which we are dealt, landing, as do the dice, to play our own individual position.  They say that we don’t control the toss which deals us our lot, instead each simply flailing like an insignificant little ant dropped into a glass of water, instinctively trashing its limbs to and fro, desperately trying to fight for a chance to survive.  They say we came to the places we’ve  been, this place we are now, and the place which we will ultimately arrive at, through riding like a paper plane on the unpredictable winds of “fate”.  In simpler terms, we are just observers,unaware of what is to come, or able to influence in any way for that matter, yet destined to live out our preset plan nonetheless.  We; you, me,him, her, winners and losers,” somebody” or “nobody”.  As if we are all just reading the book of our own existence, flipping through the pages one by one, unaware of what the next shall bring, yet reading on regardless.  Our knowledge exyends only as far as the pages before the one which we view currently, hoping that the author, God, has written the story ahead in line with our wants, our needs, individual aspirations, and hopes.  Alas, they say, that we are inevitably not the author of the story but instead doomed to live out our days through a predetermined existence, in a preprogrammed  world…like rolling the dice.
…I say, dice just isn’t my kinda game.
See in my eyes”they”, are in fact living out this predetermined life simply because “they” are playing the wrong game…
Some in this world go through life playing dice, personally…
I prefer chess.

13 DunkelheitstraBe: intro

Softly at first, from within the darkness they came.  Long, haunting, and filled with more sorrow than all of the sadness the world had to offer.  No earthly sound could strike a mortal heart so.  Softly they echoed and reverberated into the very soul…
A thick white, misty haze hung over the entire scene so copiously, that the only forms to remain visible were the slender arches and rods of her balcony’s railing.  Yet, within the confounds of these bars something else began to come into view.  A figure.  A young woman no doubt, by the sound of her mournful cries.
  Then, suddenly; just as the blanket of twisting fog seemed to unexplainably open, for only a small, selective sliver literally surrounding the inches following the curves of her innocent body, something in the air changed.  Even though her back was turned, and with it her face made hidden from view on the other side, that beautifully sad voice, grew steadily louder and louder with each heart throbbing, penetrating wail; it was obvious who it belonged to…
…And then…
Softly at first, from within the sliver they came…
Long, haunting, and with notes filled with more sorrow than all of the sadness the world had to offer came drifting out.  No earthly song or melody could strike a mortal heart so.  Softly the gentle singing echoed and reverberated into the very soul…  An Aria.
The mysterious girl, turned with unbeatable grace to gaze in this direction, still singing with eyes closed as if in a magical trance…
For a brief moment the pale faced, almost porcelain maiden opened her eyes…
As He awoke covered in what seemed to be an Olympic swimming pool’s worth of cold-sweat coating his body…He heard it again softly on the summer breeze that slipped through his open window; the Aria, before it flowed out and disappeared on the warm wave of wind on which it had arrived.

How strange he thought, to fall in love with a dream…
Even stranger, he pondered to himself sitting upright alone in the dark, to actually fear, maybe even believe that it was real, if not in this world…
…then in some other.

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Sup with Today…

So today sucked…Why? You may ask. Because. I might answer. But in the larger scheme of things, why… is a damn good question.

    It all started with some texts, a weekend prior to tonight…
My girlfriend was upset about our distance(and by the way she lives with her mother about an hour and a half away)…once again. Anyway she was pist off that I get so frustrated with the whole situation(oh yeah, I also recently got a dui, which was honestly through no fault of my own…seriously, I fell asleep in my car! But that’s a story for another time), and said she didn’t wanna argue through text so we’d talk about it when she came over…

Anyway boom-bahta-Bing here we are.  May take a break, might stay together…been through this before with her. 

In any case we have mad sex(fuck three times, in between negotiations of course) and vuala…No more talking bout a break, even though we’re both thinking about it, at least I know I am.  Regadless she drives back to mama, and I’m stuck here debating on the whole matter over a brew(maybe a few), and pondering the possibility of ending it once and for all, as I see no reason to take a break as a serious option at this point.  I mean shit, like I said, it’s happened before…

See that’s where the shit pie turns into no less than a shit schmorgesbourg.  Where it gets unrelentlessly complicated(as most if not all shit pies of such a calibre often do). 

The problem is simple…I still love the damn girl, and I’m pretty sure she still loves me too.  I mean after almost three years together, It’s not hard to understand. 

So now(as I often do in the late hours of the night) I begin to dig.  I dig so deep the mole people are getting jealous…

I mean I know love’s power is stronger than most other forces in the universe(and if that sounds sounds a bit cheesy or clique to you…then fuck off), I’ve seen it first hand in various life experiences.  The real question, at least for me, is what keeps the gears turning, the clock ticking, yah know? By that I simply mean how do you keep love stronger than life…and quite frankly, is it even fucking possible?

Humans are weird like that.  We throw ourselves out defenceless into a pit of wolves where the only thing keeping them at bay is a fire being fanned by our partner.  Now let’s just say for all purposes intended, that if the person you trust to fan the flames gives up, gets bored, tired, pist off that you fanned somebody else’s fire, or whatever else this hypothetical scenario could conjour up for us, then essentially, sorry kid, your fucked…bon appetite Mr. Wolf.

So why do we persistently continue to launch ourselves into an emotional Russian Roulette?

Is there even a reason?  I mean let’s not kid ourselves here even if there is, it sure as fuck ain’t a simple one.

I guess if the wolves do come a runnin’ for me soon they’ll take a couple of chunks out of my heart…but it’ll heal. 

Might even have a big old scare for awhile, but hey, that’s life I guess, that’s love huh?

I ain’t no Liam Nieson, but shit.  I’m pretty sure I’ll survive…as will you, as did those before us, and as will those that’ll come long after we’re gone. 

So hey.  Yah live n’ yah learn right? Well hopefully at least…cuz those damn wolves be vicious sons o’ bitches…

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