Archive for January, 2006

Trapped Thoughts


Don’t know what to (do)
make of this but I know
something is there between us (now)
all sensations and emotion
not much words (spoken) at all.

Eyes look into each other right there
both lips are sealed shut on the spot
thoughts trapped in two different minds
the bodies of one another begging for sweet release.

Waiting, just waiting for the other to admit when it’s time…

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The Silent Sentinel


He watches the long days,
go down to short nights.
Silently with little intrusions,
and gentle interventions.

Standing there frozen in place,
or hanged, but not to his death,
in the appearance of foolish and young days,
or the wizened and ancient years.

Reminding us about the things we do,
and that things and people will not last forever.

His speech is in the minimalistic music of chimes, beeps
and quiet ticks,
his language we see the arcane symbols of science.

He is there, seen or not seen at all,
slicing lives away without knowing.

We are all tied to him,
his willing and many unwilling slaves.

Not knowing we are bound to him til the end.

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Death


Standing on the Razor’s Edge of life and death,
slowly fading away,
from this world.

…Waiting to go…
…and be forgotten.

Ready to go,
ready to go,
accepting my fate.

At last…

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Movement of Mutilation ~ Arcane Edits

Pinhead belongs to Clive Barker, not me.We are the chained lunatics,
who take pleasure in voicing our discontent,
while we are waiting to be released.

We are the heartless bunch of bastards and bitches,
who think that inflicting pain is fun,
and the consumption of innocent children and their pets is okay.

We are the black clad and twisted dark popes of Hell,
with mutilations and piercings,
being the next “it thing”.

We think that mutilation should count as a new art movement,
with skin as canvas, blood as paint,
flesh and entrails being a part of our gruesome masterpieces,
ready to be displayed in the pits of Hell or the next asylum.

Our music will consist of screams,
cries and sobs for symphonies,
and orchestras of suffering as we warp the worst of all your nightmares:
Cold reality.

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Movement of Mutilation

Pinhead from Hellraiser belongs to Clive Barker, not me.
We are the chained lunatics,
who take pleasure in voicing our discontent,
while we are waiting to be released.

We are the heartless bunch of bastards and bitches,
who think that inflicting pain is fun,
and the consumption of innocent children and their pets is okay.

We are the black clad and twisted black popes of Hell,
with mutilations and piercings,
being the next “it thing”.

We think that mutilation should count as a new art movement,
with skin as canvas, blood as paint,
flesh and entrails being a part of our gruesome masterpieces,
ready to be displayed in the pits Hell or the next asylum.

Our music will consist of screams,
cries and sobs for symphonies,
and orchestras of suffering as we warp the worst of all your nightmares:
Cold reality.

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Fragment of a Symphony: A Tender Moment Alone

Ashtoreth was quite disturbed of what she had heard from Steven earlier, from what had happened the night she arrived to wherever she was. Both of her slender hands were shaking uncontrollably at remembering what Steven said about being in an alleyway, a blood-spattered alleyway of all places. With shaking hands and a unsure mind, she quickly got out one of the most precious things from her own luggage. She sat on the bed and tentatively unwrapped the grass green velvet covering of The Book, gazing at the partially unwrapped dark green book with an embossing of a Chinese dragon with the wings of an angel set in sterling silver lovingly as she continued its unveiling. I feel so lost… The book she held in her hands opened by itself and as expected, wrote her exact thoughts and feelings into its pages, without the aid of a writing implement held by Ashtoreth’s own hand. The elegant writing of her troubled heart and mind set in crimson flowed itself like miniature rivers of blood before drying up quickly into a shadowy intensity and nestling itself inside The Book’s slightly tea-stained pages.

Where am I? I am lost.
My hands are stained with the liquid rubies of two;
myself and a stranger I do not know.
Take my seeking hand and guide me back,
to the righteous path that I have unknowingly strayed.

“I do not think you will need to–”
To her horror, the writing faded away gently before disappearing completely out of the page leaving nothing but an ominous blank. Instead of getting an immediate answer from the deep and unknown depths of The Book, she could feel something enter the room uninvited through the sudden vibration of particles around her, coupled with the sensation of feeling cold all over. The coldness lingeringly reformed into a warmth she was somehow familiar with to her sudden relief. Could it be…? Ashtoreth thought as she watched The Book move from her lap to the floor, still remaining open as it did so. She had never expected an event such as this to happen in a rather short span of time. She had no choice but to follow the tome to the center of the room as it settled on a final destination. The sterling silver dragon embossing on the green cover of The Book started to melt and move about towards the open pages of its residence before turning into a medium sized puddle the color of mercury and manifested into a shape she was very intimate with.
“–read your mind to understand your problem? Oh really now?” She bowed deeply and smiled at the caped metallic green figure before her who displayed a look of mild amusement on his normally unruffled countenance. Sadness gradually lurked in his eyes as he moved away from the open book and stood close behind his equally troubled consort and embraced her tenderly. The Master could feel the tears of his dear one touch one of his fingers. He gently brushed them away from her alice-blue eyes.
“I do not know where I am.”
“You’re lost?” he liked completing whatever sentence she was trying to finish without her really noticing, running his delightfully cold fingers through her unsecured black tresses.
“An acquaintance told me earlier of the night before and how I was in an alleyway not far from here, apparently involved in a fight. But I do not remember anything at all.” her voice was tinged with vexation. Oh dear me, I wonder how something such as this could happen so soon? The Master thought at hearing what his highly regarded fledgling had to say. Ashtoreth remained in the comforting shelter that was her Master’s arms. His neck started to become more longer and flexible, allowing him to see her face more easily as she stayed in his sights.
“What you don’t remember the night before will come back to you just like everything else, all you need is time.” He said reassuringly, stroking her face. Just like everything else she thought of what her Master had said. The Master felt relieved at the feeling of glumness fading away, for a while.
“I have to leave soon; this connection can’t last long, you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
The Master unhurriedly coaxed Ashtoreth out of his near eternal hold. They both held the hands of one another and looked longingly at each other’s eyes before departing.
“Farewell, my dear Master.” She knelt in front of the closing book after his virtuous figure washed out of her room, the mercury liquid that projected him and made him “real” quickly returned to where it belonged as part of the cover of The Book in the form of a silver Chinese dragon embossing with angel wings.
I wish you could stay by my side for a while longer. Even if it were for a few hours, she was happy he came to assist and bring her at ease. How long has it been since the Bond Forging? Two months and a few days ago? Ashtoreth wasn’t completely sure. She let all of it go for a while, trying to recollect the vague and grim event of the night before she awoke in her quarters in Carlston University; already, she had already recalled one thing she had once remembered! She gathered up the green book and hugged it tightly before wrapping the precious and invaluable object with the green velvet cover and carefully shoving it back into the depths of her luggage before anyone, friend or stranger, came in the room.

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Bound

Wrapped in chains,
that’s how I am,
knowing its my fault for being like this,
not yours.

I feel the chains digging in.
Digging in, digging.

The pain; so memorable now that I dare look back,
even though I know it’s supposed to hurt.

Strapped to my Liar’s Chair,
to make a confession of what I’ve done;
my own lies of silk bring me pleasure,
at saying more untruths,
that people blithely believe.

So
that
I
could
get away
from
this,
this thing
that
whispers
sweet
blasphemies, in
mine
ear.

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