Monthly Archives: March 2018


Yesterday was good

Today I am sad

Life’s just not my thing


A moth to the light

I am attracted to you

So I walk away


Dew has formed on the leaves

Each drop a crystal Palace

At least one of them has fallen

To the cool, damp earth

How I wish that was me


Leaves and twigs lay atop

Inside, it began to rot

For how long has it lain?

Everyone’s still looking for him



One dark afternoon, a dark afternoon
A shadow streaked quick through the fields
Where rain had wet and winds had swept
All was peaceful except where it leapt

The ground fizzled and burned,
Flowers shrivelled and withered
From green to black they turned
All life had ceased and hardened

It crept beside the footpath,
Under the bridge and over the trees
Where birds dropt from atop
T’was a lifeless menagerie

Then finally the scent was strong
And it leapt with greater strides still
If you listened carefully, you could surely hear its song
It would definitely give you a chill

And now the cursed house was in sight
Where the cursed ones dug a grave of their plight
Not earth, not water, but they demanded flight
So blinded and greeded by the tempts of might

There in a circle they sat breaths abated
Their hands clasped round the other’s
And their pulses united, seven souls mated
As they waited for the hour, t’was fated

Off went the lights, and there was no flicker
Then the room was filled with a chill
As it approached you could hear faintly its snicker
Was it too low or too shrill?

The damned souls sat, and still they waited,
For a circus show was not what they wanted.
Blood had been shed, an altar created
Their intentions could be no more blatant.

First one voice started, and the others joined chorus,
The call to invoke the Evil.
More flesh was cut and still more red dripped;
Seven souls, sins, all in a swirl.

It laughed and it cackled at the amusing display
And swooped around for a bit more.
It brushed their black hearts and kissed on their tongues
For now was the time to play.

“Come forth holy spirit
And grant us thy presence
So is our wish upon thee
Such is the want of thy children

“Five cups we’ve shed
And five more at speed
Thus far we’ve been led
By the guidance of the script”

Then again:

“Come forth holy spirit
(oh no i’m not holy)
And grant us thy presence
(you are undeserving)
So is our wish upon thee
(you wish? you wish?! you wish!!)
Such is the want of thy children
(i never did burden you weaklings)

“Five cups we’ve shed
(for what have you bled?)
And five more at speed
(who are you trying to feed)
Thus far we’ve been led
(not by me unto me)
By the guidance of the script”
(but by fools to a foolish end)

So it cackled once more, amused for sure,
At the actions of these puny mice.
As they kept chanting it rose one last time
Before bleaching their souls with his ice.

They gaped and they choke, all eyes uprolled,
As the creeping of freezing took control
Bodies fell back and tongues fell out
As their spring were bent back, what a toll!

What white and what red emerged from their eyes,
Ears, mouth and every hole
As the spirit caressed in its gentle arrest
While tightening its unending hold.

Their bodies were broken and crumpled and bloated
The pain that no human has felt!
Nor dreamt of feeling, much less comprehending,
And yet they stirred and they knelt!

From head hanging back and arms falling slack,
To the white of the eyes and loll of the tongue
Nay, was this them, this great upset
But the pulling on the string by the master.

Too much anguish, it did not vanish
Their souls threatened to escape
But the cold hands pulled and kept them in
To endure more pain, what a fate!

They bled and they bled,
And their bones burst within,
As bodies became useless bags,
With nothing but lumpish filling.

Then when it had bored itself of this fun,
Out came the souls, violently flung
Down fell the bodies from their position
And silently the corpses wept.

The seven souls waited, still burning, still hurting,
As they were snatched up by the head
In grasp of one giant unforgiving claw
Of the force that they foolishly reckoned.

“They have been punished and taken, my master
All ready to act at your bidding”
“Then come, my son, you have done enough,
I have other tasks that are more fitting”

Through darkest earth and blackest space
The seven corrupt whispers were dragged
To a place of more howls, a very strange place
The home of the damned and the butchered.

There they were tossed, onto a burning heap
To await whatever next came.
Verily their suffering would be naught but unending
To toil every day by the flame.

Cursed in life, cursed in death,
Every bit of existence was stained.
When much had been given, more had been desired:
That was the start of their game

That would lead to no end that a sane man would recommend,
That would stir others to repent
Had they seen what lay await,
What, do you think, would have been?

Now their bodily remains by found by some chance,
By a fellow, oh dear how unlucky!
But then he would know the dangers that mask
Behind all that is nice and shiny

He retched and he cried at the sight of the mess,
Of pink and of white, red and insides,
Laid about bones and some skin,
Eyes all burnt from within.

Quickly he ran to the town crier’s house,
Where the holy man was also close by.
He told of his finding, so hard he was crying,
“Someone tear the putrid sight from mine eyes!”

“Come now young man, you shall have a bath
In holy water as I say prayer.
Remember, however, God has you preserved
For He has ensured you will remember

“Remember that He is the only Light,
And we only turn to Him.
Remember that no good can come from another,
For He is the one True Creator.”

“Yes I’ll remember, I won’t ever forget,
That He is the only Creator
God bless, how I recall what I would have done
Just a day after this!

“I am a poor man, there is much that I want,
Yet nothing has come from my prayers.
I was so desperate, so very intent
On turning to the Damned one for pittance!

“Oh thank you my Lord, for bringing me back,
And showing me the harsh consequences of my would-be act.
I nearly forgot, and nearly leapt off
To the path of no deliverance.”

The man had his bath, then a hot meal (he ate quick),
Then the three of them set off from there.
The town crier he did, what only he could do,
And soon the whole town was aquiver.

The tale had been told, the word had been spread,
What a fair warning to the people, too.
All day and all night, the town was abuzz
With the tale of the wretched crew.

On the next day, just before dawn,
A group marched on to the house
(That wretched house)
With torches and oil and holy books
(As they marched to the wretched old house)
They were solemn and walked in silence,
Each praying in his heart
(For who knows what lurked in that wretched house?)
For protection, for forgiveness
(As well as for the wretched ones).
As they silently trudged out of town
They finally came to it and wasted no time,
Oiling the path to be burned,
Chanting their prayers in unison,
Lighting the torches and casting the flame,
To send back to hell what stubbornly came,
To clean up the land and to make it safe,
Ridding the evil and bringing in pureness,
And clearing the mess deep within,
The mess of once people now abominations,
No one would set eyes on those villains,
And the earth would not take their remains.

The task was complete,
They made their retreat,
And walked in the glow of the sun.





He spent hours in the cave conversing with his echo till it finally said something else. So he went to ask for a refund.


Small momoks scurried away as the heavy wooden door opened to let in the sunlight.


One fat, pink hand fished around awkwardly in his pocket for the little bottle of pills he now carried with him everywhere.


Physical constructs are mental constructs, as are mental constructs.


I call my books leaves and it doesn’t feel so bad saying there are leafpiles around my bed.


As she walked away with her purchases, my heart lurched and I was overcome with a sadness most deep. I had already began to miss the adventures we would never have, and my eyes nearly welled up. Then the next customer appeared and my spirits were lifted and I surged with joy and the excitement of possibilities. Maybe he will be my friend?



My back’s hurting so i look for a seat. I sit and it still hurts. I shift my weight to get comfortable but the pain shoots around at different angles instead.

Page 144. I continue reading and for a moment i’m taken out of my body, away from the world, into the book. Then the bus slows down and i look up, in time to see my stop approaching. I get up and head to the door.

My back’s hurting.

Pain is life. Life is pain.

The guy in front of me has his right arm bent at that slightly awkward angle and you know he’s broken it before. Funny how broken arms heal in that strange way. He looks happy and doesn’t seem to notice his strange-angled arm sticking out like a sore thumb. Sore arm.

Thinking about his arm takes my mind away from the pain and then it all comes back again. I’m strong, tall, i look healthy. No one would imagine me hurting so much. Every moment since that day i’ve had the pain. It’s a strange sensation, it doesn’t hurt to the point i scream out, it’s a kind of discomfort. Like a tight muscle that won’t loosen no matter how much you stretch it. It’s stubborn and sticking at all the wrong places, probably pulling my bones out of their happy resting spots.

The man with the once-broken arm is in front of me, waiting too to cross the road. The other man is red and the cars are still zooming across us.

In one blissful moment i forget everything and nothing is on my mind. I don’t feel my legs as i cross the road, the red man screaming out at me silently through his mouthless face. I just walk and don’t see the cars zooming around me.

The sudden shriek of brakes makes me stop and i turn to see a lorry just inches from me, the driver’s face curled in anger, shouting something about me in some language, his one arm on the wheel the other making strange shapes and movements. It’s supposed to mean something but i just stare at him.

I squint to see if he’s got a strange-angled arm too. It seems fine. I guess he had a good childhood free from broken arms.

I go back to thinking about the pain in my back as i resume crossing the road.

Pain is life and life is pain.

I wish to die. Am i a bad person for wishing to die? I like this gift thank you very much but i’m tired, and i can’t go on, so please take it back. I’ll wait but just so you know i would very much like you to take it back, if that’s okay with you. If it’s not then it’s alright but i just wanted you to know. Yes. Yes that’s right. Mmhmm. Uh-huh. Okay i’ll hold, no problem. Thank you.



1: Hey nice shirt, man

2: Oh, thanks! I just got it last week

1: Sweet, i’ve got one just like that actually

2: Nice!

1: Yeah! Except it’s red

2: Oh i think i saw that

1: And the collar on mine is slightly different. That design at the back too, come to think of it. Oh and the logo on mine is on the other side. Probably another brand. You know what i think they are actually two very different shirts

2: Lol


Lately i’ve been thinking
About the demon i found in the sand
Tiny body of evil
Squirming and helpless
I took it in and raised it like my own
And when it was strong enough i set it upon the world
To find its way
And lead others astray
I miss having it around

The rotten stench of decay
It still hangs in my house
A lingering reminder
Of the time and energy i put in


I have all these vivid and detailed descriptions about comical and interesting-looking personalities and people. They would make splendid characters except i don’t use them, because they are actually absolutely based on people i’ve seen. I can’t say i’ve liked any one of them, so i won’t immortalize those characters in my writing.


The moment i saw him it hit me that his face was big. Too big, way too big. It looked very odd and a little scary, compared to his tiny-looking body which was in fact rather average-sized. When he spoke it gave me the shivers and every time he turned his head i retched a bit. The entire composition of his image threw me off balance and i wanted to bad to run away from the room and jump into a pool of ice water or even fire. I didn’t care, i just needed out. But i couldn’t go, i had to stay and watch, and so from behind the one-way glass i suffered, him oblivious to how his peculiar brand of ugliness was affecting me so powerfully and negatively. I wondered then if even his mother loved him.



Fit people give shape to tight clothes. Fat people are shaped by tight clothes.


Some people complain that they didn’t ask to be born in the first place. But hold a gun to their head and they’ll beg for their lives. They didn’t ask to be alive? Maybe they did, a long time ago. Their minds can’t remember but perhaps something within their spirit does.


I guess it’d be kinda cool if our currency was edible. Barter trade feels. Hmm… What is life.


As I came up with the title for this post it occurred to me that Everest is a truthful name so long as the mountain does not move.



It’s okay to not be strong, but it’s not okay to choose weakness.


More pay means bigger responsibilities, not more work. When people get promoted they will still have 24 hours in a day just like everybody else.


When i first took the serum i was immediately overwhelmed by the rush of sensory intake. I heard more, saw more, felt more, and just as the crescendo seemed to be slowing down, it exploded in my face and i reeled. I felt myself falling, felt the pull of the earth and the sound of all my organs shifting. I smelt the floor and saw the specks of dust float up. Everything was spinning so fast i didn’t have time to be nauseous.

But within a few minutes it settled, the same way your brain learns to ignore unimportant sensory information every single moment of your waking life. Try it, direct your consciousness from your toes up and you’ll be aware of sensations that have always been there but were shut out because they were not relevant to the primary task at hand.

Once my brain got used to my heightened senses, things became very pleasant indeed. I could see further just by looking harder, heard the softest and most distant of sounds just by concentrating, and the same went for everything else. It was a heightened level of consciousness that felt so effortless and strangely normal. It was like this had always been me but i had forgotten about it, kept it in a dust-covered box, locked behind a door in a house full of rooms.

The sad part was that within a day or so i got so used to it that nothing felt special anymore. I think my adaptive response was faster than average but it was bound to happen eventually. And so going against reason and the advice of my colleagues, i took another dose that night, when everyone had left for the day.

I couldn’t imagine the experience being bad, but within minutes of the shot i realized with much dread just how wrong i was.