To Become Death; In The Pursuit Of Life

Love; the great saviour

Love; the great deceiver

We pursue the sacred feeling through every blackened, burnt out and hellish landscape we know but is it really a cure?

The blindly devout follower of positive instinct in me craves it, lusts for a safely redeeming hint of that sweet escape from reality’s damnation

The passionately dark Sharman of truth casts the word as a curse, a dangerously infectious idea that blinds it’s prey with merciless efficiency before the strike

I want to believe it will remedy my ills with a soothing malaise of healing calm, the ice to violently supress the volcano of negatively emotive feelings that burn my very skin with depressive pain

But the devoutly truthful Sharman’s words strike with as much painful regret as love’s own dagger, each a kindred in terms of purest power and impact upon my fractured state

Where the blade ends and my flesh starts twistedly merges into unholy mess, wilful offering of my body into the trap the most bitterly felt betrayal as poison metal makes it’s home amongst the other daggers protruding from my back

How I long to see the reassuringly red flecks of life proudly interrupting the black oily substance flowing through my veins, such endless nothing now so strong as to take physical form, and the truly disturbing reality that stems from this bleak realisation…

When the venomous black ooze spills from my wounded flesh, acidic smoke as it eats into the most hardened veneer of honest innocence; that I am the cause of the very much resented suffering that I have vowed to never cause

Love; the great saviour

Love; the great deceiver

In my broken, fractured and blackened state how would I even know how to tell which statement is truth, and which verse is merely a self-protecting lie

Old lines, new pain

Pain is a fire that burns from the inside, burning structures of logic, trust, humanity and destroying the ability to feel love

You can rebuild the damaged parts of your persona, fill the gaps and rewire broken components of the ghost that has become of your humanity

But you never regain what you lose, that person you were who was like all the others as the people around you grow and develop, as your patchwork attempt at imitation requires constant repairs

But you never fit in, never become whole again as even the ability to feel fades into the ash of the all consuming fire that is the pain

What is a living thing that can’t feel, is it still alive or just an illusion projected to the world as into the shadows retreats all the surviving traits that outshone the blaze, because they were already built of hellish things

And all that huddles in the protective aura of those hellish things become corrupted and unlike the shining gems they were, and from the darkened form you see the world one question glares back from the jaded mirror’s twisted image

What is more real, the shadow or the form?

The Middle Ground

The two sides stand astride from the middle, a place in the midst of siege that with burden bares the blows of endless conflict as from the Unholy Trilogy a subtle poison flows with acidic curse, from the Dark Arts a deathly stream of daggers when the back turns away from their smiling merry eyes.

There in the middle marks the balance, a force of personality holding strong in the eternal second before it ticks this way or that before damnation and defeat as with hellion fury it holds back all but the accepted beasts, those that serve justice in ways only the damned can fight the sinfully fuelled horde of destructive dissent.

The mid line corrupting the poison as with harboured respect of its honest approach and unmasked motivations that force of persona extracts the very best, the daggers twistedly re-forged in acidic flames to be forcefully thrown back at forces others find blissfully welcoming, almost as if only a damned few are to be denied all the positive release of what is offered by those Dark Arts.

And as the blindly devoted fervour of the middle holds the tenuously perched line, a fragmented piece of rope sealed in parts with only the pressure kept up by the damning raids of either side, a force indeed kept in check by the darkest of those fragments so to serve the world better.

A world that flays the balance’s back in ignorance of its efforts, a human race that constructs the scaffolding that the damned bring their own rope to complete!

Service here guarantees not rewards but a tighter rod for the back…

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…

Forgiveness only when required to fight

Turn once down the path untold of treasure but loudly proclaimed by pain, a step forever in that direction and scars permanently drawn onto minds made torn so to sell the story of never knowing the sanity of been whole

Facades lined with fractures so safely concealed in innocent sight, cracks now seen in glaring detail to ones jaded by endless plight, cursed to be the hero without fame or redemptive verse when fighting the wars others know not

And of all the curses uttered in silent stares by unknowing minds when all the still skies condemn jaded warriors with clarity of light, know that all is forgiven when the dark clouds reach to strangle hope and you rise to fight

But when skies return to sunny vistas of endless light with dark clouds banished beyond sight, those who fought in shadows with cheers offered in redemptive eyes of the crowds that hid, turn back to judging stares just as quick

A wise man and his remedies…

Said he to the sage upon a rock bed of red coloured petals “How does one remain calm in these days of many stresses” with a nod to the contented face of the sage slightly smirking

The sage wisely rose from his hard based bedding, a sly look and spry energies “You lie on a rock bed and pretend to be a wise man, then everyone assumes you have all the answers”

Gripped by confusion he mused on the sage’s words and replied “So you really don’t know how to beat stress and survive this world without imploding” a hint of frustration edging into aspects of his tone

The sage coolly returned advice for the mans curiosity “When you look unshaved and lie on a bed of stone and roses” a hand motion to highlight the set up he was sleeping on “then everyone keeps bringing you food, money and good conversation in exchange for advise and you need for nothing”

He smiled widely, a look of good humoured jealously and no more words of discontentment to dim the mood as the sage’s words settled in

The sage putting on a jacket and switching on a smart phone “But eventually the wife suspects you are not at a business convention and you have to go home” before pointing to the rock bed “now it’s your turn until the world demands your return”

………………………

As he lay on the bed of rocks and felt the latest offering settle his hunger, a man approached with the worlds worries worn on his weary face, this man asking “How do you remain so calm in a world full of strains and stresses”

He coolly said with a sly smile, knowing the world once again beckoned “Let me tell you what the last wise man told me…”

Pain, verse for joy or callous curse?

Though for most pain is a constant companion to remind them of the condition of living it is an affliction affecting some in more fatalistic ways, the build up of emotional wounds and resulting festering poison; pain inducing to the tome of a thousand suns searing our emotional nerve endings that results in the nullification of our ability to feel anything, voiding the somewhat questionable motivating aspect that defines mortality

These resulting ghosts don’t feel, don’t love, don’t recognise joy and quite damningly in the fatal results of all this don’t know how ‘to be’ in social/human/any kind of environment, such a fate even Mother Nature’s seemingly cruellest and most ruthlessly survivalist mentality couldn’t come close to condoning as fair

The only blessing…

Ghosts don’t feel, only bleed, so in the twisted game of life are the perfect tools to tolerate in servitude humanities callous stupidity and everyday offensive presence, till hell finds them a pair of horns and gives them true form with which to reap revenge

Or heaven makes fools of them until the day they are deemed worthy of the ability again to feel, not the endless suffering currently endured but that sacred spark of redemption that gives worth to mortal beings

Understanding the practical applications of anti-social mentality and reasoning, no offence intended!!

Classification of lifeforms by anti-social standards:

(Worse to best)

Human; an ineffectual sub variation of life that holds the sole prize of been more stupid and ineffective than a dead flea that won idiot of the year in Idiotville, undefeated in its short and pointless exsistance, which was still less pointless than a humans reason to exist

A Person; someone with a grasp of humanity who is not limited and interlectually challenged by means of having displayed a good to high level of ability, therefore worthy of respect

A Notable Person; someone who demonstrates the guts, gumption and balls (not literally in case of females unless a human male has given reason to make them remove his and use them as car dice!) with both brains and a grasp of humanity to earn high levels of respect, worthy of been forgiven occasional mistakes as they occur in number far less than a ‘human’

‘I give a damn about you’; A notable person with the perception, humour range and ability to concieve that not everyone is a ray of sunshine or born blessed with positivity shinning out of thier arse, having demonstrated either a like minded nature or immunity to taking offence to a different view point than thier (my!) own

????; A person yet to be classified or titled as no one outside of one women has held this position capable, or proven to be willing to accept it and therefore worthy of my true capability to commit to… I would say ‘to love’ but that bar steward has been using my back as a knife rack for years!

Which one do you think you are?

DISCLAIMER: ANYONE READING THIS IS STRONGLY LIKELY TO BE WELL BEYOND ‘HUMAN’ AND THEREFORE NO OFFENCE INTENDED

IF OFFENCE IS TAKEN, THEN MAYBE SOMETHING IS WRONG IN THE FACT YOU HAVE READ THIS FAR!

Brick wall support

The moment grabs as a creature stalking in insepid ways to taunt the prey, a step back proceeds another in visualant caution burning senses to higher levels of fear in the act to want to run

You seek a hand to pull you to the places of calming safety but empty darkness claws your palm, the sting of the poison affirming that live has yet to show merciful action and leave you with the damning seconds forever flowing forward until you can breathe easy

The hand on your shoulder an illusion conjured cruelly by the better intending part of your hopeful mind, resistant to drowning in the oceans of all the evidence spelling merciless fates you never wished to face alone

The brick wall suddenly against your back, the mirroring surface showing a face of hatred, loathing and anger as frantically you look to see who will watch your back with wanting redemption distantly dying in that growling reflection’s eyes

You have your answer but it was never the path you chose, that unstable mass of negativity through the bitter lense of depression now a laser like weapon, the odour of burning stinging your widened eyes as the creature you feared now becomes a pile of acidic ash

The acidic burning that follows a distinctly bitter reminder that you have dissolved anther life line, your act of safety without another’s help hath cast too widely it’s affects without measured consideration, lacking that restraint and sensable caution which comes with not been alone

So the next creature is born out of another’s unintended suffering, the games again starting and the cycle set on its ravenous path to take more of what makes you human, the food it craves to consume

Your fate to become another horrifically edged shadow, the path you never chose but fall into perfectly as you see your victories become damnations, each time harder to utter the words brimming with caustic humiliation to the independent nature you dejectedly reply on…

“Please help me, I can’t do this alone”

A loosely termed ‘sense of humour’ required!

You cracked a joke

“She’s not here today because she is ill, that’s very bad news; one more day of her mindless chatter and I was going to earn a sick day!”
“That’s such a nice story about how you two met, congratulations; you can be the next person to get the honour of passing me a bucket!”
“You’re getting married; invite me to the funeral because that would a more fun event and black is way more slimming than a wedding dress!”

Everyone cracked up, only literally!

Now you are laughing as the shattered fragments of stares looking horrified burn into you and it is a funny sight to grinningly behold, but only to you as the further horrified faces before you prove

The HR manager now writing another letter home to your mother, whom they are calling to collect you because they can’t trust anyone else to survive hearing you talk

Yes folks it is true; your ‘sense of humour’ is fucked, in all the ways that makes you laugh as people’s faces become macabre pictures

You ask yourself at every funeral like reception you receive for having just walked into a room; how you ended up this way, and the blankly staring (heavily medicated to boot) therapist merely placates you with passively failing phrases like “You are unique” “You are just a bit different” “You will find people like you to share your inner self”…the equally blankly bleak response delivered by you with sledgehammer style; “Where are these people, on the mental ward they dug you up from” before the fatally funny line, plain fatal to any further meaningful discussion “the same ward you must live on to be here talking to me”

The recently installed child locks actually hold this time as the mental health nurses drag the therapist away from the failing to open fifth floor window…

I’m sorry to report this will be your life from now on, as long as you ‘are yourself’ around the majority of that mercifully dumb sub-species known as humanity

But don’t worry, whoever you don’t offend will prove to be more than required to match that acidic spitting wit grafted with ugly fixes to your already woefully corrupted personality!

And if you get into a healthy (ish) relationship…

Tell the rest of us how, because you have pulled off a fucking miracle!!

DISCLAIMER: IF YOU ARE READING THIS YOU ARE CONSIDERED A PERSON AND NOT A HUMAN, THEREFORE FEEL NO OFFENCE (UNLIKE THAT FORTUNATLY STUPID SUB SPIECES THE DAMNED FEEL BOTH PITY AND JEALOOUSLY TOWARDS)

ALL OFFENCIVE VIEWS OF HUMANITY IN THIS DISCLAIMER ARE BACKED UP BY REAL EXPERIENCE!!