Another snippet of something, one day to make a whole

“I’m going to have to arrest you” casually informed the smartly dressed officer, sitting next to Edgar without invitation “and for the courtesy I’ll take a large glass of something and a second glass for him” reaching for a credit chip from some random side pocket in the smartly pressed trousers he wore, three pockets later along with several clumps of dust in the process “that reminds me; you’ll have to give me your gun too” the barman taking time away from wiping up some blood that had been recently added the bar top to produce two drinks.

Edgar idly raised his hand, slowly using the other one to lower three fingers and the thumb and left the gesture there on public display as he proceeded to throw the drink down his throat “I’ll take a walk with you” nodding with minimal effort towards the poignantly lingering gesture “but that’s my reply to giving you ol’faithful” a slight sigh released as he casually flicked a stray tooth at the barman, who paused his frustratedly focused cleaning efforts to just glare in Edgar’s direction “this glass is defective, I need a new one”.

The barman slammed a bottle with a resounding thud onto the bar, the patrons within range winching in reaction to the sound but it was telling of the crowds energetic nature that no one bothered lifting their heads “This is you sober” as having got Edgar’s full attention he gestured with a hand at the smudged and streaky red marks on the bar top, furiously waving a pinkish cloth in Edgar’s face too “and this is my afternoon treat” the hand that pointed out the red marks moving in the direction of the officer to Edgar’s left “and that is going to make it worse” agitatedly switching from generic hand gesturing to actively pointing to a trio of gentleman who had just walked in “so drink the fuck up and be arrested already” a temperamental tone to challenge the coldness of ice.

The officer had meanwhile opened the rather poignantly presented bottle and poured himself another glass of generic alcohol, taking time to drink it in-between scanning looks around the room “Someone hit the AC, cause someone just turned the heating up” noting the presence of, without directly looking at, the trio of smartly suited gentleman blocking the bars prime exit “and I agree with the barman” flicking a momentary smile towards no particular person “you sober; bad news”.

Edgar turned his head towards the three new additions to the bar, his stonily blank face remaining unchanged as only his quick scanning sharp eyes showed activity “You fellows playing statues or are you going to give us a show” Edgar observantly picking out the vital details of each man, humorously noting that each had a different tie; lacky one wore a horrific purple one with some deranged flower design so was mentally labelled ‘Mr Purple’, lackey two showing surprising style with a subtle red stripped affair to match his tailored dark grey shirt and black suit, now labelled ‘Mr Stylish’ and then to the last; the head of the bunch proudly puffing out his gym worthy chest that was tightly encased in a classic black suit, white shirt and slim lined black tie as Edgar mentally labelled him ‘Black Tie’.

Black Tie spoke after an eternity of staring at the duo of Edgar and his officer friend, both men maybe picking up a hint of frustration in his voice “So you messed up my employees dental job, nose too” eyes aimed upwards as he silently mouthed something “oh yes that’s it; and you knocked him half stupid” the lackeys grunting together in some macho demonstration of power, seemingly backing up their bosses loudly projected tone “and now I need to resolve the matter in a fashion befitting the events here as…”

Black tie had stopped mid-sentence, his eyes now locked with focused glare at Edgar’s puppet motioning hand “Shut up preacher, we get the sermon” taking his merry time between rude interruptions to offer up an open glass to the officer, who reactively filled it on cue “and if he is half stupid now, your definition is infinitely more optimistic than mine” Edgar draining his glass with painfully drawn out slowness as he again interrupted Black Tie’s attempt to speak with a raised hand this time “and lastly; I’m about to be arrested so move” now rifling through his pockets to fish something out, Edgar defiantly ignoring Black Tie’s increasingly agitated reaction whilst flashing a perversely cheery looking smile.

Mr Purple stepped in front of Black Tie on command, taking the time it took to cover the few metres distance between him and Edgar to reveal an large ugly blaster, the engorged design more reminiscent of a starship engine component than a streamlined weapon “You want to make fun of my friend, be the big man and taunt my boss like some circus freak” a severely twisted grin forming on Mr Purple’s taut facial features as he worded another increasingly angry blast “not circus freak cause that’s too normal, let’s say ‘harbinger’ cause they so fucked they…” the following silence was followed by a telling slump noise, Mr Purple’s carcass now awkwardly lain out on the floor as a gargled mix of blood and froth escaped his mouth with a painfully stammered cough.

Edgar kept his drawn weapon dead focused on the two remaining thugs, so purposely slow to climb off his barstool that the officer had time to covertly check his watch, Edgar now bullet straight and with a haze of black mist beginning to fill his eyes “The devil ain’t happy when you insult his work, so unless you want to look uglier than that attempt at a tie design Mr Purple was wearing” a perverse smirk forming as ill humour mixed with controlling rage in Edgar’s pounding head “and your boss ain’t going to be happy that you went and beat on the gates of hell like you did” gun fixated in Black Tie’s direction, a more dangerously fixated glare aimed at Mr Stylish which was subduing the rapidly whitening figure now hunching back into a corner.

Black Tie’s puffed chest was now constricted, an edge of readiness in the hand lingering near his gun and nervously poised to react as with a distinctly measured manner he spoke very slowly “My colleague was out of term” examining Edgar’s features closely for any slight response, letting out a relieved but stunted breath upon seeing no further reaction “and I think you said what all of us were thinking about that tie” forced laughter stifled in length and volume as he attempted to use humour to diffuse the threateningly escalated confrontation, Black Tie further attempting to deescalate it by distancing his hand at a deliberately calm pace from his sheathed gun “I’m going to call my boss and we’ll sort it out without further violence” such a strict turnaround from macho posturing to reserved calm fuelling the whole bar’s newly hushed air of suspended fear.

The officer stood, bottle in hand and gun sheathed “Edgar you need to listen to me” speaking as deliberately calm as Black Tie to the purely black eyed Edgar, mildly pulsating black veins evident where his skin was visible “you are in a combat induced state and you need alcohol to restore your control” adding with even more passively calm tones, only showing slight signs of the frightened panic screaming in his head “you are a person and not a harbinger, this is not a battlefield” the officer’s training, kicking in with mounting efficiency to further settle his forcible restrained manner, the officer knowing painfully well that when a harbinger ‘black blooded’ as the common lingo called it, that it would take a lot more than a couple of stun shots to take them down

Into the fretfully settled chaos a new figure entered the bar with careful pace, so not to set off the hair trigger situation threateningly ready to explode “I see my employees are not only stupid but full blown delinquents” the man confidently staring down the combat ready Edgar with unnerving steel, a beeline towards the bar to help himself to an abandoned drink as he casually nursed the glass in his hand, before taking a leisurely sip with seemingly unnatural coolness “and I must apologize my old friend, my man was told to ‘politely’ invite you to my office but I gauge he may have overstepped” a subtle nod with his eerily still features towards the still remnant blood smear on the bar as with a curious smirk he readily recollected “this is like the last time we met up for a drink, but I distinctly recall an easy blonde and two bottles of something bitterly strong were involved” the strangers remark making absolutely everyone breathe a sigh of relief, as the taught posture of Edgar’s rage induced state softened slightly.

“Well you told the blondes husband I had lured her over” Edgar’s characteristically wry delivery returning with pace now “and told me she was single” Edgar’s eyes returning to their still white colour, piecing rings of red to outline cold black pupils “and I’ve got a guiltily empty hand so I might need that bottle to fill it” a slight gesture towards the officer, whose quickly reactive instincts put the offered bottle in Edgar’s tight grip.

The new man on the scene was wearing an emblazoned red shirt, expertly tailored suit long coat and an oddly stylish pair of combat trousers and with a more energetic flare he witfully added “That blonde was single the moment we entered the bar, and her other half” musingly looking down at Purple Tie, crinkled lines forming at the edge of his vicious grin “the husband at least lasted two rounds longer than my employees” as with a gesture he guided Edgar towards a shadowy corner booth, two fresh glasses in hand to perfectly match the bottle Edgar now held.

Black Tie and Mr Stylish coolly removed Purple Tie’s slouched corpse with some loudly huffed exertion, the officer offering a respectful salute to Red Shirt and Edgar before confidently swaggering out of the bar as easily as he entered. The Barman idle returning to his cleaning duties, another eventful day on a god forbidden colony barely enough to stir the drunken patrons thirsting for more liquid escapism.

Help?

You follow the glittering breadcrumbs of hopeful enlightenment as they beckon nicely “Ask for help, we can help you” drifting into the glimmering den of optimistic décor that lulls naturally suspicious senses into wilful repent of their pessimistic ways

The words leave your mouth with the dry heart pounding anxiety of expectation lingering on each syllable “I need help…” as into the lulled motion you make a humble request

Then the walls shrink into reddened hue, demanding faces form in the cracking surfaces of a formally optimistic décor as the door behind slams shut with a force to push you back towards the now glaring face of that siren called hope “WHY” it shrieks aloud to pierce your eardrums “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING BY WASTING OUR TIME” in response to the humbly small request eked out in now shamefully loaded hushed tones as that demonically figured form says louder “WHAT DO YOU DESERVE”

No help follows you from that place, the echoes of grimly shouted resentment carry each a dagger for the space in your back exposed to those burning words as you doggedly run with panicked pace from that place now beyond dark, only shame is earned in asking for help that day

A stony will expunges the hopeful lightness that elevates the heavy burden of living, the one salvation felt by it sapping mercilessly every positive tinge so daring as to make a note of discord against the consuming hatred of all you thought was true

Shattered truths or positive perception under foot

A figure of one does stare back in deathly colour from the cracking mirror enveloping the crimson emotional liquid shed in angst from your broken fragmented mind, another fragmentation occurring in silent pain for the knowledge that no one wants to hear your screams, or worse; will not reply with kind return as that ideal now fills that place where hope is void

The grim reaper simply informing you as casually as a simple light hearted exchange; of the verdict as damning as a death sentence “You have learned your lesson, now always know that only you are able to be faithful to the fated trust others have destroyed, when trouble calls and you deal with it all alone”

Your crime; to say “I need help” now a brand that will never fade

Inconclusive Resolution Blues

Weeks endured in the grips of an acidic burn cast against the logic that to act is a bad idea, caustic emotions create new worlds of torture at the sight of her as every second spent in proximity is an exercise in anxious exploration of the solely destructive idea that doggedly pursues, the hunters of your sanity’s ghost in the endless bleak void of knowing demise.

The numerous assaults of fear in every putrid sickening form of failure a demon can take and multiple in number so to make sure you know; that escape from your fate is a dream and that fate will seal your doom, each depressive blast a new pain to mask the blackhole sensation that love so viciously casts upon you.

It sits at the twistedly corrupt core of the tangled forest of evil; a heart as poisonous as the nest of vipers stalking you in the blinding daylight that it sent to ensure you feel every cursed bite of love’s corrosive burn, uncertainty the fangs that deliver in the end the rejection to kill all hope.

You ask through the myriad of anxieties flames flickering with the sharpened forks that demon’s minions wield in the face of good favour and luck in the dark arts, a moment framed in hellish pause as she stalls with her surprise; Have you broken her? Did you spoil the months of good will and polite exchanges to failingly pacify the corrupted temptation to ask a singularly bad question?

“Would you like to go out with me” stammers embarrassingly from your mouth pathetically with baited breath, humiliation held in judgement by the waited response she takes forever to voice in that moment you wait; will it be rejection’s merciful let down, acceptance of the offer to release the unknown chaos you haven’t planned for or will all destruction mercilessly rain down as it goes horrifically wrong with public damnation …but it’s not yes or no she says but instead some vague inconclusive

You thought of all the ways it could go bad, but the one variation that happened

Life’s laughter ringing out as the church signalling the day of happiness you damningly only watch from the sidelines, never a hope that your beloved will be standing next to you to redeem all the wounds that eternally bleed every fractured ideal of happiness once whole with belief.

The dark mirror echoing images of the nightmare lands where you find slim salvation in the joy deposing fact that at least the demons there are civilised, looking you in the eye as they deliver the shot of fresh pain into your walking corpse instead of a dagger in the back from angles unseen.

And the most stinging sign of life’s unforgivable betrayal; through writing all this I can’t even be given the release of a single tear, only the subtly creeping death of my ability to feel…

I Don’t Know?

The myriad of open hands, offering suggestions and readily staring opportunities making noisy fuss wherever you look, but what?

‘Easy’ is a word we all rally around and with energetic rush clamour to take advantage of but those wisely walking folks, accomplished and with all the worlds rewards at their fingertips, speak with coolly toned advise about ‘hard work wins returns’

But looking upon the mountainous scale of the hill, flimsy boots with their dampening holes passing on the moisture to your socks, that ‘hard work’ is not so easy a contemplation

So you find yourself stuck at; I don’t know?

Has anyone got a good pair of hiking boots?!

The Single Habit

You start the meal before everyone else has so much as looked at the food politely presented before them by the rather untimely paced idiot serving the table, sensing the looks from shocked parties around the table you utter in calmly anti-social strength “I’m hungry, foods ready…” that open pause at the end politely impolitely suggesting something.

You get up to make tea and coolly engage in using the kitchen area; as if the kitchen was yours, because in fact it is someone else’s home and the questioning glare burning into you (civilly of course) invokes an instinctive reaction “Did you want one?” the social wrongness of your actions so far off from where you perceive that the ocean floor from space would be a short distance.

Then it happens in the most socially incorrect of times, the funeral director handing out business cards at a christening even wearing a look of purest shock; you are scratching inappropriately and utter under breath “Blood posh clothes are so uncomfortable, I’m missing my favourite show for this” as the crown collapse in cartoon like fashion with offence.

You then realise as everyone looks at you in sweats and an old t-shirt at the christening in question, the response more blunt as a brick against a square slab of concrete “I’m comfortable, what’s wrong?” the awkwardness exuding truth of the events I have outlined; You have been single too long!

That embedded state of disregard for considered politeness, manners and etiquette naturally informed by the much importantly regarded sense of efficiency and personal consideration has crept assassin like into every corruptly acted tendril of your behaviour and removed the formally observed faff, fuss and care for the extraneous wastes of time that sociability and prolonged company inform.

You are in short; too blunt, ruthless and independent, which admittingly is not a shame inducing thing for the confidently acting individual that proudly personifies the person you gladly are, the freedom it gives an embracingly relished liberation from mass convention.

But the shunning crowds making mass exodus from your current location spells in doom ridden tomes a different tone…

What to do?

For starters; you are asking the person writing this article with glee, warning signs in neon lit glory as a result of this simple act are too obvious not to notice!

Secondly; are you that ashamed? Do you feel the need to be an imposter in the arching story of your life and really, do you care anymore?!

Thirdly; respect the fact that society is full of easily offendable sheep who frighten easily at the sight of proudly sharp teeth, so for the sake of the pathetic masses (that line of thinking another sign you have been single too long!) play dumb and join in with their overly wasteful antics of considered norms to avoid lynch mobs etc (another sign to note!)

Lastly; whoever of the opposite gender (or same, the term ‘whatever makes you happy’ relevant here) who sees YOU and doesn’t run scared… well you are going to have one hell of a good relationship now that you don’t have to lie about who you are for the rest of your long and coupling filled life.

And as a side note I add that if you are in a relationship and recognise in others the glaringly obvious signs of ‘singlitus’ then don’t judge, but a polite note that the pitch forks and torches are in view around the room may just save a life!

Warriors Repent

The warrior did look upon the bodies, a horde disassembled into piles of limbs, flesh and steel and all laying in the putrid mix of mud and blood that constructed the battle’s field of ill actioned chaos

Amongst the ruins of humanity that lay now in the bony hands of death the warrior saw eyes of figures splayed with red and brown, moving towards the failed ruins of the hordes camp, away from the green lands of where the war was meant to defend

“I hath spoiled my reputation, spilled my humanity upon the very blade that cleaved men in your name” a raised sword still dripping with the fluid of life “now you claim the enemy’s wreckage and do not thank me by reclaiming your homes, instead you cower in fright”

The crowd of huddled masses, startled eyes widened further with the reddened gleam of the blade raised to mark the victory “But you were the only afflicted, the one for whom you fought” boldly spoke a lone women draped in once white cloth “as much as we may reap the rewards of victory it is you who now we fear, the demon amongst our flock”

Unshackled from his armour, looking down upon the stained reflection staring back from dulled protection he once wore with pride “I see all you say in the way my eyes still burn bright with deathly lust” that blaze from the warriors glare still sharply lit, the release of his battle attire’s weight letting him more readily scan the carnage wrought for justice’s quest “but when I asked for help you faltered, told of the horde’s sins you jested action but failed to act”

The lone women daintily crossed the carnage, stepped around the limbs, steel and flesh without judgement or implied guilt on her face “And those of the horde were the sinners amongst us, only one of you remains now to carry their guilt” a hand on the warriors shoulder placed with care, another hand to help him release his grip on a weapon no longer wanted or wished “and that is yours to know as only you can, as our own part in this tale is ours alone to both use for judgement” a sigh heavy enough that the warrior felt her breathe “and so too for us to measure our own regret”

Into the scene rode an army ranger, the shine of his breastplate a stark contrast to anything once worn that the warrior had now discarded, and with a booming volume the ranger announced “We are here to save you” sickening pride in his gloriously superior tone “you can rest easy and let us clear up the mess”

The warrior retreated to his castle, the masses back to lives of light and life as official bodies arrived and helped them back to where they belonged but in bitter tones the warrior unrepentant remarked, for only his shadow, some faded conscious and the ghosts to hear “Where were the cavalry when I needed them most, my sins will now mark me because I was the worst choice for this quest” a heavy sigh to challenge that of the women “worse choice maybe, but the only one willing to stand the day and give this cause it’s deserved fight” some corrupted pride still capable of enjoying victory at a reputation’s price…

“It is easy to cast judgement on a loudly protesting man of ill mood and nature; when you refuse to see behind the rage and know what has triggered his lesser nature to rise in aid of righting wrongs, and damningly refuse to soothe or calm his wronged nature with a simple jesture of help”

Realities of self

“The truth of who we are is all we need to know if we are to understand how we are meant to be, and how we can be better”

This truth is one of many, each a reflection of a different dominate trait that commands our mentality and phycology at its base level, only trumped by the primal drives that are inherent in all life forms and never changes but merely becomes corrupted to fit the socially accepted way to express these primal instincts.

Primal instincts:
Survive, reproduce, live, die and repeat

Man or woman we are bound on some level to these base logics, but by accepting them and learning to keep them within boundaries they don’t limit our ability to grow beyond them and instead give us the basic motivation to survive

Fail to respect their power or ignore them; fatality is more pleasant than when you go too far within societal rules of acceptable behaviour

Love, positivity and hope
These elevate, raise and lift us to new heights and as we gain control over the affects and objectives we aim for, so we shape where these forces take us

But let these blindly positive forces lift us too high without regard for the height we climb to; the air gets too thin and we burn up on the sun

Depression and negativity
These ground us with anchors to restrict and contain our ability to advance, setting limits that with careful control we can change, shift and in turn allow us to grow but within sensible parameters

But let these anchors get too heavy; we sink further into bleak places where our ability to restrain the destructive aspects of these forces diminishes to the point of self-destruction

Realism, unemotional logic and survivalist values
Which option has the best outcome?

That is the limit to your thinking and as much as it may benefit you in the long run, the sacrifices you make on the way when unchecked may not make you happy, just successful

Without emotional consideration the harm your decisions will bring upon others could be considerable, and with such wraith and ill favour upon you comes a fall unrivalled

In all of us are elements of each with added faith, family and social influences to shape the core logics that ultimately decide our personalities, a force indeed with all the myriad of complications that custom blend creates but ultimately one set of values will prove stronger.

And only by accepting this truth will you be able to master these forces and use them to become a better version of who you were meant to be, and/or who you want to be…

And as a matter of curiosity; which of these ‘truths’ describes you best?
And; do you like that it’s what defines you most?

HOLD THE PRESS

Hold the press: I’m pushing a TV show on my blog

bojack-horseman-poster

‘BoJack Horseman’ seasons 1-5, another season pending

Some works transcend quality and comedy to a point of excellence, take what could be heavy material like drug addiction, death, life issues, grief, making serious mistakes and living with the consequences and make them seamlessly flow into plots with ease, comedic elements not neglected so to keep the show watchable to an easy degree

This on top of well rounded and such imperfect characters you will see yourself in them so many times, like watching parts of your life on screen on occasion which endears the series to you and pushes you to watch the next episode with flawless temptation

But this is only a TV show? You ask

No!

‘BoJack Horseman’ covers such a range of issues from mental health, troubled family relations to the wealth of flawed human nature that it could be prescribed as therapy, along with the purest bounty of quotes to deal with any pitfall life that may befall you

In terms of quality the only other show that excels in worth by comparison is ‘Justified’ and anyone who knows how religiously I and my family watched that show (even my mum watched it without resorting to doing puzzles on her tablet!) will know just how high praise that is!

So here is an end to probably the only TV show shout out I will put on this blog…

Should you agree with my words, you have a friend for life
If not; I respect your opinion (even if it is wrong in my opinion!)

Thinking machines flawed designs

A mind structured by endlessly layered levels of mindfully constructed logic is what drives the callously cool core of the person whom possesses that thinking machine, each depicted detail of persona adding qualities as a third dimensional image forms from the flatly formed individual traits complimenting each other in smoothly flowing mentality.

This construct makes each a person in their own characterised way to rival, compliment and assist others in the fickle game we loosely refer to as life, as the accepted whole projects to the world a beaming example of perceived perception in the beholders eye.
But what in the case of the fractured, fragile and destructively fickle constructs of the broken, damned and irredeemable?

When each of those layered levels of mindfully constructed logic is faulted; fatal failures of programmed weakness undermining the processes we rely on to keep the brightness of hope, goodness and will to live running in optimally operating condition.

The evolving shifts over time’s leisurely reach as a personality changes, whilst keeping the quirks of a person’s core self intact enough to maintain the established comforts of who we are defined by the base values of memories, experiences and original sparks that defy all that science can explain.

In those cursed to endure unstable patterns letting imperfections damning scars foster negative traits, that leisurely reach of time’s changing evolution exceling to rapid shifts to avoid too many fractures aligning into fatalities opening of every jail cell in which we lock away the very worse we can’t shake or avoid, those bitter sparks in the lights glorious glow that corrupt pureness of thought into twisted states which could never be redeemed.

The most cruelly inflicted fate of this logic as I explain it; you can outrun all but what you were made to be, whether or not you want to be the person you were born to be a choice not given and only by the painful process of challenging every natural aspect of your design can you change.

Change for a day until everything tries to return to base values and again the pain of not becoming the flawed creature you are begins again…

An old friend

A long standing companion of many years lies in critical condition, a steadfast buddy that has seen more sides and depths of my persona and more…
It built this blog from the ground up and holds the oldest of posts in storage

My laptop

Lack of relationships, happiness and anything remotely positive comes and goes but it has stood by me, absorbed my pain, tears (before I lost the ability to cry!) and more

May it hopefully recover